The pit

 The following is a story written by Rabbi Eli Landes. 

 

There’s a story they tell, when the taste for all other stories has run dry. When the tongue tires of weaving tales of sages and singing songs of heroes; when the heart feels cold and afraid, and nothing seems sufficient to chase away the dark. On days like those, when they’ve exhausted all other options, they tell the story of the pit.

And the prince who fell into it.

The pit is dark and deep, and the chances of the prince ever climbing out are slim-to-none. For all intents and purposes, this tale is over.

But not for him. His story doesn’t end when he falls into the pit.

That’s when it begins.

He falls long; falls hard. Bangs his head, scrapes his skin, sprains some bones. To a prince who has only ever known the soft comforts of a palace, the pain is blinding. He comes to a stop eventually, though how far away from the bottom is anyone’s guess. This pit is as wide as it is deep, filled with ledges and alcoves branching off into darkness. It seems endless—an impossible distance to climb and an impossible distance more to fall.

But the prince is indignant. He is a prince, after all. A prince does not belong in a pit. He belongs outside, free and proud and reunited with his father. So he picks himself up, dusts himself off, and sets off to find a way out.

It’s on one of his explorations that he finds the rope. There’s not much to it, really—just a thin, long rope, rising out of the pit into the world beyond. And yet, it’s somehow the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He runs to it, grasps it with both hands. At last, he has a way out.

But, as he soon discovers, leaving this pit is not so simple. He’s a prince, after all—his body isn’t made for rope climbing. His hands bleed, his muscles ache, his grip slips again and again. He forces himself to keep climbing, to fight through the exhaustion and the sweat and the pain, but for every step he gains he seems to fall two more, the excitement that once fueled him long since lost.

Yet still he climbs, compelled by a drive he cannot comprehend. A need to ascend. To return.

Until, one day, his grip fails.

And he falls.

He falls hard, hits a rocky ledge with a groan. He hasn’t fallen in a long time—not since he first fell into the pit. The pain is the first to hit: blinding, flooding his eyes with tears and spasming through his muscles. Then comes the anger. He surges to his feet, bends over and screams. It's not fair! He’s a prince. What business does a prince have in a pit?

So he sulks for a while: kicks at rocks, explores some caves, not accomplishing anything of value. He knows he’s procrastinating. He should be climbing the rope. But he’s afraid. He’s never been afraid before, but now he’s terrified. What if he tries again, and fails? What if he climbs and falls even further?

But in the end, even his fear is not enough to stop him. He needs to climb, more than he needs to breathe or eat or sleep. He walks back to the rope, gazes up, takes a deep breath.

And climbs.

It’s different this time—he's not as enthusiastic as he once was, but he’s not as naïve, either. He remembers the parts where he struggled last time; remembers how he pushed himself too hard and gave up. He tries a more measured approach, taking longer breaks, pausing to eat and drink.

But climbing is hard, especially when you’re a prince. His grip slips one day, and he falls a few feet—catching himself on a nearby ledge at the last minute. He jumps to his feet and dashes for the rope, but in his fervor he forgets his earlier measured approach. He scrambles upwards, desperately trying to regain the ground he lost, but his muscles are sore and his hands slick with sweat.

He falls, and falls hard.

What follows next is as familiar as it is soul-crushing. The anger settles in; the despair, the fear. He rages at his situation—resolves to just give up. And finds that he cannot. He attempts the climb, again and again and again, sometimes climbing further, other times barely making it more than a few feet.

In the end, he always falls.

Until one time, he falls harder and farther than ever before. Far enough that, for a moment, he feels suspended in space, wondering if he’ll finally reach the bottom of this pit.

After he falls, after he recovers, after he gets back to his feet, he’s consumed by a rage he’s never felt before. He lunges for the rope, grabbing a sharp rock on the way. And, with a roar, he starts cutting. He slashes at that rope, again and again and again, until the rope is in shreds around him, as ruined as his chances of ever escaping.

Then he slumps back, satisfaction and pain and grief warring inside him, and, for the first time, accepts his fate.

He may have once been a prince. He may once have lived free. But no longer.

He’s never leaving this pit.

