SnailGirl

when life disturbs me

when those I love forget me

when harsh truths sting

i feel myself withdrawing

shrinking

like a snail into my shell

away from cold shoulders

and sharp words

away from dismissal

and painful truths

into my safe place.

But is it safe?

In a shell, you’re protected from the world

but an enemy follows you there

and now you’re trapped

alone

friendless

without help

But out there, I cry, help never comes!

I know this!

I remember watching out my window

small

scared

wishing, wishing

hoping so hard for him to come back and rescue me

but he never came.

True.

Out there, people move away

run ahead and leave you behind

dismiss you

Sometimes they look at you but see someone else

someone they think is you

but isn’t you at all.

Sometimes, even though you’re out there

outside your shell

exposed but being brave

they still don’t see you

hurting

tired

scared.

But tucking back

retreating into your shell is a trap

In there, you’re alone with your enemy

where no one can see

where no one can follow

and where help will surely never come.

Hans Christian Anderson’s The Snail And the Rosebush

Around the garden ran a hedge of hazelnut bushes, and beyond it lay fields and meadows with cows and sheep; but in the middle of the garden stood a blooming Rosebush, and under it sat a Snail, who had a lot inside his shell – namely, himself.

“Wait till my time comes,” it said. “I’ll do a great deal more than grow roses; more than bear nuts; or give milk, like cows and the sheep!”

“I expect a great deal from you,” said the Rosebush. “May I dare ask when this is going to happen?”

“I’ll take my time,” said the Snail. “You’re always in such a hurry! That does not arouse expectations!”

Next year the Snail lay in almost the same spot, in the sunshine beneath the Rose Tree, which was budding and bearing roses as fresh and as new as ever. And the Snail crept halfway out of its shell, stretched out its horns and drew them back in again.

“Everything looks just as it did last year. No progress at all; the Rose Tree sticks to its roses, and that’s as far as it gets.”

The summer passed; the autumn came. The Rose Tree still bore buds and roses till the snow fell. The weather became raw and wet, and the Rose Tree bent down toward the ground. The Snail crept into the ground.

Then a new year began, and the roses came out again, and the Snail did, too.

“You’re an old Rosebush now,” the Snail said. “You must hurry up and die, because you’ve given the world all that’s in you. Whether it has meant anything is a question that I haven’t had time to think about, but this much is clear enough – you’ve done nothing at all for your inner development, or you would certainly have produced something else. How can you answer that? You’ll soon be nothing but a stick. Can you understand what I’m saying?”

“You frighten me!” said the Rosebush. “I never thought about that at all.”

“No, you have never taken the trouble to think of anything. Have you ever considered yourself, why you bloomed, and how it happens, why just in that way and in no other?”

“No,” said the Rosebush. “I was just happy to blossom because I couldn’t do anything else. The sun was warm and the air so refreshing. I drank of the clear dew and the strong rain; I breathed, I lived. A power rose in me from out of the earth; a strength came down from up above; I felt an increasing happiness, always new, always great, so I had to blossom over and over again. That was my life; I couldn’t do anything else.”

“You have led a very easy life,” said the Snail.

“Certainly. Everything was given to me,” said the Rosebush. “But still more was granted to you. You’re one of those with a deep, thoughtful nature, one of those highly gifted minds that will astonish the world.”

“I’ve no intention of doing anything of the sort!” said the Snail. “The world means nothing to me. What do I have to do with the world? I have enough to do with myself and within myself.”

“But shouldn’t all of us on earth give the best we have to others and offer whatever is in our power? Yes, I’ve only been able to give roses. But you? You who are so richly gifted – what have you given to the world? What do you intend to give?”

“What have I given? What do I intend to give? I spit at the world. It’s no good! It has nothing to do with me. Keep giving your roses; that’s all you can do! Let the hazel bush bear nuts, let the cows and sheep give milk. They each have their public; but I have mine inside myself. I retire within myself, and there I shall stay. The world means nothing to me.” And so the Snail withdrew into his house and closed up the entrance behind him.

“That’s so sad,” said the Rose Tree. “I can’t creep into myself, no matter how much I want to; I must go on bearing roses. Their petals fall off and are blown away by the wind, although once I saw one of the roses laid in a mother’s hymnbook, and one of my own roses was placed on the breast of a lovely young girl, and another was kissed by a child in the first happiness of life. It did me good; it was a true blessing. Those are my recollections – my life!”

