Category: Christian

Christian

A Godly Impression

Angela Love

Throughout the past two weeks, I’ve been watching and listening for what God would have me write about today, and I’ve had a few experiences that all point me toward the same thought. It’s kind of hard to explain, but it has to do with our willingness to see through God’s eyes—our willingness to let Him make His imprint on us so that we, in turn, can carry that same imprint to each other.

Since the last time I wrote, I’ve been privileged to receive word from an old friend—someone I cared for quite deeply and never expected to hear from again. It had been five years since the last time we’d spoken to each other, and no more than two short weeks ago, I was online checking some messages when I found one from him. He said he’d been cleaning out his closet when he’d come across a letter I’d written to him once. He went on to explain that after reading the letter again, he’d felt an urge to reach out and to let me know how much he’d appreciated me. His words brought peace to my heart, because though we sometimes pour ourselves into the relationships we’re given, we have a tendency to wonder whether or not any of it can make a lasting difference. I remember writing that letter. I remember wanting so much to convey the tenderness that had gripped my heart. I wrote effusively and romantically of unconditional love, and I hoped my words would please their reader. Of course, it’s difficult for us to bestow such love upon everyone we meet—or even upon one person throughout the course of an entire lifetime. We’re human. But in that moment—that fragile moment during which I penned those words to my friend—I knew they were the words of God flowing through me. Why else would he have kept them all this time, only to rediscover them again—perhaps at a moment in his own life when he most needed to hear them? Oh, my friend, wherever you are, may His love be with you always!

The second, and rather prolific, experience I had came last week as I was riding down the road with my father. I visit him often, though the setting in which he lives has been a source of discomfort for me in recent years. A concrete jungle of sorts, it’s a place very different from the quiet, rural areas I’ve called home for a significant portion of my life—a far cry from the setting I’ve come to love. Be that as it may, I spend much of my time there—and I must admit that I normally make no secret of my personal dislike for its lack of natural beauty. It’s necessary for me to disclose that because of what happened last week. My dad had asked me to accompany him to the grocery store, and as we were driving down the road, I was suddenly—and inexplicably—struck by the beauty of the sunset. I saw children playing basketball at the park near the end of the street, and couples walking their dogs. Without warning, I found myself incredibly pleased at the sight. I knew it wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen before, but it was as if I had new eyes. I found loveliness in a place that I had never regarded as lovely. It was so strange, but as I let it in—as I let Him in—I could feel this amazing serenity wash over me. I could live here, I thought. By the time we’d reached our destination, I was so full of this beautiful force that had penetrated my spirit that I felt compelled to just beam at every person who crossed my path. And they smiled right back at me. Beautiful smiles. I’m thankful for that moment, yet it also makes me sad. It makes me sad in the knowledge of all the ones I’ve missed—those precious moments when I could have seen through God’s eyes, but chose, instead, to use my own.

Life is made of moments such as these. And with every breath we take—everything we do, every word we say, every emotion that seeks to conquer us—we have a choice. We can choose to move on our own, or we can choose to be moved by the One who owns us. The former might feel more comfortable initially, but it won’t get us very far in the end. Only in submission to the Potter does the clay become that piece of exquisite beauty it is meant to become. Even in something as subtle as a passing conversation with a friend, or a tender smile bequeathed to a stranger, we can sense God in ourselves and God in each other—an impression that lasts.

Christian

You are Mine.

Angela Love

Last week, I wrote about God’s unchanging nature in comparison to the ever-changing world around us. Today, I want to write about a very specific change that I’ve seen in the world of late. It’s one that weighs heavily and constantly upon my heart and mind, and I haven’t written about it until now because I believe that doing so requires a great deal of care—and tenderness on my part.

I can’t remember the last time I ventured outside my house and didn’t see an American flag waving at half mast. Not so long ago, to see such a thing would have been rare. I know that it would have, because I’m old enough to remember when it was. Yet, each new day seems to take us further away from that time, and sometimes I fear that the generation to come will have no memory of it at all. Children will come to see the image of our nation in mourning as a normal part of their daily lives—just as I am beginning to do now.

