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"I write to you, young men..."

© Elise Grinstead 2013 (no filter)

“I am writing to you, little children, because your sins are forgiven for His name’s sake. I am writing to you, fathers, because you know Him who is from the beginning. I am writing to you, young men, because you have overcome the evil one. I write to you, children, because you know the Father. I write to you, Fathers, because you know him who is from the beginning. I write to you, young men, because you are strong, and the word of God abides in you, and you have overcome the evil one.” —1 John 2:12-14

To say that the past few months have been filled with the tension of stepping further into adulthood while attempting to bear the responsibilities it brings without it crushing, is somewhat of an understatement. Life has been so incredibly full—and when we look at it honestly, we see that it has been full of God’s providence, blessing, and leading, but we also see that it has been hard. Harder than we’ve known before in many ways, and harder than we thought it could be. Days have been more full of summoning up gumption to press on, whether by a frantic pace determined by those other than us, or even if it is at a slow trudge because it’s all we can currently muster. John and I have been more tired than we have previously known, and looking ahead into the future has been daunting. We live in a forward-thinking, fast progressing city where it is so easy to get caught up in what lies before us next that we must enter into and subsequently "conquer" that we easily forget that the same Lord who has brought us to this present through our past is the same Lord who will carry us forth into the future.

In times like this, there often needs to be a returning of sorts to what has sustained in the past, a rereading of things that bear testimony of things done and seen, in order to remember that thus far the Lord has brought me and thus far He will bring me still. I was back in Colorado for a couple of days, and a question by a friend returned me to journals of nine years ago (my senior year of high school, a pivotal one) and a book read from five years ago. I spoke with best friends of 16 years, 8 years, and 2 years. I am back in doing a line-by-line reading of scripture and discussing it intentionally with women. In the midst of all that is new, all that changes and shifts as John and I walk forth, these disciplines and reminders have been so needed.

And as I read the above passage from 1 John tonight in preparation to discuss with those other three women, it provided healing balm to my soul.

The disciple John writes to four different type of people and life stages, the household of God:

1. Beloved children or infants—those who were just born into the heavenly family, the most recent converts to believers of Christ. 
2. Little children—those who walk and speak, can call father by name, but haven’t been in this stage for long or have much experienced, though they are disciples growing up into it. 
3. Young men—those who are growing up into men, whom John calls fathers, and perform the most difficult part of the labor, those who are called upon to fight the battle of the Lord. They are youths in the prime of their lives, declared valiant and overcoming. 
4. Fathers—These are the foundation of spiritual families. They have seen the most whole picture of how God has worked in themselves and others, and have the largest stock of spiritual wisdom and experience. 

In reading through this, how the disciple John addresses the young men reached to the core of my weary being.

“I am writing to you, young men, because you have overcome the evil one…I write to you, young men, because you are strong, and the word of God abides in you, and you have overcome the evil one.”

That we are strong…it goes beyond being in the “prime of our life.” I can trust that He has raised me within Him, that I intimately know His name and His command enough to be able to go out and stand firm in what I hold and profess to be true. That even in the times of being utterly overwhelmed, that His strength is made manifest in me. I have not been born into this world and immediately thrust into this position of being a young adult; it has come gradually, and He has developed and equipped me—by His grace, I am strong.

The Word of God abides in us…

Adam Clarke roughly describes this: “You have not only thoroughly known and digested the Divine truth, but your hearts are molded into it; you know it to be the truth of God from the power and happiness with which it inspires you, and from the constant abiding testimony of the Spirit of truth which lives and witnesses wherever that truth lives and predominates.”

I have walked with Christ for half of my life now, and I see the transformation of my heart over those years. His word, His truth, His gospel. The journal writings of years past reminding me that yes, He has made himself manifest, and yes, there has been a transformation. The truth is thoroughly known as he molds my heart into it, and if I choose to see, everywhere around me there is evidence of the constant abiding testimony of the Spirit of truth. I am truly his disciple.

