Jesus' Voice Sounds Like This

A few days ago I was listening to a speaker online discuss the ways that God speaks. When he started to talk about how God speaks to us through the Bible, particularly mentioning that it isn’t always about warm fuzzies and that God uses the Bible to convict us too. He suggested that when God convicts us it makes us uncomfortable, makes us squirm, and puts us in the ‘hot seat’ so to speak.

I believe that God does convict through the Bible but as I was listening to him, panic and dread quickly built up in me. I turned off the sermon and asked Jesus what was going on and why was I reacting so strongly to something I mostly agreed with.

In listening to this teacher speak, I felt that old fear that maybe God did require something of me and if he found me out it was going to be very uncomfortable and awkward and I would be embarrassed. Then I felt a slightly newer fear that maybe I was going to be persuaded by a nice sounding man who has a lot more training and experience than I do to return to those dreadful lies. Then I was afraid that I’d never be free of fear while listening to sermons!

I know that fear comes from the Enemy and is in direct opposition to the truth and love of Jesus so I asked him how was the Enemy giving me this fear?

Very quickly it came to me. “He’s suggested that you don’t know my voice. And you agreed with him.”

Now that is how God convicts. Just the facts. Firm but not the slightest bit condemning. I’m thinking, “Okay . . . if that’s a lie . . . then . . . the truth is that I know your voice. I’m gonna choose to believe you but how can that be true?! I feel like I’ve been fooled so often.”

I guess I got him going a topic he likes because he suddenly became loquacious. I wanted to share this because, well, it’s genius and because God is so much better than we’ve imagined.

“My voice never condemns, accuses, or shames you. My voice never communicates disappointment with you. My voice to you gives you peace, my direction to you is clear. When I ask you to repent it is an invitation to freedom and a request to accept more of my love.

“My voice does not give you confusion. My voice does not say what you are not ready to hear. My voice marks a clear path to freedom. My voice is enjoyable to you since you love my truth.

“My voice rolls with authority, affirms who you are, speaks to you with respect. My voice, even my correction, gives you love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control. My voice brings light and understanding. My voice does not cause you fear. My voice relaxes or excites you but I do not bring you tension or worry.

“My voice speaks of my goodness. My voice will not manipulate you or suggest that you are failing or a failure. My voice will speak better of you than you speak of yourself. My voice is gentle and kind because kindness leads you to repentance and gentleness makes you great. My voice is everything you desire.”

A Lie or the Truth?

Someone shared this with me recently and it has changed my relationship with God for the better so I thought I’d do my best to share it accurately here.

We all know about the fruit of Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control. There are fruits, however that are not of the Holy Spirit. In Genesis 3, the story of when woman and man first agreed with the Deceiver, you can find the fruit of their agreement in their actions. They were ashamed, they were afraid, they hid from God, and they blamed anyone available.

None of those four things, shame, fear, blame or hiding, come from knowing and trusting the Truth. In fact, these things are directly opposed to God’s plans for us. So, when we experience any of these things working in us we know that we have believed a lie and that the Truth as well as release from these things is available to us.

This was especially important to me because I have felt for a while that afraid and hiding presence of God, ashamed of myself in front of him. I knew that this was related to all the lies I had been taught growing up in the name of God. I was taught that he was disappointed and grieved by me and that if I came into his presence he would condemn me.

I knew that these were lies, but I didn’t know how to separate them from God in my mind. I knew that God wasn’t like that but I didn’t know how to stop reacting to him as though he was exactly like that. I was afraid of hearing his voice because I had heard so many lies from what I thought was his voice in the past.

I blamed him for all this too. How could I trust him now when I thought I was trusting him then? I accused him of not protecting me and I couldn’t see any way around these thoughts since they were based on the truth of my experience.

I was asked whether these questions, thoughts, and blame directed at God were producing the fruit of the Spirit or the fruit of deception in me. Well, no question there, they were making me miserable. But I didn’t understand! They weren’t lies, they were relevant questions based on my own life!

