As a child, holiness was inconceivable to me. Hovering somewhere beyond the clouds, it was reserved for God, priests, and popes ~ not mere peasants like me. Webster defines it as “a title of address used for high ecclesiastical dignitaries and especially for the pope.” So, I sang to a distant being. An obscure word sung to an obscure god. “Holy, Holy, Holy … only Thou art holy…”

Outside church, the word was misused and mumbled. “Well isn’t she holier-than-thou.” I heard other good words—even Jesus’ name—twisted ugly, muttered, or yelled. My sister cautioned me about that. I believed her because she seemed somehow connected to him.

I attended classes, performed sacraments, checked the boxes, and recited a prayer every night before bed just in case a sin snuck in that I didn’t know about. I wasn’t taking any chances. I believed a higher being existed, but feared it was watching and waiting to zap me with a lightning bolt. Mine was a faraway faith for sure, but it was all I knew. And I’m thankful for it.

But, holiness remained a superior secret—zipped up tight in an other-world feel, remote and unattainable. So, I figured if God was holy, he was distant and unreachable too. Now, I know that’s not true.

In Ezekial, we read  “… I will put a new spirit in you. I will take out your stony, stubborn heart and give you a tender, responsive heart.” Jesus’ Spirit replaces our spirit. Our heart is now God-centered, not self-centered.

We still struggle. We still have limitations. We’re not perfect ~ whatever that is.

But, we have a perfect heart. A heart that’s teachable and committed to new life in Christ. It will lead us to a full, satisfying life. Not one without pain but one that reflects love and peace and joy in spite of it.

For this inside-out cleansing, “The Holy Spirit cannot be accepted as a guest in merely one room of the house—He invades all of it. And once I decide … my heredity of sin should [die], the Holy Spirit invades me. He takes charge of everything. My part is to walk in the light and to obey all that He reveals to me.”*

I’m in year twenty-seven of this lifelong journey. It’s been a bumpy-but-beautiful-to-God process. Yes, in this messy world ~ with our messy lives ~ a holy pursuit is possible.  

Next time, we’ll go back to that little Arkansas church where I saw my first glimpse of down-to-earth holiness. It took me many years and countless tears to get there. But, God’s not distant. And he’s totally reachable.

May you find peace on your pursuit, my friends.

 

*Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest

Photo found at Pixabay.com

 

Hello, my friends. It seems like forever since we met here. My book’s deadline and family obligations kept me away for a bit. Such is the ebb and flow of life. I pray all is well with you.

Right after Easter, I told you about the day I met God in that little Arkansas church and made my best decision ever. I was tired of letting hurts and bad choices control me and chose new life in Christ. I hope you’ve experienced it too. The surrender and the peace. Maybe you weren’t in a church when you  made the decision.  It can happen anywhere, anytime, with others or alone. I pray, like me, you’re seeking your Divine Design.

Although we are unique and our stories are different, we’re on the same journey. We were born to imperfect people in an imperfect world where stuff happens. That stuff molds our thinking and we lose our God-given identity. We find it when we decide to follow our Creator.

In surrendering our lives to Jesus, we identify with his death and our old self dies. In identifying with his resurrection, we find our true self. In Waking the Dead, John Eldredge says it like this, “We are in the process of being unveiled. We are created to reflect God’s glory, born to bear his image, and he ransomed us to reflect that glory again.”

Wow. How the heck do we that? Early in my spiritual walk, I learned the importance of sanctification, of being purified from sin and set apart for sacred use. I was determined to change my habits and thinking. To use my life for good.

Sanctification is not imitating Christ like an actor, it’s letting his qualities live in us and shine through us. Oswald Chambers defines it as “nothing less than the holiness of Jesus becoming mine and being exhibited in my life.” Sound like a tall order?

Since we are “created to reflect God’s glory,” holiness is a part of our original design. It’s also our redeemed identity. Holiness is passed on to us from the cross. It’s a grace gift. When we accept Jesus’ death to forgive us and his resurrection to give us new life, our spirits are renewed by his Holy Spirit. It’s Christ in us. All of Jesus. Available to us. All the time.

As his Spirit connects us with God and helps us understand Scripture, we’re transformed on the inside. Then those outward symptoms of sin and wrong mindsets peel off like old sunburned skin. Sorta like a soul exfoliation. Cleaning up the mind, will, and emotions prompts the shedding of unhealthy behavior. It’s an inside-out process.

In Ephesians, Paul reminds us that we are adopted “to be holy and without fault—blameless—in God’s eyes.” God sees us as if we never sinned. He really does forgive and forget. In that, we see holiness is a result of God loving us. To honor God and this gift of abundant life in Christ, the next step is to surrender to it.

Perhaps you’re thinking, “Is that even possible?” Yes. It’s a decision of the will. Next time, we’ll dig up some mixed-up ideas about holiness. Join me to see what holy living has to do with wholly living.

One day, one step at a time, my friend. Peace for your journey.

