My Blundering Foray into Gardening

I have made a recent discovery - I am a dreadful gardener.

Reasons why this is true:
- This summer I have killed five plants entrusted to me, all of which were advertised as low maintenance.
- I can look at a dying plant and consciously choose not to water it in that moment or any moment after.
- If a plant is beautiful, I admire it profusely, but a dying one is nearly invisible to me.
- The plants which survived my care in the past were undeniable miracles and products of grace.
- I cannot blame the Texas heat. There are plants growing vigorously in my neighbor's yard and in my own backyard, under the care of my roommate.

The trouble is that I want to be a gardener. I think flowers are the most beautiful part of creation, second only to the ocean. I do not mind getting dirty and sweaty and pulling weeds. When I feel like it, gardening is a wonderful way to release stress and join in the creation process.

But my follow through is flawed. Gardens need consistent care, and my schedule seems to be anything but consistent. Is my failure truly a problem of scheduling, though, or is it more a problem of commitment? I am not committed to ensuring that these plants live, and not just live - thrive, bloom, flourish. Why?

Because I like instant gratification. I like to work hard, see a product, and reap all the benefits in that moment and for all the days after that without further work. Why can we not clean our house once and reap the benefits of a spotless house for years to come? Why can we not get our hands dirty once planting a rose bush and see it bloom in glory every year after?

Which leads to the more serious question - Why must we continue to invest in relationships? Why can we not be vulnerable and unselfish once, earn a person's trust, and enjoy the relationship in perfect harmony forever after? Why do couples say you must continue to date even after marriage? Why must a woman work at raising her children even after she has done the excruciatingly painful work of delivering them?

Because the world is hot. People need water too. And relationships do not grow more beautiful the more you avoid them. They just become more wilted and dead. And then - poof! They might disappear back into the soil from which they grew.

Based on my gardening skills, I am thankful I have not been entrusted with marriage or children yet. My hope lies in a rose bush and a
single zinnia flower and one crop of tomatoes and strawberries. These were products of grace, not my green thumb. Despite my weak efforts and forgetfulness about watering and tendency to avoid them when they looked like they were struggling, they survived. And the rose bush even survived for years and continued to produce gorgeous blooms.

My prayer tonight is this - may I be less enamored with romance and the beauty of lavish gardens and more committed to watering the plants I've been given and deeply knowing the real people (flaws and all) who cross my path. And maybe someday I will be blessed with a husband, a home filled with kids, and a lush garden. They will only survive (and hopefully more than survive - flourish, bloom, thrive) if I am willing to work with commitment and surrender my weak efforts to the hurricane of grace which washes over me continuously.

Mon Mon

Reposting this from two years ago. Still miss her all the time...

My grandmother, whom we all called Mon Mon, passed away a week ago. It still doesn’t feel real to me, even after the funeral and all the time we spent together as a family this week without her. She was 88 years old and had been married to my grandfather for 63 years on Saturday. She lived a long, full life, as they always say, but it didn’t feel long enough to me. No matter her age, I always felt as if she would be here forever. Even when I was away from her for long periods of time, her presence was still there, asking my mom how I was doing and jotting little notes about my upcoming plans in her detailed calendar.

Just a week before she died, my mom got off the phone with me after hearing about my new job and was going to share with my Mon Mon to cheer her up. After a painful fall, hip surgery, and a rough recovery, her spirits were low. I’m so thankful that she knew about my new job before she died. She even had the chance to come to College Station and get a small glimpse of my life here just last spring. And yet, I’m still sad that there are so many parts of my life that she will miss. I think one thing that I will miss the most is her letters. She was the most beautiful letter writer. I am thankful that I have a letter she wrote to me on December 11 to congratulate me on my upcoming graduation. Her letter, written in her old-fashioned cursive handwriting (which I have adopted), is such a treasure, and I want to share all of it with you in hopes that you can see what a special lady she was right up to the end of her life.

Dear Lydia,

Mom and Dave are here and we’re enjoying a wonderful visit. We miss seeing all of you but are grateful for a catch up on your news and happenings, pictures, etc…

They went with Sue and Randy to see Grant at Appleby’s tonight.

Your graduation is just a week away. We’re excited for you and wish we could be there with the family.

We’re very proud of all you’ve done and are praying for God’s help with your future. Always be assured of His love for you and confident of His plan for your life. Your faith is a great blessing!