Then God gave me a picture/story/idea. You know how in many stories there is an unlikely hero who is more or less guided by a wise, slightly mysterious figure. Think Bilbo and Gandalf or Frodo and Gandalf or Harry Potter and Dumbledore. The hero trusts his guide until some point in the story when the guide is suddenly absent in his time of need.

Then the questions come; sometimes from the hero’s own thoughts sometimes from someone else. I don’t have the books to reference but I seem to remember that Aberforth (Dumbledore’s brother) asks Harry exactly how much he knew about Professor Dumbledore and implies that he might not be entirely trustworthy. Or with Gandalf I mostly remember how he was accused by Wormtongue and Denethor.

The point is that as the reader of the story you know the hero shouldn’t be doubting the guide. You’re reading it thinking, “Don’t fall for that! I know it’s basically reasonable but you really can trust him just like you thought you could!” I assume if you were the hero of the story then it isn’t quite so obvious.

So God spoke to me in this way telling me that my questions were real and valid. They were based on my real experiences. But the Accuser doesn’t only accuse humans, he accuses God as well and these questions, real though they were, came from the Enemy not me.

This made all the difference to me. If they came from me then I couldn’t go on with God until they were satisfactorily answered. But if they came from the Enemy then why would I even give him the satisfaction of having me question God with them? Why would I do even a reasonable thing from his suggestion? I trust God because I know him, not because the Enemy can’t come up with a good sounding reason not to.

Suddenly, I let go of the questions and accusations that I was using as a barrier between God and I. I admit I am still curious, since God said they were valid questions, if he will choose to answer them one day. Ironically, since I was using them as a barrier between us, I don’t think I was actually willing or capable of actually hearing the answers.

I am not at all saying that it is wrong to question God. He can absolutely handle your questions and will often answer them. I’m not saying it’s wrong to be honest with God, he will definitely not be offended. I’m not even saying it’s wrong to rail at God for a while. What I am saying is that if your thoughts toward or about God are making you miserable and creating a barrier between you, you don’t have to let them.

If your thoughts are causing you shame, fear, blame or the desire to hide from God then realize they are lies and you don’t have to agree with them or put up with them no matter how reasonable or logical they sound.

There is also a difference between the facts of a matter and the Truth. The facts of the matter are that virgins don’t ever get pregnant. But the Truth is, one did once. The facts for me were that I was abused in God’s name and didn‘t know how he could be trustworthy. But the truth is that I do trust him and he is trustworthy.

I am not sure that I explained this well since I was trying to keep it reasonably short. If it brings up any questions please ask me.

Lies Meet the Truth Part 2, What the Truth Did

The Truth is not a collection of ideas. It is far too big to simply pass through my mind or to be tainted by lies. I’ve been trying to make it in the image of the lies I’ve known. But a lie isn’t the opposite of Truth any more than a cat is the opposite of a dog. They are different breeds entirely.

Just as I’ve tried to shove the lies out; I’ve tried to drag the truth in. It doesn’t work. It’s like trying to push water aside; it will make you move, but you’ll never move it.

No, the Truth is not a collection of beliefs or the opposite of lies. He is a person; He is love embodied.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I wake in a clean bed, in a cool room. Calm, but a bit confused. Where am I? Wasn’t I in my filthy house overrun by disgusting lies? Wasn’t I cowering in a corner helpless, wounded, afraid and angry? Where am I?

I slowly realize. Reality begins to separate from dream. Because it was a dream. I mean, it wasn’t all a dream. No, I really lived through it, I see the scars on myself as proof. The lies were real and so was the pain. But so was the Hero. He did come for me, and He took me away immediately. I was safe the moment He was there. The lies never touched me after He arrived.

I had been delirious. I couldn’t tell the difference between today, yesterday, and tomorrow. I didn’t know that the pain I was feeling was no longer from abuse, but from painful wounds being healed. I knew that He had come but I didn’t remember Him taking me away. I knew that He promised to save me, promised I would always be safe, but in my feverish tossing as He cared for me, I didn’t know that He was still here.

But He was. He is.

I am still weak. Still content to lay in bed and try to get used to these new surroundings. I’m still trying to think through what has happened to me. A lot has happened. But I’m awake. I know the difference between yesterday, today, and tomorrow. I’m sane again. The past is gone, and so are the continual nightmares of it. Tonight, when I go to bed, there is no guarantee that I won’t have bad dreams. But dreams will stay dreams, and no longer masquerade as reality.

