"Restling"

"When you come into the land that I give you, the land shall keep a Sabbath to the LORD." - Leviticus 25:2

It's always cool to pull a quote from the most boring book in the Bible, Leviticus. It makes me feel extra holy, and hey isn't that what Leviticus is all about?

Speaking of holy, with my resolution of "little suicides" yesterday, I'm finding they're sort of tiring. Resolutions are hard for me. My body revolts at resolutions. If I was in a revolution, there would have to be no resolutions, or I'd revolt against the revolution and the whole thing would unravel, at least for me.

What I'm trying to say in a very round about way is that I need rest. I can't enter into this whole "little suicides" thing without a lot of rest. And in a paradoxical way in order to move in God's kingdom, in this world as a follower of Christ, we've got to be in a constant state of rest.

For me this whole following Jesus thing really is impossible. Every time I try, I fail. Sometimes I fail spectacularly, with things going BOOM. But when I give up and let Jesus lead, it's sort of like a home-coming or actually living.

That may be why Jesus said to us "take up your cross and follow me" as well as "my burden is light." If I can experience the truth that Jesus is with me ALL THE TIME, as my brother has been reminding me, this process of following can be very peaceful and restful. My body, mind, emotions and spirit will be stretched no doubt, but it will be like a good run when I'm in shape. I believe I will feel rested and full at the end.

Little Suicides

"If you aren't telling a good story, nobody thinks you died too soon; they just think you died." - Donald Miller

I've been reading a lot about death. It's fun. And I've been thinking, death is morbid. Our hearts stop beating, the rest of our organs shut down and most of us will get the honor of being slowly eaten by maggots. Yum.

We shove the topic of death to the back of our minds and try desperately never to think of it, unless we're watching Rambo. And when we're watching Rambo even then it's other people dying in all sorts of interesting ways, not us.

I was taking communion yesterday, having my typical judgemental and self-righteous thoughts of how I wasn't such a bad guy after all. I'd noticed the pastor using hand gestures that seemed copied from our other pastor and I was thinking, "At least I don't copy people's hand-gestures."

When I realized how petty and ugly I was being, I tried to confess my pride. But for some reason, God wasn't taking the ugly thoughts away. It wasn't until I began to think about death, Jesus' death, that I began to feel comforted. He died so that I could know how much he loves petty, self-righteous and ridiculous old me.

Jesus said that there is no greater love than that. Love that drives someone to lay his life down for his friends. And Jesus did it for his enemies.

I hope by the time I'm maggot food somewhere, I will have reflected some love like his. I hope that I won't be remembered because I had a naturally kind and gentle temperament. I pray and hope desperately that I'll be remembered as someone who lived like Jesus was alive in him, because he was. (I also hope to be encased in undecomposable plastic, so that the maggots will never get me.)

So here's my plan, Lord willing, I hope to die little deaths every day. Little suicides to self. Jesus empowered, Jesus inspired, attempts at living death.

As was said in Gladiator, "Countrymen, let us sell our lives, for what we do in this life echoes in eternity." Something like that anyway. Something totally memorable.

"Not the Flame-Thrower Again, Jesus!"

"There is nothing outside a person that by going into him can defile him, but the things that come out of a person are what defile him." - Jesus in Mark.

Jesus had just finished lambasting the Pharisees for "teaching as doctrines the traditions of men", when he layed this one on everyone.

I don't know about you, but Jesus hits a little too close to home a little too often. I'm not sure what I would have thought about Jesus had I been around him. He drops "truth bombs" all over the place. And if I'd been around, I'd be ducking behind every rock and camel, tossing little Zacheuses into his path.

Let's take a look at this bomb. What is Jesus driving at? I think, and I could be wrong (even though this is now on my blog, in print and therefore must be true of course), that Jesus is describing the difference between inward and outward righteousness. Or to say it another way he's showing us the difference between inward and outward sinfulness.

I heard a helpful illustration from a pastor, who had heard the illustration from another pastor, (and since it's third-hand I might as well claim I came up with it) that we human beings are all like water bottles full of sin. When we're shaken or squeezed by circumstances what comes out? "Umm, sin?" (I'm a really good student by the way.)

