Remain in me, and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself. It must remain in the vine...Apart from me you can do nothing...If you obey my commands, you will remain in my love...This is my command: Love each other.
This doesn't come naturally for me--loving others. I love my children and my husband and my parents and my friends, but that's easy. Loving everybody else? Do I love that wacky woman in my BSF group who brags about curing her brain tumor with a macrobiotic diet (and rants about the cancer-causing properties of laptops and cell phones)? Or the many other women in that circle, so prim and tight-lipped and dim? Nope. My natural reaction is to feel my chest tightening, my breathing turn labored. Loving these people takes effort and time before I even arrive at BSF, reading Scripture and thinking about God's perspective.
Scripture helps. Seen through that soft focus, they are lovable. Remain in me, and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself. It must remain in the vine...Apart from me you can do nothing. I can obey his commands easily if I seep myself in Scripture.
I've been fighting my way through A Place of Quiet Rest. Like many Christian authors, she repeats herself often, and takes five pages to make a point that could have been made in two paragraphs. In the first three chapters, I was frustrated: I'd heard/read it all before. "We attempt to live life on our own energy," DeMoss writes. "We think we can keep giving out without getting replenished." Reading this, I pushed back, scrawling in the margins: "It's misleading for the author to insinuate that every time you take time away from your busy schedule to pray, you will come away feeling replenished. It will not be long before novices discover that on some days, prayer time will be an exercise in frustration. Author should acknowledge this and give words of encouragement for praying through this."
This is where God is meeting me--I'm an eye-rolling ball of frustration. Don't tear me away from my busy life unless you're going to make it worth my while, Lord! I reject anything that isn't "intellectually stimulating" enough. The bathwater is murky, so I throw out the baby, too.
But he is patient with me. I keep reading (he knows I will), and in Chapter 4, DeMoss addresses the concerns I'd scolded her for forgetting back on page 30. Also, there's a moment at the end of Chapter 2 that grabs me, that softens me, that sings. It's on page 84.
In the Song of Solomon, we read the story of a wealthy king who decides to find a bride. Much to everyone's surprise, the king does not pick one of the wealthy, well-educated, well-bred young women of the city. Rather, he goes out into the country and selects a common, ordinary peasant girl to be his bride. She is not beautiful; in fact, her skin is rough and dark from having worked out in the sun. When the kind brings her back to the palace, the daughters of Jerusalem are astonished at his choice. And no one is more astonished than the girl herself.
Nonetheless, the king takes his bride into his bedchamber, where he lavishes his love on her. By the end of the story, this young peasant girl has become a lovely, radiant woman whose beauty attracts the attention of all who see her. What has happened? She has spent time alone with her bridegroom. And she has taken on his characteristics. She has become transformed by his love.
I love that.
I have to go--Lily just woke up and wants pancakes.
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