Born Again, The Hope of New Life: John 3:1-8

Monday, June 29, 2009

I am a wanderer.

Always have been.

My soul craves movement. It’s a compulsion that pulls my heart and mind involuntarily. I guess you could say that it’s like the wind. New friends, new jobs, new places, new ways of speaking, new clothes, new hair, new books, new music, new revelation... all subconscious leanings born out of a groaning spirit.

At first I categorized these impulses as personality defects that needed to be corrected, but I’ve discovered that, like Paul, I die daily.

The truth is, my heart is undergoing radical transformation during every second of this fleeting life. It’s not a mystery why my desires, personality, and understanding constantly shift... it’s Jesus.

How can I be so blind? I’ve been seeking out the answer to why I’ve felt distant and inadequate when all along he’s been showing me that it doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter that I’ve lied.

It doesn’t matter that I’m forgetful.

It doesn’t matter that I am inconsiderate.

It doesn’t matter that I crave attention.

It doesn’t matter that I hold my theology above others.

It doesn’t even matter that I frequently forget to praise my creator.

I can confess these things because I don’t have to build a reputation with God.

My salvation isn’t a come and go deal. It’s not a breakable covenant. Although I am like the wind (John 3:8), Christ is a rock. Unconditional love means that nothing I do or don’t do makes me less captivating to Jesus. I am a rose of Sharon, a lily of the valleys.

This newness isn’t even true newness. I’ve had this awakening before.

I’m being born again.

I can’t count the times that I have fallen in love with Jesus. The last time was passionate but fleeting. I read Song of Songs and was enthralled by his desire for me, and it was no wonder I couldn’t help but love him back.

But it was short lived. I could feel myself lose interest. I could see myself trading love for him for love for earthly attention. It wasn’t long until I lost my appetite for his voice, and I slipped slowly into a world of silence.

I felt hopeless without him. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. I was striving and chasing him, but I don’t think that until tonight I submitted fully to his love. Up until tonight it was about me... what I had to do to make him love me... what I was doing wrong. The barriers hindering my surrender were of my own making.

But I heard him speak tonight.

I’ve always thought that the most beautiful sound was the name of Jesus, but now I know that if it is him talking, the most breathtaking sound is my name.

He takes my name, one of wandering, one of shame, one of sorrow, one of evil, and he speaks it as if it is precious.

It’s like he loves me.

All of a sudden here I am, infatuated with the one who loves me more, writing of his grace and mercy. I can’t help it. It’s more than hope in my chest. This explosion is one of faith, and it was inspired by love. I don’t hope that he loves me. I know that he does. I can’t explain it.

When he whispered my name I was standing in the rain watching clouds reflect in the gentle waves of a lake. I could hear him call me onto the water. My trust is so fleeting, and my excuses are always ridiculous. My shoes were new. If I fell in, I would have to drive home in wet jeans. No one was around to rescue me if I fell into deep water.

So, with a broken heart, I left the lake.

Anguish momentarily consumed me as I shamefully tried to hide from the one who I had rejected, terrified that I would lose the voice that spoke my name like he loved me. I didn’t make it all the way up the driveway home before he looked down on me, a silly girl, and smiled adoringly.

His love is strong.

I had forgotten the cross. Although I had been talking about it and thinking about it, the foundations of my faith had slowly fallen into disrepair. I was so consumed with “newness” that I didn’t recognize that there is nothing new under the sun, and this constant movement is a dance with the holy spirit.

Together, we are like the wind.

He leads me through valleys that I appreciate mountain views. He brings me into winter that I am not contented in summer. He dulls my eyes with storm clouds that I can focus all of my senses on the deep sound of his thunder.

I can see it now. I’ve died, but I’m alive again.

Sunday, August, 16 2009

It's been a while since that day and I'll be honest, my passion has been waning. Still, I hold fast to the One who holds fast to me. I've been reading "My Utmost for His Highest" and a few days ago I read this:

"The answer to the question "how can a man be born when he is old?" is- When he is old enough to die-to die right out to his "rag rights," to his virtues, to everything, and to receive into himself the life which never was there before. The new life manifests itself in conscious repentance and unconscious holiness." -Oswald Chambers