Day 7. Philippians 1:6

I had a bit of a time sorting through the plethora of options with which to finish this challenge—as it turns out, there are more than 7 good verses in the bible!

And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.

This.

This has been an incredible source of hope for me, and I’m sure countless numbers of others who have ever doubted God’s presence, intentions, or sovereignty in their own lives. Time and time again, we fall short—we’re humans, sure, but couldn’t God be working a little harder or faster to make us not suck so much? It’s not like that’s not within his power to do so, right? I have no idea how God works, but if both his word and his spirit affirm that he is doing a good work in us and slowly bringing it to completion, then gosh golly gee… maybe that's the still small voice we should be listening to, rather than our own shortsighted impatience.

I’ve heard it said that your goal in life should be to not recognize the person you were x-amount-of-years ago. Since Jesus has become part of my life, I don’t recognize the person I was a month ago, or even last week—inwardly, we are being renewed day by day […] so we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal – from 2 Corinthians 4

I also want to talk more about this CD my mom gave me for Christmas…

On this album, Welcome to the New by Mercy Me, there is this song, called “Finish What He Started” that is based on this piece of scripture. There’s one line in particular in there that really gets me every time I listen to it:

Remember you’re forgiven, so there’s no need to give in to the lie that you’re disqualified

God is able, more than capable to be faithful to the end, and finish what he started

Yes.

How often have I thought that grace isn’t for me specifically, but humans in general (which somehow doesn’t include me—my logic is just impeccable sometimes), and given into that lie that somehow God doesn’t want anything to do with me, and I’m on my own. This has manifested itself in so many ways: avoiding prayer because I think God doesn’t care and won’t answer, not volunteering to serve in church because other people are more gifted than myself and their gifts are more desired than anything I can offer, and failing to attend church and seek out community in other ways because I feel like already established communities are better off without me, just to name a few.

Grace is for all of us, individuals, as we are. God doesn’t leave unfinished business. Just because our lives aren’t unfolding the way we’d planned doesn’t mean that God isn’t working. He is working, all the time, in ways that are higher than our ways—we can’t even comprehend them since his thoughts are higher than our thoughts and his vision for us is bigger than we could ever dream for ourselves—it is infinitely bigger than our own.

No matter what you see or think when you look in the mirror, God loves you, so, so, SO much. He is doing good work in you. That love that he has for you is far too big for him to give up on you, ever.

Day 6. Psalm 46:10

Be still and know that I am God.

I will be exalted among the nations,

I will be exalted in the earth.

Here’s the other verse that I’ve considered getting tattooed somewhere on myself. How powerful this verse has been when I’ve struggled inconsolably with anxiety and panic. A few months ago, my church used this scripture as the theme for one Sunday, and there was this lovely little video to go along with the message that took away a word or two at a time—something like this:

Be still and know that I am God.

Be still and know that I am.

Be still and know.

Be still.

Be.

God is God. He is God. No matter what we face, or who we think we are, that remains as truth. He is our refuge and strength, our ever present help in trouble. So we will not fear, though the earth gives way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea. [...] He makes wars cease to the end of the earth; he breaks the bow and shatters the spear; he burns the chariots with fire. That is who made us, and who wants us on his side. We actually do not need to be anxious about anything (I should really practice what I preach) because He is God. Once we allow that knowledge to permeate both our heads and our hearts, we just have to be still. 

Funny thing I just remembered: in grade 12, I went through a period where I was extremely depressed, and I had this one friend who was trying really hard to brighten my outlook on life, and we usually had really long, elaborate conversations, but one day when I just couldn't get out of bed, she sent me this text: "just be.". I threw my phone at the wall. She had no idea how hard this was for me. How could I possibly just be when just being hurt so much and I didn't want to be anymore. At the time I was a secular humanist, and had Christian people in my life pointing me to the bible as if it was some kind of pill that would magically fix all of my problems. I was obviously more qualified to handle the problems of my own life, so I did, and it worked for another couple of years, before my life fell apart. I feel like sometimes maybe all we can do is be. Be, and acknowledge that although we may be in a crappy situation, God is still God, and he is still sovereign, and he is still jealous, and he is still good, and he is still for us. We just need to be.

