55. Happiness

“Sitting on the porch where it’s cold but sunny”—these words came to mind as I sat down with a snack today on the steps of the back deck. The temperature was hovering around zero, but the pale November sunlight was lovely and the air was still. The words that came to mind were from a short poem I wrote in November 50 years ago. I was 20 years old. This was almost four years before I met the Lord and a decade before I met my dear husband. I had dropped out of university after two years, confused and frightened by life, and had retreated alone to a cabin on a lake. I had decided to become a hermit.

The snack I was eating on the porch of my cabin so many years ago was toast and honey, made with my own whole-wheat bread, along with a steaming mug of tea. As I remembered that day, I thought of something: Over the years that followed, I gradually became unable to partake of anything in that snack. I became intolerant of caffeine, so black tea (not to mention coffee) was blacklisted. I had loved orange pekoe with honey and milk, but besides the caffeine, I began to have problems with dairy as well. I decided I must be lactose-intolerant.

Then anything made with flour began to bother me, so I surmised that I was gluten-intolerant. In fact, I was reacting to yeast also, so toast was “toast,” as was any kind of bread. Then I began to find that anything sweet was a problem: I could no longer eat or drink anything containing sugar. Honey was just as bad. Ten years ago today, I could not have eaten or drunk any part of that snack, and I had come to believe that this was the way it would be for the rest of my life. Realizing this as I sat there today in the chilly sunshine, I was suddenly washed in a wave of gratitude for what God has done: He gradually taught me what had gone wrong with my health and how to restore it. Everything in that snack is now “back on the table.”

Here is the little poem I wrote that day, enjoying my snack in the solitude and safety of my hermitage.

Happiness—so simple it’s almost funny

Frost-nipped toes and a nose slightly runny

Sitting on the porch where it’s cold but sunny

Drinking tea and eating whole-wheat toast with honey

54. But That’s Okay

Last week, Greg and I took a two-day holiday in the camper and drove three hours to the tiny arts community of Rosebud to take in a live theatre production. As I always do now, I had asked the Lord as I packed exactly what supplements I needed to take along to continue my healing journey and to settle any symptoms that might arise. He said there were just a couple of things I would need, along with my masala tea.

Generally, “masala” is an Indian word for spice blend; tea masala specifically is a mix you put in your tea. The spices are packed with various kinds of antioxidants, all of which neutralize toxins in the bloodstream. Since I began drinking it a year ago, I don’t think I’ve missed a day. First thing in the morning, with honey and organic cream, it is an absolute delight, and it quickly dispels the uncomfortable symptoms I still often wake up with. It has greatly reduced my need for detox supplements.

That first morning of our little holiday, I woke up in the early chill with a headache. Masala tea would straighten it right out. I got up, put on the kettle, and got out my little bag of teas and accessories. What a shock I got when I found that I had forgotten to put in my tiny jar of masala. The first emotion was fear: What will happen without an antidote to neutralize the continual stream of toxins? The second emotion was frustration: We finally have a chance to get away together and I’m going to spend the whole time feeling horrible.

From the first moments of realization of my oversight and the accompanying negative emotions, I could hear God trying to get through: “I am still here. I can help you. I AM what you need.”

It couldn’t be that easy. I had some heavy emotions that wanted my full attention. I felt completely entangled in their grip. I didn’t even know if I wanted to get free. The nebulous fear was shaping into an anxious self-concern; the frustration was growing into anger. Still God was trying to gently draw me: “Turn to ME.”

With my will, I determinedly rose above my mind and emotions. I willed my body to kneel on the cold floor, and I put my face in my hands on the bench in front of me. I began to whisper to Jesus. “Help me, Lord. Help me, Lord.” Slowly the grace of God began to trickle into me, and slowly the fear and frustration seeped out. It was like a spiritual transfusion. I stayed there whispering quietly until I found myself strengthened by sustenance from another realm.

In due course, we arrived at the gourmet luncheon that preceded the afternoon show. It was a wonderful time, and I was free to enjoy it because I was trusting God. The emcee mentioned in his greeting that they had a new coffee bar that the audience might want to check out after the show, and of course that was Greg’s first priority once the curtain calls were done.

I asked one of the girls behind the counter if they had any chai tea, and if so, were the ingredients listed? What we call chai tea in this country is basically a masala tea. But all too often, the contents are adulterated with “natural flavours.” Sure enough, that’s what I found when I read the package.

