A Palace in Prison

There’s all sorts of prisons, aren’t there? There’s the jails with barbed wire, armed guards, barred cells and the clamor of convicted felons. There’s the places where prisoners of war are isolated and tortured. There are work camps and slavery for the persecuted, imprisoned for their religion, beliefs or ethnicity, stripped of all dignity, starved, beaten and forced to do labor their weakened bodies can barely endure. These are the prisons with walls and gates and guards and masters.

But there are other prisons too, where the walls are not so easy to see. Where one knows the gate is locked but she can’t find the door. Where the torturers are people or memories or hurts he can’t escape, the walls are circumstances she can’t change, and the clamor is the voices in his head that tell him “this is all there is”, that tell her “hope is hopeless.” And there’s the prisons of our own doing…the things that isolate our hearts…pride, selfishness, unforgiveness, arrogance, control…I could go on.

Lately, I’ve been studying the book of Genesis – mostly the life of Joseph, son of Jacob. He was familiar with all sorts of prisons: brothers who hated him, the pit they cast him into, slavery into which they sold him, an Egyptian jail for a crime he did not commit, the constant demands of his eventual high position in a country that tempted him daily with its worldliness. These are the prisons Joseph knew.

As I study, I also find myself taking special notice of Judah, for it is through his line that the messiah, Jesus comes. It is not through Joseph, Jacob’s favored son. Rather, Jesus comes through Judah, a broken and blatantly sinful man.

Judah was the son of Leah, the less-loved wife, the wife who wasn’t favored. And so he also was a less-loved son. As an adult, Judah carried the guilt of selling Joseph into slavery then deceiving and bringing suffering upon his father. He lost his first two sons, his wife and then unwittingly impregnated his bereaved daughter-in-law from whom he had unjustly kept his third son. Judah had a few prisons of his own.

One difference in these two brothers is that Joseph, whether caught in the web of his brothers’ hatred, held captive as a slave or serving time in a dungeon, was, in his spirit, a free man. We can see it in his devotion and loyalty to the Lord and the people he served, his integrity, diligence, kindness, grace, mercy and complete trust in God’s plan and goodness. Joseph is not imprisoned by his circumstances or his emotions. He seems to know a wonderful truth: that the walls that hold his body in can not crush his spirit.

Eventually, toward the end of Genesis we see a transformed Judah, who offers his own life to save the life of his brother Benjamin and to prevent his father from enduring any further suffering. We see a Judah who is free from selfishness, envy and bitterness, freed because his concern for another finally outweighs his concern for himself. He looks physical captivity, slavery and even death in the eye and seems to say, “I’ve known greater prisons than you!”

So what about you and me? What kind of prisons are we living in? Are you stuck in a job you hate? Do you feel trapped in family wrought with bitterness and distrust? Is your body giving out on you? Maybe your depressed. Or lonely. Anxious about money. Is someone you love hurting and you feel helpless? Or perhaps you’re wondering how you’ll ever say good-bye to your first child as they head off to college?

Then there’s the spiritual prisons. In one way or another we are all in danger of being trapped by our decisions to put other things before God. I find myself asking: What do I trust more…my ability to earn a salary or God’s faithfulness to provide? What do I work for more, the approval of people or God’s approval? How do I know I am valuable, because others say so or because God says so?

Through the study of Joseph and some great conversation with our couples small group, I realized, in a new way, that even when I feel trapped, my spirit is free. Free to worship the Lord, free to do what is right, free to serve and love and dance and pray. Surely this is not something we can do on our own…but with God all things are possible.

A couple of months ago I was thinking about my “pit” (see The Pits) and wondering about God…why is he so willing to enter my pit…to reside there with me. Then He gave me a sort of picture: I saw Jesus climbing down into my dark, dirty pit. He was surrounded by earthen walls with bugs, cobwebs, plant roots…you name it…but nothing He touched made Him dirty. He was light and golden and perfectly clean. Why? Then a word popped into my mind “Incorruptible.” Jesus in incorruptible. God can be with us in our prisons and remain unchanged, pure and good. The God that rules over all of heaven is the very same God that meets you in your pit. He doesn’t shrink himself for you or compromise his God-ness. Even when He took on our sin his life was pure. And whatever situation we are in, His life – his incorruptible life – that well of grace, mercy, strength, courage, joy and peace – is available to us.