So the Rose Tree bloomed on in innocence, and the Snail loafed in his house – the world meant nothing to him.

And years rolled by.

The Snail had turned to earth in the earth, and the Rose Tree had turned to earth in the earth. Even the rose of memory in the hymnbook was withered, but in the garden new rosebushes bloomed, and new snails crept into their houses and spat at the world, for it meant nothing to them.

Guess What, @SnailGirl: You Can’t Hide From God

Psalm 139: To the choirmaster. A Psalm of David.

O Lord, you have searched me and known me!

You know when I sit down and when I rise up;

 you discern my thoughts from afar.

You search out my path and my lying down

 and are acquainted with all my ways.

Even before a word is on my tongue,

 behold, O Lord, you know it altogether.

You hem me in, behind and before,

 and lay your hand upon me.

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;

 it is high; I cannot attain it.

Where shall I go from your Spirit?

 Or where shall I flee from your presence?

If I ascend to heaven, you are there!

 If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!

If I take the wings of the morning

 and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,

even there your hand shall lead me,

 and your right hand shall hold me.

If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,

 and the light about me be night,”

even the darkness is not dark to you;

 the night is bright as the day,

 for darkness is as light with you.

For you formed my inward parts;

 you knitted me together in my mother’s womb.

I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Wonderful are your works;

 my soul knows it very well.

My frame was not hidden from you,

when I was being made in secret,

 intricately woven in the depths of the earth.

Your eyes saw my unformed substance;

in your book were written, every one of them,

 the days that were formed for me,

 when as yet there was none of them.

How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!

 How vast is the sum of them!

If I would count them, they are more than the sand.

 I awake, and I am still with you.

Oh that you would slay the wicked, O God!

 O men of blood, depart from me!

They speak against you with malicious intent;

 your enemies take your name in vain.

Do I not hate those who hate you, O Lord?

 And do I not loathe those who rise up against you?

I hate them with complete hatred;

 I count them my enemies.

Search me, O God, and know my heart!

 Try me and know my thoughts!

And see if there be any grievous way in me,

 and lead me in the way everlasting!

Let me ask you this, @SnailGirl: Whose love are you seeking?

Whose love do you truly need?

The only love you need is the only love that you can truly count on; a love that never ends, never fades, never waffles, tires, dies, or packs its bags and leaves.

This immeasurable, unimaginable Love, this love you can’t earn or buy or lock in a safe, this love you can’t lose

you already have.

Far From Tempest and Storm

“Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! I would fly away and be at rest. I would flee far away and stay in the desert; I would hurry to my place of shelter, far from the tempest and storm.” -Psalm 55:6-8

What do you think of when you read this passage from Psalms? Does the idea of escape tempt you? Have you ever cried out for relief from life’s storms?

In Wings Like a Dove, Anna faces growing difficulties in her life. Psalm 55:6 is brought to her attention and she ponders it more than once, especially as the difficulties in her life steadily increase.

As Polish Jews in the early 1900s, Anna’s family lived in constant upheaval, so fleeing danger is nothing new to her. The problem is that Anna craves connection and community. While she was often uprooted, at least Anna enjoyed the security of family—until now. As the story begins, she is turned out of her home and must journey across the country alone, a heartache that only intensifies the persecution she faces as a Jew, an immigrant, and an unwed woman with child.

But her journey is temporarily delayed out of necessity, and she quickly falls in love with those who have taken her in. The idea of leaving them is as painful a prospect as leaving her own family, but because of the troubles that follow her, it seems she has no choice.

Psalm 55:6 isn’t tempting Anna to leave her surroundings; it tempts her to escape the negativity that robs her joy.

For Anna, and for the rest of us, we can’t flee trouble any more than we can grow wings and fly. The desire for relief is understandable. But what if there is a purpose in the difficult situations we face? What if we are called to more than simply outlast life’s storms? What if our weakest moment is exactly what God wants to use to show his power, love, mercy, and grace?

What if God is waiting for us to stop fluttering our wings and find joy in knowing that we are in the very place we need to be, for a purpose, for such a time as this?

Quote from Anna:

“If these past months have taught me nothing else, they have taught me that though I am only a seed blowing in the wind, I must still be fruitful wherever I land. I have learned that wherever we find ourselves, we must have the courage to stretch out roots and produce something useful, even in times of difficulty. We must bloom boldly in whatever field our seed has fallen.”