I have to feel that. I have to stand in the midst of this new reality and understand what it makes me feel—what it does to me. But I also have to stand outside of it in order to stay within the will of God. Deep in my heart of hearts, I know that to be true. I keep thinking lately about Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane, on the night before he was killed. I have this image in my mind of him going to that place—that beautiful garden on that moonlit night—just trying to find a sense of relief. A soothing balm to hush his pain in knowing the agony to come. I see his body trembling as he falls to his knees, desperate for the softness of the grass as he soaks it in his sweat and his tears. But he finds no comfort there. The tranquility surrounding him mocks the terror within him, and in his anguish, he cries out: Please, don’t. Don’t make me do this. Don’t let them hurt me. I’m frightened!

Oh, that someone would have held him in that moment—that I had been allowed to calm his trembling. But I digress. I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like. I’ve been afraid for my life before, but I’ve never been God. I’ve never been God in human flesh, waiting for a violent death at the hands of my beloved. And it’s so amazing to me that, as a man, and in spite of the torment he was under, he was ultimately able to say the words: “Yet not what I want, but what you want” (Mark 14:36, GNT). In the love he had for his Father, he was willing to submit to this suffering—even if it meant he had to die. And I know that I can do no less. If I claim to love God with all my heart, then how can I defy His will? How can I defy His command to love my enemies—to see them through His eyes—and to know that He died for them, just as He died for me. How can I ignore His words to Israel, when He told them, “Do not fear; for I am with you. Do not anxiously look about you, for I am your God. I will strengthen you. Surely, I will help you…” (Isaiah 41:10, NASB). …”Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you. I have called you by name; you are mine” (Isaiah 43:1, NLT).

These things are much easier said than done. God knows that. Jesus, himself, knew what it felt like to be afraid. But he put his fear behind his love—behind his devotion and trust in the will of his Father. So, as I go to look upon the cheerless image of my lowered flag, I pray that I will also bow. That I will fall to my knees in humility before my God, saying: Not what I want, but what You want—for I am Yours. We are Yours.

 

 

Christian

Our Unchanging God

Angela Love

My husband and I just came back from Kentucky. My mother’s parents grew up there, and my extended family continues to hold a reunion near Pikeville every summer in mid-July. I, myself, lived in a small town named Eminence—about three hours from Pikeville—from age eight through age eleven, and of all the places where I’ve ever lived, this was the one place my husband hadn’t seen—until last Thursday.

I can remember those family reunions in Pikeville from as far back as 1993. I remember the bountiful plot of land my family owned on Marion’s Branch, nestled safely in the Appalachian Mountains. I remember being taught how to make crowns from the wildflowers growing outside the little log cabin that my great, great grandfather had built with his hands. I remember the secluded burial ground where generations of my family had been laid to rest, and I remember the way in which every time we went up those mountains, it seemed to me as though we’d been taken away to another world. It was magical, and I was so envious of my grandmother, just knowing she’d been allowed to grow up in such a place.

Of course, I wanted to show my husband. I wanted him to see what I’d seen—to know what I’d known. But I couldn’t show him. He couldn’t see it—because it isn’t there anymore. The land had been sold years ago, to a local coal company. The cabin had been demolished, and even the graves had been moved to a public cemetery. Even so, just last week, there we were—tromping through the woods, trying to find the place where it all used to be. In spite of all the memories that had been made there, the land was unrecognizable. Even in Eminence, I struggled to find the life I’d known. Had I been blindfolded and taken there without knowing my whereabouts, I never would’ve recognized it. The friends I’d known from childhood are all grown up, and though I was overjoyed to see them again, we struggled to find things to say to each other after eighteen years of separation. And my house—where I’d played and found my shelter every day—is decayed from years of neglect. Merely stepping onto the porch, I was afraid I might knock it down.

Needless to say, the overall experience of returning to my past was somewhat bittersweet. Yet, in my attitude of mourning, I was also reminded of the everlasting steadiness of my Creator, who says: “I am the Lord, and I do not change” (Malachi 3:6, NLT). … “I created you and have cared for you since before you were born. I will be your God throughout your lifetime—until your hair is white with age” (Isaiah 46:3-4, NLT). Though we often yearn for constancy in this world, the only thing constant about it is change. So, we can’t get too comfortable here. We’re not supposed to. Our comfort has always been meant—and will always be meant—to come from God. And He is still here. This world still belongs to Him—it just might be a little more challenging to find Him in it than it used to be. But even though I’ll have to put flowers on my grandmother’s grave now amid the noise of the groundskeeper’s tractor, and within the bounds of established visiting hours, those flowers will be just as beautiful as flowers have always been. And even though Marion’s Branch will soon be the site of an up-and-coming industrial park, just one look at those mountains will be all that is needed to know the majesty of the One who placed them there.