We have overcome the evil one…

Twice the disciple John writes this—at the beginning and at the end. As I am thrust out into the battles and lessons that come in the prime time of my life, seemingly equipped but feeling so little of wisdom and experience, it is so important for me to remember the ultimate battle has already been won. Jesus has come and overcome the evil one. I now participate in the in between—after His first coming and before his second. The battles are those he places me to fight in—He is by my side in it, for the sake of my refinement, growing of wisdom and experience, and ultimately for the sake of the Gospel to go forth. I may not know how, but He has declared me ready, because He has brought me and raised me to such a point. And this new position of seemingly overwhelming responsibility—yes, there will be smaller and larger battles to fight, but I must remember the ultimate battle has already been won. Through Jesus, we have overcome the evil one.

“When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways. For we now see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, then I shall know fully even as I have been fully known.” —1 Corinthians 13:11-12

Abide in Me, dear soul. You are strong. My word abides in you, and through me, you have overcome the evil one. Trust that the ultimate battle has already been won. Though much is thrust upon you and is required of you, remember the past, trust that I have brought You thus far and I will be more than sufficient for your present and future. You are growing into wisdom and experience. And when the days seem daunting and the realities of the future stretching, remember that I lead and sustain. Take heart, young man, I have overcome the world, and you are not left alone.

In Process

Picture taken from http://www.sha.org/bottle/body.htm

Last weekend, we talked about glass. Glass, in its hot liquid form, on the edge of a blowpipe after we collected it from the molten in the furnace and kept turning the pipe so it wouldn’t drip. It was rolled into a solid cylinder on a marble table and reheated again in a glory hole before came the first blow. Lips upon pipe, all breath sent down a long steel pole to create a bubble within the solid molten. Then, back to the glory hole to reheat. After, another blow, this time to expand the molten into something resembling a sphere. From there, the process could be repeated—the reheating, the blowing, the marvering and blocking—all while constantly turning the pipe to keep things centered, to make whatever you chose to. Or, for those limited, whatever you could possibly churn out before the glass became too thin, too cool, or too lopsided. 

We remembered our days in that lab, all skin covered and wet socks on our hands. We remembered seeing it done by our professor and the excitement that came from what seemed to be a relatively simple procedural process. He made a vase. He made a glass. He made a flower. He made and made, on and on, beauty again and again displayed effortlessly, as he sought to teach the craft to those willing.

Three years later, I saw the bookcase that once stood in the apartment we called ours. My best friend and I, taking one last college class together, produced a collection that would stand in no other gallery other than our own. I remembered our collection of lopsided bubbles, vases thicker on one side than the other, flowers that could be called somewhat abstract, and a glass that was triumphant just because it made it out in one piece. We participated in a beautiful craft over the course of 10 weeks, but it was much harder and far more humbling than we ever anticipated it to be. We found that when working with glass, you could get two out of the three elements right, but there would always be the third one that would trip us up—whether it would be the temperature of the glass not remaining optimal, air holes or uneven structure within the molten, or forgetting to. Always. Keep. Turning. The. Blowpipe. So from week to week, we would learn and improve slightly, but never get anywhere close to our professor who had been doing it for decades.

In my last two years of high school, I focused on ceramic work, and got into using the potter’s wheel. In that, there were also three main elements—thickness, whether it was centered, and moistness—but the difference between clay and glass is that clay is far more forgiving in its creation process. You can always stop the potter’s wheel to observe it, add more water, and then turn it back on and continue. In glass, the process must keep moving in some forms at all times in the creation of a piece.

