Fragile?

 I wrote an article back in 2011 that I remembered today. Back then I wrote it in Romanian (if you can read Romanian you can find it here), so I've decided to translate it. Here it is:

But now, O LORD, You are our Father; we are the clay, and You are the potter; we are all the work of Your hand. (Isaiah 64:8)

I've seen this image in a movie once that has stayed with me. A potter was teaching his son how to make a pot. Beforehand he explained that the first thing he had to do was to knead the clay extremely well until all air bubles were completely removed, otherwise whatever air was still inside the clay would break the pot once it was supposed to be burned in the furnace. 

I remember when I was a child in my grandmother's house, the first thing I saw when I woke up in the morning were the decorative clay pots and plates hanging on the walls. I used to watch them until I was completely awake and I remember thinking of how frail they were, that one could easily break them and that's why they were hanging on the walls up high where us kids couldn't reach them. Sometimes I see myself as a clay pot that can break at any moment because I tend to forget the process I've undergone to be in my present shape. I can watch a clay plate and only see its weakness, that it's easily breakable, but the Potter looks at the pot and knows exactly what that pot went through to be whatever it is. The Potter knows exactly where that clay stood before He collected it. He knows every rain and snow it has endured before the Potter picked it up from its place, not to protect the lump of clay, but because He had a pot in mind for it. So instead of taking the lump of clay in His home and protect it and treasure it forever in a glass case, because it's 'special' don't you know, He took it to His workshop and threw it to the ground. He kneaded it with His hands and stomped it with His bare feet to remove all air bubles from it. The clay thought only that it was getting hit instead of comforted by the One who was supposed to love it. But the Potter was relentless. He took up the exact meassure of clay He needed for His work and placed it on the potter's wheel. He spinned and spinned that thing all the while forming it with His own fingers to give the future pot the shape He had in mind. He had to dip His hands in water constantly so that the clay wouldn't harden itself in His hands before it was time. Then when the pot was done He took the pot and and placed it in the oven and burned it so that the pot would never forget its shape. When the Potter takes a pot out of the oven He no longer sees something fragile because He knows everything the clay had endured to become a pot. After inspecting it, the pot gets decorated and signed by the Artist.

I can see myself through my weakness, but The One that formed me, sees me strong because He remembers where I layed before He had colected me and took me to His workshop. He had a plan in mind. Due to the fact that others have overused the fraze "you are special" I've started to believe and expect that meant He will forever put this lump of clay in a glass case and desplay it in His home, but contrary to my expectations He threw me to the ground and proceeded to stomp me with His bare feet and knead me with His bare hands. He took the breath out of me with things that felt like they would destroy me, but He never stopped until all air bubles were out of me. I understood little of that whole process, I thought I was being punished and had began to doubt that He had my good in mind. I couldn't understand why He, the One that was suposed to love me was hitting me, but He wasn't hindered by my wrong oppinion of Him, he pressed on. Air bubles inflate the clay and make it seem to itself larger than it is and when placed in the oven that air gets eliminated and leaves a whole in the pot which is guaranteed to break it. So the Potter was not willing to have to destroy the work of His own hands nor work in vain, He was willing to do the hard work of stomping me with His feet while I was still clay and not yet a pot. He left me without any air bubles in my substance and I finally thought He was done only to find myself on the potter's wheel and spun around until the world around me made no sense anymore. Even as dizzy as I was I constantly felt His wet hands tirelessly working me over not giving me a moment to harden beyond the point of no return -- only to have me bend into the form He wanted. When finally I had a shape I thought, "wow, I am awesome!" but only because I was unaware of what had to happen next. The Potter placed me in His oven. He burned me there until no water that I'd ever contain within me would ever make me clay again. He signed me with His Holy Spirit so that everyone looking would know who the Artist is, to remove all doubt that I'm made in some cheap shop in China that makes 10.000 of my kind in one day but that I am an original made by The Only One who's Name is Blessed forever. 

When the pot is done, (I mean trully done) it no longer thinks itself anything special and no longer cares whether others think it special or fragile, because it knows what it's been through to be whatever it is and that it stands by the grace of God. That it's all due to the Artist and His skill and talent that makes the pot stand at all. Aware of all that the pot wants only to be used as the Potter wills. 

The Potter that made me didn't form me in order to destroy me but to use me and He will never allow me to be in the hands of anyone that cannot apreciate His talent. 

So I might look fragile, but I have endured a lot to gain my current shape and that has nothing to do with my clay's superior quality, it's all a credit to the One that didn't give up working me over, not even when everything within me thought He was against me. Thank You, Lord!

