Haunted, Some
To look at them, words seem little more than odd shapes, lines and curves strung together on paper. Sometimes, if I look at them too long, they don’t even look like words any more.
But those squiggles and scratches, lined up in good sequence, have the power to create and move.
Take this one.
Throw together an m, a few i’s, some crooked letters and a couple of humpbacks, and out pours a river that rages through ten states.
Words wield razor edges that cut through soft flesh as well as dry bones. They drop anchor and hold us fast when fears threaten to overturn our boats.
Words sow seeds of doubt in the soil of restless souls. They wrap comfort around wounded and aching hearts as a down quilt.
Words light fires and inspire action even from ones prone to sit still.
And sometimes, for me, words haunt.
::
Sometimes the words take hold, fingers stronger than mine closing ’round my heart. They squeeze, and they release but briefly, never fully letting go.
These words that follow, they grip today. They’ve haunted for several days. Other words, they wait. They will not proceed until these go their way.
But truthfully, I don’t know what will allow the release from here. I don’t know what to do with these words.
I leave them here, and perhaps someone of you can tell me.
What I know is this: Jesus asks for everything. Not a little, not some.
Everything.
That looks different for each one of us, a good argument I like to use to excuse my frequent falling short of giving Him all. (I’m giving it, Jesus. My all just looks different than Penelope’s all.)
And then I read stories like this and I wonder how I can hold back a single scrap of anything. Anything.
::
This is how the sermon I quoted from Rev. Reidhead the other day ended. You may be familiar. It’s a hard read, a better listen.
Two young Moravians heard of an island in the West Indies where an atheist British owner had 2000 to 3000 slaves. And the owner had said, “No preacher, no clergyman, will ever stay on this island. If he’s ship wrecked we’ll keep him in a separate house until he has to leave, but he’s never going to talk to any of us about God, I’m through with all that nonsense.” Three thousand slaves from the jungles of Africa brought to an island in the Atlantic and there to live and die without hearing of Christ.
In the late 1700′s a British planter owned an entire island in the West Indies off the coast of South America. Several thousand black slaves toiled in the sugar cane fields under the burning sun. The atheist planter vowed that no missionary would ever set foot on the island to talk about God. 3000 slaves were doomed to live and die without hearing of Christ.
Two young Germans in their 20′s from the Moravians sect heard about their plight. They sold themselves to the British planter for the standard price for a male slave used the money they received for their sale to purchase passage to the West Indies. The miserly atheist planter would not even transport them.
The Moravian community from Herrenhut came to see the two lads off, who would never return again, having freely sold themselves into a lifetime of slavery. As a member of the slave community they would witness as Christians to the love of God.
Family members were emotional, weeping. Was their extreme sacrifice wise? Was it necessary? As the ship slipped away with the tide and the gap widened. The housings had been cast off and were curled up on the pier. The young men saw the widening gap. They linked arms, raised their hands and shouted across the spreading gap “May the Lamb that was slain receive the reward of His suffering.”
This became the call of Moravian missions. And this is our only reason for being…that the Lamb that was slain may receive the reward of His suffering! Amen.
Now. So that I can move on, what do you suggest we do with this?
::
Quoted from Ten Shekels and a Shirt, Rev. Paris Reidhead (full transcript). The audio is available here; this excerpt is at the very, very, very end. I do recommend listening. The words pack an even greater punch.
Share this: 
I’ve been sitting here awhile, too moved by those young men and their sacrifice. It’s a long time question I’ve had, though–why does God seem to call some to life-long mission work in other countries yet not call others?
Is it a lack of hearing on our part? Or a lack of “the call”? I don’t know how to move forward here. It’s a question I’ve not yet answered myself.
2010/01/31 at 9:59 PM
I suppose there’s room for it to be a little of both, Jennifer. I’m guilty of not hearing and of hearing and not doing at times. But I also find He never released me into avenues I thought myself suitable. He’s built an amazing body out of His people here, all called and equipped for a variety of work in a myriad of places.
I rejoice this morning at not being called to sell myself as a slave . . . but then also moved to seek harder to ensure I’m living my days where and how He leads.
2010/02/01 at 9:07 AM
Long, slow, deep breath.
It is our identity, being crucified with Christ. We are living temples of His Spirit. We are no longer our own. It just *is* this way when we are chosen by Him to go and bring forth fruit.
Yet even the fruit is not our own work, for a vine does not “decide” to grow fruit.
It takes faith, real faith that is the gift of God, to let ourselves fall into Him, to release our control of us, to come to the end of us. I know. I have fought it and lived it and lost it until one day I poured my anger out in screams that left me feeling dead and empty and utterly helpless.
I gave up on God, believing He didn’t care. I wanted to spite Him because I knew what He could do, what He could choose to allow in my life, what He might ask of me regardless of my desires. I didn’t want to believe Him anymore. But I could. not. turn. back. He was the only thing that made sense. (I know, I have to live everything out, to the fullest or the emptiest sometimes. Dad says I learn things the hard way. But I LEARN them.)
God came for me. Instead of berating my reluctance, He told me He understood my pain, explained my anger to me, and then came near. He just sat there with me frozen for a year, sometimes speaking of Jesus, sometimes showing me something beautiful, sometimes quietly reminding me of His love.
First faith from Him, then surrender. Submission – a willingness to acknowledge Him in all my ways, to make room for God in my life to be God-who-He-is without my expectations, to give myself to Him in the day-to-day that is soooo hard for me: loving my husband without expectation, giving myself to my children instead of hiding from the possibility of loss.