I found it fitting that ceramic work came in high school—a time when things are markedly more black and white, easier viewed as “success” or “fail,” and the fact that the learning process was far more forgiving. Again, I found it fitting that glassblowing came at the end of college—a time where my world was to change with marriage, with moving away, with a year of transition, and a time of still being in some form of transition three years later—the process has been much more dynamic, much more involved, and harder and humbling than anticipated at many moments. It’s as if questions are asked constantly. There is always some form of evaluation going on, whether intrinsically or externally. There is always some progression of moving forward, mixed in with others that remain stationary for a while, and like a glassblower with a pipe of molten glass, you’re faced with answering one of many questions that will lead to a different result this time around—do you keep blowing? Do you open it up? Do you add color? Do you warm it up for a while? Do you call it done and move onto the next piece?

I remember my parents often saying when I was growing up and thought I knew almost everything, that when I got older, the world wouldn’t be as black and white and the more that I learned, the more that I knew I had to learn. We have heard words like these generations over generations, yet we each have to reach this realization for ourselves. There are so many things at play in a given time. So, we seek to create to the best of our ability at the present, with hopes that we will grow.

My husband and I look at each other in conversation across the glass dinner table often—so glad and thankful for what God has done, where He has placed us, what we are able to do and be a part of, yet we are often exhausted in it as well. We attempt to physically rest as we can, but moreso, spiritually rest in the One whom we believe to be certain, unchanging. He is an ever patient Father and teacher, yet also one with a passion of love and jealousy as uncontainable as the molten glass in the furnace. I know He is zealous for my affections and my time. And as I’ve been reminded lately in the feeling of being overwhelmed by the prospect of adding more things to do on top of what I am already doing—it’s not about adding more things, it’s about doing more with what He has already placed before me, what He already has me doing. Not that this entry is ultimately about glass—but for final metaphor’s stake, it would be something like registering for a glassblowing class again the following quarter if I were still in college, and laboring in the good days and hard days. I would seek to continue learning and improving in that which was difficult, because that is often the process of ultimately making something beautiful and of worth, regardless of the form it eventually ends up taking.

Awake

© Elise Grinstead 2013

The winter lades us bare…the branches have long forgone their leaves—sheltered their stems of life to preserve itself in the cold that lies ahead. The contrast of night and day are more stark, as one seems to end abruptly in the beginning of another—there is no melting transition in the setting of the sun and the warmth gradually conceding to slightly lower temperatures. The sinful condition seems more inherently recognized in myself, as I too, seem to be laid bare also. I tend to withdraw into more contemplative, solitary states, and sometimes the days feel as a sluggish trudging, one day after another as I await the days of longer light and warmth.

But, I too remember the fields of snow upon which the moonlight casts its glow, the blankets of freshness and provision over all that lies barren. In the presence of its stillness, I remember the purposes of the Father in creating such seasons. In all that can be depravity, in all that can be broken in this life—there is redemption, our sins once crimson covered and made as white as snow. The snow blankets and the moonlight shows what is pure—only that can be fully illuminated to show its beauty—not the shadows of the twisted branches and thirsty ground beneath.

Such pictures and reminders of grace.

I always long for spring. I long for the visual reminders of the hope I know to be true to be manifested—that there is life after death, a regeneration of what is new pushing forth what has been left behind. A pace that is measured, a process awakened by thawing and greater supply of light. That day after day, it may seem slow, yet it is in the perfect time for new life to come forth. I look at the stems, the buds, the breaking ground…I know that it is coming and it will soon be found.

I await. I awake.

That one week I walk under flowering trees, then the next under spring fresh leaves, then thereafter under deep green canopies—a reminder that there is growth in the midst of change. Some things once deemed cast off can once again be brought into what is now known as redeemed. There is indeed the promise of life after death, the revival after brokenness; the flourishing after barrenness.

So come, let us return to the Lord; for he has torn us, that he may heal us; he has struck us down, and he will bind us up….he will revive us…he will raise us up that we may live before him.

Let us know; let us press on to know the Lord; his going out is sure as the dawn; he will come to us as the showers, as the spring rains that water the earth.” Hosea 6:1-3

Such words and reminders of redemption.