There’s not much to say about the days that follow. The once-prince explores the area he’s fallen to, discovering that there are endless chambers and countless rooms to explore. They’re filled with curiosities, marvels and wonders of their own, but they mean nothing to him. He knew the outside world once—what interest do the secrets of a pit hold for him?

Time passes in a meaningless drudge. Another cave explored, another cavern passed through. And slowly, as he walks, the need he thought he’d buried kindles again.

He is a prince. He doesn’t belong in this pit.

He needs to find a way out.

And so he returns to the place he fell, scans the floor for the tattered remnants of his rope. He finds a piece of the cord, a second, a third, starts tying them together. It’s hard work—searching for the scraps, tying them together, searching again. He tries to stay excited through the process, but there are times he can’t keep the despair at bay.

And, during one of his darker moments, as he scans the cave floor dejectedly for the next scrap of rope, a thought occurs to him:

It’s dark in this pit.

How is he finding the scraps of rope?

He lifts his head up, slowly, his neck and spine creaking in protest—has it been so long, he wonders, since I last looked up? He's not certain himself what he expects to see. It’s night out there, the dark thick and absolute, and for a moment it’s hard to tell where the pit ends and the world outside begins.

And then he sees it: a flicker of motion, so small, so subtle, he could almost believe he’d imagined it.

There’s a flashlight at the lip of the cave, shining all the way down to where he stands.

And though he cannot see anything beyond that flashlight, he knows with absolute certainty Who’s holding it.

He stares up, mouth dry, the pit around him forgotten. His mouth feels suddenly full of questions, and it’s all he can do not to scream them out. “Father!” he yearns to scream, “Why have you abandoned me? When will you take me back?”

But he swallows those screams, because he knows that at this distance any words would get lost long before they reach the end of the pit. And because they’re not the question he really wants to ask. The question that eats at him; the question that keeps his back bent and his head fixed down.

So instead, he stares up at his unseen Father and silently wills Him to hear the question he can’t hold back any longer.

Why? He asks silently, a single tear slipping from his eye. Why haven’t You left? Why do You still hold out hope for me? Whatever it is You want from me, I’ve failed, again and again and again. I turned my back on You. I cut the only rope that still connected us. What do You see in me that I don’t?

And it’s strange, but even though he doesn’t utter a single word, the question seems to hang in the air between them, somehow tangible, somehow real.

There is a moment of silence; two. And then the flashlight moves, very slightly, to the side.

And turning, the prince sees where it’s shining.

On the next scrap of rope.

He studies it for a moment, lets a wry smile quirk his lips.

Then he reaches down, picks up that scrap, and ties.

by Eli Landes

Keep walking

Blast! Or at least I think it was a blast. Maybe it was an explosion, or maybe the sky fell down or the sun melted. I couldn't say for sure. But something hit me. I am flying. Not the flight of a carefree bird, but the flight of an object thrown through the air with all the intent to destroy said object upon impact. I think I've been flying for no more than five seconds, but it could have been years for all I know. Finally landed. More like crashed. I remember hitting the ground or whatever it is I hit whenever I stopped flying/falling. I couldn't pull air into my lungs. My eyes refused to open or maybe I went blind. My ears, Lord, help me my ears ringing or better yet roaring so much so that no coherent thought had time to take root in my brain and make sense of anything. Hours pass. I think I am bleeding. First thought my brain understands. I think I am bleeding. No wait, I am bleeding. My arm is on fire for some reason. I manage to open one eye. It's dark. Wait is that grass? I am at the end of some tunnel, but in the distance I see smoke, funny I can't smell it. Is that my boot I see painted in red and pathetically fighting for balance as if that's what it was made for. I manage to turn my head a little...oh, there's my shield. I think I've dropped it while I was flying. I look at whatever it is I can see of myself. My armor is ripped in so many places that I won't ever be able to use it again. My arm is all cuts and scratches. My sword is still in my hand. Correction. The hilt is still in my hand and a shard of what used to be a blade. I try to move my head and my vision expands. Wait, is my helmet covering my face? I think I recall a battle. Yes. There has been a battle. Of course, I was fighting in a battle. Wait. What? Who am I? I remember a throne and me kneeling before it. I remember loving the One seated on that throne. But I don't remember who He is or what is my relationship to Him for the life of me. I recall having some sort of purpose but I can't be asked to name it right now. I remember fighting. Maybe not just now, but many battles before. Before what? Oh, yeah... the blast. I look up. No sky. Wait, am I facing the ground? Why won't my ears stop hurting? Make it stop... God, please make it stop. God. Wait... there's God... Where is He? Everything hurts, even my hair hurts... Where is He?! Did He leave? Was He ever here? Breathe! It hurts... Make it stop...