May you find the sweet spot of joy and purpose in the midst of your storm!

-Camille

Inexhaustible Love

Some books cannot be recommended enough. This one is a life-changer I wish I’d read 20 years ago.

“Christians can easily feel that Jesus is perpetually disappointed and frustrated, maybe even close to giving up on them. They know what Christ has done for them―but who is he? How does he feel about his people amid all their sins and failures?

In Matthew 11, Jesus describes himself as “gentle and lowly in heart,” longing for his people to find rest in him. This book reflects on his words, diving deep into Bible passages that speak of Christ’s affections for sinners and encouraging believers as they journey, weary and faltering, toward heaven.”

I’m planning on going back through and adding notes and big fluorescent stripes in this book (I listened to the audible version on a recent road trip and was itching for my highlighter), but meanwhile it appears I was processing the theory of Christ’s patient love back in May when I posted this:

https://camilleeide.wordpress.com/2022/02/12/ridiculously-more-than-enough/

Tales With DeSales Podcast: Story

This just posted and I LOVED chatting with Jayne at Tales With de Sales about the beauty of God’s grace, our need for story and how God weaves his love and grace through our own stories. Check out her podcast library for all manner of intelligent conversations with all manner of authors. Life isn’t easy and story helps us cope, helps lighten our load!

And do check out our interview here!

https://anchor.fm/jaynedesalesgmailcom/episodes/Interview-with-Christian-Fiction-Author-Camille-Eide-e1kehh3

Forgive + Forget

Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.

Colossians 3:13 (NIV)

It took a 40-years-in-the-armpit-of-the-desert sort of situation, a little like my buddy Moses, for me to get a few things straight about myself and my relationship with God. One of those things was God’s view on forgiveness. I often joke that I have a PhD in Learning Stuff the Hard Way, but the truth is, spiritual growth for me has been quite a journey. It took a while to grasp that I have a 100% right standing with God because of Christ, period, and that I can’t add to or take away from that. I confess it’s still a bit mind boggling.

Complete forgiveness is an amazing, mind-blowing thing. A priceless, undeserved gift.

And yet . . . I still struggle with letting go of the hurtful or offensive things that others do. Offensive people are everywhere, aren’t they? (Or is it just me?) We live in a world of broken, rude, imperfect people who take cuts and accuse and backstab and offend. And some of us are gifted at keeping track of offense while conveniently forgetting our own flaws. But we are all guilty. ALL of us. NO one is perfect (nor should we expect anyone to be).

Colossians 3:13 in the NLT says, “Make allowance for each other’s faults, and forgive anyone who offends you. Remember, the Lord forgave you, so you must forgive others.”

So even though hurt happens regularly, the Christian is told repeatedly in scripture to forgive. And it’s a command, not a suggestion, and not open to interpretation. Not only are we commanded to forgive, but we are to forgive as God forgave us. How does God forgive? Completely. Without hesitation, condition, or holding it over us. He not only forgives our sins and offenses, he also forgets them. File deleted, forever.

Jesus knows how warped our perspectives are and has a LOT to say about it, like the parable of the servant who was forgiven an astronomical debt and then beat up a guy who owed him 5 bucks (Matt 18). Or about how we’re quick to point out the speck in our brother’s eye and ignore the log sticking out of ours (Matt 7). I don’t think his use of hyperbole there was a coincidence. I think that was to help point out how phenomenally flawed and ridiculous our hypocrisy is.

Jesus knows us all too well.

So where does that leave us? Doomed to disobedience, bitterness, and conflict, thanks to our human reflexes, unless we make some choices. We have a choice to keep stumbling over the wounds and offenses of others and deal with the fallout, or we can choose to change the way we respond to offense.

This isn’t rocket science, but there are 3 simple things I’m challenging myself to do daily:

1. REMEMBER daily (hourly?) that I’ve been fully forgiven and to likewise fully forgive, a paradigm shift that will likely take some proactive discipline. Maybe add Colossians 3:13 as an hourly alert on your phone. Maybe hang The Lord’s Prayer on your bathroom wall where you’ll see it each morning (and at other necessary moments throughout the day…). Maybe post a sticky note on the dashboard of your Ford Escape if you’re in the habit of verbally assessing the IQ of drivers making less than ideal choices. Ahem.