It's not that our circumstances cause us to sin, it's that we have sin lurking in us ready to spill out of us, and circumstances give sin the opportunity. It's kind of a sobering thought, but I think it's right on. And it's right on with what Jesus said about it's what comes out of us that defiles us.

So I was thinking, I wish I was a water-bottle and not a dang tea-cup! Or better yet, I wish I could be a sippy-cup.

To be uncomfortably honest, I seem to be a perilously perched tea-cup, on a dashboard, in a mini-van full of screaming toddlers, driving through the Grand-Tetons! Everywhere I look I'm being defiled - spilling all over everything. And the sad part is I don't know the half of it, because deep down, comparing myself to others of course, I still think I'm a good old water-bottle on the shelf at home.

Life is shaking me enough these days to know that the reigning principle of Philip is that "Philip needs Jesus."

I don't really know how to wrap this entry up, because I've been shaken up pretty bad recently, but it's just a comfort to know that Jesus' power-forgiveness-grace-stuff acts like a flame-thrower to my tea-cup of sin. Poof. Gone.

Now that I think about it, I guess I should be a little more shaken by his flame-thrower. I guess getting used to Jesus' truth-bombs and flame-thrower is part of this whole Christian walk thing. It just makes me kind of jumpy.

(Note on picture: I don't think Jesus was a monk. But it's the best I found when I typed in Jesus and flame thrower into Google images.)

ur4u

How do you come to the end of yourself?

A friend of mine has, and he's experiencing new peace and freedom. My friend is a missionary raising support as well. So he has opportunity to practise his new dependance on God.

At my coffee house/office/place-where-I-waste-a-lot-of-time I always get a username and a password to log on to the internet. This morning my username was an expletive that I simply can't repeat and my password was "ur4u." "Amen," I'm thinking about the password and I'm also wondering about my username curse, "Did God just cuss at me?"

How do I come to the end of me?

I know I need to wave the flag and yell "God, I give up! I want your way not mine."

I'm almost all the time at war with God. My life shows too clearly that I am indeed for me - ur4u.

I've had a few days for my rebellious old nature to rear it's ugly head. My family has been out of town visiting relatives and I've had more time for me. Rather than finding more time with God, I've settled for recklessly diving into my favorite hobby - riding bikes. I've even put work on hold so I can ride my bike more.

It all has me sort of depressed-happy. I'm spiritually hungry and sad, but I'm happy because I'm doing what I want and escaping responsibility. But it's not what I want...

I want to be where God is. I want to come to the end of myself. I want to serve and see beauty and goodness in the world around me. I don't want to be a part of something so ugly as me-time-all-the-time.

And it's got me tired. I can never give myself what God gives. The answer for life is God. The reason for living is God. The joy of life is God. My hobby should be riding bikes with God. Doing everything with God.

How do I come to the end of myself?

Well, since I haven't cracked his book yet today, I'll start there and see what he's up to.

Here's what I found in Psalm 17: "Deliver my soul from the wicked by your sword, from men whose portion is in life is of the world."

I need God to deliver me from the old wicked me. Then perhaps God won't have to cuss at me anymore.

Then: "As for me, I shall behold your face in righteousness; when I awake, I shall be satisfied with your likeness."

That's how I come to the end of me. When I awake in my righteousness and am satisfied by God's likeness. Right standing before pure wondrous beauty and goodness. Now that's more like it!

(Are you still wondering what my username was? Don't tell anyone but it was "fuqu." Don't worry, I definitely don't think God would ever say this to me, but it got my attention!)

This Bad Priest

"They made the plate of the holy crown of pure gold, and wrote on it an inscription, like the engraving of the signet, 'Holy to the LORD.'" - Moses in Exodus 39.

I don't see reality very well. My perspective is very ego-driven. Or rather my perspective on life is filtered through the lense of me. I like to call it "me-ness mean-ness." It's mean in that it's just not nice, and it's also mean in that it doesn't give.

