Monday, August 1, 2016

A Confession, a God who Won't Be Mocked, and a Prayer

I care too much about what people think.  My mercy makes me mute, often choosing silence over what needs to be said.  I live in fear of offending.  It is a spirit that longs to please man which quickly becomes sin if I'm refusing to please God in the process.  There are things that need to be said.  The church has gone silent for so long that the light has almost been snuffed out.

This sin--this pride--of caring about man's opinions--this fear of rejection of man after speaking and writing TRUTH--this sin:  CARVE it out, Lord, and throw it into the deepest of seas, never to be found again.

I can be merciful without worrying about offending.  Perhaps offending is the mercy if it opens people's eyes to the truth. 

I only want to speak God's words and write whatever He lays on my heart.  I want to do it with abandon and freedom.  Lord, give me grace to do that.  Nothing more and nothing less.

This is what I know and have known for a solid year, but the feelings get stronger and stronger.  Our nation will be shattered like a broken glass bowl.  Fragments everywhere and destruction sudden.  I'd like to think that we could be put back together again, but I keep reading that our wounds are too grievous.  (See Jeremiah 14 and 30 as well as Nahum 3.)

Our judgment is certain and irrevocable.  Yes, repentance would prevent it, but there is no repentance in the land.  The plunge into darkness has only increased.  The platform for the democratic party is to allow abortions to be paid for with tax dollars.  Funding has already been going to Planned Parenthood, but this idea cuts even deeper.  It makes me bleed out.  Is it slavery when my personal funds go against my will to fund the killing of your artwork, your poem, your dream?  It undoes me.  I rage inside and know I am only broken because it breaks God's heart.

Back in January, I had a short dream.  The oven was open and mounds of newborn babies were inside, spilling out onto the open door.  Every single baby was ashen, a hue of blue that only speaks of life robbed early.  They were piled on top of one another, the oven either the product of their demise or the cheap burial site. I wish I could say it was just a nightmare, but it is reality for God's creation.  Every. Single. Day.

Jesus Christ is not just a gentle and meek lamb.  He is a roaring lion.  In preaching of His mercy, we have abandoned his justice.  If and when He steps down in furious rage, we really shouldn't be caught off guard by that.  If someone had taken my baby, cut it up into parts, and sold it to the highest bidder...well, there are no words for what might follow.

He is a longsuffering and good and patient and loving God.  But, He won't overlook sin forever.  He absolutely will not be mocked.

I rest in this truth:  God will not punish the righteous along with the wicked.  He will gloriously display His mercy as He rescues the Godly from destruction.  Just like He did for the Israelites as they dwelt in the safety of Goshen.  Just as He did for Noah as they were preserved on a pitch-painted wooden boat.  Just as He did for Lot before His judgment rained down.

The blood of Jesus is our everything.  Oh, God, praise You for the blood that allows the wrath of God to pass over us!

We are your Beloved.  Replenish our languishing souls.  Oh, how we long to trace our fingers against your perfect face, Jesus.

Make me like Enoch...that my one testimony is that I pleased God.  Not man.  Just God.

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