 Bat Melech בת מלך Cristina כריסטינה

Shameless

 Shame can be useful in society. It is shame, more often than not, that stops us from breaking certain community norms that we all adhere to. It is the fear of other people’s judgement that puts a halt on us breaking the norms, but that is the only good thing I have to say about it. What I hate is when that shame sips into the most inner creases of my soul and prevents me to grow, to progress.
I hate shame. It is a consequence of sin and it’s an awful one. I hate what it does to our soul, to our relationship with God, to our relationships with one another.
Carl Jung said, “Shame is a soul eating emotion.” Jung, being the father of analytical psychology kind of knew what he was saying with that remark. Shame is at the root of most of bad attitudes and choices. Ii is shame that makes us overcompensate and act self-righteous. It is shame that makes us condemn people in an attempt to hide our own flaws by drawing attention to other people’s shortcomings, and we forget that if we speak ill of anyone it says more bad things about ourselves than the people we besmirch with our words. It is shame that makes us overcompensate when we show off with whatever we’re ‘proud’ of, because we want to cover our nakedness, blindness and poverty.
When God created humans, they were naked, and they were not ashamed. (Genesis 2:25) More than their physical forms being unclothed, I think it also talks about a lack of shame regarding their own shortcomings. It was an innocent state of being that didn’t allow them to see in the vast difference between God’s greatness and man’s insignificance a reason for man to cower and hide. Man didn’t think twice about the fact that God wanted to spend time with him and talk to him. It was a given. Yet, the moment their eyes were opened, shame came in. It screamed in Adam’s face, ‘you are unworthy! You are naked! Hide!’ Adam didn’t question it for a second. He had been naked before he was ashamed. It never made God turn His face away from Adam. But the moment shame came in it convinced Adam that his nakedness was the reason why God would never want to be near him. He was ashamed. That’s the moment he died. Not in a physical way but in his relationship with God. So Adam did what all the sons of Adam have done since: he hid. A false attempt to protect God’s gaze. That’s what I hate most about sin. It brings about shame and it makes us want to stay away from God, run away from Him. The sin of running away and hiding is greater than whatever we did to make us want to run in the first place. I don’t want to sin purposefully not because I think I’m holier than thou, but because I never want to feel that shame that would convince me it is a good idea to stay away from God. If I happen to sin, I will take responsibility for my actions and still throw myself into the grace of God. I am shameless that way. I don’t lie to myself that I’ll stay away and let my soul fester with guilt and do 10 hail Mary’s and 50 lashes of self flagellation, 40 days of fasting, and pilgrimage to a holy site and then when I’ll feel better about myself I’ll feel worthy enough to face Him. Ridiculous! I could never do anything to fix my sin. Even if I’d live 10 lives from now on and in all of them I’ll be some Mother Theresa version. Nothing but His blood can fix my sin. So me staying away has absolutely no good reason behind it other than pride. He’s the only one that can help. I’ll run to Him not from Him!
“It is thy destruction, O Israel, That thou art against Me, against thy help.” (Hosea 13:9)
You’re doing God no favor by staying away! He knows you’re naked. You’ve always been naked even when you thought all was great between you and God. Hiding now that you’ve messed up is ridiculous! Tell shame, “I am a man, not a worm! I have sinned. I deserve punishment! But I will not hide. I’ll face my God and hope for His mercy. Even if I receive judgement, I’ll receive it with a grateful heart, because I am a man, not a worm. I’ll honor Him at least with that -- I will not run away but run to Him!”
When Jesus was preparing for His death, His disciples all told Him “we will follow You to the death!” Peter especially was very vocal about it. But Jesus said, “I have prayed for you that your own faith may not fail. When you have come back, you must strengthen your brothers." (Luke 22:32) Jesus knew the power of shame. He knew Peter will run away after failing, and Peter didn’t disappoint. “But when you turn back, when you do all your 10 hail Mary’s and whatever else and you’ll forgive yourself, strengthen your brothers.” I love how Jesus doesn’t even sugar coat it for us. You’ll fail. You’ll run, but when you come back, strengthen your brothers.
I don’t want to be like Peter. I’ll give him a big hug when I see him in heaven, but that’s not my model when it comes to shame. No. When I get to heaven I will go and embrace and thank the thief on the cross next to Jesus. He’s my model when it comes to shame.
Faith is the hand with which we reach out to get a hold of Jesus’ heart. Shame kills faith. If ever there was anyone that should have never dared to believe, that was a thief on the cross. But this man, good golly! Absolutely shameless! And what faith! It makes me cry every time I think about it. At a time when even those that have admired Jesus most, left Him. In His darkest hour when He looked like He couldn’t even save Himself, when maybe He felt discouraged because, where were they? Those that professed to love Him and admired Him and called Him Lord, where were they? Those that have seen Him in His glory, abandoned Him in His humiliation.

At a moment when He was taking upon Himself the shame of the whole world, there was a first fruit of Jesus’ toil. A thief, unworthy in every possible way, looks at this bloodied man next to Him and sees salvation. His disciples, looking upon this display thought ‘we thought He might be our salvation, but maybe we were wrong’ (Luke 24:21) Jesus looked that pitiful in everyone’s eyes. Except for the one thief crucified next to Him. He saw One that could save. He knew he might and for good reason be rejected. Shame must have screamed in his ears, ‘it’s too late for you!’ but he had faith enough to look at the bloody man dying next to him and utter the words that brought his salvation, “Jesus, remember me when You come into Your kingdom!” (Luke 23:42) Absolutely shameless! That’s my role model, right there! I want to believe to the degree where even if the whole world will see nothing but weakness in my Lord, I’ll look at Him as one able to save, even me. Even at my worst. I want to never let shame bring me into a mental space where I would ever reason myself out of hoping for His grace... even if it would seem too late. "Truly I say to you, today you will be with Me in Paradise." (Luke 23:43) Shame didn’t stop the thief on the cross. It had good grounds to attack his faith. But he believed in spite of it. The first human who trully defeated shame. And Jesus loved him for it.

 Lord, don’t ever let me go beyond Your reach. Don’t ever let me think hiding from You is a good idea. Even if I fall 1000 times. One billion times. Help me believe in the power to save more than in my power to fail. Don’t ever let me imagine that my sin is greater than Your grace! Help me walk humbly with You, faithfully, diligently, lovingly, hopefully, trusting that The One who said to my heart ‘come follow me’ is fully aware He called a flawed woman. In return, I can’t promise I’ll be perfect, but Lord I’ll be shameless! I’ll tell whoever has ears You’re worth following. I am grateful Lord, oh so grateful! You’ll never hear the end of it!