 

 

Christian

Bride of Christ

Angela Love

There are several places throughout the Bible where we can see references to the Church as the Bride of Christ. We can see it in 2 Corinthians, we can see it in Ephesians, and we can see it in Revelation. Even in the Old Testament, the ongoing dialogue between God and His people is at times very evocative of unrequited love between an adoring husband and an adulterous wife. I must admit that I love this idea— so much more than any other I’ve come to know in my exploration of Scripture. So often, we think of ourselves merely as the children of God, and that identifier is just as true. But from the very beginning of my conversion, I experienced a kind of love in my heart that just couldn’t be bridled by the bounds of a parent-child relationship. At the time, I was completely unaware of the biblical verses that pointed to a spousal relationship between God and His creation. I knew only that I had fallen in love with Him, and I can’t describe how real that love was made when I finally discovered the biblical validation for it.

It’s not a concept that’s discussed very frequently, but I can always feel it poignantly in the hymns—pay close attention to the lyrics of your favorite hymns, and you’ll probably know what I’m talking about. The passion they express is so overwhelming, and they definitely aren’t the words I would speak to my father over coffee. Though it might be a challenging notion to grasp in the limits of our finite world, what God has helped me to understand is that every loving, human relationship we can ever experience here amongst ourselves is a symbol of God’s love for us. There are many aspects to that love, and though the human love we can give and accept from each other has very distinct boundaries—the love of a child for a parent, the love of a parent for a child, the love between friends and extended family, and the love between husband and wife—these separate relationships between us are meant to be the vessels through which we can express love for God and experience love from God—a love that is perfectly infinite, knowing no boundary at all. This understanding has given me the freedom to worship my Creator without restraint, holding nothing back from Him.

In dreams, I walk toward Him in white as I await our everlasting union.

Christian

A Holy Kiss

Angela Love

As the years passed, I felt the war in my heart continue to rage. There were moments when I sensed my love for God becoming lukewarm, and I was deeply grieved in those moments. I longed so much for the passion that had overwhelmed me in the beginning— for the rapture of falling in love. But, I’d known at the outset that I could never be worthy of the love that had been bestowed upon me, and every day was just a constant reminder of my sinful nature. Every time I failed to handle something the way I knew He would have me handle it— every time I allowed my selfishness to be stronger than my desire to worship Him— I could feel my connection to Him being severed. To make matters worse, there were these ominous scriptural verses that just kept ringing in my head. There was one in particular from the book of Hebrews that said: “It is impossible to restore to repentance those who were once enlightened—those who have experienced the good things of heaven and shared in the Holy Spirit, who have tasted the goodness of the word of God and the power of the age to come—and who then turn away from God. It is impossible to bring such people to repentance again because they are nailing the Son of God to the cross again by rejecting him, holding him up to public shame” (6:4-6, NLT).

Those words, more than any others I had come to find, brought so much pain to my heart. I could picture them playing out before my eyes, and the image tortured me. How? I thought. How could I possibly do such a thing to my sweet, beautiful Savior? How could I hurt Him so much— Him, whom I claimed to love? Yet, I couldn’t deny that I had turned away. It had been so easy to be born again and feel the burden of the past lifted off of me, but now, having been baptized, how could I sin even once without knowing the betrayal I’d committed? I had so many terrorizing thoughts and emotions welling up inside me all the time, and eventually, they just became too much. Emotion gave way to apathy, and any trace of Christ in me was buried so deep that I doubt it could have possibly been recognizable to anyone.

Even so, somehow, He never completely left me. I honestly believed that I was parted from Him forever, along with everything that meant. But I could never bring myself to stop believing in Him. No matter how afraid I was of Him, and no matter how many other paths I could have taken to try to alleviate the pain I felt— atheism, agnosticism, or any other of the countless theories the world had to offer me— I just couldn’t bring myself to stop knowing the truth. I couldn’t separate my life from the source of my life. And every once in a while, in the midst of my thrashing, I would experience something so gentle and kind— as though it were a holy kiss calling me back into His arms. These experiences are engraved in my heart, and they have helped me to believe that He loves me still. In them, I find the will to be transformed. And even though I know it requires me to put myself to death, I’m not so afraid anymore to make the effort. I know that by myself, I’ll never be anything more than fallen, but maybe if I just try to be like Him, then He’ll raise me up and carry me the rest of the way. No matter how sinful I am, and no matter how hard it is for me to fight against my nature, I want to make the effort. I need to make the effort, if only to have that kiss again— that holy kiss from the One I love.