There are many books and sermons and essays written about Joseph’s life with titles like: “From the Pit to the Palace” or “Prison to Palace”. But that’s no longer how I see it. No. Joseph didn’t leave the pit for the palace. The palace was in the pit with Joseph all along. “The Lord was with Joseph,” Genesis 39:2. Every day, in all situations, Joseph’s heart knelt before the throne of the Lord. And he was free.

March 30, 2011 6

Dragon Suit

Lately, our pastor has been talking about the Frog Prince. He’s been telling us that we are all frog princes and princesses, but we have been kissed by our Savior and redeemed from the swamp. When we exhibit selfishness, pride, self-righteousness – any sin really -it is as if we are crawling back to the swamp and trying to climb back into our slimy frog suits. Well, I don’t know about you, but my suit of shame looks a lot more like the thick, tough, scaly skin of a fire-breathing dragon.

In one of my favorite books, C.S. Lewis’s The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Eustace, a whiny, selfish, arrogant, greedy, lazy and altogether annoying boy, unknowingly seeks refuge from a storm in a dragon’s lair. The sight of the dragon’s gold, silver, jewels and other spoils, immediately fuels Eustace’s pride, sparking his lust for possessions, position and power. He soon slips a piece of the dragon’s hoard on his arm, puts some diamonds in his pocket and impatiently waits for the storm to cease. Then he drifts off to sleep, having no understanding whatsoever of the danger of sleeping in the home of a dragon.

Shortly after waking, Eustace realizes his mistake. He was most certainly in danger, but not as you may think. You see, the dragon of that lair had died a sad and lonely death earlier that day. Instead of suffering a dragon’s assault, Eustace wakes to find he has become the dragon. “Sleeping on a dragon’s hoard with greedy, dragonish thoughts in his heart, he had become a dragon himself.” (p.97) A horrible but merciful result. He was consumed, though not eaten, crippled but not destroyed.

For days Eustace suffers in fear and loneliness, is humbled by his own hideous form and eventually is completely changed by the kindness shown to him by those he previously despised and treated so terribly. Eustace comes to know his own weaknesses, see his own faults, feel his need for companionship and eventually, learns to put others before himself. It is after this internal transformation occurs that Aslan appears visibly to Eustace. And it is then that Aslan, with Eustace’s permission, does what Eustace could not do for himself. He digs his claws deep into Eustace’s thick dragon flesh and tears if off, then he throws him into a spring of healing waters, dresses him in new clothes and frees him to a new life. As Lewis writes, “The cure had begun.” (p. 104)

What an ordeal? After he is healed and free, can you ever imagine him wanting to put on that dragon suit again? Of course not. But I do it all the time.

A few weeks ago I had a brief encounter with someone* with whom I have unresolved conflict. After the initial conflict, many, many months ago, I sought reconciliation, confessed, asked forgiveness, and, like a good, little Christian girl, attempted acts of grace and service toward her, after all of which I thought “And now we move on!” Well, not exactly…because every volley has two sides and she isn’t playing.

Technically speaking, I did all the right things. I did my best to obey God and follow the formula, and I truly believe that, at least at first, my heart was in the right place. What did I get in return? No forgiveness. No apology for her part in the conflict. And, because I cannot completely remove myself from her circle of influence, I continue to be hurt both directly and indirectly. So now what? Well, you know the answer…I must persevere, return evil with good, forgive seven times seventy. I must have the humility and long-suffering of Christ. OK God! Yes! I can and I will!

Um….just so long as I never have to talk to her again.

Doesn’t that sound like a heart full of grace? Of course, that was not a conscious thought, but apparently that little, self-righteous qualifier lurked somewhere deep inside me. You see, I thought I had it all under control – then I had to talk to her. It seems that every time I see her, hear her voice, try to have a conversation with her – let’s be honest, at the mere mention of her name – little green scales emerge all over my skin. Tell-tale streams of smoke rise past my eyes from out of my nostrils. I feel the heat from a lick of flame on my lip and quickly clap my hands over my mouth. But to no avail! Before I know it, I’m breathing fire, burning up everything in my path, devastating the landscape and, in the process, singeing my own eyebrows! So now….I could be wrong…(feel free to challenge me!)…but that doesn’t quite sound like forgiveness to me.