by Cristina Pop

Sacrifice

There are days when I feel drained. No enthusiasm whatsoever, no energy or even willingness to do anything. Even talking to people is annoying to me and I just need a break from the world. I have a pretty strong character and a sharp tongue so it's not hard to imagine the damage I can do to those whom least deserve it in my life. Due to that charming personality trait I have, I don't enjoy the same liberties as other mortals do. Like a drug addict that can't be trusted around certain substances, I can't be trusted around things that trigger me. I realize that this will make no sense to people that are kind and peaceful and mellow by nature and that's alright. I wasn't blessed to be born good-natured. Whenever someone says to me, 'you're kind' or 'that's wise' or 'I wish I'd have as much grace as you do', I want to scream at them because they make it sound like it's effortless. No, my dear, if I happen to be kind that is a fruit of the Spirit, because believe you me, I am selfish by nature. If I happen to be wise at times it's because I don't think there's anybody alive that feels their own ignorance more acutely than I do, so I work hard for it. If I happen to show grace at times it's only because you happen to see me in a moment where I was seeing Jesus instead of whoever happens to be there in need of said grace. I know my own shortcomings and it pains me every time I stumble because of them. If I was kind by nature, or wise, or graceful, or giving, or helpful, then me exhibiting all those traits wouldn't be a fruit of His Spirit, it would be my own nature. But because I'm none of those things whenever I see any of those traits in me it's glaringly obvious that it's not me. As obvious as a peach tree making cherries! No way that's me. It's Him, His goodness, His kindness, His mercy, His grace, His faithfulness and apart from Him I KNOW I can't do anything.
I wish I'd be able to say that it happened overnight, that I went to sleep selfish and I woke up caring, but that would be a lie. The Lord worked hard on this tree (me). I didn't show any sign of ever bearing fruit for years, but He wasn't discouraged. He pressed on, so I'll die before taking the credit for His own labor. (see Luke 13:6-9)
Was I just waiting there inert while He was working? Absolutely not. I was learning to die to myself, learning how to not get in His way, learning how to not freak out when my peach tree was making cherries. Was it pretty? Absolutely not. But His grace is sufficient for me. Still, I have days, more than I care to admit, when I fail to die to my old nature. Days when I even doubt I have ever died because, whoa! How is it that I am still breaking in the same spot?! Still, in my weakness His strength is made perfect. (2 Corinthians 12:9)
On days like I've mentioned it helps me to remind myself of David when he bought the threshing floor from Araunah/ Ornan to dedicate it to The Lord, which later became the site on which The Temple was to be built. (2 Samuel 24:18:25, 2 Chronicles 3:1) When Ornan sees David coming to him he's willing to give him not only the land freely but everything David needs to bring a sacrifice to the Lord, yet the king says to Ornan, “No, but I will surely buy it from you for a price, for I will not offer burnt offerings to the LORD my God which cost me nothing.” (2 Samuel 24:24)
I know we live in a time when the sacrifice we bring God is songs we like to sing, but I will not use this post to make my sentiments known on that ridiculous notion, suffice it to say I am not talking about singing when I mean sacrifice here. It's everything in you that you're willing to kill in the service of God. Nothing gets off that altar alive. If I am irritable, it's the decision to nip that thing in the bud right there for The Name of The Lord and exhibit patience. If I am angry, I'll use The Water of Life to extinguish that thing right there on the spot for His Name's sake and speak kindly. If I am proud for whatever foolish reason, I'll knock my pedestal from under my feet and fall face down before The One who deserves all glory! If I was offended or my rights overlooked, I'll slay that offense right then and there and remind myself of The One I've offended and still chose to die in my place. If I'm falsely accused, I'll fix my eyes on that cross and contemplate the One True King despising shame and humbly taking upon Himself all guilt and bore it all without a word.
I will not bring The Lord, my King a sacrifice which costs me nothing. I can't lie to myself that me singing and praying is my sacrifice because I do those things for me, I need them to strengthen myself. In prayer, I decide like Jesus in the garden, “Not my will, but Your will be done”, but then I have to actually go, pick up that cross and die on it. I actually have to do what I have decided in prayer. And it can't be half-hearted either. He will see right through my feeble attempts to get away as cheap as possible.
“A son honors his father, and a servant his master. Then if I am a father, where is My honor? And if I am a master, where is My respect?’ says the LORD of hosts to you, O priests who despise My name. But you say, ‘How have we despised Your name?’
“You are presenting defiled food upon My altar. But you say, ‘How have we defiled You?’ In that you say, ‘The table of the LORD is to be despised.’
“But when you present the blind for sacrifice, is it not evil? And when you present the lame and sick, is it not evil? Why not offer it to your governor? Would he be pleased with you? Or would he receive you kindly?” says the LORD of hosts.”

(Malachi 1:6-8)

I've never seen royalty, but I did sit next to someone famous. I was wearing my best clothes, I spoke softly and I carefully chose each word. I wanted them to know in every possible way that I respected them. That was a human. A mere human being. There was an old rabbi dying and all his disciples gathered about him for his final words and after blessing them, he said 'may you fear and honor God at least as much as you do people.'
The Lord is a humble God. He's unseen and even when He works He doesn't leave little notes saying, 'I've done that' … It is up to me to be a witness for His works and proclaim them to whoever has ears.
Sometimes I act willfully blind. In my selfishness I want to scream at Him, 'what about me?! What about what I want? I am tired! Even if I'm doing Your will now, it's not because I want to!' Then I put myself in timeout until I remember that no lamb, or sheep, or cow, went skipping joyfully to the slaughter. It fought every step of the way and it took several people to drag it there against its will. So I take my will and drag it there and all the way I hope a voice from heaven will call out to me, telling me that the desire was enough and that I don't have to go all the way. Needless to say that has never happened. I had to kill many  Isaacs of mine and no voice from heaven stopped me. Still, that's alright. Because this is not a game I play. I am in a serious covenant with The Only True Living God!
He's my Father, He's worth a little discomfort. He's my Master and King, He deserves all my reverence. I need everything in me to convey in whatever possible way that He's my all. So if I have to kill 200 versions of me in a day, He's worth it.  

by Cristina Pop

I love You

Jordan Peterson, in his book, Maps of Meaning, says “the purpose of life as far as I can tell... is to find a mode of being that's so meaningful that the fact that life is suffering is no longer relevant.”

 His conclusion is priceless. The only way a human can hope to find any kind of purpose in this life is to find a mode of being that is so meaningful, so powerful and real that it makes suffering irrelevant. Christians will exclaim, 'amen!', yet in reality most of them feel just as lost as everybody else when faced with pain and suffering. I believe that is because for most believers, Christianity is just a belief system or an emotional response. But a belief system can do nothing for you. Quote it until you're blue in the face, read all about it, write dissertations if you're so inclined, teach others about it, sing it until you lose your voice, but if you don't believe it to the point where it's your mode of being, you're wasting your time.
I understand that in their search for a purpose, people arrive at different conclusions and depending on their dedication to a code they adopt, they stand or fall with it. I honestly can't speak for anybody else, but I can speak for myself when I say that I did not find the right way of being, The Way has found me. 