I don't know how long I stay there like that. I don't know if it's day or night. I still don't know who I am, just some existence. A moment. Then another. Sound of footsteps. 'Help!' No answer. A pair of feet in my vision. 'Please, help!' No answer. 'Are you here to kill me?' No answer. I begin to cry. 'Say something! Who are you?'

'You know who I am.'

I know that voice. I think I'd recognize it anywhere. It's not a stranger. No, I pledged allegiance to the One speaking.

'Lord, is it you?' I ask because I doubt my senses.

'What are you doing here?' He says that as if I can just jump up and start running. Does He think I lay here to relax?

'I'm hurt...'

'I know.'

'Lord...'

'Get up!'

That voice. It once commanded darkness to retreat and give way to Light. That voice spoke everything there is into being. That voice once told a storm to cease roaring and it did. That voice once said, 'come, follow Me!' and everything in me has obeyed. But I cannot obey Him now, can't He see that I am all broken? He has a better vantage point to spot exactly where pieces of my armor lie useless and defeated.

'Lord, help me stand.'

'You can stand. Get up!'

I don't make a conscious decision to move, but I start to move. It hurts. It feels like a million little splinters are shoved into every nerve ending available. My helmet falls down with my movement. A huge chunk of it is missing. I must have been hit pretty hard. I drop my 'sword' so I can support my weight on my arms. Yeah, that hurts. Deep breaths. Every tiny movement takes ages. I manage to get on my knees. I rest there a bit. I look up. There He is. In all His glory. My beautiful, Lord.

I begin to remember. Everything. I was lost, He found me. He saved me and gave me a purpose. One greater than myself and my well-being in this world. He trained my heart for battle. He armored me and trusted me to fight for the sake of His Kingdom. I've been in countless battles. Some more successful than others. But the point is, I can fight. For no other reason than I love my King. I remember Him smiling many times, but He's not smiling now.

'What happened?'

'Lord, You know all things. You know what happened... I was fighting. I was winning. Then out of nowhere... the blast.'

'Yes, the blast. But you're alive, are you not?'

I smile.

'Barely, Lord. If there's another attack I'll probably die on this field.'

'Yes, you will. Unless you get up.'

I smile again. My lip is bleeding and it hurts, but I smile nonetheless.

'Get up, huh? I think one of my legs is broken, my arm cannot hold a sword. Not to mention I have no sword. My armor is torn to pieces. My helmet is useless. My shield is over there probably broken. I only see one boot. I have no idea where the other one is. My belt? Only You know where that is. Even if I get up... then what?'

'You speak as if this is the end.'

'It is! Look around! Look at me! I have nothing left to give You... Finish me off.'

'This is not that kind of army. Get up!'

Now I am angry... angry at the enemy, angry that I failed... angry that I feel like...

'Did I fail you, child?'

Those eyes of His. I want to lie. To tell Him, 'never, Lord' but I keep silent.

'Look at Me!' When did I look away. 'Did I fail you?'

'Yes!' And it's out there. Finally a smile.

'I know you're hurting', he says and pushes the hair out of my eyes. 'I know it scares you.' He lifts my chin up. 'You can cry all you want, when this is over, but it's time to get up now.' He takes me by the hand and lifts me up. I stand there like one of those lame people He once made stand with a word. He bends and picks up my sword and it's whole in His hand. He hands it over. I want to tell Him I won't be able to hold it, but somehow I do. He picks up my helmet and it's shining in His hand. He places it on my head and it hurts. He goes about three paces to the left and picks up my belt and fastens it in place. I wince. Is that a broken rib? He unties my armor and I just bleed all over Him. He whispers, 'breathe' and somehow I do. He does something to it and puts it back. I whimper in pain. He waits and looks me in the eyes. I nod to let Him know I can take it. He walks away and walks and walks and I feel like I'll faint. He's next to me again, my shield in hand.