2. PRAY. Both for the offender (forgivee?) and for God’s help to forgive them. He gladly enables and empowers us to do what we cannot do on our own, especially when it’s a matter of obedience, which forgiveness clearly is. A prayer (or 70×7 prayers) asking the Holy Spirit for the power to forgive someone is a prayer he is happy to answer. I can testify to that.

3. FORGET. I may forget a lot of things, but sadly, I can remember all the times I’ve been hurt. Forgiving others as God has forgiven us means we must choose to both fully forgive AND fully forget. And like forgiveness, forgetting is not easy, but Jesus will be faithful to help.

According to 1 Corinthians 13:5, love keeps no record of wrongs, and I believe that love is the real goal here.

Because when we 1. remember that we ALL need forgiveness, 2. pray for help forgiving, and 3. choose to forget others’ sins, we are letting another imperfect soul off the hook, we’re obeying the Lord, and best of all, we’re promoting the kind of love that John talks about, the kind that shows the world that we truly are Christ’s disciples. We are helping to pave the way for an amazing kind of supernatural unity, by the power and grace of God, that the world doesn’t recognize and the enemy can’t stand. And not only are we acting in obedience, love, and unity, we are also putting ourselves in a position to grow a little bit more every day.

Or so I’ve heard. 😉

Love & Peace,

~Camille

Beyond the Ashes

Josie, the main character in The Secret Place, often wishes for a “do-over.”

The Secret Place was originally set to take place in the fall of 2020, along Oregon’s majestic McKenzie River. Then in came 2020 like Freddy Krueger. If ever a year needed a do-over, that was the one. Covid-19 changed life as we knew it. And to compound things for my little book, a state-wide outbreak of wildfires destroyed numerous parts of Oregon, including communities along the McKenzie river valley—on the exact same date and at the same place where my story was supposed to happen.

So as the time to publish the book approached, my choices were to either edit the story to include all the harsh realities of 2020—which would have made for a horrific tale. I couldn’t do it, and nobody I knew wanted to read that.

Or I could have left the story as originally written without the harsh realities actually taking place on the dates noted in the book, which would have meant skipping along through 2020 pretending as if a pandemic, riots, and devastating fires never happened. Which would have been a heartless display of indifference to all the people who suffered so much.

I couldn’t do that, either. So as the book was preparing to go to press, I bumped the story year back to 2019 (pre-covid & pre-fires), and adjusted all the dated backstory to match. And because of Libby’s journals, there was a LOT of dated backstory to edit.

If only we could do that in real life. Just edit the date and go back to a kinder time, back to the way things were before the world drastically changed. I wonder if people who lived through world wars longed for such a do-over? Why can’t we go back to the way life was before all this devastation? Why do we have to know firsthand about pain and hate and grief and PTSD and carry around permanent physical and emotional scars? Why do we have to find new ways to explain to our little ones about grief and anger and sickness and dangers in the world?

Those who have lived through world wars must have come through changed, they’d have had no choice. Likewise, we can’t come through trials unchanged. We usually have no control over difficult or trying circumstances. But we can control the way we respond to them. We can always choose anger and put up resistance, or we can let trials make us stronger. We can allow God to purify our hearts, our goals, and our values. We can choose to let pointless, temporal stuff to burn off and leave us packing light, determined, ready to follow him unhindered by useless weight and needless baggage from stuff in life that won’t be going into eternity with us. We can choose to focus on what matters in the bigger picture of God’s master plan. We can choose to let go of anything we worship or cling to that isn’t God.

This is an excerpt of a text exchange from The Secret Place, when Will was on a break from battling a forest fire:

Will – 10:45 p.m. I saw a beautiful creature in the middle of all this destruction. I held my breath, not wanting to scare it away, wondering how she could be there after fire has ravaged the land, and it hit me … Even though forest fire destroys so much, it can’t destroy the beauty and the power of life that God set in motion when he created all this … It’ll take time, but the forest will heal. The trees and the wild huckleberry will grow back, and the deer and beaver and bear will return, and the damage that was done will become nothing more than a distant memory.

Josie – 10:46 p.m. WOW. So beautiful. That you can see the potential for new life and beauty and goodness in spite of the devastation and the danger you’re dealing with right now.

Will – 10:46 p.m. What I see is YOU. You chose to pick up the pieces and make something good from your life. You remind me that beauty can come from ashes.