 

 

Photo from Pixabay.com

 

Hello my friends, spring is blooming and it’s time to soak up some Vitamin D. Sunshine heals and strengthens body, mind, and spirit. I believe God speaks to us in the breezes and birdsong. Take time out to be still, be quiet, and be loved by your Heavenly Father.

A couple weeks ago, I shared my experience with what Oswald Chambers calls, “co-crucifixion.” Then, last week, a piece of my heart was exposed with the birth and death of my Ashley Nicole. God has pursued me my whole life. I see Him in my earliest memories and especially my teen years as I tried to find myself and Him. Because of His patient pursuit in my hardest days of doubt and angst and grief, I now experience what Chamber calls, “co-resurrection,” new life in Christ.

After we make the decision to be done with what holds us down and hides our divine design, His resurrection life penetrates our human nature. We are rescued from sin’s control and raised to new life with Him. What a deal. We give God what’s broken and He gives us the ability ~ the power ~ to have new life.

Galatians 2:20 reminds us, “My old self has been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me. So I live in this earthly body by trusting in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.”

And, in Ezekial, we read  “… I will put a new spirit in you. I will take out your stony, stubborn heart and give you a tender, responsive heart.” Jesus’ Spirit replaces our spirit. Our heart is now God-centered, not self-centered. 

Oswald Chambers explains, “The Holy Spirit cannot be accepted as a guest in merely one room of the house—He invades all of it. And once I decide … my heredity of sin should be identified with the death of Jesus, the Holy Spirit invades me. He takes charge of everything. My part is to walk in the light and to obey all that He reveals to me.”

When we become aware of wrong mindsets and behavior, we’re responsible to nail them to the cross where they belong. Sin has no power over us anymore ~ unless we let it. We choose to do die daily to anything keeping us from fully knowing our God-given design. In so doing, we not only live a full life, we also pass it to others.

God doesn’t dump all our stuff in a heap and leave us to sort it out. He continues to reveal it until we’re ready to deal with it. Not to condemn us. The enemy of our soul does that. The guilt we feel—sometimes a gentle nudge, sometimes a swift kick—is information to steer us. It’s our road map to freedom and Jesus walks the whole journey with us.

Our Heavenly Father is not only patient in our process of becoming, He delights in watching us grow out of ourselves and into the person He created.

So, we ask: What’s still hides my God-given identity? Some mindsets and actions that belong to our old nature are sneaky. They’re so comfy, we wear them like smooth skin under silk sheets. In reality, they are itchy, wool blankets waiting to be dug up from a moldy basement.

Yes, my friend, we don’t always feel so new, brave, or empowered. But we are. We don’t live by feelings, we live by faith. It’s not always easy, but we pray, we read Scripture and trust our new, resurrected life to lead us on a path to holiness. Holiness? Now there’s a churchy word. Join me next time as we bring a lofty word down to earth.

Courage and joy for your journey, my friend. 

 

 

 

Photo from Pixabay.com

My daughter, Ashley Nicole, breezed into my life on May 1st, spring’s new cleansing breath. She lived for nine days and died on my darkest night. But, thirty-nine years later, I rest in what she taught me. One who never spoke a word.

When we carried her out of the hospital, joy was new and bright like sunshine and birdsong. When she died, my days grayed. Grief slithered in to steal Ashley’s joy. But it’s back, because I fought for it. Well … not at first.

Our souls have an enemy. Where there’s joy, there’s a battle.

Our pain is painted on in layers. Some by others, some by our own choices. When Ashley died, my suffering sealed all those hurting layers. My empty arms ached and anger towards God spiraled me further into a pit. My pursuit of relief and escape took me where I never imagined. I dulled my sorrow with alcohol, drugs, and relationships.

Some of us lash out, over-eat, or over-shop. Whatever works to make us feel better, to maintain control, or to make others pay for our pain. Anger will shackle us to a victim mindset as we relive the pain, keeping our wounds fresh.

I know because my identity was wrapped tight in that victim-skin. It was a soul-killing, twisted comfort that kept me trapped for years.

Since childhood, I’d sensed a light beyond my reach, coaxing me past my pain. It was something stronger than my parents’ persuasion or my religion’s rules. Something personal. I called it false hope until grief’s weight and sinful choices broke me and I finally let Jesus into my selfish world.

He showed me that my husband and children deserved better than what broken-me gave them. He revealed who I was underneath my fear and shame: whole and healthy. He challenged me to believe that hope is real, peace is possible, and healing is available.

I learned a lot from my baby girl who breezed in and out of my  life. Through the pain of her leaving and the pit I sank into, she taught me that a sin-soaked past can be turned around for good and there’s always a higher road to rescue me. She taught me that heartache, though a part of life, doesn’t define me.

By God’s grace, I  can resist whatever or whoever tries to steal my joy. I’m no longer a victim and I’m proof that grief and joy can coexist in a heart where peace reigns.

My baby girl led me to the One who died so I could live fully and freely. Ashley Nicole showed me Jesus.

Photo: Robin & daughter, Hannah, born ten years after Ashley Nicole

 

©Robin Melvin 2016