Most mornings I wake up as a me-ness meanie-monster, thinking, "How can this be the best possible day for me I've ever had?" Recently, like George Castanza in Sienfeld, I've been pondering making this the Summer of Phil!

This is the definition of evil. Hitler probably woke up like this.

As I was attempting to have my devotions this morning (which translates to bleary-eyed and bored) this verse popped a knuckle in my brain. There's something about being considered "Holy to the Lord" that appeals to my me-focus.

But if I consider where the phrase was located, on the crown of a priest, something begins to work against my me-ness mean-ness. The priest is FOR the people, he represents the people and on his head he wears a crown that says "holy to the Lord."

As I ponder the significance of priesthood, I think of the stuff in the New Testament where we are called to be a priests, to be part of a royal priesthood.

We are considered by God to be holy, it's literally etched into the crown we wear right there on our for-heads. I find this literal stamp of divine approval to be really inspiring. For everything in me seems to be about me, but the truth is I am holy to God, which means "set apart" for God.

I rarely think of myself as set apart for the work of God: Set apart to lift up others. Set apart to be a light to the nations. And set apart to offer up to him sacrifices with shouts of joy.

I am a His priest!

What we are makes a difference. What we are determines what we do. I'm still a sinner, so I still have this horrible me focus distorting reality and corrupting everything I do.

But reality says that I am also "holy to the Lord." This encourages me with it's bright hope. I have bright hope that I can do God's work - his work of lifting others up, bearing the burdens of the tired and broken and sharing the message of Christ to the lost. My calling is to intercede for my fellow man, because I am a priest.

It's a good thing that God uses bad priests like me. It's a good thing that we have this crown fashioned by his divine plan. It's a good thing that God knows the way out of "me-ness mean-ness." And it's a great thing when we seize the opportunity to be what we are, "a royal priesthood."

May you be a priest today, and look to your priest to do so. (After all, the idea of being part of a "royal priesthood" comes from Christ being our king.) Let's not forget what's stamped on our for-heads regardless of how bad we are.

THE MIRROR

Recently I've been encouraged to take a long hard look in THE MIRROR. I typically like looking in mirrors, flexing my muscles or making faces and what-not. But God has me in a process where I've been asked to look in the real mirror, God's mirror of truth which reveals the true Philip.

I'm reminded of the book, "Till We Have Faces," in which the entire book involves the main character's struggle with looking for and finding her real identity. I was going to insert a cool quote here, but I couldn't find it. Sorry. Read the book or ask Melissa as she wrote her undergrad thesis on the book. On a side note, I wrote mine on the reveered chairman Mao Tse Tung, as I felt I had a lot in common with him. The more I stand in front of THE MIRROR, the more I realize this to be the case.

In front of this mirror I see myself squirm and wriggle, it's so uncomfortable. I make excuses, blame others and do anything but accept the reality of my own moral messiness. For some reason, God's appointed this time in my life to be one of reflection and truth, a period in which I actually see some of who I am and what I've become. Thanks a lot God!

I guess I am thankful. For God is doing something in me that I can't tell you much about because I don't know what exactly it is. I know it involves transformation and making me more like his son, but he's the one doing it, so I don't know what the future holds.

That's hard, not knowing. I want to know that he'll remove all my little character defects and make me a useful kingdom servant. But God doesn't seem to work like that. He seems to take us through a process rather than an instant transformation. And as he's not dealing with "little character defects," this process is a divine mercy.

The fact that I can even look in the mirror, is because I've been given a face, the face of God's own son. His perfect right standing before God is my own. But God isn't done with me there. He wants me to look, from this position of strength, at some of my glaring sin. Thankfully he's being gentle. He knows that I couldn't handle seeing all of me at once.

So what am I writing about? And why am I sharing this with you? I'm not really sure. I've had two cups of coffee this afternoon and it has me feeling a little woozy and reflective. It has me in this weird conversation. I feel that I have something profound to say, which must be the caffeine speaking, and I feel nauseous, which is also the caffeine speaking. Caffeine, what a weird friend you are!