Jehovah Jireh

© Elise Grinstead 2013

Jehovah Jireh. 
The Lord will provide. As Abraham so named the mount where he was asked to lay his son Isaac upon the fire as a sacrifice, it is there we see the passion and mercy of God. (Genesis 22)

Jehovah Jireh.
Abraham first had to walk the road with his son, wood on Isaac’s back and fire in Abraham’s hand, in full faith that God knew the intended outcome of walking on such a road with such a strong request. Abraham, whether he was filled with sadness or bewilderment at God asking him to give his son, or whether he was filled with confidence and trust in the Lord’s sovereignty, or if he fell somewhere in between those two ends, he still walked the road.

Jehovah Jireh.
When Isaac himself noticed there was no lamb for the offering, and asked Abraham where the offering was, Abraham replies “God will provide for Himself the lamb for the burnt offering, my son." Prophetic in nature both not for just him and Isaac, but also of God the Father and His Son, Jesus—in this moment Abraham speaks out of trust. Whether the outcome of God’s command was to be fulfilled or something else to happen instead—the answer is the same. God will provide.

Jehovah Jireh.
In the moment that is not spoken of but we can fill in the gaps of what transpired—Isaac and Abraham built the altar and it was then mutually recognized that Isaac was to be the sacrifice. In submission to his father and God, Isaac is bound and laid upon the altar. In trust of God and denial of all fatherly instincts, Abraham binds up his son, the one declared to be the fulfillment of God’s covenant with Abraham.

Jehovah Jireh.
The knife is above Abraham’s head to slay his beloved son—the apex of such a trust and walking forth fully into what is commanded.

Jehovah Jireh.
Upon such a sight and action—is God still good? When such things call us to forsake all of our instincts and instead trust in the sovereignty and provision of the Lord in what He has asked us to do, regardless of what the outcome may be? That we may slay what we hold dear on this earth, as a sign of our devotion to God? These are hard questions…yet—

Jehovah Jireh. 
The angel of the Lord appears and commands Abraham to relent and release the knife, for it was shown that Abraham truly fears and obeys God—he did not withhold even the most precious thing to him. And in consistent character for Abraham, he looks abreast and sees a ram caught in the thickets, and this he captures and provides as the sacrifice instead of Isaac.

Jehovah Jireh. 
Upon the angel appearing and calling off the whole action, Abraham does not become flabbergasted. He does not cry such things as “why did you even have me go through this if you didn’t intend for me to kill Isaac?” No, instead, he follows what He knows to be true—the Lord will provide—and immediately sees the Lord’s provision in the ram.

What began in trust that the Lord would provide ended in trust that the Lord did—even though what ended up happening was completely different. God provided the Lamb—Jehovah Jireh.

In faith, we so often balk at what the Lord puts before us and asks us to do. If the outcome of what He asks is not desirable or does not appear logical, we easily write if off as something crazy being asked of us. Surely He would not ask us to do such a thing? Surely He would not lead us down such a way? Surely He would not bring about such results?

We are so often cynics of our own faith. Cynical in what we profess to be true, because when it’s asked of us to actually walk it, it seems too far-fetched. No, that’s not meant for me. I’m doing just fine here. Cynical because instead of trusting the journey to bring about what God intends for it to, rather than focusing on the possible results, we self-create our own chasm between what is reasonable for faith to provide and when faith is asking too much of us. Sometimes we have a choice to walk down a road and other times we are thrust down it unwillingly, due to circumstances. There, we easily say, it is too much, I didn’t ask for this, or, it is not enough for what You are asking me to give up. And in such statements, we essentially say and believe…

Jehovah Jireh.
God cannot or will not provide. But in reality, we don’t receive the Lord’s provision because we are unwilling to receive what it may be. Closed fisted and closed mouth like a child who will not eat the nourishment given by his parents for what is good for him, we simply refuse because it doesn’t look good, right, or desirable. And therefore, we struggle against the One who ultimately knows what is best.