The Secret Place, ch 28

How you achieve strength from trial is up to you. I am only as strong as my weakest moment, so the only hope for me is in knowing that I have been promised an eternal future free of pain, suffering, and strife, and that promise comes from the One who is faithful without fail, who by his mercy lives inside me, who kindly picks me up when I fall and who carries me when I am weak. One who is undaunted by evil and unshaken by destruction. One who sees and cares.

One who has a plan. A good, perfect, forever plan. And he is determined to see it through.

My hope is entirely in Christ, not in me, no way. I am weak, but his word says that when I am weak, he is strong.

…But He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is perfected in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly in my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest on me. That is why, for the sake of Christ, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

2 Corinthians 12:9-10

He will keep you strong to the end so that you will be free from all blame on the day when our Lord Jesus Christ returns. God will do this, for he is faithful to do what he says, and he has invited you into partnership with his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.

1 Corinthians 1:8-9

His strength shows up in my weakness. When I am broken, when I am scared, when I am sick or faithless or shaken, he is steadfast, faithful, and strong.

This broken world is not going to last forever, and it is not our forever home. A glorious new earth is part of his master plan, and it’s coming soon. All sorrow and darkness will be no more. My hope is on the horizon. My job, my response to storms and trials is to keep my eyes on Jesus and point him out to those who can’t see beyond the haze rising from the rubble.

Q: How are you holding up on the backside of 2020? Where do you place your hope?

Beautiful Ordinary

A regal Orchid, sent by church friends, arrived for my Dad’s memorial service in January 2021 and then somehow wound up in my “care.” If you can call it that. The fact that it didn’t immediately die on my watch has me quite honestly in awe of this creature. I can keep only one type of plant alive—the kind that thrive on abuse and neglect.

Orchid was in bloom when she first arrived, her dainty blossoms crisp and magnificent in contrasting pale pink and veins of bold magenta. It sat by a window my office at the church for a while, then I brought it home with little hope it would survive. It was such an exotic thing for a clod like me. The blooms were so fragile, yet strong. My granddaughter said she learned that orchids live in tropical rainforests and often grow on trees, sort of like a parasite. That is simultaneously weird and cool. I’ve watched how it grows, its aerial roots groping like bony, green fingers. Orchids are difficult to start, but once they germinate and become established, they’re like a beautiful free-loader too lovely to disturb.

A few months after bringing Orchy home, I was horrified to find the blossoms wilting, then they all dropped like dainty little paratroopers. Noooo!!! Surely I’d cursed the exotic flower by bringing it home to my ordinariness. But the leaves remained sleek and sturdy, so at least I knew I hadn’t killed it. I let the thing be, hoping she would live out the rest of her days as a plain spinster, like poor little Anne Elliot, whom Austen wrote had “lost her bloom.” At the ripe old age of 27.

But to my surprise, after being left in a corner to knit and play solitaire, Orchy suddenly sprouted little buds and then exploded in magnificent color once again. Exotic was apparently undaunted by ordinary!

Sadly, the second bloom didn’t last long. The blossoms quickly fell and my exotic little friend went dormant again. And this time, she stayed that way. I eventually moved the old girl to another room where she could wait out her days near a north-facing window, where a little more light could warm her old bones, where she could watch the cars and joggers and dog-walkers pass by.

Months have passed. She sits between the piles of books I’m studying, in spindly silence, her rubbery leaves still spry, valiant, but past her bloom, barren.

Or so I thought.

Today, I turned her pot see if she might like a little sun on her backside . . . and spotted a new bud sprouting on the stalk. Then I looked closer at both stalks and saw a few more tiny nubs.

Yay!

And I’m not sure what to make of this. That I accept disappointment prematurely, maybe? That I write off hope too soon? That we humans are quick to dismiss/shelve/cancel anything (or anyone) that doesn’t give immediate gratification? That just when we think our season of being fruitful has come to an end a new season begins, or that miraculous things are happening though we don’t see them, before anything is apparent to the naked human eye?

Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.

Hebrews 11:1

It reminds me of how often we forget that God hears our prayers because we don’t see anything happening. We forget that not everything He’s doing is visible, and just because we don’t see what we want, it doesn’t mean He’s not at work.

It reminds me that that dormancy is not death, and that a breathtaking eternity is just around the corner.

And that sometimes, El Shaddai delights in showing you that your ordinary is actually extraordinary. Exotic, in fact.