Am I writing to say something profound? Am I writing to encourage you? Are some of you being asked to stand in front of THE MIRROR too? Are some of you going through the excruciating but ultimately freeing and beautiful process of character transformation? Are you being asked to do things that go against every natural fiber of your being, simply because they are good and you are bad?

If any of these questions are yours, I think you're on the journey towards God in Christ. My guess is most if not all of you are faced with similar questions. And they're difficult. If you're like me you'd rather just take Christ's righteousness and coast through the rest of life pursuing self. Perhaps your reception of Christ is often like mine - a simple selfish act.

Selfish or not, I believe that Christ wants to transform you. He wants you to one day stand before THE MIRROR and just rejoice in what you see. To see what he's made of you. To see the real you as you were made to be.

We all hope we'll be fixed, healed and remade. For we all know or suspect there is something about us that is deeply wrong. This is one of the hopes of the Gospel. And the truth of the Gospel is that God's already doing it!

I hope we can find joy in the process and pain of this transformation and a hope that facing the truth about ourselves is the only way to a deeper experience of God.

"This is Going to Hurt!"

"AAAARGH! HSSSS! Dad, could you try not to drive over cracks in the road! Try to turn slowly and stop slowly too. This really hurts..."

"AAAh. That was a good nap. Where am I? Oh, there's my bike. There's my cracked helmet. Is it broken? What's wrong with my head? It feels flat like a pancake!"

"Woa! That hurt. He just kicked me in the face! Ouch! I can't believe I'm still standing! I'm fine everybody. Uh oh, I don't feel so good, everything is getting fuzzy."

"Alright, here I sit in the woods, totally alone. Surely my arm is just seperated. That means 4-6 weeks of recovery and I'll get to ride again. Let me try to move it. Hmmm... I don't think my arm is supposed to sound like a bowl of rice crispies."

"Oh no! Yikes! Woops! Shoot! Wow, where did that come from! Oh deary me (in French)!" are thoughts that typically preceed the ones I've expressed above. As one joke goes: What are a redneck's last words? "Here, hold my beer and watch this!"

I grew up a cautious kid. My brother taught me this. He did everything but spotaneously combust. But as I grew older a little of the Evil Knievel got into me. I don't know how. He just did.

It started with an innocent drop of the curb with my bike at age 25ish and now that I'm 34 I regularly jump my bike 10 feet in the air. I don't say this to brag. Nobody seems too impressed. Most just shake there heads in wonder. Especially when they're the ones who drive me to the hospital. (In case your worried, I haven't been to the hospital in about 5 yrs., knock on wood.)

But there was some sort of shift that occured in my thinking or perhaps resulted from one of my innocent blows to the head. It had me seeking adventure, and often as not, also had me in the emergency room filling out reams of paperwork and answering zillions of mundane questions.

Where do they get those questions anyway? "Have you ever eaten fertilizer in the presence of an ant?" "I don't know!"

Perhaps my concussions effected the questions. I dunno...

So why am I relating painful thoughts from my recent past? Is it to illicit sympathy. I'll never turn down sympathy. But the real reason is something Melissa said to me last night, "I feel like I'm dislocated, that my whole life is dislocated."

If there's anything I can relate to it's dislocation. If any of you have seen Mel Gibson attempt to reset his shoulder in Lethal Weapon and have tried to do so yourself, you know that dislocation feels different than it does in the movies, apparently. I felt like a very small beaten up poodle after that particular episode of "Phil is just as cool as Mel Gibson."

But Melissa was getting at something we all feel. There's always something wrong. Something is constantly amiss in our lives. Something we can't quite place our finger on but know simply isn't the way it should be.

This dislocation or brokenness we live with determines the way we interact with the world. We relate to others in it's shadow, and we hide it, smother it, medicate it, excuse it, and pretend it simply doesn't exist.

If we're to be biblical or real, we have been literally ripped from our home! We belong in Eden as children of God. We lived in creation as slaves to Satan. We are/were truly dislocated.