Day 5. Ephesians 4:31-32

This was another passage that I first came across in Bangladesh. We studied the book of Ephesians together as a team over the course of the trip, and many of the study sessions (as I recall) were often filled with tension and arguments over interpretation and emphasis of the passage at hand. Truthfully, I misremember whether or not the study session that included these verses was tension-filled, but I do remember being very relieved to find these words in scripture.

I’m typically very non-confrontational, and there are many instances where I can only find myself wondering why a topic is even the subject of intense debate, rather than joining a side. This is not to say that confrontation and conflict are all bad, because in many other instances they are good, and necessary.

Up until this point, there is a lot in this letter about breaking down walls of hostility between different people groups (gentiles and Jews), and living together as one Body of Christ. Paul explains the implications of this revolutionary idea in reasonable detail, and I imagine that some of the contents in his letter to the church at Ephesus probably met with some pushback, particularly from Jewish Christians who weren’t sold on the idea of sharing salvation with non-Jews. Regardless of those implications, and that pushback, Paul summarizes how we are required to live graciously as one body of believers, regardless of ethnic background or any other plethora of interpersonal variables, in these last two verses of this chapter:

Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.

I’ve seriously considered getting this tattooed somewhere on my body (I’m actually dead serious—betcha didn’t see that one coming) because it is something that I will always need to remember. I harbour bitterness in my heart like there’s been a massive sale on some product I don’t use—I feel a need to have it, though it just takes up space and doesn’t accomplish anything. As soon as I let go of bitterness towards one person or thing, I feel a compulsive need to replace it with bitterness towards something else. It’s not a good thing. I need this reminder to put away those negative thoughts and feelings and replace them with the grace and tenderheartedness that I have chosen to accept as a gift from Jesus, and to give them away as freely as he has given them to me.

Salvation is for all. Grace is for all. Kindness and tenderheartedness are for all. Forgiveness is for all. It’s easy to accept that as truth on the surface, but deep down, I think we all have reservations and need this reminder.

Day 4. Zephaniah 3:17

The Lord your God is in your midst,

a mighty one who will save;

he will rejoice over you with gladness;

he will quiet you by his love;

he will exult over you with loud singing.

Normally, I like to do my research and explore a little bit (or a lot) into context, cultural significance, and translations from the original language when I find a verse I like (or don’t like). Sometimes, though, I prefer to just read the words that are on the page as they are, and let that be the truth that is spoken to me. Although it might not be academically correct, sometimes it’s just what I need. The case of this particular verse is one of those times.

I know nothing about Zephaniah, although I can assume he was a prophet—I’m not sure from where, or who his audience was, or the intricacies of his relationship with those people, or with the Lord, and although a quick google search, or even flip through the pages of my study bible could give me those answers quite quickly, I really don’t care.

I’ve had a really rough couple of days, and anxiety has been mounting as I’m trying to figure out where I should live and what I should do for the next stage of my life. I’m second-guessing myself a lot, and God. I’m wondering if he really knows what he’s doing. I’m wondering if I can ever live the life I want to live, given my history with mental illness, and if it’s ever going to really go away. I’m wondering if all I’m worth is this lifelong sentence of depression, anxiety, loneliness, and feelings of worthlessness and filth, and why God has allowed me to sit in those feelings for so long. I wonder why I choose to sit in those feelings when I know there are better choices to be made. I wonder about hurtful things people have said to me in the past, and how much truth they hold, why they said them, and if those relationships can and should be reconciled. I wonder, and it eats away at me.

Sometimes scripture is comforting during these times, and sometimes it’s kind of infuriating to read about all of these wonderful attributes of God that I just don’t see. The nice part about that is that there is truth there, whether or not I feel that it is true in the moment—the fact that this is something else to believe as truth other than the flawed perception of myself and others as imperfect humans is a gift in itself. I just like to read that God is with me through these times, and saves, rejoices over his children with gladness, and quiets with his love—I just love that image, it reminds me of a parent lovingly holding and comforting a crying child. He also exults over his children with loud singing—not just some under-the-table, empty sympathy smalltalk of “hey, I think you’re really nice” but a loud, beautiful, majestic, genuine declaration of elation in our success of merely existing: “this is my child whom I love!”

Sometimes, I just need to read that, straight up.