Ridiculously More Than Enough

Last week during worship at church, I was confessing to the Lord about my stingy heart (again). You may remember that I’ve been here before.

In fact, I just went back through old blog posts (links below) and found 2 previous posts on this topic. Clearly, I’ve been dealing with this for some time now.

But, oddly, I’m not beating myself up over it. I’ve stopped doing that. In fact, I’m much kinder and more patient with Camille than I was 10 years ago. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I still believe I need to surrender daily (er… hourly) and ask God to turn my stony heart to playdough and make me more like Jesus. As always and more than ever, and ever, Amen.

Because there’s a distinct difference these days in the way I view my flawed, sinful nature and God’s desire to see me change and grow and produce more of his Spirit in me. After years of despair about my failure to arrive, to “be a better Christian” (compared to her or him or some perfect figment of my imagination), the truth finally sunk in that I can no more lose my right standing with God than I can earn it. I can not earn or lose my righteousness. This has been entirely done on my behalf by Jesus, by his life, death, and resurrection. I can’t undo that by having a bad day or a bad week or even a bad year. I can’t lose God’s saving grace and I can’t earn it. Growing and living for Jesus is always my goal, but somewhere in the back of my little mind, it was somehow attached to keeping my foot in heaven’s door. It was also attached to an age-old fear that some fathers stop loving you and vanish, and others get pleasure from verbally beating you to down.

God doesn’t deserve to be thrown in with deadbeats and bullies.

When he looks at me, he sees holy, which feels weird to say. He sees me fully cloaked in the righteousness Jesus paid for with his life. When he looks at me, he sees his lovely, precious Son.

And because of that, I want to grow up. More than ever. I have a long way to go, but he’s brought me incredibly far. I am no longer driven by fear, but by gratitude, grace, and love. I am encouraged by God’s 40+ year display of inexhaustible love and kindness toward me.

So while I was having a stare-off with my stingy nature, I asked God to help me be more generous when others have need—through gritted teeth. We’re talking muscle cramps from how tightly my jaw was clenched. I also admitted—might as well since there’s no hiding it from God, right?—that this is REALLY HARD for me to ask.

He knows. He gets that I’m wired a bit off the grid.

Now, there are reasons I tend to withhold giving of myself emotionally, and some might seem justifiable. For instance, I still carry scars from emotional wounds at a time in my life when I was extremely vulnerable. And then I spent decades having no clue what “boundaries” are and why you’re allowed to have them, so I’ve been burned and emotionally drained and have therefore grown resistant to giving. But… I’m also a sinner and admit that I’m selfish, sometimes lazy, and have a powerful aversion to discomfort. (Hey–cut me slack, I’m working on it. Plus Aspies have serious discomfort issues—another topic for another time.)

So as I was admitting to God that needing to be more generous was really hard to ask for, he reminded me of the verse in Matthew 11, when Jesus said, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

Let me pause there a sec. You might have expected the answer to my request to come in the form of a challenge, like Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows generously will also reap generously. A solid truth, and a perfectly good verse. But I find that Jesus really is gentle and lowly in heart, as he said, and this is especially evident in the way he deals with the wounded. I am not afraid of challenge. But the Lord knows me well and knows that a challenge to try harder, do better, is NOT going to produce the results I’m humbly asking him for. He knows that shame has never brought about any good thing in me, only damage. He knows full well that I can accept a challenge, but he also knows that I need reminded–again–that he wants to help me.

Effort is needed on our part, to be sure. But our Father, who knows each one of us intimately—and who has, in fact, wired us all uniquely—has fashioned an easy, custom-fitted yoke for each of us. Not to weigh us down, but to share our load. To ease the burden for us. To do the heavy lifting, actually. I believe his end of the yoke bears like 95% of the weight. Okay, maybe more like 99%. He invites us to come to him, come under the safety and abundance of his provision, lean into his strength. Submit to the power of his Spirit living and working in us. Draw from him, learn from him, find peace and rest. Whatever burden he asks us to bear, he promises to share. He promises to carry the heaviest part. In his grace, he promises to lighten our load.

I so often forget that he will provide whatever it takes to do whatever he asks of me.