We love you dearly,

Mon Mon

I am tearing up as a type this. That’s just one of many letters that she wrote, reminding me of her love and assuring me of God’s love. There are few women who are as precious as my Mon Mon. She bore all things. She was a picture of patience. In her eulogy, my Uncle Paul described how she always believed the best of everyone. And he clarified that he did not think that she thought this way out of naivety. I agree that she understood the true nature of the human heart, but she chose to love and cherish what she saw as God’s handiwork in people’s lives.

This past week, there are a few things I have wanted to do in order to remember my Mon Mon and the times I had with her. One is watch The Sound of Music. She loved music and was the one who introduced me to musicals and classical music. My cousin and I grew up as little girls watching The Sound of Music at her house. I also wanted to go to TCBY and order a waffle cone with white chocolate mousse yogurt. She would take me there all the time, having a sweet tooth herself and loving to give her grandchildren a little “treat” (one of her favorite words). I also just happened to be reading The Weight of Glory by C.S. Lewis, one of her very favorite authors. Through reading his book and thinking back on the quiet, faithful life my Mon Mon lived, my desire the last few days has been to seek Jesus Christ all the more. My Mon Mon truly lived in light of eternity. I think she loved C.S. Lewis as I do because of how he was able to paint this picture of heaven that was truly irresistable. She lived much of her life in some amount pain, having lost her father at a young age and having numerous health problems in her old age, but she always had her eyes fixed on the peace and perfection of heaven. I know that she is happier than she ever was on earth up in heaven worshipping her Savior. The One whom she talked to every day in her special chair in her living room, she now stands before face to face.

C.S. Lewis writes an incredible chapter about heaven entitled “The Weight of Glory.” This is an excerpt:

“I can imagine someone saying that he dislikes my idea of heaven as a place where we are patted on the back. But proud misunderstanding is behind that dislike…I read in a periodical the other day that the fundamental thing is how we think of God. By God Himself, it is not! How God thinks of us is not only more important, but infinitely more important. Indeed, how we think of Him is of no importance except insofar as it is related to how He thinks of us. It is written that we shall ‘stand before’ Him, shall appear, shall be inspected. The promise of glory is the promise, almost incredible and only possible by the work of Christ, that some of us, that any of us who really chooses, shall actually survive that examination, shall find approval, shall please God. To please God…to be a real ingredient in the divine happiness…to be loved by God, not merely pitied, but delighted in as an artist delights in his work or a father in a son – it seems impossible, a weight or burden of glory which our thoughts can hardly sustain…But we pine. The sense that in this universe we are treated as strangers, the longing to be acknowledged, to meet with some response, to bridge some chasm that yawns between us and reality, is part of our inconsolable secret. And surely, from this point of view, the promise of glory, in the sense described, becomes highly relevant to our deep desire. For glory means good report with God, acceptance by God, response, acknowledgement, and welcome into the heart of things. The door on which we have been knocking all of our lives will be open at last.”

That door has been opened at last for Mon Mon, and I can’t imagine how she feels as God welcomes her into the heart of things. She is complete at last, no longer pining away for the true reality that was alluded to in the things she loved like music, art, books, and traveling. C.S. Lewis writes, “The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing…They are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard , news from a country we have never yet visited.”

If only you could know how much these quotes from Lewis remind me of my Mon Mon and the way she viewed God, the world, and heaven. I hope that these words comfort those who knew her well. As a kindred spirit of Mon Mon, with many of her same passions and personality traits, I find comfort in these words and the hope that I will one day experience the fullness of what I have been longing for my whole life.

Your Burden Carried

Have you ever prayed that God would remind you of your need for Jesus and all that He has saved you from? I will warn you before you do because you might end up like I did today, on the verge of tears, wondering why I am sad when I have nothing to be sad about and in fact am more grateful than usual. Now, I might be a little tired so my tears may not be entirely the result of a prayer. But I'm certain that this emotion - feeling the depth of God's love and remembering the weight of sin and the strength of its grip - is a gift that only God can bestow.

Earlier this week, I was challenged from multiple sources to meditate on the Passion Week, to think about the historical events we celebrate at Easter, and consider the reason for the cross. I sat thinking about how long it has been since I have been overwhelmed by the love of God. I can look back and remember moments when I felt incredibly free because I was so sure of the love of God and so aware of how little I deserved it. My circumstances seemed all a product of His grace, even though they were far from perfect. No biting remark or sense of another person's disapproval could hurt me because I knew so poignantly that I had been rescued and that the love and acceptance of God was sweeter and more satisfying than any human love or sign of man's approval.