My story is simple. I was born in captivity. I didn't ask for it and there was no point denying it or rebel against it. Like the Jews that were born in captivity in Egypt. They didn't like it, they didn't want it, they were crying about the weight of their chains but didn't even know to whom they were crying. But The One that sees all things and hears all things, has heard their cry (Exodus 3:9). Like them I hated my chains. Like them I didn't know if anyone was listening, but I was sending S.O.S signals 'to whom it may concern'. Like the Jews in Egypt I only knew that I was a slave. Slave to my own thoughts, to my own feelings, to my own circumstances. The best of me was enslaved to the worst of me. I was a slave to my worst instincts and the most dysfunctional aspects in me. All that was good about me, my creativity, intelligence, courage, friendship, willingness to progress was enslaved by the worst of me. I hated it, I wished it away, I tried working it away too, but nothing happened. I was crying like Paul, 'Wretched man that I am! Who will set me free from the body of this death?' (Romans7:24). My 'Egyptian' masters were cruel. They were using me to build fortifications for them. The best in me was toiling for the worst in me. The best in me, that which was made in the image of God was used to build fortifications around the worst of me to protect it. I built monuments to that thing so that others might see it and say, 'wow, look at you!' In the beginning I received bricks for my work, but when I first heard of a possible redemption, my bricks were gone, and I was made to go fashion my own bricks. The labor became so hard that instead of hating my 'masters' I was hating this idea of a redemption that might or might not happen. I would have stayed a slave forever if not for my Redeemer going, almost against my will before 'Pharaoh' and demanding, 'let my daughter go!' The slave masters didn't listen, they were stubborn that way.  No matter what my Redeemer used to get them to renounce their claim on me, they refused. So my Redeemer made Himself into a Way for my sake. Released me from my captivity almost against my will, without carrying much whether I truly understood what that freedom entailed. And The Way had to be through a place where no road could possibly exist. Instead of parting the Red Sea for me like He did with the Jews, He separated my light from my darkness and my sacred from my profane, and made me walk through the middle of it like of course this is a normal Way. In reality, I didn't know more about Him than the Jews that left Egypt knew about their Redeemer.
For someone to understand all the stages of my journey one would have to be familiar with the whole Torah (first 5 books of Moses). I have been through all their failures, all their rebellions, all their grumbling, all their wishing in vain, all their misreading the situation they were in, all their demands and their successes too. For the longest time my walk was just a set of rules. I mean I was always grateful for my freedom, but I didn't really know deep down in my heart what I was even doing. It didn't feel like I fit in with all the other redeemed people. It felt about as hard to learn the Christian 'language' as it is for an American to learn Arabic. I wasn't at peace at all. I felt like David trying on Saul's armor. (1 Samuel 17:38) I wanted to go back to whatever was familiar to me, back to the cucumbers in Egypt. (Numbers 11:5) In every little uprising I've had against The Lord, He killed something else that needed to be destroyed in me. Some things I killed with my own hand in a sudden zeal for His work in me. Needless to say He was ruthless in His dealing with everything that was sinful in me. I feared Him, I obeyed Him, I believed in Him, but I didn't love Him. At this point, feel free to feel better about yourself if your journey was more pious than mine.
Anyway, I didn't wander the desert for forty years, it only took me about ten years. During that time I really thought, 'this is it, this is all it's ever gonna be'. The thought was gut wrenching to me because my soul felt tormented. It felt like an obligation more than anything. I didn't want to go back to Egypt and by that time I was too involved in too many activities to be able to go back. So I made peace with it. It seemed fair, He had died for me, so I will spend the rest of my life dying for Him. Not out of love but because fair is fair. Absurd, I know, but bare with me.
Anyway, one day while I was reciting Shema Israel (Listen, oh Israel) I got to the part, “You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might.” (Deuteronomy 6:5) My heart felt like it was breaking. I felt Him inside me asking, 'do you love Me?' I couldn't answer. I thought I might stay mute forever because nothing I might say ever again will have any meaning. I felt Him inside me neither angry nor disappointed. Just sad. I told Him, 'I don't know how to love You. I mean I know how to do things for You, I know how to stay faithful to the covenant, but I don't know how to love You. If there's a way where You could teach me how to love You, I am here. Teach me.' I was too young back then to know that apart from Him I could do nothing, not even love Him.
“He found him in a desert land, And in the howling waste of a wilderness; He encircled him, He cared for him, He guarded him as the pupil of His eye.” (Deuteronomy 32:10)

It's interesting that Moses is saying this about Israel, because that's not where God found them. They were found in Egypt right? But no, that's not what Moses means. He talks about Israel's soul. Even though they were not alone, God walked with them through their wilderness and in that wilderness God found Israel's heart. They didn't lack for anything all the years of their wanderings, but they still felt hopeless and it's in that hopelessness that He found them.
I was in that scary place, that desert land, in that howling waste of a wilderness... Yet there, where all He should have felt was offended by my running in circles, He encircled me. He cared for me. He guarded me as the pupil of His eye. By all accounts I should have died in that place. It would have been fair. But, “In all their distress, He too was afflicted, and the Angel of His Presence saved them. In His love and compassion He redeemed them; He lifted them up and carried them.” (Isaiah 63:9) He carries me still...
So no, I don't have a belief system that gives meaning to my life. I have a God that is more real to me than my own skin. I rise or break on His command. Why? Because now, when He asks me, 'do you love Me?' I can say like Peter, “Lord, You know all things; You know that I love You.” (John 21:17)

by Cristina Pop

Loneliness

 There is an older brother that keeps asking me every time he gets the chance if I feel lonely. It makes me smile every time because I think he's projecting his own feelings on me and he can't possibly conceive anything worse than that feeling. I get it. Loneliness can be a bitter thing. In fact, I believe it to be intolerable to the human psyche.

 On the sixth day, when God made Adam, the man felt lonely and that wasn't 'good' in the eyes of God. Up until that point, God looked at everything He'd done and declared it good. But it wasn't good for man to be alone (Gen. 2:18). So God made Adam a helper. It would have been amazing in that sinless state for Adam to think, 'God is all I need,' yet Adam didn't think it and God didn't demand it. Adam's loneliness was intolerable to God and so He acted.