But by faith…

“We understand that the worlds were prepared by the word of God, so that what is seen was not made out of things which are visible.”¹

By Faith…

“we have the assurance of things hoped for, [yet] the conviction of things not seen.”²

And without faith…

“it is impossible to please Him, for he who comes to God must believe that He is and that He is a rewarder of those who seek Him.”³

And by faith…

We gain approval, though we do not receive what was promised, because God has provided and will provide something better for us.⁴

So, we must walk the road to our own mount where we too can see and name God to be…

Jehovah Jireh.

1: Hebrews 11:3
2: Hebrews 11:1
3: Hebrews 11:6
4: Hebrews 11:39-40

Misgivings

Reminders of God's Graces © Elise Grinstead 2013

"Have you ever said to yourself, “I am impressed with the wonderful truths of God’s Word, but He can’t really expect me to live up to that and work all those details into my life!” When it comes to confronting Jesus Christ on the basis of His qualities and abilities, our attitudes reflect religious superiority. We think His ideals are lofty and they impress us, but we believe He is not in touch with reality— that what He says cannot actually be done. Each of us thinks this about Jesus in one area of our life or another. These doubts or misgivings about Jesus begin as we consider questions that divert our focus away from God. While we talk of our dealings with Him, others ask us, “Where are you going to get enough money to live? How will you live and who will take care of you?” Or our misgivings begin within ourselves when we tell Jesus that our circumstances are just a little too difficult for Him. We say, “It’s easy to say, ’Trust in the Lord,’ but a person has to live; and besides, Jesus has nothing with which to draw water— no means to be able to give us these things.” And beware of exhibiting religious deceit by saying, “Oh, I have no misgivings about Jesus, only misgivings about myself.” If we are honest, we will admit that we never have misgivings or doubts about ourselves, because we know exactly what we are capable or incapable of doing. But we do have misgivings about Jesus. And our pride is hurt even at the thought that He can do what we can’t.

My misgivings arise from the fact that I search within to find how He will do what He says. My doubts spring from the depths of my own inferiority. If I detect these misgivings in myself, I should bring them into the light and confess them openly— “Lord, I have had misgivings about You. I have not believed in Your abilities, but only my own. And I have not believed in Your almighty power apart from my finite understanding of it.” –My Utmost for His Highest, February 26

I am both a realist and a woman of faith. Sometimes those two things align with each other; other times they do not. And when they don’t—if I am to truly follow Jesus, faith must win. There are some things the Lord puts before us plainly to follow after Him in, contrary to the reasoning that may contradict it. Do I believe His almighty power to do it? If I am hesitant to answer that in the affirmative, do I really think I am losing something that I didn’t own in the first place? What are my misgivings about the Lord?

"He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose." —Jim Elliot

There are these truths that I know and I have learned to put into practice time and time again in my life; yet, I still have to learn it time and time again. I can so easily make each situation “unique.” Well, it may be “unique” on this side of heaven but on the other it isn’t—God is over all of these situations and His sovereignty does not change. I ultimately cannot keep the things in my life, and He asks me to not keep them now. Again, the question arises, do I believe that He is worthy of not just the trust in my head of what I know of Him, but of the faith in my heart to believe it too?

With other people and their situations—I may be often be able to be a hand or foot of Christ in what they are going through, but so often, their situations are beyond myself. And blessed be that it is so, as it should drive me deeper into the throes of my Lord in prayer and petition, rather than to the end of myself in despair. Logic and emotions still will fail in the end. It is the hard question that must be asked—do I wish to pursue a lifetime of pursuing things by logic and reason, fleeting emotions and desires, attempting to weave that into my faith, or do I wish to put my trust in the only thing that is infinite—my Lord? Logic relies upon myself, emotion is derived from myself; but discernment comes from the Spirit, and that comes from living in the Spirit daily, not within myself. The works of my hands will always eventually come to ruins. If the Lord is in what I do, then I can trust He will sustain it for His appointed time.