Once your eyes have experienced such sharp vision, it's not hard to realize when your glasses have fogged up and the beauty of God's work on the cross has somehow become a point in your Sunday sermon notes instead of something that moves you to tears every moment that you have breath. Perhaps it would be impractical for us to always be on the verge of tears thinking about the cross, but I think it is good for us to pray periodically that we know the depths of sin and despair from which we have been saved. It is from this place that our love for Jesus grows and only from that place can we love people as He loves them.

For me, what drew me back to the foot of the cross was remembering the weight of what I once lived under. Some of it came from watching others drowning in some of the struggles that once gripped my life. My hope for them comes from what I saw God do in my life. But, the second I lose sight of how deeply I struggled, the second I lose grace for them and pass on to judgement. Honestly, though, I sometimes guard myself from remembering what I once was. It's embarrassing. It makes certain years of my life feel like a waste. But, only in remembering, do I know that it was only Jesus taking my burden upon Himself that could have freed me from the burdens that were weighing me down. And, only in remembering my pain and how fruitlessly I tried to fix my problems myself, do I develop a heart that longs for others to be free.

I do not feel the need to be specific in naming the sins and burdens Jesus has saved me from. I promise you that they are not much different from your own because Jesus looks at us all the same. Our sins all weighed on Him the same while He was on the cross, and the price He paid He paid for all sins without distinction. There wasn't a heavier price for some. Every sin grieved Him. Every sin was enough to separate us from Him forever. But He conquered sin and death and rose, offering the only hope for life and freedom from this crushing weight of sin.

As my vision of the cross has come into clearer focus this week, this song has been on repeat:

"Come to Me" - The Village Church

Weary, burdened wanderer
There is rest for thee
At the feet of Jesus
In His love so free
Listen to His message
Words of life, forever blest
Oh, thou heavy-laden
Come to me, come and rest

There is freedom, taste and see
Here the call, come to me
Run into His arms of grace
Your burdened carried, He will take
He will take...

Bring Him all thy burdens
All thy guilt and sin
Mercy's door is open
Rise up and enter in

There is freedom, taste and see

Here the call, come to me

Run into His arms of grace

Your burdened carried, He will take

He wil take...

Jesus, there is waiting
Patiently for thee
Here him gently calling
Come, Oh, Come to me

There is freedom, taste and see

Here the call, come to me

Run into His arms of grace

Your burdened carried, He will take

He wil take...

Won't you come?
Won't you come?

I pray that you will come. Give him your burden for the first time. Remember your burden that He has already carried and taken away. Praise him with tears of gratitude that you are free. Sit at his feet this Easter. Rest in His love.

Sought Out

Within the last few days, I have been reading out of Isaiah 62-64. Reading through these passages, I am overcome with awe at God's mercy. The following is one selection that stood out to me:

"You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord, and a royal diadem in the hand of your God. You shall no more be termed Forsaken, and your land shall no more be termed Desolate, but you shall be called My Delight Is in Her and your land Married; for the Lord delights in you, and your land shall be married. For as a young man marries a young woman, so shall your sons marry you, and as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice over you." 62:3-5

I love this image of God claiming us as a jewel in His crown, a precious diadem in His very hand. And I love the idea that He delights in us. He actually comes to us as a young man on his wedding day, thrilled to be with us, to make us his own, to unite with us. And the opposing image of one Forsaken and Desolate - to this one who feels rejected and alone, He says that she has a new name - "You shall be called The Holy People, the Redeemed of the Lord...You shall be called Sought Out, A City Not Forsaken." (62:12)

Sought Out is the name I most identify with, the name I most want to own. I think it is what I feel the lack of most. Being sought out is such an incredible feeling. As a woman, it is what you most desire from a man. You do not want to have to chase him down and remind him you are there. You want to be chased, Sought Out. And yet, so often in our broken world, we are more accustomed to Abandonment. We are Discarded. We are Forgotten.

And here Jesus comes saying, "My people, I have given you a new name. By your very identity, you are Sought Out. And this doesn't end when I marry you. You are always going to be Sought Out by me. When all your other lovers have lost interest, I will always find you in the dark places you try to hide. You will forever be Sought Out because that is the definition of our relationship. I saw you when all you could see was your own sin and your cheap loves toying with your affections. I delighted in you even before you knew even a fraction of my nature, of who I AM."