For some time, I, like Eustace, was ignorant, blinded to my own form. Until that fateful day a few weeks ago. One encounter. One brief encounter.

Now ours was (at least for me) a difficult conversation about the practical logistics of a concrete matter carrying emotional weight. I chose my words carefully for all of it, saying hard things that needed to be said as succinctly as possible. Then, during our short-lived exchange, something she said struck a certain nerve…a prideful nerve, no doubt. And there it was: The Moment. I had a choice. A moment of pause. A moment to decide how to respond. A moment that would later, in the hands of God, serve as a mirror to my heart.

Perhaps the worst part is that I didn’t lash out in an uncontrollable, emotion-fueled rage. At least that would seem like an unintentional mistake. No. I stopped and thought about it. I chose my words carefully, considering the tone, effect and consequence. I didn’t spew fire like a wild mythical creature. Rather, I burned with the steady aim of a surgical strike. So masterful, I thought I was. For a second, I was satisfied, relieved even, at having finally made myself known. “Take that!” my attitude told her, “Ha! No more of you walking all over me!”

In another part of Dawn Treader, Eustace-the-dragon, before he even understands what he’s doing, ravenously eats the carcass of the dragon that died earlier that day. It is an ugly scene, but as Lewis points out “though his mind was the mind of Eustace, his tastes and his digestion were dragonish. And there is nothing a dragon likes so well, as fresh dragon.” (p. 100) And so it was with me, the formerly caring, concerned, compassionate, forgiving, long-suffering child of Christ, now just a hideous dragon feasting upon the flesh of another dragon!

Though I don’t wish this experience on another, I imagine there is quite possibly a recovering dragon or two in my reading audience. Those of you will understand what happened next. For starters, my stomach churned and my body ached. Everything about me felt wrong. Then, just like he was lifting up a mirror to my heart, the Lord brought The Moment before my eyes again and again. The first time I noticed that I was a little rough. The next that perhaps I was a bit beastly. Then, eventually, that I had indeed, with dragonish thoughts in my heart and mind, become like the dragon.

How did I let myself get here again? Oh Lord, I’m sorry! Take it off, take this dragon suit off me! And so, again, I endure the pain of confession and repentance so that I can be stripped and freed from that scaly skin, healed by the waters of life and dressed in new clothes, clothes suitable for a God’s child.

Looking back now, I see not only how damaging, but also how ridiculous my actions were. You can imagine that as someone who considers herself a writer must feel, when the Lord reveals to her how ridiculous, immature, pathetic and even nonsensical were the “carefully” chosen words of her “surgical strike.” They were words of nothingness, word fit only, perhaps, for the great debates of jr. high bathrooms across America. Oh, for heaven’s sake, it’s actually embarrassing!

After much prayer, reflection and thought on this matter, God is revealing to me new things about myself and this particular, as of yet, unreconciled relationship. Forgiveness is difficult; in fact, true forgiveness may be impossible without the presence of God’s grace in our own lives and the power of his Spirit in us to do the forgiving. Forgiveness is especially difficult when we are not accepted; and even more difficult when the hurts keep coming. Yet this is the very heart of Christ – to forgive in the face of sin and pain, to love even when despised and rejected. And now, I don’t fret over which words to choose. Only two words will do: God, help!

I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you; I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. Ezekiel 36:26

*Dear readers, this letter is not about you or someone on whom I am seeking revenge. First and foremost, it is about me and God. Second, I believe the information is general enough to protect her identity. Third, the unnamed person included in this post is someone I have minimal contact with and is likely to never see or even stumble upon these pages. If she does, I pray she hears my heart and understands. If, for some reason, you think it’s you, call me. Love~Nichole

March 7, 2011 4

The Pits ~ A Christmas Message

Have you ever been in a cave or a deep pit? I can’t stand the thought of it! On our cross country road trip this summer, I refused to visit cave locations. I loved the mountain tops, the canyons, even the valleys, but caves? Underground? Dark? Damp? Probably bugs and bats and who know what else? No thanks! Just watching the story of the trapped Chilean miners unfold on television pained me. Whenever the reporter opened her mouth, I could feel the air being sucked out of my lungs. “It’s been 2 days.” Two days! I would think. Then it was 4 days, 24 days, 40 days. When would it end?