Day 3. Mark 4:35-41

On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, “Let us go across to the other side.”  And leaving the crowd, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. And other boats were with him. And a great windstorm arose, and the waves were breaking into the boat, so that the boat was already filling. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion. And they woke him and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” And he awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm. He said to them, “Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?” And they were filled with great fear and said to one another,“Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”

I never really thought too much of this story, until very recently. I’ve been rereading through the gospel of Mark as part of a bible reading plan, and as I was reading this particular section, I had peace on my mind. Previously, I’d studied this passage a handful of times in manuscript style, and we’d had pretty much the same questions and observations (why and how was Jesus asleep through this storm? Why did the disciples wait until they were perishing before asking Jesus for help? Does Jesus do this to test the disciples? Was Jesus in control of the weather the whole time? Etc.). As I recall, the interpretations that we reached were inconsistent at best—whether or not he was testing them, the point is that Jesus calmed the storm, and we should have faith that he should calm the storms in our lives. Like many other things in the bible, this sentiment is great in principle, but a little more difficult to actually implement in real life.

But this time when I read this story, I was reminded really powerfully of my first encounter with God. I was 20, and suffering from ruthless, unexplained panic attacks that seemed to occur absolutely at random. I’d just begun attending bible study and hanging out in Christian community a few months before, searching for solace and hope in something other than my broken body. At one particular worship event, I found myself in the middle of a crowded living room, having a panic attack, with no way to exit the room discreetly, so to avoid drawing more attention to myself, I decided to ride it out. 

These panic attacks were violent. I would hyperventilate, shake uncontrollably, and bang my fists into my legs to try and distract myself from the fear that I was about to die. I just hoped that everyone else in the room was more focused on the worship than watching me make a scene. Somewhere during the worship time, the worship leader opened a time of prayer, where we were to pray in one voice (many voices—everyone prays whatever they want out loud at the same time), asking God to take away whatever it was that was keeping us from him. I was so scared. I knew that if I asked him to take away this panic, that that would be it—that would be proof enough to me that there is a God, and that he cares about me and listens to me, and then I’d have to change so many aspects of the way I’d been living, and open my mind up to how he wanted me to live. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want to do it. I looked around, and saw all these other people praying, and the best likeness I can give to what happened next is peer pressure, even though no one was looking at me, or forcing me to do anything, but I somehow found myself closing my eyes to pray… The instant my eyelids met, the panic attack was gone—I stopped shaking, I was able to breathe normally, and I physically felt the tension being released from my body. I felt an inexplicably profound sense of peace and calm to a degree that I did not know was even possible. It was absolutely the most incredible thing I’ve ever experienced.

This time when I reread this story in Mark 4 about a week ago, I started to see the parallels in my own story. That night two years ago, it took until I felt like I was going to die (like, every panic attack of every day) before I even thought that seeking Jesus might be a thing that could help, and it took 4 months from that initial seeking to grow a faith and understanding sufficient enough to ask him to take the panic away (although I’m still not sure how exactly that happened), all the while fearing the outcome—kind of like the disciples. Here they are in this boat, and this storm comes, and some of them are experienced fishermen, so they’re like, “nah, it’s cool, we got this, Jesus is asleep, we’ll let him sleep…” and then when the storm gets worse, to the point where they say “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” –so, they’re dying, they don’t know what else to do, Jesus is their last resort. And then Jesus says “Peace! Be still!” And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm. So this time when I was reading that story, the lightbulb went off and I was like, DUH, Helen! This is exactly what happened two years ago, the parallels are inexplicable. Not only that, but this is one of the first miracles that Jesus performs; in this gospel, it is the first miracle performed after the appointment of the twelve apostles—the first one that they are all present for (presumably), and he chooses to show them that even the wind and the sea obey him. Incredible. For me, that really started the journey into “who is this, that even my body’s biochemistry obeys him?”, like that was just a taste of the healing he was going to bring about.

I was originally told I’d have to be on medication for life—I’ve been drug-free for going on two years.

I used to have three violent panic attacks a day, now I might have one every three months.

Anxiety and panic developed into agoraphobia, meaning I couldn’t leave the house, and the faith that has been planted and uprooted and replanted and ever so slowly growing and being pruned, and flourishing, has allowed me to overcome that, to the point where I can confidently say that I feel like a productive member of society again, and also more fully human for having been through this struggle.

Jesus says “Peace! Be still!” and the wind and the sea obey him.

