Encouragement from a Ragamuffin

Well, sometimes my life
Just don't make sense at all
When the mountains look so big
And my faith just seems so small

So hold me Jesus, 'cause I'm shaking like a leaf
You have been King of my glory
Won't You be my Prince of Peace

And I wake up in the night and feel the dark
It's so hot inside my soul
I swear there must be blisters on my heart

Surrender don't come natural to me
I'd rather fight You for something
I don't really want
Than to take what You give that I need
And I've beat my head against so many walls
Now I'm falling down, I'm falling on my knees

And this Salvation Army band
Is playing this hymn
And Your grace rings out so deep
It makes my resistance seem so thin

You have been King of my glory
Won't You be my Prince of Peace

Hold Me Jesus

By the late, great Rich Mullins

From the Refiner's Fire on the Threshing Room Floor

I have a friend who can’t wait to get sunburned so she can pull the skin off.  I think that’s disgusting.  Sunburns hurt and that dead skin gets everywhere, not to mention it’s dead.  Gross. Her reasoning is as simple as, “yeah but then you can see my tan”. 

I guess.

I’ve had quite the spiritual sunburn recently.  It seems to be one thing after another.  My prayers have been sullied in…

Seriously?

Why?

How exactly are you reaping the glory here?

As I have peeled back this dead skin, I have been bitter and angry.  I have been sad and numb.  I have screamed a little. I have cried a lot.  I have masked my pain, medicated my pain, and embraced my pain as a companion.

All the while, my soul is begging the same three questions…

Seriously?

Why?

How exactly are you reaping the glory here?

I have been glued to Peter’s first letter for this past month. 

It is about suffering. 

Peter tells us that we will suffer.  It is inevitable.  It is promised.  He also compares our suffering to gold, as it is refined in a fire. 

It is an arduous process, this refining gold.  You must heat the gold to a molten temperature and wait for the impurities to separate and float to the top. The rubbish is then scooped from the top and discarded as worthless.  The more gold is refined, the purer and more precious it becomes.

I have been the Refiner’s fire.  I am in the Refiner’s fire. He is slowly and painful scooping out the debris and I aim to emerge purer and more precious.

Meanwhile, in the moments that I allow my resentment to be placed against the truest form of suffering, I am humble.

For Christ also suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, that he might bring us to God, being put to death in the flesh but made alive in the spirit, …

No matter how tragic and unjust our suffering, we have a Savior who has suffered more.  He is empathetic to our pain.  He endured the sins of the world, past, present, and future. He has endured his creation’s rejection of his sacrifice. He has endured loss in the ultimate form.  

He knows our grief. 

He grieves with us.

I may not fully grasp this concept, but as the chaff is separating from the wheat, I pray I come forth as worthy and precious gold.  I cling to this truth.