 

 

Christian

Father of Lies

Angela Love

While my baptism granted me the privilege to call God my Father, it also brought a much different father into my life with a seemingly renewed kind of brute force. Jesus called him “the father of lies” (John 8:44, NLT), and from practically the moment I emerged from that water, I know he was there to steal my joy. He’d failed in his attempt to stop my baptism from happening, but he had already proven his skill at flooding my mind with fear— fear so powerful that it could conquer any trace of love I had inside of me.

I should have seen it coming. After all, my fear of having to publicly expose my sin had nearly kept me from proclaiming my love. But, for a moment, that love was so complete. The depth of my passion was so overwhelming that I would never have believed anything could be strong enough to break it. Yet, soon enough, I began to hear this voice. All of a sudden, this torrent of unwelcome thoughts started rushing through my head— thoughts that I would be mortified to speak out loud, or to write on a page. I can’t even describe how terrible it was, but it made me question everything. I started to doubt my motive for wanting to be baptized in the first place. What if I had just done it because I wanted other people to think I was good? Or worse than that, what if I had done it because I wanted to make myself feel superior to other people? What if this had nothing to do with love at all? Maybe I wasn’t even capable of love. How could I possibly be, if after hearing that beautiful story of God’s love for me, I could do nothing but exploit it for my own selfish gain? All of a sudden, I just felt like a monster. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. Evil.

I’d like to say that those feelings eventually subsided, but the truth is that they really never did. They actually began to grow worse the more I tried to grow in my understanding of God. In the course of my Scriptural studies, I found passages that referenced an unforgivable sin, and I became convinced that I had committed it. Furthermore, I began to reason that because I had committed it, I was destined for Hell— no matter what I did from that point on. God no longer wanted me, and it would be of no use to pretend otherwise. Thirteen years old. Thirteen years old, and these were the kinds of things I thought about.

It wasn’t until many years later that I started to allow myself the freedom to draw the connection between my self-image as a pretender and the snares of the ultimate pretender. There’s a reason why Jesus called him the father of lies. It’s what he does. And behind every good lie, there always seems to be some small facet of truth that is just significant enough to make the lie convincing.

I’m not going to say that I’ve triumphed over these thoughts and feelings of self-condemnation— because it isn’t true. Even to this day, I still struggle with them. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe it just means that, for now, I keep fighting. I keep fighting because I know that the only reason why my accuser continues to assault me is to keep me believing his lies. He doesn’t want any of us to know the truth—because the truth will be the end of his lies.

 

Christian

A New Creation

Angela Love

The day of my baptism was January 7th, 2001. Even the date was significant, although I couldn’t have known how significant it was when I chose it. For several members of my family, January 7th recalled the tragic loss of a father, and what I didn’t realize at the time was that, in a much different way, it would someday come to mean the same thing for me. I couldn’t have known that, but He did. Looking back on it now, it’s as if He chose the date for me—as if He were saying: Though you shall know the pain of losing an earthly father, be comforted in also knowing that I will never leave you.

I remember being so excited that day. Happy. Nervous. And I remember that I almost didn’t go through with it. At one point, when I was waiting to be brought out to the water, someone told me that I would have to “make a confession” before being allowed to be baptized. Having a total misunderstanding of what this person meant, I assumed that I would be required to stand before my  family—and an entire congregation of people—and confess in graphic detail every sin I’d ever committed to my knowledge. Of course, what she’d actually meant was that I merely needed to confess that I had sinned. I needed to proclaim my acceptance of Jesus of Nazareth as the Son of God, my Savior, and agree to submit my life to Him. In the end, it wasn’t a hard decision to make, considering what I knew He had done for me. But in the anxiety-fueled moments leading up to that confession, I was a teenage wreck. I was trembling. I was crying. I was hiding in a corner thinking, how can I possibly go out there and confess my sins to all these people? I’m grateful that someone finally figured out what was going on and eventually calmed me down. Otherwise, I might not have been baptized at all.