“Thanks anyway,” I said to the girl, explaining why it wouldn’t work for me.

“I think we have a few bags from some other brands somewhere,” she said. She went off to look. Meanwhile I retreated to a side counter to get out of the way. A staff member had left a notebook lying there, and I was so struck with the meme on the cover that I snapped a photo.

“Things are going exactly as I planned ...” (my words: “I’d thought I had everything organized”)

“but not really ...” (my words: “but things had gone sideways”)

“but that’s okay” (my words: “God, however, had not been caught off-guard”)

The girl came back and handed me two different teas. The first one had a typical line-up of spices and then the almost inevitable “natural flavours.” No big surprise. Pure teas are now few and far between.

I checked the other, the “Tazo” brand: “black teas, ginger, cinnamon, black pepper, cardamom, cloves, star anise.” All “organically grown.” And no “natural” flavours added. I was exceedingly blessed by the kind provision of God. 

The girl sold me two tea bags, and I slipped out to our camper nearby on the street. I brewed up one bag, adding honey and organic cream. The other bag would be most welcome tomorrow morning.

Things are going exactly as I planned
(But not really)
(But that’s okay)

It’s “okay” because, as the poet Browning said, “God’s in His heaven; all’s right with the world.” Or as Jesus said, “In this world you will have trouble [anything from a relatively minor inconvenience to a life-and-death situation], but cheer up; don’t be afraid, for I have overcome the world. Therefore you can overcome the world as well, if you stick close to Me and do what I say.”

53. You Owe Me

On Sunday morning at church, I got up and gave a word. Now I want to expand upon it.

In essence, this is what I said:

I want to share something in the vein of how Jesus told us, “Give, expecting nothing in return.” We often think of this in terms of money, but it’s so much more than that. It’s our time, it’s our love, and God has called us to pour ourselves out, keeping no record of the things we have done for other people.

Sometimes we give because we still think that somehow “being good” is helping to “buy our ticket.” But the real heart of it is, we are to give, including “give, expecting nothing in return,” because that is the heart of God.

The Word says, “Be imitators of God as dear children (Ephesians 5:1). When I read that, I think of a small boy and his father. Some little boys, they absolutely idolizes their daddy. They look up at him like he can do no wrong, and they say, “Dad, when I grow up, I just want to be like you.” And that’s the heart that God wants to nurture in us—and teach us to nurture in ourselves: “God, I want to be just like You.”

When we give, expecting nothing in return, the resource we are to draw from is the Lord Himself, because if we draw from ourselves, we will run dry very quickly. But if we draw from God, not only is it an endless supply, it is a powerful supply that changes things around us.

Yesterday I opened up Jonathan Heppner’s poetry book, where light meets darkness. The thing that really struck me this time were not Jonathan’s words but those of a poet he was quoting, the great Persian poet Hafiz. This is what the quote said: “Even after all this time, the sun never says to the earth, ‘You owe me.’ Look what happens with a love like that. It lights the whole sky.”

This is where I left off in my sharing on Sunday, but I realize in retrospect that it’s not easy to pass on this personal revelation without further explanation. To fill in the blanks: I was in a place of feeling drained from giving, and my own resources seemed well-near depleted. I needed to refresh my connection to a bigger source. The reason that the sun can keep on giving its warmth and energy is that it is, in a sense, self-existent: its power comes from within itself, and although one day it will burn out, for now it is a picture of God.

When I read those words about the sun, a great sense of the presence of God enveloped me, bringing tears and washing away fatigue and self-centredness. I saw once again that as long as we truly give “in Jesus’s name” and all that that really means (and we don’t know the half of it!), the power of God will rest upon us in ever-increasing measure. We may not “light the whole sky,” but we will bring the glory of God into our daily lives, impacting those around us in miraculous ways.

“Arise and shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon you …and his glory shall be seen upon you.” (Isaiah 60:1-2)

 

 

52. Learning to Give

A few weeks ago, Greg asked me if I we should give a certain woman a financial gift. We had known this couple for many years, he longer than I, both of them dedicated Jesus-lovers living lives of selfless service in ministry. The husband passed away several years ago. We never see this woman, as she lives some distance away. And now out of the blue, Greg was asking me if I thought we should give her some money.