And yet, in contrast to this beautiful chase of God after His people, throughout these passages there rises a plea for mercy from the people of God. Why this plea for mercy? Because the people of God - the ones called Sought Out - have continuously turned away from Him. And now they beg for mercy. And I see myself all through these passages, pitiful and pleading for help when I was the one who ran away and got myself into this mess.

"He became their Savior. In all their affliction, he was afflicted, and the angel of His presence saved them; in His love and in His pity he redeemed them; he lifted them up and carried them all the days of old." (63:8-9)

"But they rebelled and grieved his Holy Spirit; therefore he turned to be their enemy, and himself fought against them." (63:10)

I love their prayer in 63:15-64:12. They recount the goodness of God and His past mercy, and they continue to ask where He has gone, how He could keep silent, why He is angry. I think if I were God, I would have responded with, "I gave everything for you once. And not just once. We've been through this a few times, and frankly I'm tired of you calling on me to be gracious to you for my name's sake. You are the one who has disgraced my name, and I do not need you in order for my glory to be known among the nations. You act as if I'm the hard-hearted one when you're the one who was so quick to rebel and leave a God "who put in the midst of you His Holy Spirit, who caused his glorious arm to go at the right hand of Moses, who divided the waters before you to make for himself an everlasting name, who led you through the depths...and gave you rest." (63:11-14) You're wondering how I can restrain myself and keep silent as you suffer in the pit you dug for yourself? I'm wondering why on earth I would have any desire to rescue and even listen to such a faithless, stupid people."

Thankfully, this is not God's response. Instead He says, "As the new wine is found in the cluster, and they say, 'Do not destroy it, for there is blessing in it,' so I will do for my servants' sake, and not destroy them all" (65:8).

Do we grasp how unfathomable is the mercy of God? How unreasonable? Who is this God who we frequently abandon or squeeze into a small portion of our day? - A God who "did awesome things that we did not look for; you came down, the mountains quaked at your presence. From of old no one has heard or perceived by the ear, no eye has seen a God besides you who acts for those who wait for him" (64:3-4).

A God who responds to our prayer of "You were angry, and we sinned; in our sins we have been a long time, and shall we be saved?" with "Yes, yes you shall be saved," who says to the Discarded, "Wait, save it. There is a blessing in it. I can make something new out of this trash."

We are all the work of His merciful hands (64:8). We are all Sought Out. And not just once. Not only when we are radiant from being in His presence. We are also Sought Out when we are dressed in polluted garments, melting in the clutch of sin, (64:6-7) and stretching out our hands to those who do not want us.

The Modern-Day Fantine: A Tribute to Les Miserables

A number of images are flashing through my mind as I sit in a "common" coffee shop in Waco, TX this afternoon (my fellow Texans and coffee addicts can guess to which eclectic couch-filled cafe I refer).

If anyone has spoken with me or followed me on any sort of social media in the last month, they will not be surprised that one of the images in my mind is Fantine, played by Anne Hathaway, singing "I Dreamed A Dream" in Les Miserables. I will post some of the lyrics here for those that have missed out on this film or have forgotten the words of this song sung by a woman hopeless, abused, and ashamed of her new life as a prostitute.

//

There was a time when men were kind
When their voices were soft
And their words inviting
There was a time when love was blind
And the world was a song
And the song was exciting
There was a time
Then it all went wrong

I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high
And life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving
Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung, no wine untasted

But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
As they turn your dream to shame

//

The beauty of the theater is that we as the audience are not limited by words in our comprehension of the depth of the emotion expressed. Thus, this scene, showing emotion through both physical and vocal expression, has an incredible power.

What strikes me now, though, is that so many who sat in theaters moved to tears by this scene have never shed a tear for a modern-day prostitute, either enslaved or there by choice. Fantine is a voice in a musical, a piece of history, a woman uniquely arrived at a most unfortunate situation. The problem with this mindset is that our tears are left in movie theaters, and we turn our backs on women today who are daily driven to the sex industry for reasons often similar to Fantine's. We weep for Fantine, but we shrink at the thought of approaching women in our clean, "free" American cities who we see living in the shadows of a shameful industry. We do not question why they are there. We do not pause to listen for their stories, which they might softly cry as Fantine does when no one is near. They once had dreams as well.