That experience remains with me to this day, because it makes me wonder if the main reason why I’ve hesitated so often in expressing my faith is that I’m afraid to be held accountable for it. I’m sure I sinned on a daily basis before I came to faith in Christ. And I  know I’ve sinned every day since then, too. It’s hard to call myself a Christian in the presence of those who know my failures. It makes me feel hypocritical and fake. Yet, somehow, it also encourages me to try harder. It helps me to be more purposeful in my words and in my actions toward others so that I don’t fail quite as often.

The Bible says that when a person is baptized, the Holy Spirit comes to dwell inside of them, so that they die to themselves and become like Christ. But I don’t think it happens all at once. Like all living things, the Spirit born inside of us has to be nurtured in order to grow. And we can’t expect that to happen if we suppress it out of fear. I admit that I’m guilty of doing this, and I pray for forgiveness because I never want to spurn this gift—this precious gift of new life.

 

 

Christian

Still, Small Voice

Angela Love

It’s been nearly sixteen years since I first heard the still, small voice of my Creator. My grandmother had been bringing my sister and me to church with her as often as she could since we were born. She had even ensured that my premature birth was mentioned in her congregation’s weekly bulletin, so that everyone would pray for my recovery. I had attended Sunday school and vacation Bible school in addition to the regular Sunday morning services in that congregation as I grew up, and it was a very familiar place for me in my childhood. But it wasn’t until the year I turned thirteen that I finally understood the reason why. Up to that point, I had always thought of going to church as something I did either to appease my grandmother, or to be a “good girl.” I can remember being awakened from a sound sleep on certain Sunday mornings and insisting to my grandmother that I was too tired to get up for church that day, only to be coerced by her warning that the devil was telling me to stay in bed. I also remember the way she would bring notepads and pencils for us to play with to keep us occupied during the hour-long service and, of course, sticks of chewing gum to keep us quiet. For the first thirteen years of my life, such was my experience—until one day, when something began to change.

The funny thing is that I can’t remember what was said. I can’t remember what the preacher was talking about that finally got my attention. I just remember that, for the first time in my life, I was engaged. I actually started to become interested in the story of Christianity, because even though I already knew it in a superficial way, I was ultimately beginning to feel it. As a little girl, I had always been enamored by love stories, and it had been quite a common occurrence for me as a child to be caught daydreaming—most often about the handsome prince who would carry me away to his castle in the clouds and make me his princess. As I grew into adolescence, my romanticism about falling in love never diminished—although it might have become slightly more realistic. But, as my knowledge of Christianity grew, I couldn’t help falling captive to what I considered to be the most profound love story I’d ever heard. Just the thought that the Creator of life— far too virtuous to condone evil and to break His own laws—would love me so much that He would become human and die for me, just so I could live with Him forever… Well, suffice it to say that that one expression of love came to mean more to me than any expression I had ever known about before. And I knew that from that day forward, any expression of love I would ever know in the future would be founded upon it. I was spellbound. It was as if I’d been sitting in a darkened room for thirteen years and someone had finally turned the light on for me.  I just couldn’t believe I’d been coming to church there all that time and never understood any of it, and it wasn’t long before I approached that preacher and asked him to baptize me.

As I started to delve more deeply into the words of the Bible and to spend more time with other Christians, I came to understand the way in which God draws us individually to Himself. Having designed each of us uniquely, He knows how best to get our attention. And if we are willing to listen, we can distinguish His gentle whisper to our hearts. Mine is just one of the countless stories regarding how God has sought to passionately pursue and make Himself known to His creation. I have shared it because I believe that in revealing ourselves to each other, we are better able to solidify and affirm our faith. I hope this helps.

 

Christian

In the beginning…

Angela Love

I’ve never tried this before. Not just the whole “blogging” thing, but becoming proactive in my personal spirituality. I’m a very private person, and throughout the majority of my life since I was first brought to Christianity, I regret to acknowledge that my journey in it has been very tumultuous. I’ve struggled a lot—so much more than I could ever try to express tonight. But in spite of everything, and no matter what else has transpired in the nearly sixteen years since that time, of one thing I still remain certain: my life would be nothing without it. I’ve done a lot of floundering in the midst of fleeting moments of transcendence—moments when I felt the embrace of my Creator as genuinely as I could feel anything in this world. I’m holding tightly to those moments as I try to push forward, and I’m writing these things because nothing in this world can ever mean more to me than that embrace. If there’s anyone reading this who feels the same way, I hope I can connect with you. And if there’s anyone reading this who doesn’t, I hope I can connect with you.