I was non-committal. “I don’t know,” I said. Greg is very quick to give; I, not so much. I want to be as generous as he is (and, as he would to say, “because God is,”) but I always want to be sure it’s God’s idea and not just some careless and magnanimous impulse of sanctified flesh. Greg always assures me in these cases that even if it wasn’t God’s idea, it’s always good to be “imitators of God” (Ephesians 5:1) and that such an act still brings blessing into our lives. 

The amount we were talking about was $1000. Although I believe that details about our giving should usually be kept quiet, it seems more important here to give the context: it was not just spare change on the table here. 

I suppose I feel (when I am leaning on my own understanding) that if I don’t provide some “balance” here (by resisting Greg a little), then we might eventually run out of money. We are supposed to be trying to save for retirement (at least I usually feel this way), and we’ve been a little late getting started. My quiet angst regarding this matter really comes down to a concern of lack, fear of not having enough. But this is a carnal fear, and it reveals a lack of understanding and trust in who God is and the kind of life He is inviting us into. 

I resolved to honestly ask God if this was what He wanted us to do, still while not encouraging my husband in any way so that I would not feel pressured while I went through the process of sorting it out with God.

In Dallas Willard’s book Life Without Lack, the author begins the preface with a scripture that impacted me so deeply, I didn’t move any further forward in the book for several weeks. Whenever I opened the book, I just read that scripture again and then sat there and thought about it. 

Here it is: “God is able to make all grace abound towards you, that you, always having all sufficiency in all things, may have an abundance for every good work” (2 Corinthians 9:8). What kept me fascinated by this portrayal of God’s generosity was the excessive superlatives throughout: “God is able to make all grace abound towards you, that you, always having all sufficiency in all things, may have an abundance for every good work.” It certainly seems to say that when we trust God, there will always be enough to help others and still have plenty left over. 

*  *  *  *  *

In time, I came to believe that giving this money away was something God wanted us to do. Then as I got up early one morning, I felt God suggesting that if I had pretty much arrived at this decision, it was time to follow through, tell Greg of my conviction, and give the gift. So I asked God to really settle my heart in my time with Him this morning and confirm once again that He was with me in my thoughts about this.

As I prepared to get settled on the couch with God, a thought occurred to me out of the blue: That scripture quoted at the beginning of Dallas Willard’s Life Without Lack—I should look that up so I can reread it and think on it awhile. But by the time I was set in my place, I had forgotten all about it. I opened up the book I was currently reading, another one by Willard, called The Spirit of the Disciplines. 

He was talking about the discipline of sacrifice.

The discipline of sacrifice is one in which we forsake the security of meeting our needs with what is in our hands. It is total abandonment to God, a stepping into the darkened abyss in the faith and hope that God will bear us up....

The cautious faith that never saws off the limb on which it is sitting never learns that unattached limbs may find strange, unaccountable ways of not falling. (Page 175)

(Please do not just blow by that last sentence. Stop, re-read it, and think about what it is saying: Those who are timid in their faith, underdeveloped in their trust of God, will not and cannot risk the things in which they are really placing their confidence. They cling to the security of what they have and miss out on the true riches, the glory of seeing God make provision in ways that make no earthly sense. That’s the picture of sitting on a branch, sawing it off, and marvelling at the inexplicable phenomenon of the branch still supporting your full weight. The wealth that you feared you might bankrupt through your generosity will still be there—and even be increased supernaturally. That’s the result of applied faith.)

As I read on, Dallas recounted how as a young man in graduate school, he and his wife, after paying all the bills at the beginning of the month, decided to give their remaining money away secretly, telling no one. A week later they found a $20 bill attached to the steering wheel of their car. 

I set the book aside for a moment. I was struggling to give away a thousand dollars, asking God to speak to me about it. Here was an example of an anonymous gift, but did the degree of sacrifice really compare? What year might that have been, I wondered, given Dallas’s age when he passed away in 2013? What might the price of hamburger have been? Fifty cents a pound? I was trying to get an idea of what the relative value of that gift would be today. 

As I opened the book again and read the next sentence, I felt the nearness of God, because He and Dallas immediately answered my question:

 

“With hamburger at thirty-seven cents a pound, we lived like royalty until the next month, convinced we were enjoying the provisions of the King.” Given the unadulterated quality of hamburger back then, a pound of the same-quality product now would be over seven dollars. That $20 bill in today’s currency would be a $400 gift. This excerpt was right up my alley today. I closed my eyes, teary with gratitude, and marveled at God’s synchronicity. 

