A Comfortable Life

Her humming was becoming louder and louder. Mom was sitting in the kitchen, directly below my office, as I attempted to read the Genesis account of God's call to Abram. Like the beat of Poe's "Telltale Heart", I couldn't take it anymore. "Forget it. I'll just go get her breakfast." But it was hours before she normally eats, and she was simply having coffee. Mom was safe and content. "I just want my home to be normal again."

Our pastor spoke on Abram a few weeks back. He called attention to God's command for Abram to go out of his country, away from his family, and from his father's house. God took Abram away from a place he was established, comfortable, prospering, that He (God) might do something for an entire people. God did not hide the fact, there would be something in it for Abram -- "I will make you a great nation, I will bless you and make your name great..." -- but those were "will"s and "would be"s. When Abram packed up the clan and all their possessions, he had nothing but a promise; it was because of his belief in that promise, he left all he knew. That is faith: walking out our belief.

I believe God gave Jesus to die for my sin. I believe Jesus rose from the dead and reigns as King of kings and Lord of lords. I believe the presence of the Holy Spirit in me is His guarantee of all He has promised. Presumably, it is because of those beliefs, I seek to bring glory to my Heavenly Father, to proclaim the name of Jesus, and to follow the Holy Spirit's direction.

For a long time, I chose to remain trapped in my past. Although Jesus had delivered me, stepping into the light of redemption and newness of life was far too scary for me. One day God showed me the toll that darkness was taking, and I moved toward His Light. Scott joined me on my journey, and we built this fabulous life together. Our home was safe and comfortable, a haven of rest and healing. I needed the familiarity and tranquility of our home.

And then came Mom. Mom is no trouble at all -- she really isn't. But with Mom came banana peels on the coffee pot, a full-sized adult with the hygiene of a toddler, mounds of tissues in the laundry, unexplained sound effects, anxious pacing, nights of unrest, and baggage. Baggage I carried for years, baggage I shed, baggage that sickens me has been brought, quite literally, to my doorstep. Suddenly, my home is not the comfortable, healing place it was before; and God is calling me to love.

God is telling me I no longer need my place of comfort, but The Comforter. It is time to leave my place of refuge, for The Rock. God is removing my place of peace that He might be my Peace. God is transforming my place of healing that I might better know The Healer. There was a time of learning and renewal that took place within our cozy little home; but it is time for something more, to stretch and mature. And if I will walk out my beliefs, if I will go forward in faith, if I will leave comfort to Him, God will do something for His glory and my good.

Empty Vessels

Today I am praying for nothing. Well, technically, it is something, but that something is nothing. Emptiness. I am praying for emptiness for myself, for my husband, for my children and grandchildren, my brother and his family, my extended family, my church family and all my friends. I am praying for emptiness in the hearts of everyone I know.

I was studying 2 Kings 4:1-7, this morning. A destitute widow sought help from the prophet Elisha. Elisha asked what she did have. A tiny bottle of oil. Pour it out.

Now, those were not his exact words, but I'm trying to paint a picture. Elisha actually instructed her to borrow large vessels from all her neighbors -- empty vessels. "Do not gather just a few." So, she's got this tiny bit of oil swishing around in, let's say, a two-cup measure. Now, I know, if I'm baking and I'm short on something like oil, and I have just enough for my recipe, I'm gonna grab my rubber spatula and I'm going to scrape every last drop out of that two-cup measure. I might even be sure to use a glass measure over something like plastic, so none of that oil gets absorbed into the material and wasted. The last thing I would ever think of doing would be pouring that tiny bit of oil into a clay pot the size of an oil drum. It would run down the insides, be sucked into the porous clay, lay in the cracks and crevices at the bottom; if I'm lucky, I might get half of my oil back. Essentially, I would be pouring my precious oil out to waste. Pour it out.

So much emptiness in this narrative! A widow: no doubt she suffered the emptiness of the loss of her husband. Her sons: their father gone, they lacked their model, their provider, their teacher. Their home: those empty spaces a husband and father used to fill; the empty pantry a provider used to fill. And now, a jar poured out and empty vessels awaiting.

The widow's only response to Elisha's command was obedience:

"So she went from him and shut the door behind her and her sons, who brought the vessels to her; and she poured it out." (v. 5)

What faith! All she had poured out. Empty vessel after empty vessel brought before the flow of rich, salubrious oil. Void after void generously, graciously filled. Emptiness eradicated and vessels brimming with something so much more.

I am praying for emptiness. Old ideas, desires, grudges, presuppositions, expectations, traditions -- all gone, poured out. That God might richly, graciously fill us with something better. I am praying for marriages full of baggage and relationships with our children filled with past mistakes; I am praying for cancer that keeps fighting back and weariness that plagues the body and mind; I am praying for shame and damaged identities, for misunderstanding about who God is, for worldly desires and old habits, for hardness and self-sufficiency, for unforgiveness -- all poured out. Emptiness that God might fill us with something anew. But we must first bring our emptiness to Him. Seek. Obey. Pour it out.