'You dropped this', he says as he gives me the shield. I feel like I will drop it if a breeze so much as pushes against me.

He kneels before me and I want to protest the action but I need to breathe. And then I see Him cleaning my bloody feet with the hem of His robe before He puts my boots on and all I can think of is, 'it's useless'.

He stands again and turns His back to me. Is He planning to leave me again?

'It's not by strength or by might, but by my Spirit. You remain in Me. You don't just quit. You don't just ask for an out. That's not how this works. I know it hurts, it's gonna hurt some more before it's over, but you do not quit!' Eyes blazing. I must have made Him angry. He smiles again.

'Did the blast make you forget? You are Mine. Now follow,' He says as He starts walking.

Every step hurts. But I follow. Whenever I can't keep up anymore, He stops and waits. He doesn't turn, He knows I'm right behind Him.

I lift my eyes and look around. There's corpses left and right. Too many to count. I keep walking. Did I do all this? Impossible, I think I must have slashed my sword three times at most. And then I look at His back again.

'Did you do all this, Lord?'

'Yes.'

'When? Why?'

“While you were laying there. I had to make a way to reach you.' So matter of fact that it makes me smile.

'I might fall again.'

'I'll find you again.'

'What if I keep falling?'

'I'll keep finding you.'

He never gives up, my Lord. Never. That's what I love most about Him. That's how I want to be...like Him.

'The effects of this blast will pass. I know it feels like you'll never be whole again, but you will. Scarred, but whole.'

'I don't want her to die.'

'I know.'

'But, she will die...'

'Yes.'

I sob. But I keep walking. 

 

by Cristina Pop

Useful pain

 I have seen this in one of my Facebook friend's feed so I decided to borrow it. I hope it blesses anyone who might read it as it has blessed me.

I would have pulled Joseph out. Out of that pit. Out of that prison. Out of that pain. And I would have cheated nations out of the one God would use to deliver them from famine.

I would have pulled David out. Out of Saul’s spear-throwing presence. Out of the caves he hid away in. Out of the pain of rejection. And I would have cheated Israel out of a God-hearted king.

I would have pulled Esther out. Out of being snatched from her only family. Out of being placed in a position she never asked for. Out of the path of a vicious, power-hungry foe. And I would have cheated a people out of the woman God would use to save their very lives.

And I would have pulled Jesus off. Off of the cross. Off of the road that led to suffering and pain. Off of the path that would mean nakedness and beatings, nails and thorns. And I would have cheated the entire world out of a Savior. Out of salvation. Out of an eternity filled with no more suffering and no more pain.

And oh friend. I want to pull you out. I want to change your path. I want to stop your pain. But right now I know I would be wrong. I would be out of line. I would be cheating you and cheating the world out of so much good. Because God knows. He knows the good this pain will produce.

He knows the beauty this hard will grow. He’s watching over you and keeping you even in the midst of this. And He’s promising you that you can trust Him. Even when it all feels like more than you can bear.

So instead of trying to pull you out, I’m lifting you up. I’m kneeling before the Father and I’m asking Him to give you strength. To give you hope. I’m asking Him to protect you and to move you when the time is right. I’m asking Him to help you stay prayerful and discerning. I’m asking Him how I can best love you and be a help to you. And I’m believing He’s going to use your life in powerful and beautiful ways. Ways that will leave your heart grateful and humbly thankful for this road you’ve been on.

Kimberly D. Henderson, 2017 ©

Will to power

I don't like domineering people. Never have. By domineering I do not mean strong, for strength I admire with a passion. By domineering I mean that which Nietzsche had in mind when he came up with his 'will to power' idea. He argued that there is in all of us an irrational force that wills and it wills for power. More than that, in all living things the same force works and wills for the same end, power. This force is the source of all suffering and pain in the world since it is insatiable and inexhaustible. And since we are essentially slaves to this force, we might as well perfect it, “What is good? Everything that heightens the feeling of power in man, the will to power, power itself. What is bad? Everything that is born of weakness. What is happiness? The feeling that power is growing, that resistance is overcome. Not contentedness but more power; not peace but war; not virtue but fitness (Renaissance virtue, virtù, virtue that is moraline-free).”