Then I opened my Amplified Bible to where I had been reading in 2 Corinthians and picked up at the ninth chapter. I came to a verse that included the words “all grace,” and that suddenly made me remember about the quote I had meant to look up a little earlier. I opened Life Without Lack and found the verse at the beginning of the preface. Again I was amazed: it was the same one as I had just read in the Amplified. I just hadn’t recognized it because of the difference in translations. 

I picked my Bible back up to reread it in the Amplified, but first I went back to the beginning of the chapter to get the full context. I found various phrases popping out at me: 

Now about the offering that is [to be made] for the saints (God’s people…) ... that is why I thought it necessary to … make arrangements in advance for this bountiful, promised gift of yours, so that it may be ready, not as an extortion [wrung out of you] but as a generous and willing gift. (v. 1, 5)

[Remember] this: he who sows sparingly and grudgingly will also reap sparingly and grudgingly, and he who sows generously [that blessings may come to someone] will also reap generously and with blessings. (v. 6)

Let each one [give] as he has made up his own mind and purposed in his heart, not reluctantly or sorrowfully or under compulsion, for God loves (He takes pleasure in, prizes above other things, and is unwilling to abandon or to do without) a cheerful (joyous, “prompt to do it”) giver [whose heart is in his giving]. (v. 7)

Now here is that key verse:

And God is able to make all grace (every favor and earthly blessing) come to you in abundance, so that you may always and under all circumstances and whatever the need be self-sufficient [possessing enough to require no aid or support and furnished in abundance for every good work and charitable donation]. (v. 8)

I was now thoroughly convinced that God wanted us to give this gift. Even as I settled my heart in this acknowledgment, the Lord reminded me (with v. 7): it was important to be “prompt to do it.” The best thing, I felt Him say in my heart, would be to go upstairs and tell your husband of the decision you’ve made. That way, you won’t put it off or even possibly change your mind. 

So that was what I did. Then I described to Greg the process I had just been through, and we talked about the powerful principles involved. Greg summed up (and this is a simple statement but profound): “When we give freely, it’s because we trust our Source.” 

Here is how the discussion wrapped up: It’s a way of life. It’s not just a matter of giving gifts here and there when we decide we should, but giving freely, knowing that we have freely received. If we trust our Source and live in Him, we have an abundance and our cup overflows. We are blessed, and others are blessed, and the love of God is “shed abroad“ (Romans 5:5, KJV): by definition of various online dictionaries, His love is given off, discharged widely beyond its usual limits, expanding as it goes, from God to us and from us to others.

51. The Veil

 It was September of 2019, at our annual Awakening conference. I slipped into the prayer room to catch the last few minutes of intercession before the evening service. Various ones were praying for God to move mightily in our midst, asking for His manifest presence and intimate involvement. Shortly before it wrapped up, Vinjelu Muyaba, then pastor of Lighthouse Community Church, prayed that God would “tear away the veil.” 

The mention of “the veil” caused a lot of thoughts to go through my head, lickety-split: various things read in the Bible and heard from the pulpit and gleaned from various books over the years. The first thought was of how the veil in the temple, which separated the Outer Court and the Holy Place from the Holy of Holies and behind which no one could enter (except for the high priest, and that only once a year), was torn in two as Jesus breathed His last breath on the Cross.

The veil was a curtain of heavy brocade 30 feet high, a barrier that separated sinful man from a holy God. The fact that it was torn from “top to bottom” (Matthew 27:50-51; Mark 15:38) indicates that it was God Himself who tore it. Of course, no human would or could tear it anyway, as it was so holy—and so heavy. Not something a man or even a number of men could tear with their hands. The report that this veil was suddenly rent from top to bottom at the moment of Jesus’ death signifies that the way into the Holy of Holies, the very presence of God, had been opened up for all time to all people, by the death of Jesus. For this reason, the writer of Hebrews can invite us to “come boldly to the throne of grace” in our time of need (4:16), because God has torn open the veil.

Vinjelu’s prayer reminded me that the way into God’s presence is wide open.

My second thought of the veil was of Moses (Exodus 34:29–35), how when he came down from Mount Sinai after spending time with God and receiving the Ten Commandments, his face was so bright with the glory of the Lord that he had to wear a veil to tone it down. His fellow Israelites were afraid of the dazzling glory on his countenance and could not bear to look at him. Whenever he went into the tabernacle to speak with the Lord, he would remove the veil, but he always put it back on again when he was out and about among the rest of the people.