The Gospel is about God's great work as a physician. But as believers, we still have the lingering effects of dislocation. The drunken wooziness, resembling my concussions, still permeate our lives. We still feel dislocated. We still relate dislocated. We still hurt.

In a culture of instant fixes, our lives with God certainly don't move within our time-tables. We underestimate the ongoing effects and power of sin, we pridefully claim victory where all we're doing is stroking our spiritual egos, and, perhaps most sadly, we rarely relate to our fellow humans in their dislocation.

God's timing is not our own. If he were to snatch us up to him, that would be his timing. If he were to instantly sanctify us, we wouldn't be having this discussion.

But our God seems to be one of process, and wants us involved in a process where we participate in resetting the dislocated world around us (Which is quite a privilege!). I have friends, believing friends, that are in so much pain that they can barely believe. I have friends, believing friends, who woke up this morning and jumped out of bed ready to serve the Lord but by this afternoon will find themselves, weary, dissenchanted, and, yes, wondering why they feel dislocated.

Does the Gospel not work? Not like we think it should.

Does it work? Yes. God seems to be in no hurry. His project is bigger than you or me. But it involves you and me. It involves the real healing of our dislocations. It includes the restoration of our only home. And ultimately it involves us finding our support in Him, our joy in Him, our very lives in Him. Only then will our lives be reset. But as we all hate hearing - it's a process.

I had a doctor who sort-of set my arm after it broke. I don't like hearing people say "sort-of" in hospitals. I had broken my humorus (ha-ha go ahead and laugh), and he informed me that he hadn't done a very good job. He failed to explain why. My guess is that he was just feeling a little bored. Perhaps he had set a dozen perfectly that day and was feeling undervalued. Poor guy. He explained that my arm would probably be a little shorter than usual. "Thanks," I thought.

God isn't tired or bored with you or me. He's thorough, and our dislocation is very, very serious. He's tireless in his diagnosis, careful in his healing, and utterly trustworthy in his process.

That is why he is called the Great Physician. Which is Good News when you've had as many accidents as I have!

Why Following Jesus is Impossible

"If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me." -Jesus

Can you believe these words from Jesus? Can you imagine hearing them as a disciple? In light of what crucifixion meant in the disciples' world they would be more than shocked. I think they would be horrified! Perhaps they would have blown it off as one of Jesus' wacky statements that simply lend no explanation, but I doubt it. It's too poignant, too direct, and frankly really, really scary!

It's like someone today hawking electric chairs, "Electric chairs, electric chairs, come have a sit and a zap!" I don't think they'd have any takers. It's like Jesus was saying to his to his disciples, "You want to follow me. Here's the most horrifically gruesome thing I can think of. Now that's what happens when you follow me." Was Jesus just being mean?

How are we to reconcile these words? I don't really know. That's why I'm writing about them, sort of in the hopes that God would somehow help me to understand. It'd be nice if God was like, "You know Phil, I didn't really mean a real cross, I was simply saying the way would be hard, but I'll make it easy for you Phil. You've got nothing to worry about." Somehow I don't think that's God's interpretation.

Since 11 of the 12 disciples were killed or executed, my guess is Jesus was being a little too literal for everybodies' comfort. I confess I don't like this train of thought at all.

I know that the Christian life is all about dying to ourselves so that we can find our life in Christ. In fact that's what the very next verse talks about. But how in the world is that supposed to be appealing?

Let me back up for a moment: I'm the worst surrender-er out there. I really, really don't like (we're trying not to say "hate" these days with our kids - who like to say they hate everything) surrendering my way or will to anybody. I want what I want. And if you somehow interfere with me getting what I want, you can expect me to turn into "sergeant grumpy-pants" issuing orders that nobody likes. Why? Because I'm not happy, and I need to be happy.

So that said, how should I respond to this statement of Jesus'? Should I attempt to "metaphorosisize" (a mix of metaphor and metamorphosis) it into something a little prettier, something I can handle? I'm tempted to. It'd certainly be a relief to get this cross off my back.