Loneliness can come in many forms, it doesn't have to be just romantic. I know most people feel like that's the worst kind and I concede that it is up there with the 'best'. Still, I believe being 'cut off' from life in general has to be the worst kind of loneliness. People that are trapped in a sick body, or in situations where nobody else shares their convictions can be pretty lonely. Richard Wurmbrand, when he was kept in solitary confinement to keep himself sane, began to speak to the spiders. When the prophet Elijah was running away from Jezebel, got so depressed he wanted to die, “I am the only one left” (1 Kings 19:10).

 
Being around people is no guarantee against loneliness. Being in a relationship is no guarantee against loneliness either. Even being in a relationship with God doesn't prevent one from feeling lonely.
Loneliness can suck the life out of us. It's real. More real than the ground under our feet and the air we breathe in. It has a life of its own and if we let it can drown our spirit more than anything else can, even the gravest sin.
I live with my loneliness like one does next to a domesticated tiger. For the most part I've learned to control it, but I never lie to myself that it's a little cat. I know it's a wild animal and given the right circumstances it can tear me apart limb from limb. So I take all necessary precautions to ensure that's never the case. I walk carefully around it even as it thinks I am its master. For the most part it works fine. I didn't ask for this particular tiger but since it's here I might as well control it if the only other option is being eaten by it. I love it and fear it in equal measures. Do I want it gone? Some days more than anything in the world.
Thinking about loneliness brought to mind an incident that occurs in the three synoptic gospels. Matthew 8:2, Mark 1:40, Luke 5:12, all report about a man that suffered from leprosy. He sees Jesus and approaches, falls on his knees and begs to be made clean. And Jesus touches him and miracle of miracles, he's healed.
In Judaism if a person was afflicted with this awful disease, they had to remove themselves from their family, their home and live outside the city gates. Sometimes lepers would make up small communities and help each other out but in a lot of cases they were all by themselves. They were not allowed to approach another Jew without announcing to them from a distance away that they are a leper and thus giving them the chance to leave. If they happened to touch anything, that thing had to be destroyed or given to the leper for their use, but nobody else would touch anything touched by a leper. They could not be part of any ritual, and they could not come close to anything holy. Their prayers were not answered, because it was thought their affliction was caused by sin and sin prevents God to listen to prayers (Isaiah 59:2). I don't believe there ever was a crueler disease. That kind of loneliness placed on a soul already stricken with a mutilated body, is beyond understanding.
The man that went to Jesus is one of the bravest man I've heard of. He's not allowed to approach another human, so he approaches the Son of God like he completely believes that his leprosy can do nothing against Him. He bows down even though he knows he has no right. He makes a request even though he knows God doesn't listen to a sinner. “If You are willing, You can make me clean.” He whispers that from the dirt, but he's out of options. There's nothing else left to lose and if they decide to pick up stones and stone him to death, surely at least then it will all be over. “Moved with compassion, Jesus reached out His hand and touched the man. “I am willing,” He said. “Be clean!” (Mark 1:41) I love Jesus. Whenever people think He'll zig, He zags. Whenever I think, 'surely, surely He won't', He does. And the opposite is true as well. I don't think He does this just to be contrary, without rhyme or reason. His compassion moves Him. In a time when touching something unclean would make you also ritually unclean, Jesus touches a leper no less! — “I am willing,” He said. “Be clean!”
I find great comfort in this story because it gives me hope. In my dramatic moments I think of my loneliness as leprosy. Yet this story inspires me to believe against all belief that if I just go and fall at His knees, He won't turn me away. I might have to call out like Bartimaeus, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me." (Mark 10:47) and I might be told to be silent but I'll keep shouting after Him until He stops if only to stop me from bothering Him (see Luke 18:1-8).

 
I'll knock and keep on knocking because I have no other option. I knock and keep on knocking because I have nothing else to lose. Anyone else might distract their attention with something else for a while... they're rich. I don't have that luxury. I only have Him! Am I lonely? Yes! Do I despair? Absolutely not! Look at my Door, Jesus Christ, do you see those blood stains on it? They're from my knuckles!

by Cristina Pop

A few words on tears

 I hate crying. I realize that might be the case for a ton of people, but with me it borders on the ridiculous. I don't cry easily. First of all, I work hard to put on makeup everyday, so I will not allow a few tears to ruin it.  Second, because I happen to think it's an action as intimate as going to the toilet, so no, I do not appreciate it if anyone sees me thank you very much. And third because I am an ugly crier. Some women cry so prettily that even if you don't like them, you feel the need to comfort them somehow. Not me. If I cry it starts with a tick near my mouth and it progresses to the point where all my facial muscles are in mutiny against my brain, and they all decide to do their own thing, my mascara is running everywhere which renders me partially blind and by then I just want to scream for help because what are they putting in this stuff?!  Needless to say, I look like there's a malfunction happening in my system and it's just plain ugly. So no, I do not cry! It has to be an event or a story that is the stuff of legends or novels or movies in order for me to be affected enough to choke up a little, but even then I can control it. Having said all that, there have been a few (stress the few) moments when people, with no fault of their own, were forced to witness the production I put on in order to hide it. I hate it. Not like one hates ranch dressing on their salad, but with a passion.
I had such a moment today. Luckily the only person around was my sister. To her credit she knows not to look straight at me when my face is all contorted and I attempt to sound like I make sense. I love her for it. Anyways, as soon as I was done I went to sort myself out and talk to God about it. I remembered Psalm 116:8, “For You have rescued my soul from death, My eyes from tears, And my feet from stumbling.” He rescued my eyes from tears. Like they were in danger of drowning under all that feeling. But one look at Him, and my eyes were saved.
I love that Jesus calls The Holy Spirit — The Comforter (John 14:26, John 15:26, John 16:7, John 16:13) He knew we'd need someone to comfort us through our tears. And He does comfort us, blessed be His Name forever, He so does.
“Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.” (Romans 8:26)

Thank You, Lord for being my Father, my Savior who rescues me even from my tears, my Comforter that never ceases to console me.
“For the Lamb in the midst of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of living water, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” (Revelation 7:17)

by Cristina Pop

Steadfast

 I have days when my soul is in rebellion against me. It goes after my faith, against my every resolve, against my hope. Nothing is off limits.
It used to scare me in the beginning but I have been on the battle field with it enough times to learn its strategy. But like Saul's evil spirit was quieted by David playing the harp, I've learned to quiet my doubts with His promises.