 Later on, as recorded in 2 Corinthians 3:13, NIV, we are told that Moses “would put a veil over his face to prevent the Israelites from seeing the end of what was passing away.” Some translations bring out the idea that as time passed, Moses tried to disguise the fact that the glory was fading away. Others bring it across more as two separate facts: Moses continued to wear the veil, and the glory slowly faded. The important point is that it was always destined to come to an end--to make a way for something new. The brightness on Moses’ face after receiving the law was symbolic (as well as a direct reflection) of the glory of that covenant, God coming down to His people and making an arrangement with them. But glorious though the dispensation of the covenant was—God delivering it amid terrible thundering and lightning and a fearsome voice that shook the very earth, that covenant was never meant to last forever. It ultimately passed away when Christ came and established the new one.

The old covenant brought condemnation and death, because it set a standard none of us could keep and told us that if we failed on even one point, we were guilty of transgressing the whole law (Deuteronomy 27:26; Galatians 3:10; James 2:10). The new covenant in Christ brought peace and right-standing with God; it brought a relationship where Christ refers to Himself as the Bridegroom and to us as His Bride. Listen to this comparison (2 Corinthians 3:7-11, NIV) between the two covenants and let it bring an appreciation for what we have been given in Christ.

 Now if the ministry that brought death, which was engraved in letters on stone, came with glory, so that the Israelites could not look steadily at the face of Moses because of its glory, transitory though it was, will not the ministry of the Spirit be even more glorious? If the ministry that brought condemnation was glorious, how much more glorious is the ministry that brings righteousness! For what was glorious has no glory now in comparison with the surpassing glory. And if what was transitory came with glory, how much greater is the glory of that which lasts!

In other words, how much greater than the Ten Commandments is the glory of the new covenant in Christ, which lasts forever! Let’s look at the same passage in The Message paraphrase:

The Government of Death, its constitution chiseled on stone tablets, had a dazzling inaugural. Moses’ face as he delivered the tablets was so bright that day (even though it would fade soon enough) that the people of Israel could no more look right at him than stare into the sun. How much more dazzling, then, the Government of Living Spirit? If the Government of Condemnation was impressive, how about this Government of Affirmation? Bright as that old government was, it would look downright dull alongside this new one. If that makeshift arrangement impressed us, how much more this brightly shining government installed for eternity?

 Matthew Henry, in his commentary of almost 300 years ago, says this:

 The gospel therefore so much exceeds in glory that in a manner it eclipses the glory of the legal dispensation. As the shining of a burning lamp is lost, or not regarded, when the sun arises and goes forth in his strength; so there was no glory in the Old Testament, in comparison with that of the New.

This talk of a burning lamp in comparison to the sun brings to mind a vivid memory. When I cooked in a cow-camp many years ago and rolled out of bed every morning several hours before the dawn, I would pump up the two Coleman lanterns and light them. They threw a dazzling glare in the pitch-dark cookhouse. But a couple of hours later, after the cowboys were fed and gone for the day, dawn slowly came and the light in my cookhouse seemed to grow dimmer, in comparison to the sky. I wrote in my journal one morning as sunshine burst over the horizon: “The sun has stolen the light from the Coleman lanterns, although they still hiss and burn. Time to turn them off....”

That’s what the Gospel does to the Law: it vastly outshines what once seemed dazzlingly bright, and it makes it obsolete. But though it shines more brightly, we do not need a veil to shield ourselves from it.

There are, however, a couple of ways in which the gospel can be veiled. Here is one way:

 If the Good News we preach is hidden behind a veil, it is hidden only from people who are perishing. Satan, who is the god of this world, has blinded the minds of those who don’t believe. They are unable to see the glorious light of the Good News. They don’t understand this message about the glory of Christ… (2 Corinthians 4:3-4, NLT).

 The Apostle Paul compared these people of his day to the Israelites of old, whose hearts and minds were hardened: 

…[T]o this day whenever the old covenant is being read, the same veil covers their minds so they cannot understand the truth. And this veil can be removed only by believing in the Christ. Yes, even today when they read Moses’ writings, their hearts are covered with that veil, and they do not understand. But whenever someone turns to the Lord, the veil is taken away. (2 Corinthians 3:14-16)

 God will not remove this veil until somehow, some way, our hearts are softened, because He knows it would only increase our condemnation if we clearly saw the truth but were still not yet ready to embrace it. 