I also often forget that the “giving up of myself” doesn’t mean I must surrender to every need or request that comes along. I need only to surrender to the Lord. He will direct me about how he wants to meet the needs of others. When I come under his yoke, he can be FULLY and COMPLETELY trusted. When I place myself in his hands, he does not violate my trust and does not hurt me or take anything from me that I can’t part with. If what is being asked of me costs time or energy or resource, and he is directing me to give it up, he will provide. He can make the sun stand still. He can send rain out of the clear blue. He will provide manna. He’ll turn water to wine. He will multiply a couple loaves and fish to such an overabundance as to leave heaps of leftovers.

His yoke is easy.

His load is light.

His provision is ridiculously more than enough.

“If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith?” -Jesus

“Nothing you have not given away will ever really be yours.” -C. S. Lewis

Jesus loves me, this I know. He will never leave me on the road with four flats and an empty tank. He will not let me be overwhelmed. He will provide every last drop of what I need, when I need it, always. Whether it be time, energy, mental focus, resources, the ability to pour out love and care, the space to withdraw and process and recharge when all the cares become overwhelming. He is carrying the heavy end. He’s got this.

see also:

https://camilleeide.wordpress.com/2013/03/22/surrender-brings-freedom/ https://camilleeide.wordpress.com/2019/10/02/surrender-brings-freedom-part-2/

Nip It In The Bud

And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God …

For a long time as a believer, I wondered what “grieve the Holy Spirit of God” meant. Somehow, I had missed the fact that this phrase was tucked in between the exhortations to build up others, to steer clear of bitterness and slander, and to be kind and forgiving.

Fact: Unkindness causes God grief.

Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen. And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with whom you were sealed for the day of redemption. Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you. Ephesians 4:29-32

It’s pretty clear that bitterness, anger, slander, criticism, and all such forms of negativity break God’s heart. They don’t belong in the spirit-filled believer. At all. Paul tells us that kindness, compassion, and grace are to be our response to the offenses and imperfections of others.

Before I came to faith in Christ, bitter words spewed easily from me (see THIS post). But even long after I became a believer, I didn’t hesitate to be critical, freely listing others’ faults and flaws to myself and sometimes to others. And then about 15 years ago, I was blessed to work with an exceptional pastor, a man who consistently modeled grace and compassion day after day. Not only did he exemplify positive attributes, he also didn’t engage in negative, critical conversations. I instantly took note. His lack of engagement combined with his unwavering bent toward grace and compassion began to influence my thinking and actions.

After a while, I grew to sense a check in my spirit whenever criticism or negativity spilled out of my mouth. Sometimes the check was heeded. Other times, it was noted and promptly ignored.

Stop. Don’t say it.

Okay, now you’ve let that ugly criticism out of your mouth. You’re slandering someone God loves. Time to stop. Don’t continue.

STOP TALKING NOW.

Paul says we are to get rid of all bitterness. All.

ALL.

Bitterness is a weed with roots that go a lot deeper than the critical, judgy words about to leave my tongue. If I have to slap my hand over my mouth in order to not grieve God’s Holy Spirit, then I have a lot of work to do. Critical words are a product of stinky attitudes which are products of thoughts. Thoughts I am prone to feed and entertain if allowed to sprout and flourish unchecked.

If slanderous words grieve my Lord, then slanderous thoughts are every bit as heartbreaking.

Get rid of all bitterness. Get rid of malice.

Get rid of things that break God’s heart.

Fact: If you are in Christ, then God has forgiven you for all the things other people could be critical about that you’re still working on.

Uh …

Just as God has forgiven you for not having it all together, forgive others the same way.

Be Compassionate. Don’t pick at others’ flaws, faults, weaknesses.

Have Mercy. Show grace.

Remember that we are all a work in progress and all need God’s cleansing, renewing, and empowering. Remember that we all struggle with unseen things, with pains and fears, with quirks and tendencies and bad habits we need God’s help to overcome.

According to Ephesians 4, our words have the power to build others up according to their needs—even when we don’t understand what those needs are. And our words have the power to tear people down. Our words have the power break God’s heart. This is some serious power.

But my negative words are not the real issue—they’re simply evidence of a deeper problem: a bitter attitude in my heart. And what goes on in my heart matters to God.

I pray that the Spirit of God would not only stop me before I speak an unwholesome word about someone, but to stop me even as the negative thought begins to germinate in my mind. I pray he gives me a repulsion for such ugliness. I pray he enables me to immediately recognize seedlings of negativity, pull them by the roots, and hand them over to him. I pray he makes me ultra-sensitive to resentful thoughts and critical attitudes that so deeply pain him. I pray he makes my heart grieve over the things his heart grieves over. I pray Ezekiel 36:26, that he transplant my bitter, stony heart with a heart like his—a heart overflowing with compassion and grace. Soft, not stony. Full of light, not darkness. Full of love, not malice.