I am scarcely involved in, much less responsible for my own healing. Unless you count accepting rest and care. Unless you count accepting Him. I’ll lie here, with nothing to do but watch the Healer as He cares for me. Nothing to do but consider the fact that He must, actually, love me.

Lies Meet the Truth Part 1, How the Lies Came

When I was young and naïve they came to me, these lies. Only one at first. It promised to help, to fill the emptiness, calm the fears, and bring order in my chaos. It never mentioned any price it only wanted to be a friend to me. So I accepted.

As soon as I let it in it made itself at home and I found we weren’t just friends, we were friends with benefits, or else. Somehow, I never considered tossing it out. Once you give yourself to something it’s hard to throw it out and far from alleviating my fears it magnified them. No, I didn’t try to get rid of it, I protected it. But this lie wasn’t being helpful as it promised at all. It was abusing me and now I was more desperate than ever.

So more came knocking on my door. Like salesmen with the latest model. “We’ve heard your screams and we have the answer to your misery.” They would help, they didn’t require anything in return. They only wanted to be friends. So in desperation I let one in after the other. Until I was less than a slave in my own heart.

Each one made themselves at home. They formed relationships with one another. Some hated each other and fought all the time, I was always collateral damage. Others worked together to make my misery worse.

And they all, separately, required their benefits. Intimacy, forced, whenever they wanted, however they liked. I still hoped naively that each new one would be the hero to deliver me from the last ones. But it never worked like that.

Each one fed on the ones before it, more of a monster, more abusive, more controlling, and always requiring more of me.

Then there came a time when I quit looking for a hero. I quit answering the door. I was too busy cowering exhausted and naked in my corner hoping none of them would notice me. But it didn’t help. They were only too happy to answer it for me and invite their relatives in.

But all this was only in my head. So I learned two defenses. Try not to think, because my head was full of only lies that I no longer wanted any part of, or plot revolt and revenge. I wouldn’t be too surprised if the lies themselves taught me these defenses. Little help have they ever been to me.

But a Hero has come. I don’t really know what He is up to or how He got in. I wonder sometimes, why He doesn’t throw them all out immediately. I think maybe they are in too deep for a quick fix. He won’t yank them away, He will care for me until I throw them out myself. Sometimes I hate Him for this.

I haven’t tasted much of His Peace, but sometimes I smell it, like fresh baked bread. To be hungry and smell food without tasting it. Well, I hate Him for this too sometimes.

I know that some of them have gone. I know it’s because of Him. I think I might have had something to do with it as well, but I don’t know what. Sometimes I look for Him and can’t seem to find Him. As though He left me to them again for a while.

I get the idea that I am supposed to have power over them myself, but I don’t understand that either. Sometimes it seems like I have, sometimes not. So I keep plotting my escape, often in despair, or I try not to think.

I know that the Truth is laying around here somewhere but why does it seem so laid back? Why does it seem that I have to prod it into action but lies are animated on their own? Isn’t Truth supposed to have a life of its own?

I want easy answers. I want quick relief.

Even here I see the influence of the lies. They seep out of everything I say and do. Nothing is clear of them. This is what I hate the most. This is why I try not to think. Because every little idea is marred by them. I recognize their mark but I don’t know how to remove it.

I determine to meditate on the truth, I determine to ignore the lies at least for a moment without the escape of not thinking. And I find even the Truth is not unstained once it has passed through my mind. When will I be free?

One of my earliest memories is of looking out across our back yard. I would guess that it was between one and two acres but there was also a pasture behind it, so it seemed to go on much bigger. In the spring the whole yard, as well as the pasture, was covered in small white sweet smelling flowers.

I remember looking across the huge expanse (I couldn’t have been more than four, an acre alone was a huge expanse) and it taking my breath. It was like a sweet royal carpet of gently waving white. It was magical to me.