“Why art thou cast down, O my soul? And why art thou disquieted within me? Hope thou in God; for I shall yet praise him For the help of his countenance.
O my God, my soul is cast down within me: Therefore do I remember thee from the land of the Jordan, and the Hermons, from the Mount Mizar.” (Psalm 42:5-6)

From the land of Jordan, and from the Hermons, from Mizar — not quite in exile yet. The Holy Land is almost out of my view, but I still see Zion. My doubt is chasing me out of my hallowed place, but not quite.

“As with a crushing in my bones, mine adversaries taunt me; While they say unto me all the day: 'Where is Thy God?'
Why art thou cast down, O my soul? And why art thou disquieted within me? Hope thou in God; for I shall yet praise him For the help of his countenance.” (Psalm 42:10-11)

When you wait, not just for days, or weeks, or months, but years -- long, long years -- it's a bit of a battle to maintain the same enthusiasm and belief for the promises of God. Almost out of sheer self preservation the soul will scorn your hope. It feels cheated. Abandoned alone in a silly hope that maybe was never meant for it to begin with. I don't think disappointment is the right word for it. It morphs into something with sharp teeth and claws ready to shred you, your faith and even your God to nothing. Even so, “The LORD, who delivered me from the claws of the lion and the bear, will deliver me from the hand of this Philistine.” (1 Samuel 17:37)
Unlike David killing his Goliath, I can't kill off my soul nor do I wish to. I know it loves God. So I have to sit there with it for a long while and whisper it again into love with God. Sometimes I have to start with 'be'reishit' — in the beginning, and go until I reach the 'amen' in Revelation before it relents. Other times all I have to do is call His Name out loud and my soul is won over. In my darkest moments nothing works, so I have to wrestle it, exhaust it until it cries uncle. Basically I do whatever it takes to make it submit. Why do I do that? Because that's all I have. The fight for God is all I've ever known. I'm not about to lose an inch to an unfulfilled dream or shattered hope. I've determined long ago that He's worth it. Whatever obstacles along the way that will disintegrate my barefoot feet --  I'll cut them off before I'll think it too high a price.
Is it because I'm stubborn that I'll make it? Never. It's because He promised! That if I just believe in Him, He'll take me back home. He made Himself a Way for me. He made Himself bread, so I won't starve on this journey. He made Himself water, so I won't thirst. He made Himself a Door for me, so that I would never knock without Him opening Himself up for me to enter. There's nothing that could have been done that He didn't do, just to have me. I have nothing to give Him. Never did, never will. But I can believe Him, and even that is His gift to me...

“His commitments are always kept. (…) We admire loyalty in people, and we can't imagine a God lacking loyalty. We can count on Him being as good as His word. It is said of Gebhard Leberecht von Blucher that when he was marching to help the Duke of Wellington battle Napoleon at Waterloo, his troops faltered. “It can't be done,” they said. “It must be done!” was his answer. “I have promised to be there — promised, do you hear? You would not have me break my word!” He was at Waterloo according to his word. He would not be hindered, for his promise was given. We praise such faithfulness. We would not think much of one who did not keep his word. Will The Lord God Almighty fail in His promise? No. He will move heaven and earth and shake the Universe rather than not fulfill His word. He seems to say, 'It must be done! I have promised — promised, you hear?!'
In order to keep His promise to us, He spared not His Own Son. He considered it better that Jesus die than the word of The Lord be broken. I say again, depend upon it! The Lord means what He says, and He will make good every syllable of His word.” - According to promise. Of salvation, life and eternity, by Charles H. Spurgeon

by Cristina Pop

I can see!

 I've heard somebody say yesterday, 'I don't know whether I am saved or not, only God knows that.' That's not the first time I've heard people say that. So I've decided to write about it because I don't think a little logic would hurt the people that use that sort of line and think it pertinent or even lofty.

On the surface it seems like such a humble thing to say. I happen to think it's plain idiotic, not because I blame people that doubt their own salvation, but because the theory behind it is ridiculous.
If you have been drifting at sea, about to drown and somebody came along, jumped in the water and dragged you to safety, you wouldn't think it's lofty to sit there panting on deck while the ship rejoices, telling them 'only the person that saved me knows whether I have been saved or not, I do not know.' Are you kidding me? Look around you! You were drowning, now you're not. You were dying, now you're not!
Now imagine spending years on that ship and you're still there telling people, 'I might still be in the waters, I am not sure, ask the captain.' Ridiculous!

I do not know whether you're saved or not. Only you know that and the fact that you're confused makes me think you either fell pray to a lie from the enemy, or some 'theologian' proposed a theory that made you doubt yourself. Or it could be that you are not saved indeed.
It's not rocket science. It never was despite what some people make it sound like. I'll make this as simple as possible, even though I know you'd more readily eat it up if I'd use some Greek and Hebrew terminology. But I shall attempt to address this nonsense. I harbor no illusion that logic will convince you, but let's try it anyway. I'll borrow a passage from John 9 and paraphrase it in terms you might understand.

You were blind. In fact you were born blind. And you spent your life seeing through whatever you could touch or through other people's descriptions of the seen world. You were clueless what they were talking about because you had no frame of refrence for half the things they mentioned. And one day, this Person came along.  Without a word to you He pasted mud on your eyes and told you to go wash. And even just to get the dirt off, you went and you did what He asked. And lo and behold, you saw! And you saw well! Others didn't recognize you because you confused them with your ability to see. When questioned, maybe you didn't know exactly what to answer about the One that gave you sight. You weren't able to describe the atoning power, you couldn't tell them exactly how substitution works or about the two natures of Christ. You didn't have all the facts about baptism, or The Lord's supper, or any notion about eschatology and nephillim. But you knew you have been blind and that now you could see! Now blind people trying to lead the blind are telling you that maybe you either have never been blind to begin with or that it's an illusion that you see, 'no, you might still be blind' Are you serious?! You're a grown up. You can testify for yourself. You have been blind and now you see! Don't ask me or anybody else, 'do you think I see?'-- Do you?! Only you know whether you see or not. And if you're blind then fine, I'll write another post how you can be led to Jesus, but I doubt you need that.