Now it might come across as if I disagree with Nietzsche on everything he said. I don't. I agree that this force exists. I agree that it works in every living thing. I need no other witness in this case except for myself. I see that there is something in my human flesh that wills for power, it might not manifest itself Napoleon-like or Hitler-like, but that is only due to my lack of resources. Alas I am limited to wanting to be right in an argument, wanting to be on a higher position than my fellow human being, wanting to have better-you-name-it than my peers, wanting to be first. I don't need to argue against Nietzsche's idea, I am a living proof that it exists. And I would have continued believing that there's no need to fight this will to power inside me, until I've heard a Rabbi saying, “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles domineer over them, and those in high position exercise authority over them. It shall not be so among you. But whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be your slave.” (Matt. 20:25-27)

Nietzsche couldn't recognize the strength in that statement. He believed that the highest will was will to power and one must follow it to its conclusion, but Jesus, Beloved Son of God, has come to break the power of that will in us. He came to set us free from it. Not by talking about a concept like Nietzsche did, but modeling it out for us by His own example. He didn't shout from heaven, 'hey, stop it, that's not the way!' But He took off His crown, He left all glory and took upon Himself a human form. With a word, nay, a thought He could have made us all submit to Him. He could have thought the Roman Empire out of existence, but then Nietzsche would have been right, that will to power is good. That will to power is the way. Instead, this humble King, the only true King broke the will to power in Himself and submitted to The Father until He reached the cross. He willingly allowed specs of dust to stretch His arms and nail them to the cross. He took the will to power and hid it inside Himself like one hides a nuclear bomb. We saw only weakness in His action when in fact He was planning to kill that will to power and the power it had over all of us. He detonated it inside Himself so it would never have to lead us or kill us. More than that, He defeated death on our behalf and rose from the dead. Nietzsche said somewhere that the last Christian died on the cross because he didn't believe we lived up to His example, but he was wrong. Maybe his philosophy would have matured into something deeper than childish delight with power. He was a weak man, despised, outcast and in love with the idea of power. He admired courage above all things, but never had to act on it. He was a timid soul unlike my King whom he despised. My King became a servant to subdue the will to power and loved until the very end so that we would chose to love instead of wanting power. Those who follow Him are known by that sign, they love like they have been loved. They take their will to power and nail it to a cross and wait until it dies within themselves. They don't deny the will to power exists, they just kill it wherever they find it in themselves. 

by Cristina Pop 

Like The Son

 There have been times in my life when I felt disappointed with God. Unmet expectations, unfulfilled dreams, unanswered prayers can break one's spirit and regardless how much I didn't like the idea of being like everybody else, those things broke my spirit too. I used to mope around for weeks mourning the loss of some unfulfilled desire. I used to tell God, 'I don't want to talk to you right now, the best I can do is sit here and be silent. I am angry with you, I feel disappointed and no explanation You might have right now can take that away. So I'll be silent. You don't get to see me pouring out my soul before You when I know that all it would have taken was a thought from You in my direction and things would have changed. So, no. No words.' Miserable soul that I was I thought that I was punishing God with my silent treatment.

It took me about a decade of similar episodes to change the way I thought and by that let it be understood that it hasn't been an immediate thing. I think I've said before and I cannot stress this enough, I am a very slow learner.

One day I was reading in Matthew chapter 4, about Jesus' temptation. It's not that I haven't read it before, in fact I did studies on it, wrote on it, thought I knew it by heart. But for the first time I finally understood something that should have been clear from the very beginning.

Christ's kingdom was not of this world, is not of this world and will never be of this world. That this King I willingly chose to rule over me, didn't have worldly ambitions for Himself or for His beloved children. Before He began acting like the promised Messiah, He has been tested. Tempted in every little thing like a mere mortal and the temptation was always this: look for the easy way out. God cannot want suffering for His beloved. Say the word and make Your discomfort, pain, frustration, go away. Use Your authority for Your own gain. Use Your position as God's Son and command it to be over, command it into existence. It's not like it isn't Your right after all. It's not like it's wrong. Claim it! God wants good things for You, it's insane to endure any discomfort, pray it away! Declare it away! It's Your right.