Last night I had the privilege of praying for modern-day Fantine's and for the women who, in Jesus' name, actually enter into the dark places where these women live. I don't share this to say "Look at me. I am responding and engaging when others are not." I share this because the images that filled my mind through the night last night and into today are all uncomfortable and some of them truly horrific. They are not letting go of me. While I was sitting there imaging women trapped in this industry and praying for freedom for them, I kept thinking, "This is right. This is good." Why do we spend so much time as a church arguing over who's following the rules correctly and whispering shocking stories over coffee, promising to pray for so and so lost person? If they are truly lost, why are we not out there trying to find them? Why are we not beckoning them to safety? Why are we not Jean Valjean who repented of having previously overlooked Fantine's plight by swiftly taking her in his arms, rushing her to a hospital and promising to care for her child for the rest of his life? And why did he show compassion on Fantine? Because he had once been destitute himself. Desperate need and a love for his starving nephew had driven him to commit a crime and, as a result, he spent years of his life in prison. He knew what it felt like to be crushed by the world, to be fighting for mere survival, to lose all belief that a higher being was up above watching his plight and caring about his life. He and Fantine finally believe in God and His love for them because they experience love from another person. In their own words, "To love another person is to see the face of God."

The other image that came to my mind this afternoon was that of a building burning down. As believers in Jesus, we ought to see ourselves as those who have been rescued from a burning building. We were surrounded by the flames, suffocating from the smoke, near death....and someone chose to rescue us. Now, we stand outside, breathing clean air, standing next to our rescuer. And then our rescuer tells us that there are more people left inside. We hear their screams. Some have already fallen silent, but there is still hope for them to be revived. He is going back in to search them out and carry them from the building that will only stand so long before it collapses. We agree with him. "Yes, you must rescue them. Please rescue them. Once they are out here with us, we will gladly enjoy a meal together, a meal we thought we might never eat." And then he says that he wants our help. There is only so much time before the building collapses, and he needs all the extra hands he can get. We will have a fire suit, offering full protection. We will be with him, and he promises that there is no danger of us getting trapped again. We may suffer a little from the smoke fumes. Of course we will have to leave the bright sunlight and clean air for a brief time, but he promises to never leave our side. Will we go? How could we refuse to run back in?

Les Miserables ends with a chorus of those who have died and are now standing at the barricade, calling the people who are left to join in the crusade and to fight. As those who are left, our hope in joining the fight is that, no matter what transpires each day in our dealings with people, there will one day be an end to this sadness and injustice. The only way people will believe us when we tell them of this hope is if we show them the love we have been shown. We who are in the light call out to those who do not believe in the light. The flame must burn brightest, we must shower our love most freely, we must run without hesitation into the darkest rooms where Fantine's sit weeping over lost dreams and Jean Valjean's growl in chains at the injustice dealt to them.

To end with some perspective from Scripture:

"Whoever says 'I know him' but does not keep his commandments is a liar, and the truth is not in him, but whoever keeps his word, in him truly the love of God is perfected. By this we may know that we are in him: whoever says he abides in him ought to walk in the same way in which he walked."
- 1 John 2:4-6

You only have to read a little bit of any of the Gospels to see that Jesus walked with the sinner, the tax collector, the adulteress, and the terminally ill. And His greatest commandment is to love God and to love others. So if you are still uncertain as to whether you are really supposed to talk to a Fantine or run back into the burning building, just spend some time reading the words of Jesus and the way in which He walked. He was not afraid to keep these uncomfortable, horrific images in his mind because He knew the solution to every pain and sorrow. And we carry that solution, the treasure and blessing that is the Gospel, within us as His redeemed people. Let us not be afraid to walk as he walked.

Reflections on Joshua

Christmas break has just ended. The curtain has closed on days filled with movie marathons and long morning talks with family over multiple cups of coffee. I sit here at 5pm in my pajama pants, clinging to these last moments of relaxation and carelessness. I feel anything but careless, though, as I look ahead to the coming months. My soul yearns to be in step with the Lord. My theme verse this past month has been "Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go." (Joshua 1:9)

I entered Christmas break in a flurry of rushed goodbyes and a head full of cold medicine, attempting to process a semester filled to the brim with people, parties, work, and all the things that fill the crevices of our lives. I arrived in Colorado, the land of mountains and cold, cautiously breathing out my fears and dreams to the Creator of the beauty around me. And His response was clear as day, "Be strong. Be courageous. But you can only do so if you are confident that I am with you wherever you go." I had been sitting in the book of Joshua for a while. Sometimes a piece of Scripture just fits in my life in a way so that I cannot let it go until God propels me forward to a new promise or lesson in His Word.