Scripture also speaks of the veil representing Christ’s body, which was torn for us that we might gain entrance into the presence of God. It is the writer of Hebrews who assures us that we can enter confidently into the Holy of Holies, the very presence of God, “by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way…, through the veil, that is, His flesh…” (Hebrews 10:20, NKJV). This is how Matthew Henry explains it:

It is a way that Christ has consecrated for us through the veil, that is, his flesh. The veil in the tabernacle and temple signified the body of Christ; when he died, the veil of the temple was rent in sunder, and this was at the time of the evening sacrifice, and gave the people a surprising view into the holy of holies, which they never had before.

By extension, I believe the veil represents our flesh as well. Our old nature must be torn, “crucified with Christ” (Romans 6:3-11; Galatians 2:20), for us to realize full access to God. We will only experience the reality of the Kingdom of God here on earth to the degree that we are willing to die to ourselves. This will also allow us to be an open doorway to Christ for the world. They will look right through us and see Jesus. Lord, tear away the veil! 

All these thoughts, or at least the seeds of these thoughts, flashed through my mind in a matter of seconds in that pre-service prayer meeting when Pastor Vinj asked God to tear away the veil from our hearts. But then another thought dropped into my head, directly from God Himself, and it riveted me to my chair even as others filed out for the service. I caught Vinj’s eye and beckoned to him. After we exchanged a greeting, I told him I wanted to share with him what God had just shown me about what he had prayed. As I spoke the words to Vinj, I felt a rush of power flush my arms, and the hair on them prickled and stood up. It seemed to have the same effect on Vinj, because he said “Whoa!” and rubbed his arms briskly. What I spoke was this: “When God tears away the veil, it means the Bridegroom is getting ready to kiss the Bride.”

*   *   *   *   *

Our son Ben and his wife Margaret, on their wedding day. 

By: the furnace room STUDIO

 

The Womb of the Morning

A week ago, early in the morning as I was preparing to settle in with God for some quiet time, I had a thought. It was to do with me, internally, and the time of day, externally. It was the beginning of the day, both ways. 

 

Inside, I was anticipating my time with the Lord as well as the unfolding of my day. Outside, there was just a glow on the horizon, the promise of a new day coming, full of life and unknown possibilities. I had this thought, and I spoke it aloud: “The womb of the morning.” I don’t think I had ever heard such a thought expressed. I repeated it several times, thinking of the beauty and mystery it suggested. 

 

I picked up my bowl of porridge and goblet of kombucha and moved into the east-facing front room. The glow on the horizon was a small arch of gold, transitioning into a larger turquoise arch, which deepened in turn gradually into dark blue-black. Through that arch, the new day would be ushered in. 

 

It was with reverence that I quietly took my place on the couch. There was a holy hush I didn’t want to disturb. And my mind was pregnant with images and inspirations springing from that thought I’d had. I opened my Bible and spent some time with God.

 

Two days later, as I settled into that spot again, thinking once more of that powerful phrase, the Lord spoke to my heart: “Aren’t you going to kneel down for a few minutes first?” 

 

This is a suggestion that Dallas Willard makes in his writings, to spend a little time on one’s knees at the beginning of a visit with God. I often do this but hadn’t this morning. Now I was already very comfortable on the couch, but “prompt obedience” is something the Lord has been highlighting to me lately. 

 

I responded, “Yes sir!” and then knelt at the end of the couch, laying my Amplified Classic on the arm. Opening where I’d left off in 1 Corinthians, I began to read. But it didn’t seem the right thing to read at that moment. I should read, aloud, in Psalms, I thought. Lots of good words of prayer and devotion and praise in there. I cut the volume open approximately where I knew that particular book would be and found myself at Psalm 110. I began to read aloud at the first verse. The third verse stopped me short.

 

“Your people will offer themselves willingly in the day of Your power, in the beauty of holiness and in holy array out of the womb of the morning ....”

 

I was astonished. I hadn’t known that phrase was in the Bible. Taking in the wonder of this “coincidence” as another glorious day dawned around me, I was completely distracted from the usual context of my quiet time. Still on my knees, I waited, quietly thanking God, sometimes wordlessly, from an overflowing heart. 