It would have been so easy. But then all He would have accomplished was to teach us all that that's the way. And that is so not the way. He refused immediate relief over a lasting purpose. He refused immediate comfort over obedience to The Father. “And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.“ (Philippians 2:8)

His kingdom was never, is not and will never be of this world. Whenever I rebel against Him because I didn't get something that was 'rightfully' mine to receive, I miss the whole point of whatever He is doing and what I am supposed to be doing. Am I saying you shouldn't want for things? That you shouldn't pray for things? Absolutely not! Pray, ask and ask again, but “Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus: who, as He already existed in the form of God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but emptied Himself by taking the form of a bond-servant and being born in the likeness of men.” (Philippians 2:5-7)

You are a child of God! But if you think that gives you the right to do as you please and get whatever you want when you want it, look at how a son is to behave by watching how The Son behaved.

If you are in a waiting season, wait with hope. If you are in a 'no' season, then submit to His will and don't be as foolish as I used to be by rebelling. You will not win. Learn from The Son how to approach The Father in submission and humility.

by Cristina Pop

What are you doing here?

There will come a time or maybe you're already in it when you will forget. You will forget or have forgotten everything God has done for you and some real or imagined danger will have you running. You may think I am talking nonsense. After all you're God's beloved, He would never allow you to end up in such a place. He is your shield and your salvation, you are protected and favored. After all, maybe those that end up in such a place have clearly lost their faith or don't know the Scriptures, but that's not you.

Be that as it may, it happens to everybody. It happened to Abraham when he went to Egypt because he was afraid of the famine in the land. It happened to Isaac in the same way. It happened to Jacob when he ran from his brother's wrath. It happened to Joseph, Joshua, Gideon, Samson, David, etc.

My favorite running incident occurs in the life of Elijah. He is God's chosen prophet. He has seen God work more miracles than he can count. He has seen His power and His glory. Yet when Jezebel, aka crazy lady, threatens to have him killed, Elijah takes to heels like a good believer. (1 Kings 19) He runs into the wilderness so distraught that he says, “It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my fathers.” Gone is the memory of everything God has done. He's depressed. He's upset. He is confused and scared. An angel comes and urges him to eat and keep on going. After a second nudging Elijah keeps on going through the wilderness to reach God's mountain, Horeb. He finds a cave, he goes in it and there God finds him and asks him, 'What are you doing here, Elijah?' Elijah informs God about his dire situation because why else would God ask him unless He didn't know. God tells Elijah to go stand on the mountain. Elijah's still in the cave. And a great wind comes and and breaks apart the mountain before the Lord, but God is not in the wind. Elijah's not coming out. After the wind, an earthquake and a fire, but The Lord's not in either. After the fire the sound of a low whisper and Elijah's intrigued. He covers his face with his cloak and goes at the cave's entrance. God whispers again, 'What are you doing here, Elijah?' God's prophet tells his story a second time and God tells him to go back through the wilderness and lays out His plan for the current situation.

What are you doing here? Why are you in this place? Have I suddenly become so small in your eyes that whatever scared you away looms over you? What are you doing in this place of despair? What are you doing in this wilderness? Days before, you called fire out of heaven and it came at your word. It rained at your word and it stopped raining at your word, what are you doing here? Have you allowed Jezebel to grow so large in your mind that her words pierce your heart faster than Mine? Why are you here? A scared child impressed with silly tricks? You want tricks? Look at the wind tearing up a mountain! Look at the ground beneath your feet shaking! Look at the fire! Is it tricks that sway you? --Whisper: What are you doing here?

It happens to everybody. But if there's any truth planted in you, after you run and hide in the cave, you'll remind yourself who God is and return to where you have to be. After all, this is not where you're supposed to be. Get up and go back. 

by Cristina Pop 

Doctor

 In my previous blog post I have mentioned Elie Wiesel's book, Day. I am not in the habit of recommending books, so this is not about that, rather it's about a quote that made me think.