So you had a nasty fall. The kind that is so unbecoming for a child of God that you feel like there's no way you haven't lost your salvation. You were blind (have I overemphasized it?) some things are still foreign to you. You're still adjusting to the seen world. When something feels scary or alien to you, you still find yourself closing your eyes just to get your bearings. Darkness feels safer than the Light. You're gonna fail. A lot! But does that mean that now the gift of sight has left you? If you stumble and fall, and fall to the point where you break limbs and sport a black eye and bruises for weeks, does that make you turn blind again? Am I saying you can't become blind after you've regained your sight? Not at all. What I am telling you is that you would have to hate your sight so much and despise the seen world to the point where you'd go, pick up a sharp object and shove it in both your eyes. But the fact that you fall or that you get dirt on you, dirt which didn't bother you before because you couldn't see it, doesn't make you blind again. It makes you dirty. Go and wash and avoid pigsties in the future.
You might even fall so hard that you end up in a dark whole in the ground and in that case I can see why you would be confused whether you have lost your sight or not. But it's just a dark whole, you're not blind again!
One of my favorite movies, Hacksaw Ridge has a good image that helps my point. There's this fallen soldier among many others that the main character is trying to save and take to safety. He stumbles upon an American soldier that wants to shoot him because he doesn't recognize friend from foe. The main character reassures him that he's a friend and the guy desperately informs him, 'Doss, I'm blind! I can't see!' Doss can see that blood has covered his face and when it dried in shut his eyes closed, so he reaches out for his canteen and washes the guy's eyes and the grateful man latches on to Doss and tells him, 'I really thought I was blind!'
I get that things happen, awful things at that. Some that the world force upon you and others of your own doing, but you learn to dust yourself off and move on. You're not blind!
Short of severing your spirit open and surgically removing Christ from you, He's there. You're not the initiator of this covenant and it doesn't stand in place because of you. If that were the case we would all be doomed. This covenant stands by Him, through Him and for Him. Am I saying now that you should keep on sinning? God forbid! On the contrary, you should feel such gratitude for The One that have paid the price to set you free that you would never wish to go back and put a chain around your neck in service to your wants. Fight and fight hard not just mildly with your inclinations. Go wash, or mend your broken bones and train, train until it hurts, so that you know how to walk with your eyes wide open! I am not telling you anything new. You know all this!

 I apologize for ranting, but I kind of had no choice. If you found this article confusing, that's alright. I doubt it will be the last time I confuse people with something I write :)

by Cristina Pop

Hang in there

“One Sabbath Jesus was teaching in one of the synagogues, and a woman there had been disabled by a spirit for eighteen years. She was hunched over and could not stand up straight. When Jesus saw her, He called her over and said, “Woman, you are set free from your disability.” Then He placed His hands on her, and immediately she straightened up and began to glorify God.

But the synagogue leader was indignant that Jesus had healed on the Sabbath. “There are six days for work,” he told the crowd. “So come and be healed on those days and not on the Sabbath.”

“You hypocrites!” the Lord replied. “Does not each of you on the Sabbath untie his ox or donkey from the stall and lead it to water? Then should not this daughter of Abraham, whom Satan has kept bound for eighteen long years, be released from her bondage on the Sabbath day?”

When Jesus said this, all His adversaries were humiliated. And the whole crowd rejoiced at all the glorious things He was doing.” - Luke 13:10-17

 I love this story for many reasons but mainly because my King shines so blindingly in it that I simply love Him more for it. 

This woman was beyond despair. For eighteen years she's been tied by Satan like an animal to the point 'she was hunched over and could not stand up straight.' Not because she was unwilling, but because she couldn't stand up straight.
She had to have been whole at some point. She had to have been happy and free. Maybe she liked flowers and despised people who talked nonsense, who knows. But at some point she began to slouch, then hunch over until she couldn't stand up straight anymore. And she had lived with her head down and spine bent for eighteen years. Shrinking into herself more and more. Unable to look up towards heaven. Her vision had shrunk to whatever her feet treaded on. She probably looked as if she was searching for a whole to sink in, or a grave. I don't think she would have minded finding one.

 
There are a lot of people walking about that way. Their disability is mental not physical. People that get burdened with some mental or emotional load that gets so heavy that even if they would want to they can't 'get up'.
There is a passage in one of my favorite books, Everything is illuminated, by Jonathan Safran Foer, that illustrates perfectly this state of mind:

“He awoke each morning with the desire to do right, to be a good and meaningful person, to be, as simple as it sounded and as impossible as it actually was, happy. And during each day his heart would descend from his chest into his stomach. By early afternoon he was overcome by the feeling that nothing was right, or nothing was right for him, and by the desire to be alone. By evening he was fulfilled: alone in the magnitude of his grief, alone in his aimless guilt, alone even in his loneliness. I am not sad, he would repeat to himself over and over, I am not sad. As if he might one day convince himself. Or fool himself. Or convince others--the only thing worse than being sad is for others to know that you are sad. I am not sad. I am not sad. Because his life had unlimited potential for happiness, insofar as it was an empty white room. He would fall asleep with his heart at the foot of his bed, like some domesticated animal that was no part of him at all. And each morning he would wake with it again in the cupboard of his rib cage, having become a little heavier, a little weaker, but still pumping. And by the mid afternoon he was again overcome with the desire to be somewhere else, someone else, someone else somewhere else. I am not sad.”