It was right after my grandfather's passing over Thanksgiving that I began reading Joshua. I was kind of shocked by the first verse - "After the death of Moses the servant of the Lord, the Lord said to Joshua the son of Nun, Moses' assistant, 'Moses my servant is dead. Now therefore arise, go over this Jordan, you and all this people, into the land that I am giving to them, to the people of Israel."
Having recently experienced a death and feeling the weight of a grief that pins you to the ground, I can imagine how Joshua might have responded to God in his grief over the death of Moses. You see everyone around you moving about, but you feel a loyalty to the one you have lost that life must not go on without them. You must pause there in the place of grief and remembrance for longer than people will let you. And yet, God, the comforter, the compassionate one commands Joshua very matter-of-factly, "Moses is dead. Now therefore arise." He is telling Joshua to move. If Joshua felt anything of what I was feeling after my grandfather's death, I know that the last thing he wanted to do was move, and particularly move into the frightening, unknown territory of conquering a foreign land. While in my heart I grumbled against God for His seeming insensitivity to my sorrow, I knew he was being, not insensitive, but more in tune to my spiritual needs in this time.

A few days later, I read further in Joshua, where God tells him, "Today I will begin to exalt you in the sight of all Israel that they may know that, as I was with Moses, so I will be with you." (Joshua 3:7) And then, after he successfully leads the people across the Jordan, trusting God's promise that he would make a way by parting the waters, Scripture says that, "On that day the Lord exalted Joshua in the sight of all Israel, and they stood in awe of him just as they had stood in awe of Moses, all the days of his life." (Joshua 4:14). These verses drew my attention away from the losing of someone through death to the losing of someone's leadership. I have already experienced a season in which a close mentor and leader left me, and I was expected to take over leadership in an area in which I did not feel competent. God was faithful to raise me up in the eyes of those I was leading, not by my own strength or charisma (of which I have very little), but by the expressions of His power in my life. What struck me in these verses is the beautiful combination of commands, promises, and the fulfillment of promises. God was asking a lot of Joshua, but He was promising His presence through the seemingly impossible journey ahead of him. God had stripped away a friend, leader, and rock in Joshua's life and had called him to fill this immense gap with his own small, grieving self. But, to show the people that Joshua was the proper leader, God worked miraculously through Joshua. All He asked of him was that he believe in God's ability to prepare the way and then step forward in that faith.

Oh that I would be so faithful even in the midst of grief and even when I do not see myself as a leader or whoever it is that God has called me to be. I think that grief and a new step forward often go hand in hand. Whenever we move forward into a new challenge or phase of life, we are usually leaving behind something that was dear to us. Even if nothing we leave behind is dear to us, we may grieve the comfort of the familiar, the predictable, and the easy, for rarely is a new home/step in life/role at once easy to adjust to. Praise the Lord that He prepares us, sanctifies us, and heals us for the "Arise, go" moments.

After the people cross the Jordan and they are all circumcised, Scripture says, "They remained in their places in the camp until they were healed. And the Lord said to Joshua, 'Today I have rolled away the reproach of Egypt from you.'" (Joshua 5:8-9) I'm not an Old Testament scholar so I may be interpreting this passage incorrectly, but I see God making use of times of stillness to refine and heal His people. I look back on times when I have been kept in one place (spiritually, emotionally, physically,...) for longer than I wanted to be, and I see God rolling away the reproach of my former slavery to sin and circumcising my heart (Col. 2:11-12). Sometimes we want to shrink back in fear of moving forward while other times we want to rush through a period of slowness and healing because it hurts.

I have referred to this verse in a past blog, and I will mention it again here - "Let us know; let us press on to know the Lord." (Hosea 6:3) This is the goal and the hope whether we remain in the desert or are called forth to a new land - to know the Lord. He promises His presence, and in that presence are thousands of other promises pertaining to His character. If we are afraid, then we forget who He is, that He is love and that "Perfect love casts out fear." (1 John 4:18)