But the truth is, Jesus doesn't promise his way is going to be easy. I believe he paints it in terms that are meant to scare us off. We're not supposed to respond with, "Alright, your way is hard, but I can do this." That would be missing the point entirely. Peter had just tried taking this tack with Jesus.

As someone said somewhere in some context, the Christian life is about making impossibilities possible. In other words Jesus was fully aware that he was addressing a group of fraidy-cats with the proposition of jumping in the ring with rottweilers. But what he also was fully aware of was his own strength.

That's what I always forget. You know how the Marines never leave a man behind. Jesus was fully aware of his ability to not leave any man behind, period. To take them through any trial, any difficulty, any torture, and even through any horrific death. I forget this because I forget that Jesus is actually real. He really his. And he's the son of God!

If Jesus is real and the son of God, he can and will sustain us through any sort of trial. It's not like Jesus is thinking, "I'm pretty sure my disciples can handle this." No he knew what a shock this was going to be to them, and he was putting a wall in front of their spiritual progress. In essence, he was saying, "If you want to follow me, you can't, because, guess what, you are going to die, ha!"

That's what I've got to believe about Jesus. That his way is impossible. It simply takes him to do it. I can't follow Jesus. I'm way to selfish. My will always circles back around to me (Yes, I'm a "me-monster"). But if Jesus sees fit and if I'm want to reject my will, he can do his work in me, enabling me to walk the impossible path, the path of death to self and life in God.

So am I saying that this is some sort of magical formula for sanctification and walking the straight and narrow. No. This has nothing to do with a formula and everything to do with a messy process. To our universal chagrin, Jesus is unafraid of taking time with us. From my experience he's more than OK with "process."

Daily as his disciple, I'm faced with this: Am I going to believe in Jesus and his abilities to work life out of the death in me, or am I going to try to find life myself? It's the question that makes all the difference. Not because our sanctification depends on us. It doesn't. But it's not that we're at the mercy of the fates either. Jesus died so that we could now follow. Not in our strength but in his. Even if this following looks really, really scary.

This is no sales pitch, Jesus is still calling us to take up our Roman torture devices, but He's doing it as our Saviour, the only one who was able to save us from our enslavement to sin and more than up to the task of making us more like him.

I think that's why my favourite prayer is simply "Help!" It works because Jesus is real and powerful. Something I often forget.

Me vs. Me

Did you know that God is for you, that he turns towards you in your distress? I ran across this idea in Ezekial 35 yesterday and it convicted me. I had picked up my Bible while I was experiencing relational tension with a close friend of mine. This of course breaks the first rule of Conviction Resistance: "Never pick up a Bible! And if you do, certainly don't be stupid enough to open it!"

Well I did both and was immediately confronted by the words of God, "for behold I am for you, and I will turn to you." Of course God is here talking to the mountains of Israel. But his sentiment is that these are his mountains which will bear fruit and nurture his people.

The reason that this was so convicting for me last night is that all my affections and sentiments were first and foremost turned towards me. I was totally for me. Without the miraculous opening of my Bible, I was destined to continue turned towards myself and be for myself, alone. What about the needs of my friend? They can wait till I've taken care of MINE.

It's funny how God's sentiments are rarely my own. When I feel my indignation is righteous, like God's, I almost always find that it's totally not. When I think my sentiments are selfless, they rarely are. Rarely am I simply for others and turned towards them.

My greatest enemy, other than the devil of course, is the monster that lurks within. The monster that says life is about me, happiness is about me, and satisfaction comes when I pursue me.

It never does. The deep satisfaction we all seek is only found in God. "We all know that Phil, thanks for blogging it! Now it's official!" But it's what we need to hear over, over, over, and over again. Did you hear that? It took four "over"s. When I think about it, the reason I need to hear this is that in my self-pursuit I'm actually acting against my self-interests. I'm me vs. me!

I don't know if you're like me, but if you are your pride is easily wounded and you care deeply how people treat you. You are easily offended, argumentative, and bitter. If this is true of you, as it is of me, now imagine a world that is made up people like this. It's the reason, when GK Chesterton was asked, "What do you believe is wrong with the world?" he answered, "I am what's wrong" (At least I think that's what he said - but he's dead now so he can't correct me. There's a good argument for quoting dead people.).