It's hell to even imagine one day living that way. Now stretch your mind as far as it can go and imagine years. Eighteen years.
You might say, 'that happens only to those that don't know God, those that know Him are filled with joy'. I beg to differ and allow me to elaborate.
The woman in the story was a 'daughter of Abraham'. Jesus calls her that. If that wouldn't have been the case, He would have called Satan her father like we know He did when He spoke to the pharisees and sadducees (John 8:39-44). But she was a daughter of Abraham. She wasn't possessed by the devil, that's why Jesus doesn't cast out any spirit. She had just been tied by Satan like she wasn't human anymore but an ox or a donkey. And to her credit, tied as she was, she had a fighting spirit. She didn't hide in her home, she kept going to the synagogue. One little step at a time, Sabbath after Sabbath, month after month, year after year. Satan did the worst he could to her. He managed to tie her, bowed her head and bent her spine. But that's all he could do. I don't believe he was holding back, he's not the type to do that. Just look at Job. Satan doesn't hold back when he goes after someone. He doesn't spare a field, a cow, a child or one's own skin. I don't believe Satan was holding back when he went after this woman either. She was, 'hard-pressed on all sides, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.' (2 Corinthians 4:8-9)
As sad as her state was, she wasn't without hope. She kept going to the synagogue looking for the only One who could help her. And one day He showed up. Not in the way she expected, but there He was. Standing above everybody else, teaching them. And He sees her. No, He didn't just observe an oddity. He didn't just take notice of her presence. He SAW her. Flaws, qualities, potential, tears, despair, worn out … He sees her. The tiny form, a shell of a former self, that probably went in and out of rooms without anyone ever sparing her a second glance. But oh, she had His attention. He traveled the heavens and time itself to reach her in her need. He calls her over and she comes. Just in case I need to point it out for people unacquainted with a synagogue, what Jesus did was simply insane. You have a bimah, a raised platform where the rabbi or the guest speaker stands to speak to the congregation, the aron kodesh, the place where the Scrolls of Torah (Law), Ketuvim (Scriptures) and Neviim (Prophets) are kept. You have the men's section split by a mechitzah (partition) from the women's section. The two do not mingle. Now imagine the rabbi not just looking at the women's side, but calling out to a woman and asking her to come to him. Crazy! Yet, Jesus doesn't care. After all, that's why He's here. “You are free from your disability”, He says to her and touches her, and she's released. Just like that. On the wrong day to do a miracle of course, but Jesus isn't playing any religious games. He unties her and she's free.
As expected, there's outrage. Not aimed at Jesus, but at the woman, “There are six days for work,” he told the crowd. “So come and be healed on those days and not on the Sabbath.”. No knight in shining armor could ever shine like my King when He defends this woman, “You hypocrites!” the Lord replied. “Does not each of you on the Sabbath untie his ox or donkey from the stall and lead it to water? Then should not this daughter of Abraham, whom Satan has kept bound for eighteen long years, be released from her bondage on the Sabbath day?”
His way of working offends my and your religious sensibilities. But He's alright with that. He's not about keeping my/your delusions alive. He's about setting people free. From whatever ails them. In whatever way He sees fit. It doesn't matter that 'it's not done this way', it doesn't matter that it's not 'scriptural' in my/your view. Hearts take precedence over anything. It's not my business and your business either how He chooses to free anybody. Only He knows how long those long years have been for a broken heart. No it cannot wait until you find it acceptable. It has to be done now!

If you're the woman in the story, I pray you hang in there. Fight even if your battle is reduced to waking up in the morning and getting dressed. Fight even if it means all you can do is put one foot in front of the next. Even if you have to split your existence into minutes because even hours seem to break you. But hang in there! I promise, help is on the way. He knows exactly where you are. Don't stop asking for His help. I know what it's like to have only one prayer for years, 'I am here, everything is pulling me away, even I want to leave, but I am here.' I pray you'll have the fortitude to endure the storm, the perseverance to continue to hope one day at a time and the awareness that He's the only One who can help you.
If you're the leader of the synagogue in this story and you just feel the need to point out the obvious, do me a favor --
no, do yourself a favor and be quiet. You speak of things you do not understand or ever could. Believe me, I know what it's like to have The King of glory look you in the eyes and tell you, 'you hypocrite!' Better to avoid that experience if at all possible, but if you insist I am sure He can oblige you.

Lord, You know I have been both the woman and the hypocrite. You Know all things … Thank You for … everything. One day I'll be able to find a better word that encompasses everything. Or maybe I'll just be quiet. You'll understand.

by Cristina Pop

Prayer

 Look at me, Lord... what do You see? Am I whole or in pieces? If all I can give You is silence, will You understand my silence? Do You see everything it hides and everything it reveals? Of course You do. Your eyes pierce through my contemptible attempts to make sense out of senselessness. Pry my heart open and sort through my insides. Through every thought I disguise as a lofty feeling, through every feeling I camouflage as fact, through every fact I cloak in opinion, through every opinion I colour in certainty, through every certainty ripe with doubt, through every doubt perforated with hope, through every hope sprinkled with faith and every faith drenched in love. Prod, examine, organize and then speak me back to me. Maybe in Your words I'll understand myself. Maybe once I understand I'll be able to pray. Not cajoling, but real praise. Not enticing You with promises in the hope You'll relent. I need a pure prayer. It can't be a way to manipulate You to get what I want, it has to be pure. You'll see right through me. You always do.
 Shall I speak? Craft me new words, the ones I know fail me. Invent me utterances that are able to communicate, feel and believe and think all at the same time. Interpret me to myself like a rabbi interprets the Torah. Sing me to myself, maybe my truth lies in sounds more than words, do whatever it takes but lay me bare before You. Lead me to Your altar and bind me to it (Psalm 118:27). Forgive me for not going there willingly... Still, bind me with cords of love (Hosea 11:4). Bind me tight enough so that even if I was contemplating running, they'll keep me in place. Then listen... My Lord and my God, listen. Not with Your ears, they'll prove me unworthy. Not with Your mind, for it will prove me a liar. Listen to me, through Him that holds Your heart forever. For His sake, on His credit ... don't turn me away. Teach me how to pray so that You'll feel in a conversation, not in a ritual, You'll feel loved, not used. Tame this foolish heart of mine. Teach it to submit to no one else but You. Train it until Yours will be the only voice it will recognize and it will declare strangers all other voices ... even mine. Then, maybe then You will call and I will answer, 'here I am' and I will be. In the wherever You'll be, I'll be there. I won't be in some other reality that I'll dream about. I'll dream and wish to be wherever You are. I won't hide through trees in the garden, or in self righteousness. I'll just … be like You are.

by Cristina Pop