Sow for yourselves righteousness; Reap in mercy; Break up your fallow ground, For it is time to seek the LORD, Till He comes and rains righteousness on you. -Hosea 10:12 (NKJV)

Oh, to have a heart like God. Make it so, Lord. Please make it so.

Jesus is Near the Brokenhearted

My dad passed away recently, and I was reminded that the Lord truly is near the broken hearted.

I couldn’t quite put my finger on that nearness at first: the warmth I felt as we gathered around Mom at her place a few days later and just leaned on each other, talking and remembering Dad, watching as my sister offered to tackle the tall pile of accumulated random stuff that was years overdue for sorting. Bless her heart and her poor aching back, she sat there for hours, patiently sorting through things one piece at a time, things my grieving Mom didn’t have the energy to deal with.

We had just spent the morning with our pastor planning Dad’s funeral. My sister hadn’t felt well, but came to the meeting anyway, and then decided to stay and attack the monster pile in the corner. So for the next several hours, Mom and I and my brother and his wife and my brother in law all looked on as my sister pulled things out of the teetering pile one by one, laughing about some of the items, crying over others, marveling at photos and artwork from grandchildren who are now grown with kids of their own. As we laughed and cried and marveled, I couldn’t help but feel a distinct warmth, a feeling of peace and softness in the room. It was like a warm, sweet, comfy blanket. I’m not sure if the others felt it, but I just wanted to stay and bask in it.

What could have been a difficult time of planning a memorial turned into a very sweet, simple time of just being together. And not that we don’t usually enjoy one another’s company, but we don’t often spend time together due to distance and other life stuff. When Mom and Dad met and married, we “kids” were pretty much grown. It took time for us to really connect with each other at the heart level, but even then, we are still a crazy quilt of frayed, mismatched pieces. We’ve grown into a real family who truly care about each other, but I wouldn’t say we necessarily feel warm and fuzzy by just being together.

So to feel so much warmth and sweetness that day was definitely unique, and I couldn’t put my finger on that the reason for that feeling for the longest time. I called it a gift of grace, which I believe it was. But then today, when I heard a friend was struggling with a loved one’s scary illness, I began to pray, and was instantly reminded of the verse that says the Lord is near the brokenhearted.

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

Psalm 34:18

I believe without a doubt that this is not a platitude, it’s a promise, it’s true, and even more, it’s palpable.

We don’t like to be reminded that eventually, death is a given for us all. Of course we always pray for people whose lives are threatened by all manner of terrible things, and I’ve heard of many miracles and have seen countless prayers answered. But I am often reminded that a reprieve from death is not the most important thing we need from God. We have an amazing eternal life guaranteed to us if we’ve placed our trust in Jesus, but our earthly life is a breath, our time on earth is limited.

So what I seek first from God, before I ask for a miraculous healing or intervention that I fully trust he is able to bring, is that his perfect peace that passes understanding will be with the person I’m lifting up in prayer. That Christ’s sweet presence will be felt and that he will guard their hearts and minds from fear, that she or he will be able to look to him and trust in him and feel the safety and strength of his loving, capable hands. He is so caring and so full of compassion. I think he would want us to look up when we are in the midst of struggle, to remember his great love and trust his goodness rather than placing all our hope in the resolution of our present difficulty.

Of course, looking up and remembering his love and goodness is not our first impulse when we suffer difficulty, illness, or fear. Our impulse is to cry out for help, hearts pounding, emotions high. He understands. He is near. He cares deeply. Though he knew he would raise Lazarus from the dead, he wept along with the mourners, his heart moved by his own love for his friend and his compassion for the family’s anguish.

He understands our pain, our fear. And he is not bothered by it. Though we are at times faithless, he remains faithful. Whatever we suffer or fear, he doesn’t leave us, but he joins us. He himself suffered and knows all manner of pain and heartache, in order to bring an end to these things once and for all.

I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.

John 16:33

He is Immanuel, God With Us.

He is so much nearer than we know.

And he promises especially to be near the brokenhearted, and I am reminded that he means it.

May you sense his nearness today. ~Camille