That's yet another reason the good news of the Gospel is so good. God is determined to change our selfish desires! God is turned towards us and is for us, in a determined effort to enable us to turn towards him and be for him and for others. As this transformation occurs in our lives, we begin to taste the scandal of the Gospel: that life is found in dying, that peace is found in seeking other's peace, and that joy is only a selfless gift away.

Sounds good doesn't it? A nice little theological package. Well it's a lot easier said than done. Today I ask that Jesus will enable me to turn to and be for others and I'll try and leave my death throws of self in his hands. God help me!

Teaching Monsters to Wait

I'm an impatient Christian. I have an "inordinate desire of being delivered from the evil which (I) desire: and yet there is nothing which tends more to increase evil, and prevent the enjoyment of good, than an unquiet mind" - Francis de Sales (17th century spiritual director).

Have you ever felt the monster of impatience slouching around in your soul, robbing you of peace, stealing joy, and blinding you from the Holy Spirit, your reality and ever-present counselor? I do. As a child of God, wrestling with the reality of sin, I like slinking around with my monster. My monster and I agree that we want to get over my sin problem right now, or yesterday!

However, I'm learning, with much help from Gary Thomas' book, Authentic Faith (audacious title eh?), that the God I serve stands outside of time. While he is concerned with my growth and maturity, he doesn't often move as quickly as I desire. In fact, he seems to move really slow, to the chagrine of my monster and me.

His seeming slowness, combined with the reality of my impatience, lead to a really, really "unquiet mind." My monster agrees. My monster, rather than being fed by God's peace, is fed on thoughts that begin with "I just wish God..." and "I wish I'd..."

What I'm finding is that I'm a very prideful person. To be honest (which is a good policy, sometimes, I guess, if I have to) my pride makes me a demanding little brat. I whine and moan when God doesn't deliver me from "besetting sins" - whatever besetting is. I stomp my feet and pout when I find myself being lazy, inattentive to others, unkind, selfish, and a host of other ugly things that keep my monster slouching around.

I'm mad at God, wishing that he'd just get moving with me. When is he going to start working on project "Phil's Sanctification: When God discovers that Phil knows best." When is he going to get with the program? When is he going to check into this address:

Phil's Always Better Hotel
101 Phil's Cooler-Than-You Street
Philipton, VPL fls-da-bst
PHILIP
Planet Philip, Super-Duper-Fun Galaxy of Phil, Universe of the Almighty and Humble Phil

and start living according to Planet Philip's rules. Oh wait...

Usually my monster is so loud with his impatience that I can't hear the patient voice of God. God doesn't follow time-tables, charts, and certainly isn't coerced by a demanding attitude: (insert female, British, cockney accent here) "Little monster, am I going to have to put you in the naughty chair?" While he wants me to be transformed, he wants to submit my transformation to him. My guess is that he wants me to realize that my sanctification work really isn't mine, it's his and it comes with his timing.

After all, God's design is that my hope should be in him, not in his transformation of me. If I hope in him and draw close to him, recognizing the perfect standing I have before him, and the new nature that now rules in me, my attitude will be one of confident patience, not an unquiet mind. Maybe my monster of impatience will sit down for a good while and pay attention to the God who is making all things new, including me. And unfortunately for my monster, God's going to teach him how to wait. Pride and self-centeredness aren't good starting points for a life of faith and hope - a life lived in eager expectation of what God can and will do.

I can picture the Holy Spirit patiently explaining to me: "Wait Philip. Just Wait. Quiet your unquiet mind and wait. Ask your monster to take a load off and wait with you. Rest in your new identity, but more importantly trust in the author of your new identity. His timing is perfect. His sense of time is pretty good, since he created time after all. Your life is in his hands. He knows Mr. Monster: your sin, impatience and pride. He knows your inquietude-'tude,' and he asks you to wait."

"Keep yourselves in God's love as you wait for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ to bring you to eternal life" (Jude 21).