Stubborn Faith

There have not been many times in my life when I have been called stubborn. As I sit and comb through my memories, I recall plenty of claims of “feisty”, “intense”, or “weird”, but stubbornness has not been a prominent descriptor (at least not to my face). More often than not, my bark is a lot worse than my bite and, though I can sling rhetoric with the best of them, I tend to be a pushover. 

For example, I have a tendency of getting really worked up about things. Whether it’s a social justice issue or a simple, daily matter of principle, if I perceive that something is amiss I rage in my own mind and in my friends’ ears without end. If it’s a safe space, I am happy to hop on soap boxes. However, as soon as the rubber hits the road and I find myself in a position to speak truth to power, I find myself bending and sugar coating. What once felt massive begins to shrink in the face of opposition, present or potential, and I end up saying, “Well, it’s not that important anyway, I guess…”

Some days, I am proud of this. I am proud of the fact that I know when something is not a hill worth dying upon. I am flexible and open to compromise and I can often see the many different sides of any given scenario. 

More often than not, however, I wish I was just a little bit more stubborn. I want to be a woman of integrity whose stomach doesn’t roil when it comes time to stand my ground. I want to be so confident in my own skin, in my own mind and heart, that when any of those things which I hold dear are questioned, I will not be blown over. I want to be a little more stubborn. I’m working on it. 

And, as in all areas of growth, God is working on it with me. I had a conversation with some friends this past week about how hard it can be to hold on to our faith when the world is swirling around us. 2020 has not made it easy to follow Jesus. It seems as though the enemy is fighting really hard to worm his way into our minds and hearts and leave nothing but hopelessness behind. While some days are worse than others, and some definitely have it worse than I do, this has been and continues to be a battle. 

It would seem, however, that my faith is the one area of my life in which I absolutely refuse to be anything but stubborn. I am not a saint by any stretch of the imagination, but Jesus has become such a deeply ingrained part of me that when my trust in Him is hanging on by a thread, I am able, by the power of the Holy Spirit, to wrap that thread around my finger as a reminder that God has been and continues to be good. Despite fear, anxiety, doubt, and sadness, I could not leave the Lord if I tried. God is oxygen.

These musings on stubborn faith led me to the Psalms. In fact, it led me to my favorite Psalm and life passage, chapter 27. It is a pericope that holds declarations of faith in what God will do. The Psalmist speaks to and of the Lord with boldness and, despite enemies rising against them, the chapter ends with verses 13 and 14, two of my favorites in all of Scripture:

I remain confident of this:

I will see the goodness of the Lord

in the land of the living. 

Wait for the Lord;

be strong and take heart

and wait for the Lord.

Ps. 27:13-14

Here is the confidence I seek: no matter what comes, no matter how many 2020’s I live through, I want to remain unshakably sure that I will see the goodness of the Lord right here, right now, in this life. I want faith to wait and be strong and take heart, because God is always the friend I have known both in the valley and on the mountain. 

I want my faith to be more and more and more stubborn every day. 

Now, stubbornness often has a negative connotation, and for good reason. It can make us belligerent and closed-minded and unable to hear differing perspectives. This is not the kind of stubbornness that glorifies God. It walls us off from our neighbors and from growth as opposed to opening us up to the hard task of remaining still while we learn to give and receive love from a Holy Parent who we do not always understand.

The kind of stubbornness that I see in this Psalm, and which I desire for myself, is the brand which refuses to let go of all the good even when staring into the glassy-eyed glare of the bad. This stubbornness empowers us to declare things that we know to be true even if they don’t feel true. It gives us the assurance that we need not be pushovers and bend to fear mongering in a fallen world, but rather holds us steady, come what may. 

So how do we do this? I’m still learning, but I think there’s something to be said for tenacious refusal, for speaking life with quivering voices when death crouches nearby, for digging in our heels when the soil starts to shift. So we must choose to be stubborn. And trust God to do the rest. 

I believe that learning to have this kind of faith will be a journey that lasts throughout the entirety of earthly discipleship, but thankfully we have an anchor, hope, given to us. It is anything but flimsy. And not only that, we have one another. Encourage this brand of stubbornness in community. This, too, will not falter.

Now, may the Lord of peace fill you with such confidence in His goodness, in His unwavering God-ness, that, when the days of trouble come, you may be able to shout with all the capacity of human lungs and speech, “I have stubborn faith!” Be strong, take heart, wait for the Lord.

Amen.

Dwelling Places

The older I get, the more I love to spend time at home. About a year and a half ago John and I were able to purchase a little raised ranch that I’ve dubbed “Bag End” because not only is it built into the side of a hill like a hobbit hole, but it also has become a place of comfort and refuge and (thanks to me) a little bit of clutter. I adore the way it feels to sit on the far end of the couch (John calls it my perch), breathe in the fresh air through open windows, and bask in the simple joy of the sanctuary we have built together. Home is great. 