In context a patient, the hero of the book, is having a conversation with his doctor. Here is the quote:

“Do you believe in God, Doctor?” My question took him by surprise. He stopped suddenly, wrinkling his forehead. “Yes,” he answered. “But not in the operating room. There I only count on myself.” His eyes looked deeper. He added, “On myself and on the patient. Or, if you prefer, on the life in the diseased flesh. Life wants to live. Life wants to go on. It is opposed to death. It fights. The patient is my ally. He fights on my side. Together we are stronger than the enemy. Take the boy last night. He didn’t accept death. He helped me to win the battle. He was holding on, clinging. He was asleep, anesthetized, and yet he was taking part in the fight…” Still motionless he again stared at me intensely. There was an awkward silence. (…) “Why don't you care about living”, he asked very softly. (…) “Don't deny it, don't deny it. I know.” (…) “Nobody told me. During the operation you never helped me. Not once. You abandoned me. I had to wage the fight alone. All alone. Worse, you were on the other side. Against me. On the side of the enemy.” His voice became hard. Painfully hard. “Answer me! Why don't you want to live? Why?” (…) I thought, he's angry at me because I left him alone. Because even now, I escape him and have neither gratitude or admiration for him. That's why he's angry. He guessed that I don't care about living. That deep inside me there is no desire left to go on. And that undermines the foundation of his philosophy and his system of values. Man, according to his book must live and fight for his life. He must help doctors and not fight them. I had fought him. He brought me back to life, against my will. I had nearly joined my grandmother. I was actually on the threshold. Paul Russell stood behind me and prevented me from crossing. He was pulling me toward him. Alone against grandmother and the others and yet won. Another victory for him. A human life.“

This passage made me think of Jesus, The blessed Doctor, that fights alone. He is The Life after all... There are times I get wounded on the battle field of all my struggles and I think to myself, 'This is the end, I'll just lie here and wait for death.' Not literal death, but the death of hopes, wishes, prayers which are huge parts of me. Not the kind that need to die because they're whims, but the kind that have been birthed into life by Life. When that happens I need to cling to Life. I need to fight with every cell in me that wishes to live, to aid Him in His process of healing. Because my very bones know, I can't let death win. And if I pretend I don't believe it I'll let Him fight alone for me. In my case, He has fought by Himself for a long time. He has to bring my hopes back to Life almost against my will and face my lack of gratitude when He's done. It's not enough that He has faced death once and for all for my sake, now He has to fight to keep alive everything within me that wants to return to death. And all that without any help from me. Even worse, most times He finds me on the side of death, fighting against Him.

 “You are destroyed, O Israel, because you are against Me—against your helper.” (Hosea 13:9)

Forgive this foolish child, Lord. I'm learning slowly. Forgive me for making You wage war against my hopelessness and fear, time after time. Forgive me for despairing instead of clinging on to Life. I say I am your ally and you find me making deals with your enemy. Forgive me for my fickleness. Forgive me for leaving You alone. I will do better, Lord. Thank You for being strong enough to not give up on me.

“All my bones shall say, “O LORD, who is like you, delivering the poor from him who is too strong for him, the poor and needy from him who robs him?” (Psalm 35:10)

by Cristina Pop

Love Me

 “And you shall love The Lord your God With all your heart, all your soul and all your might.”