It is easy to say “Trust in the Lord.” It is far more difficult to actually do it. Am I willing to let Him reign over the mind’s attempt at control, and the heart’s attempt for emotional security? Take heed, dear soul—remember—He can do what I can’t. His Almighty power will always trump my finite understanding.

To Hear Future Glory

© Elise Grinstead 2012

Last night, we had a gathering of newer friends mixed in with a couple of older ones. In an effort to get to know each other better, we asked two directed questions, and shared our answers with one another.

I sat next to a woman whom I’ve been privileged to get to know over the last year and a half. We have already shared much with one another, and consider each other one of each other’s closest friends. In response to one of the questions, she shared part of her story. As she started, I thought to myself, “yes, I’ve heard this before,” but I kept listening. As I did, her sharing of herself in full honesty wove a greater depth into her story, one that startled and surprised me.

I thought I knew her pretty well thus far. Yet, last night reminded me there’s still so much to know. It also showed me that I can easily make assumptions based on what I’ve heard the first, second, third, or so on time, and think that I know her. In the past, her story has seemed pretty spelled out and simple. Yet, the parts that at first glance seem cut and dry and unchanging about her past really aren’t. Three years later, God is greatly using her story.

And if I think her past and present are fixed entities, I really neglect what God can do with them in the future. There are past incidents and a past self that she cannot change. There are present realities—triumphs and struggles that she is very much in the midst of. There are future things she looks to and hopes for, ultimately placing her trust in the Lord.

It is interesting a realization came last night on a night of “getting to know one another”: there is such a necessity to first seek to hear rather than to be heard. We all had our moments to share—but I think the goal is not to seek to be known but to seek to know. It’s an action of laying down the self that often produces a reciprocal action—whereas if we operate on the contrary, only seeking to be known—it can easily become overwhelming to those listening, and sometimes, maybe even overbearing. So in those times of conversation, it is prudent to lay down the self and come with fresh ears and fresh eyes and allow others to share who they are and what they have to say in that moment. I think it is one of the greatest things we can give another—to essentially say, “I come with no preconceived notions. Tell me where and who you are in this moment.” In that, there is acceptance, and in acceptance, there is more freedom and vulnerability on the part of the person sharing to share.

As for me, four months, a year and a half, seven years, sixteen years, a lifetime—all of these are amounts of time that I have been in relationship or friendship with someone—and while yes, time grows intimacy and knowledge in those relationships, time should never create the assumption of mastery. I will never have mastered my knowledge of any person—they are too dynamic and changing, and there will always be something new to learn and something that shifts. Relationships are not meant for mastery. They are meant to complement and be part of a journey. I easily forget that. If I am easily assuming as I attempt to listen, I probably am not truly listening, or just thinking I have heard this before. Therefore, time and time again, I must come to first and foremost seek to hear, to come to the other with no preconceived notions, and remember I am in a lifelong journey of getting to know one another. I can easily be surprised with new depth in something I think I have heard before. God is not finished with myself. I should never assume He is finished with anyone else, or any part of their story.

With that friend of mine that I listened to last night, I learned I cannot compartmentalize her life—it all flows together as part of her story, part of her life God is working in and through. And as I listened to her talk about her past in the present and what it means for her future, I saw wide eyes of other women in the room as they truly heard what she said and received it as a divine word the Lord was speaking to them personally at that moment. They sought to hear, and hear they did. See, her past sufferings now equal the Lord’s future glory. God takes the messiness of our life and does not attempt to hide it—but rather asks us to trust Him with it going forward and let Him make it into what He desires it to be. And often, it comes in moments unsuspecting down the road—the realization comes that He has taken what was once broken, refined it and is using it for something beautiful. If we embrace that truth, we can and truly do embrace one another, as we are all ultimately under the Lord.