Day 2. Philippians 3:12-14

The first time I remember being exposed to this scripture was in Bangladesh two years ago. It was close to the final leg of our trip, and the (very timely) sermon at church that week was based on this scripture. I remember the pastor speaking very passionately, and although I didn’t quite absorb all of what he was speaking (I was probably hot, tired, and sick), I remember being so gripped by the passage that I looked it up promptly when I had some time alone and scoured the chapter, and even the rest of the book of Philippians to try and gather context and understand Paul’s angle.

“Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own.  Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.”

After professing his own human imperfection (which is significant in itself, as a teacher), Paul debunks the myth that salvation is a one-time prayer or commitment to Christ. With those words, he’s saying that yeah, it’s true that Jesus, through his dying and resurrection has purchased me as his own, and I have faith in that, but faith cannot stand without works (which is a nice parallel to James 2, one of my other fave passages), so I have to outwardly show that I have faith and believe by sharing this gospel with others and loving my God and my neighbour as Christ commanded.

Jesus offers each of us a new identity in him, but we have to want it. We have to work towards it, and forget our old self so we can get to know our new self—straining forward towards Jesus, giving it our all to be more and more like him until we are finally with him and cannot try any more.

Day 1. Psalm 73:21-26

Although I’m yet in their early stages, I’ve discovered over the last couple of years that one’s twenties are inevitably the most difficult decade of life so far. Whereas before it seemed easy to size up your peers based on benchmark developmental points that we all reached at relatively the same time, going down the same tunnel of physical, emotional, and educational development at approximately the same rate, it seems that in the twenties, this tunnel just ends, and everything that was in it spills out everywhere, in all directions. You lose the ability to compare yourself accurately to your peers. Maybe others have truly mastered the art of not comparing oneself to their peers, and good for them, but comparison, and trying to be first or best at everything is something that I’ve continually struggled with (and I’ve been pretty silent about it, too, even denying it quite often) because coming out on top makes me feel like I’m doing something right—like I have control. 

I’m 22, single, with no prospects on the dating horizon, stuck in a part-time, dead-end job, spend many of my days just loafting around the house, wondering when my big break is going to come (as if that is owed to me), and lamenting the fact that as more and more of my friends get into serious relationships, the less and less time we’ll spend together. I have friends who are 22, engaged or married, and starting families, and/or careers in which they are very happy and fulfilled. It’s like we all came out of that tunnel at the same time, but none of us was given a map, and although some people seemed to have come out of that tunnel and found the light of the path they were meant to be on, I’m still stumbling around in the overgrown weeds, way off the path, in the dark, even though I’ve not done anything that I feel would warrant my being there rather than on a lighted path—and some of the people on these lighted paths I just can’t understand how they possibly deserve the awesome life that they’ve landed. It’s not fair.

I’m told that this only gets worse as we get father and farther into the decade.

I feel a lot like Asaph, the psalmist, in the beginning of this psalm. He’s lamenting the fact that all of these arrogant, wicked people are prospering and thriving, while he’s struggling and being rebuked, although he has kept his hands and heart clean. It’s really embittered him towards God, and he doesn’t understand why God would allow these wicked people to prosper while he suffers, if God is good, and in control.

And then he says this:

When my soul was embittered,

when I was pricked in the heart,

I was brutish and ignorant;

I was like a beast towards you.

Nevertheless, I am continually with you;

you hold my right hand.

You guide me with your counsel,

and afterward you will receive me to glory.

Whom have I in heaven but you?

And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you.

My flesh and my heart may fail,

but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

Yep, I’ve spent some time really angry at God this year, for allowing things to go the way they have, praying for him to intervene and confirm the notion that he is good.

I’ve struggled a lot with feelings of inadequacy, and self-loathing, and sometimes I’ve found myself crying in front of a mirror because all I see is a hopeless, ugly, [series of expletives]. I really can’t do this on my own. Whom have I in heaven but the Lord? My flesh and my heart have failed, and it is folly to put hope in them. There is no strength in this flesh, but in God there is; not only strength, but portion as well—everything that I could ever need. I don't need to be in control of every minute aspect of my daily life just to ensure self-preservation because God is in control of everything seen and unseen in ways that are so perfect they are beyond my narrow comprehension. Why would I desire anything on earth more than that?