 After a while, I continued on reading, still aloud, bits and pieces of the next few Psalms. All at once I found myself repeating words that were very familiar. It was Psalm 116. I had written a song 40 years earlier, taken directly from the first nine verses in the King James Version. Speaking the words aloud was a lovely way to bask in the gratitude of God’s goodness, especially thinking back to what these verses meant to me when I put them to music so many years ago.

 

I love the Lord because he hath heard my voice 

and my supplications. 

Because he hath inclined his ear unto me, 

therefore will I call upon him as long as I live. 

 

The sorrows of death compassed me, 

and the pains of hell got hold on me: 

I found trouble and sorrow. 

 

Then called I upon the name of the Lord; 

Lord , I beseech thee, deliver my soul. 

Gracious is the Lord, and righteous; 

yea, our God is merciful. 

The Lord preserveth the simple: 

I was brought low, and he helped me. 

Return unto thy rest, O my soul; 

for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee. 

 

For He hast delivered my soul from death, 

mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling. 

I will walk before the Lord 

in the land of the living.

 

 On a whim, I got out my guitar—something I rarely do anymore, and I sang that beautiful old song, several times. From there I sang another I had written, which begins with the first verse of Psalm 40 and then draws phrases from all over the Bible. 

 

And then suddenly I began to sing a new song called “In the Womb of the Morning,” the first song I’ve written in eleven years. 

 

In the womb of the morning

Lord, You are here

And I’m sitting, desiring

For Your voice to hear

The words of Your mouth

Oh, they sustain and nourish me

So I’m waiting in anticipation 

For You speak to me

 

In the womb of the morning

The sun’s getting ready to rise

And its rays will go out like the word of God

Resonating through the skies

It’s a picture of You, Lord

Presiding over all

Bringing warmth and comfort

Restoring us when we fall

 

The day may stretch ahead

With challenges I dread

But everything I fear

You defeat when You are near, yes!

In the womb of the morning

Lord, You are here

 

In the womb of the morning 

You are bringing forth the day

And I get on my knees and bow my heart

And submit to you my way

All my troubles and worries

At Your feet I lay

Lord, You are the ruler of my life

And I like it that way

 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Part 2

 

Just a couple of weeks after having this experience, something else happened that enlarged my understanding of it. Again I had come downstairs to have my quiet time. I had barely got settled on the couch in the front room when I heard my husband getting up. I had slept a little later than usual, so this was not surprising. But I felt myself bracing internally for the inevitable noises and interruptions. I feared that soon there wouldn’t be much room to think and listen. 

 

Rachel was staying with us for a few days, and now I heard her getting up as well. Before long, both she and her dad were in the kitchen, making coffee, talking and laughing. It’s not that they were being unusually loud; it was just that in this special, holy time of the day when I had thought to be strengthening my soul in God’s presence, it was complete abrasive.  

 

The “womb of the morning” was shredded. It could not support and nurture life. It could not gestate the life of the Son of God in me. And that was when I realized something: the walls of that Womb are comprised of silence and solitude.

 

I am sorry for the violent image, but when a womb is slashed open, it cannot sustain life. All that was taking shape there spills out and is lost. It is not irretrievable; if one acts quickly and decisively, that space can be be restored. Fragments of thoughts can be recovered and rooted back in.

 

But in addition to nurturing the Life of God in me, I have the God-given responsibility and privilege of nurturing my husband and daughter and my relationship with them. I would go out into the kitchen and join them, and I would pick up, a little later, where I left off with God. 

 

It is no coincidence that silence and solitude are two of the foundational spiritual disciplines. They establish a physical and mental place where we can transact with God. And yet silence and solitude have become increasingly alien in this world. Unless we contend for it, we will never have a moment of either. Even when we are silent, our thoughts are not quiet. Even when we are alone, we are not alone. 

 

Our phones are always with us, and we turn to them and fritter our time away with pithy, temporal distractions that will not ultimately enrich our lives in any way. Many of us, if we found ourselves in a womb of silence and solitude, would be so disoriented and uncomfortable that we would leap back out at the first opportunity. We ourselves would be the ones to slash open that nurturing, life-giving sanctuary. 

 

But if we will, little by little, learn to say no to our flesh and its constant demand for stimulation; if we will taste a little of the Lord and see that He is indeed good (Psalm 34:8)—and so cultivate a taste for more; if we will practice a little bit and then a little bit more of being alone and being truly quiet; if we will come to Him early in the day and accustom ourselves to sitting peacefully with Him, we will find that, like the song says, “In the womb of the morning, Lord, You are here.”