“Everyone on board was filled with joy and excitement, but not an excitement that made one talk. . .Whiteness, shot with faintest color of gold spread round them on every side. . .There seemed no end to the lilies. Day after day from all those miles and leagues of flowers there rose a smell which Lucy found it very hard to describe; sweet--yes, but not at all sleepy or overpowering, a fresh, wild, lonely smell that seemed to get into your brain and make you feel that you could go up mountains at a run or wrestle with an Elephant. She and Caspian said to one another, ‘I feel that I can’t stand much more of this, yet I don’t want it to stop.’” -C. S. Lewis The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

When dying of hypothermia, warm fuzzies are indispensable.

These past months have been hard ones for me. I know it’s cliché but they have been some of the best and hardest of my life. Being married is great, more than I had hoped for from all the Christian nay-saying I grew up with. The hard part is the same thing that has always been hard for me; what’s going on inside of me.

With the opening of my heart to Jon, which has been miraculous, God has put his toe through the door to previously closed rooms in my heart. I had very little idea that these rooms existed, much less were closed. They were like secret passageways that I had put out of use and forgotten about. But God never forgets and apparently he wants to tour them, and then make himself at home in them.

This sounds fine on paper. There is nothing I’d like more. But in real life, it has been so much messier, and so out of my control, and so confusing, and so exhausting. I have felt as though I am being ripped open. I mean literally felt as though my chest is exploding. Jon has watched, helpless, as I have cried and even screamed uncontrollably from pain long locked away.

One of my worst fears has finally overtaken me, I have experienced emotional take-over, lost all ability to reason or even interact with anything outside of me. I have experienced loss of control, much worse loss of control than other emotional people I have scorned. I have experienced helplessness. I have been humbled.

I have felt the distance I created between God and I long ago and no longer have the power to revoke. I have experienced the terror of God that I have been denying was inside me for years. The confusion I have kept on the shelf keeps falling off on my head. I have admitted that I don’t feel loved by Him. I have faced the fact that mostly I feel pain. I have started to accept that all of this is true even if it’s illogical. I have admitted my need of God not just in my mind or my actions but in my emotions.

I have been asking to experience him. I have been asking to feel his love. I used to think that you shouldn’t need these to be a good Christian. That people only searched for these because they would rather have warm fuzzies than face reality. That people cared too much about how they felt about God and not enough about who God actually is. But in my humbling, my mind has been changed.

In none of my other relationships do I find that feeling love from someone is neither here nor there. In none of my other close relationships do I believe that it doesn’t matter that I’ve never felt loved by that person, or that if they told me they loved me then that should be enough. In none of my other relationships have I put the blame on myself when someone else has not acted out their love for me. In none of my other relationships do I make excuses for the fact that they once did something very loving but I haven’t really heard from them since.

If it’s relationship that God wants, then good emotions towards him are certainly not enough alone, but they are also certainly not dispensable. It is reasonable to want to feel love, to see love, to understand and experience love from someone who declares that they love you.

I wish that I could let you into the convoluted confusion of my mind and emotions as I have reached and wrestled with this conclusion. The many questions swirling, the uncertainty, the feelings of guilt and unworthiness and “What’s wrong with me?” and “Why am I so messed up?” and “Is it my fault?” and “I thought I dealt with this all before!” and “What if I never feel loved by God?” and “Am I refusing to accept the love of God?” and “Why hasn’t God shown up yet?”

On the one hand knowing so certainly that He does love me but also experiencing that my emotions are not in unity with this knowing. I am very ready for everything inside me to be on the same page.

I’ve been thinking about practicing the presence of God. I mostly haven’t gotten anywhere with the thought but it’s still been bothering my mind. Is there something I can do? I know my works are useless, but in my other relationships I know what to do to hang out with a person. With my Mom I might run errands or go out to eat. With Gracie I sit on the couch and drink coffee and talk about whatever pops into my head in no particular order. With Ellen, I follow her around the farm. With Jon, I work on a project with him. With Cassie and Connor I go on long walks up the road.

But what do I do to specially spend time with God? Being a good Christian for all my life now, I know lots of answers, but I couldn’t figure out the way God and I connect most easily. Then yesterday, I had an “Aha!” moment. I have always felt most connected to God outside, or in enjoying nature.