For a girl who avoids dark, confining spaces, I sure spend a lot of time in the pits – emotional pits, psychological pits, spiritual pits. Have you ever been in a pit like that? Where you just couldn’t seem to feel good about anything? Maybe you were hurt – so hurt you couldn’t imagine ever being happy again. Perhaps bitterness was eating away at your heart. Or was your soul shackled to a need for revenge? Maybe you were wandering in a fog of doubt, lost sight of who you were and couldn’t remember the point of this life anyway.

A few months ago, when I was in a really ugly place, at the urging of a good friend, I spent several hours praying about my “pit”. Now I could make this a really long letter and tell you all about the deep, psychological revelations, spiritual implications, and sometimes bizarre conversations I had with the Lord and myself that night, but neither you nor I are ready for that. Instead I will share what I think is the single, most pivotal moment in my prayer time that night. As I prayed, I asked the Lord, “But how can I ever get out of this pit? You say I have to want to get out but I don’t know if I want to get out. Can you make me want it? And even if I want to get out, then what? I’m trapped. What do I do?” A moment later, almost clear as day, (though not audibly like a person), I heard the Lord gently say, “Invite me into the pit with you.” Even as I write this, tears well up in my eyes. “Invite me into the pit with you,” he says.

Who is this God who offers to come into our pit with us? The great I AM, the Lord Almighty, the King of kings, says to me, a selfish, petulant child, “Invite me into the pit with you.” That was exactly what I needed to hear that night. The pit is too deep, the walls too steep, the earth too hard, the way too dark. I can never get out on my own. Yet, I do not have to be in this alone.

During my prayer, I looked up at the television (which had been muted) and what was on? Nothing other than the Chilean miners being rescued, one by one, from a pit 2014 feet below ground. After 69 days – 69 days! -of waiting, hoping and praying, they were finally being saved. For weeks they had been fed, medicated as necessary and monitored for emotional and psychological well-being. For over two months, teams of people around the world worked to create a mechanism by which the men could be freed from the mines. Now, finally, the whole world watched as, one at a time, the miners rode the small capsule to freedom. I, like you, was elated and overcome with joy for these men and their families.

The next day, I watched as the last miner was pulled out of the earth. I turned up the volume and heard the reporter say that there was still someone to be freed. What? I thought the last miner was just rescued! I turned up the volume some more. Turns out, the miners hadn’t climbed into the capsule on their own like I had thought. Silly me. Rescuers, themselves, entered the capsule first and willingly rode it deep down into the earth to help save the trapped men. The last man out of the mines was a rescuer. He sacrificed the sunlight and security above to go down into the pit with them; and he didn’t leave until every last man was saved.

It was no accident that God timed my prayers to coincide with this historic rescue. What a beautiful expression of his love. “Look, Nichole. This is a picture of me,” he said, “I have come down to you and I am not leaving you behind.”

Now this is a Christmas letter, after all, and so I will go ahead and write what many of you are already thinking: Isn’t that what Christmas is all about? The Lord of lords, the King of kings, the Almighty God, the great I AM, stepped out of heaven and into a manger. He left his place on high and came down into the pit with us. The Alpha and Omega left behind the goodness, light, glory and perfection of heaven for this fallen world, in order to become our Prince of Peace. The Creator of all things took the form of his creation and lived not only in the pit of humanity but as the pit that is humanity. And he didn’t leave until he completed his mission: that by his sacrifice every last person could be saved. The Lion became the Lamb. That is the gift of Christmas: Jesus.

If and when you find yourself in a “pit” of your own, whether it is today or tomorrow or next week or next year, I encourage you to invite Jesus down into that dark place with you. And remember, you don’t have to wait until things are really bad. He’s always there, waiting to be invited in.

Merry Christmas!!!

Though you have made me see troubles, many and bitter, you will restore my life again; from the depths of the earth, you will again bring me up. Psalm 71:20

December 21, 2010 2