For the first time, I understand what Paul means when he speaks of being a slave, yet being free. It isn’t packing up and going to Africa, or Haiti, or Outer Mongolia or Chicago or LA or Atlantis just to prove my love for Him.
Love that obeys His commands pours out, His Spirit in me responding to His will for me, responding with trust for. this. moment.
I can’t be all His for the rest of my life right now. Jesus asks for everything, and that means this moment. Today. The where-we-are acknowledging that this is who we are. We are His. We are crucified with Him, and we are alive because He lives in us.
Walking by faith, walking in His Spirit – it happens in the heart, and both moms and missionaries can live being fully His.
It just is who we are in Him.
Wow. I wrote a post for you. I hope you don’t mind.
2010/02/01 at 10:47 AM
This, Kelly, right here: I can’t be all His for the rest of my life right now. Jesus asks for everything, and that means this moment. Today. The where-we-are acknowledging that this is who we are. We are His. We are crucified with Him, and we are alive because He lives in us.
On the head. I can’t do it for the future, it’s not here. Nor can I do it for yesterday (or keep coasting on that either). I do right now, all His.
Thanks for this. And write a post anytime.
2010/02/01 at 10:55 AM
Wow, Some of us are not given a “ministry” or the “Grand Calling” as those above. I think those of us called to be the ministers in our daily lives have the harder job. The Lord knows I would go where ever He would send me and He said, I have called you to Northern MN. So here I am. Being prepared for His next step. With our background with CCC there seems to be a lingering guilt or feeling less because we are not in some grand ministry. But not all of us are called to that.
Being obedient in what you know to do. Asking Him to reveal anything that is hindering Him. Like David prated, “Search me O God and know my heart today…Try me and know my thoughts…see if there be any wicked way in me cleanse me from all my sin and set me free.” ok rough translation but that is surrender in action. Not glamorous or pretty but real.
I enjoy your posts Lyla thank you for sharing.
2010/02/01 at 11:25 AM
Two lives, ordinary people, they were born, lived, and died all in the same small town. Daily they sought ways to be Jesus to others. Small ways – mow a widows lawn, make teddy bears for abused or sick children, tend to children and grandchildren, just naming a few. Not perfectly, failing often. Living common lives following Jesus one step at a time. Yet upon each ones passing into heaven, filling their respective sanctuaries with people (each seating about 300-400 people – which is large for this small town). Individuals come to give thanks for the ways these two ministered to them.
These two – my father and grandmother. Faithful followers of Christ. They made a difference in my life and I know others who would say the same regarding them. In turn this child begins to understand that what I do everyday (this moment) when I live for my Savior is important. That even in small ways I can make a big difference for His kingdom. I never know who my life may impact and what God may accomplish through them.
Giving all, everyday, right where God places me. This is what is required of me. This brings delight and glory to the Father and His Son.
May God give me wisdom to number my days correctly – each one serving Him. Thanks for this post. Being a mom can weary the spirit and soul. Remembering the mission, the calling He has appointed for this season. Feeling refreshed!
2010/02/01 at 3:04 PM
Don’t you think we’re all called to die to self–to become slaves to Christ. Just as we’re all different, God gives each of us different ways to die. He’s a very personal God.
2010/02/01 at 9:26 PM
Holly, yes. Not glamorous or pretty, but real. Moment to moment, letting Him reveal. That’s good stuff. I don’t feel so much pressure from the old days really; I think sometimes I just need to be reminded to focus on right here, right now. Vision and dreaming are good things, but it’s easy to get lost in daydream and not get anything done.
Nancy, beautiful remembrance of the example of your grandmother and your father. This is the daily work of it. I’m so glad you shared this.
Solveig, absolutely I agree. You too have nailed it. We all die a different death, and the challenge to me is to die to me right now in my place, every day letting loose of what I hold so tightly. What I try to imagine here as I read this story is how my letting go of and walking away from (my dying) is as complete as this life of slavery.
Thanks all for your insights!
2010/02/01 at 9:58 PM
Lately I’m starting to see a new view of giving my all. It’s a beautiful swirly mess of grace, selflessness, working hard…yet just being. We die to self, live in Christ, and let Him live in us. Right now, giving Him my everything looks like living selflessly as Jesus did. Constantly, never taking a break. Always pouring out whatever I have to offer to whoever I find in my path.
I don’t do it well. My faith is very selfish.
We picture giving our all as the way these two men did. But it starts with the seemingly small things. For when we are faithful with little, He will trust us to be faithful with much. And through the small things, we find our way to the bigger.
2010/02/02 at 9:02 PM
I see that in you. And I wonder, if for many of us, dying to self means always the little. We give up the big that He never called us to and keep taking the single small steps, one after another.
That may not have made sense at all.
2010/02/02 at 9:04 PM
This is too much, Lyla. I’m struck down by this story. Neither do I know where to go from here. Convicted of giving too little, I am. He does. He asks for all. Often I feel there is none left to give, but that is just my own selfishness, squeaking me from day to day. Dying to self, every day–it doesn’t come natural, does it? I fail in the smallest of things.
Yet, I know, Jesus does not want us to beat ourselves up. He calls us to keep being formed into His image. And so, I will take this story and listen. I will listen to see where to go from here.
These words are ghosts for me too.
2010/02/03 at 9:23 AM
Laura, this: He calls us to keep being formed into His image. And He empowers that, doesn’t He? He asks for all, but I’m finding He also provides all. We just keep going with the smallest of things.
2010/02/03 at 9:44 AM