Today, I realized that at different times there have been different things that God and I did to connect. When I was rediscovering him while walking through darkness, the Psalms connected us. When the darkness was dissipating, reading the Psalms was no longer the same, but journaling about all my questions connected us. Then the journaling didn’t seem to work anymore. But always, always, marveling at his creations has been our favorite connection. I never realized it before because I didn't recognise it as spiritual enough.

Tonight, as I tried to go to sleep, I was thinking about this and my brain exploded. My earliest, clearest, happiest, most restful, most peaceful, most joyful, most simple, most happy, most awe-inspiring memories have always been of the outdoors. And in remembering, it hit me. There was God, loving me, enjoying me, spending time with me, investing in me, protecting me, healing me, comforting me, being with me, when I was outside. That’s why those memories are so important. I didn’t see it then, but I felt it; God was loving me in my language.

Memory after beautiful memory rushed through my mind. Memories untarnished by confusion and pain. Memories I’ve always enjoyed but never connected to each other. I felt as though I had suddenly received 23 years worth of juicy letters from someone I thought hadn’t been communicating with me.

All those years of confused memories, memories half happy half troubling, memories of tension I didn’t understand, and hurts I can no longer deny, and darkness I desperately tried to hide from. Memories of feeling that God was distant or maybe didn’t care, or was waiting on me to straighten up. Those are still there. Those memories were always connected in my mind. But now, with these bright memories connecting too, those other memories changed.

Most of those memories are of a darkness I couldn’t understand and couldn’t put my finger on and couldn’t get away from and couldn't seem to find God in. But they started changing as I got the idea that he was there, standing right in front of me, with his back towards me. But he hadn’t turned his back on me; he was busy fighting for me. I was safe, but the danger was real and really scary and I didn’t understand why he wasn’t holding me.

But then, when I’d go outside, the danger would be gone and the fear, and he would soothe me and comfort me and make me laugh. I can’t explain it to you. I wish I could. I have never felt so loved.

Worthy

Only the buyer can give something worth. The seller can set a price that they believe it is worth, but when the buyer pays the amount then the item’s worth is proven.

Some things are worthless because no one will buy them, exchange them, or take them for any reason. In a country whose wars had lessened the worth of its currency a basket full of bills was left outside a store for a moment. When the owner of the basket returned, his bills were scattering in the wind and the basket was stolen. The money, although it had its supposed worth printed on it, was no longer worth anything because no one would accept it.

To a horse owner, horse dung is worthless. Unless someone comes by and wants to buy it for fertilizer. Then it is worth whatever the person is offering.

It is the same with us. When we were in sin, it seemed that we were worthless. We had such a huge debt, and had nothing to commend ourselves with. In our pride, we didn’t even believe that we needed help. If someone had offered to pay our debt, we would have laughed in their face.

God saw this, our need, our pride, our debt, and he saw worth. He and Jesus knew that to bring us out of this state and into the glory we were made for would take death. Then they agreed that we were worth the price. To all appearances we were worthless but then a Buyer came along, gave us his attention and decided we were worth his effort.

wor·thy Adjective: deserving effort, attention, or respect.

We certainly did nothing in ourselves to be worthy or have worth. God created us with worth. Then he redeemed us after we had separated ourselves from the Source of our worth. Through Jesus, he made us twice as worthy again.

My worth is phenomenal. My pricetag reads, "Priceless". I am worth Jesus. If you believe that this is going to give me a big head then you didn’t understand a thing I just said. I am worth Jesus because Jesus said so and for no other reason. If I turn from him to honor my own worth then I am denying the One who gave me worth. It would be madness.

On the other hand, if I look to myself and proclaim, “Without Jesus I am worthless.” This too is madness. I am not without Jesus. Why would I try to take Jesus out of the equation? He IS the equation.

No person is so far from Jesus as to be without worth. No person has ever been so far from Jesus as to be without worth. The unsaved deny the one who gives them worth and try to claim their worth apart from him. Regardless of what they deny, regardless of the worth they are constantly scrambling to prove, the truth remains. Jesus considered them worth dying for.

I would call that priceless.