Since becoming a homeowner, the term “dwell” has been something upon which I have tried to meditate. A quick Google search says that to dwell is to “live in or at a specified place”, which is straightforward enough. John and I dwell at Bag End. It is our home base, our headquarters, the place from which we have chosen to operate. Our dwelling place is the main hub of where we live our lives. 

Dwelling, however, does not only refer to the physical spaces in which we live, but also carries real weight in spirituality as well. I was reminded by a friend this week of the gorgeous beginning of Psalm 91:

“Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High

will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.” (Ps. 91:1 NIV) 

The whole chapter is a favorite, and here the Psalmist moves the idea of dwelling beyond the hearth and into the presence of God. When we dwell in the shelter of the Most High, we find rest as the Lord covers us. His shadow is a safe place where we can take a load off and trust that we are safe. When we pick to live in the specified place that is under the Divine wing, then we are good. Now and forever. 

I would like to say that I have made my dwelling place with God as concretely as I have made my dwelling place at Bag End, but a closer inspection would reveal that, while I do try to consistently cozy up to the Lord, I also choose, in my brokenness, to dwell elsewhere. When the world is chaotic, I cling to novels and Netflix like they are an oxygen tank. I like to camp out in the burned out, poisonous pastures of anxiety. I will always be able to find a comfortable spot within the folds of pastry or the density of a brownie. I dwell on and in these things. I make dark homes where foundations were not meant to be laid. 

Are novels and Netflix and the occasional baked good bad things? No (in fact, I would say that they are necessary). Do humans sometimes feel anxious? Of course. But I think there is something to be gleaned here about where we choose to dwell as we try to navigate the beauty and the mess of life. 

Think back to the last time that you felt like you could use a safe haven or a little bit of genuine rest. Now, think about what your first gut reaction was in regard to where you could obtain that safe haven or genuine rest. Did you picture yourself falling into the arms of the Living God? Or did you, like me, immediately picture a bubble bath and a snack and whatever my chosen method of distraction was that day? 

Too often, we don’t take God up on His offer to let us have a little campfire under the shelter of His wing. We choose to dwell elsewhere or, worse, dwell on things that suck the life from us rather than on the Giver of Life Himself. We look to every other dwelling place we can think of and foolishly hope that enduring safety will be found therein. And let’s be honest; sometimes the idea of dwelling somewhere where I won’t have to think at all is more appealing than being confronted with myself before the throne of God.

But who will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty? Those who dwell in the shelter of the Most High. 

I want to issue a challenge: topple all dwelling places that sell you a counterfeit version of the gift the Lord holds out to us. Ask yourself: where am I choosing to dwell? You will not find safety on a dinner plate or at the bottom of a bottle or even in the well-loved spine of a library book. You will find rest when you dwell with God. Period.

Now, this does not mean that I can’t read a good book while dwelling with the Lord, nor does it mean you should give up whatever brings you little joys in life. We can even invite God in to transform those things so that they become part of our practice of dwelling with Him. If you are drawn to books, read a book about God! If you are drawn to food, share a meal with spiritual community! But I supposed that the point I’m making is this: a hotel room will never be home. It is temporary and might feel nice for a bit, but it does not serve as a substitute for that real place of refuge and comfort.

When you choose where to dwell, root down with Jesus. Dwell on Scripture, dwell on glorifying thoughts, dwell on the amazing love and grace offered to us by our Heavenly Parent. Do not set your mind and heart on anything lesser. Curl up in the shelter of the Most High, find rest in the shadow of the Almighty, and know that you are safe. You are home.

Sunday Afternoon Poetry: For The Poor Saps (Psalm 1:1-3)

Blessed are the poor saps
who dream of 
better soil. 
They lift their feeble twigs
out of sand and sediment
so as to grasp dear life
in the loamy,
the different and the new.
With a wave goodbye
toward retreating, rocky ground,
they settle their haunches
on the enduring,
they nestle in for growth.

But bulking up takes
calories,
dedication,
an unwavering conviction in 
the struggle and delight
of photosynthesis.
And that struggle, that delight,
in all its untameable 
fervor, 
transforms unfurling leaves
into palms upraised in 
praise,
makes roots otherworldly;
basking, dwelling, meditating--
rising, deep breath
by
deep, refreshing, sustaining breath.

Verdant veins take
a sip and then
exhale and straighten,
more confident, taller than
the moment before.
The fruit comes
exactly when 
it is meant to arrive,
heavy and sweet,
a gift,
which thrives in cycles--
dormant, blooming,
sleeping alert.
Because of all this,
because of 
Water and
Air and
Light--

Poor saps are mighty oaks.
The finite is infinite,
prosperous,
so
     very
              alive.