When Moses commanded this to the nation of Israel it must have cracked their human minds right open. And ever since then people have tried to do their best to understand what that love looks like practically. When they were asked to put together a tabernacle for their God, they looked at it as a sort of a perimeter that finally made sense. When they were given all 613 mitzvot (commandments) on how to approach the tabernacle, what to touch and not touch, how to cleanse themselves, how to select what they brought as offerings, etc, things finally made sense. They thought, 'aha! This is how we shall love this God that has brought us out of Egypt!' And so for many centuries they've learned all the little rituals, thought and rethought every rule and even came up with more. Then King David thought to himself, 'I shall build Him a house!' Little did he know that God would say, 'I don't need a house, but if you insist, let your son build me one because you have too much blood on your hands.' (I am paraphrasing of course, so do refrain from writing me messages :) ) They build Him a house. For sure now this complicated God will interpret that as love. Be happy with Your space and rejoice in the blood that we're spilling in Your Name every day, what more do You want? Apparently God still didn't feel loved. He destroys His house and sends them into exile. He forgives them and allows them to come back. Maybe now they got it. They start to repair the house of The Lord. It's not great, but they can't help it. Then Herod comes along and makes it quite majestic. For sure now God is happy. But He wasn't. They were still not getting it. No matter how much He taught them through His messengers, no matter how many Torah scrolls they had, no matter how many rabbis were explaining said scrolls, they still didn't get it. They still didn't know how to love Him. So God sends His beloved Son. Surely now they will understand. “Teacher, which is the great commandment in the Law?” And he said to him, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment.” They should have recognized Him right then and there. But they were blind that it was Him: The God obsessed with being loved. He watched them, the ones that were responsible with His very heart and as a lover telling His beloved a secret, continued, “And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” This is how you should love Me, by loving those made in My image.

In Elie Wiesel's book, Day, there is a question that I really like.

'You can love God, but you can't look at Him.' (…)

'Whom do you look at when you love God?', she asked after a moment of silence. 'Yourself?'  

'If man could contemplate the face of God, he would stop loving Him. God needs love, He does not need understanding.'”

“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” 'Whom do you look at when you love God?'

What do you look at? A building? A teaching? A doctrine? But this God doesn't need you to be right all the time, to sing all the right songs, pray all the right prayers, speak all the correct words and quote the scriptures at Him and at His people. He just wants to be loved! But I love you, Lord! Whom do you look at when You love Me?

 

by Cristina Pop

Confession

I was listening to someone talking last week and for some reason I felt no empathy for their situation. They were talking about something sad happening in their life and I found myself thinking, 'oh, just finish your story so I can say some platitude that I won't mean and I can just leave!' They carried on for another hour and a half and my annoyance turned into anger. I even resented them for using my ears for their sad story. After the whole interaction was over I had to rest mentally and find my center. And I began to ask myself, 'what was with that attitude in your heart? Why wasn't that story inspiring any empathy in you? You could have been a little more understanding.' After some time of pondering that question I have concluded that I despised them for quite a few reasons. First, because I think they've told me that same story at least ten times before. Second, because this person sounded like such a victim of their circumstances every time. Third, because this person can't even envision a universe where they might be even remotely responsible for the whole sad story. And fourth, because all the previously listed things are something that I used to do. You see, only things that we're guilty of bother us in other people. And I despise those things in myself so when I see them in others I despise them even more.

I used to tell people about my sad story all the time. Many, many times. I was oblivious to the fact that they didn't even ask. I was complaining about the 'injustice' I have suffered while growing up, or when this and that happened every chance I got. I exhausted people with my pitiful story. Thinking back now, I want to go back and slap myself for it, but alas, it's my past. It was my excuse for every bad decision that I made, every bad reaction that I had, every unkind word that I used was always excused in my mind with, 'it's because I was hurt! It's because they did this and that!'

I don't remember exactly how old I was when I decided to turn things around, but I was in my late twenties. I was talking to this person that has heard my story many times before and we were sitting there and I began to regale them with my tale of woe and I saw this person wince. Literally wince. Like their mind was in such pain contemplating the impending story that their body had reacted in anticipation of the coming pain. I see that wince to this day, because it was my wake-up call. I began to laugh like a crazy person and my friend asked me, 'what's so funny?' I told them, 'I'll tell you another time, but now I have to go home and think about this ridiculous version of me.' My friend told me later that they suspected I was on some medicine because I sounded crazy. But I went home and I had a good chat with myself.

Is this really who you plan to be for the rest of your life? You're boring even me with this whole narrative you've created for yourself. Do you want people to pity you, is that why you keep talking about it? No? Then why? Is it some secret pride thing where you want people to see how much you've overcome? But you really haven't if you're still talking about it. Are you done blaming everybody else for what happened in the past? Can you at least acknowledge that some of it was your doing? Can you at least acknowledge that even if it wasn't your doing, you picked up the pieces left in the aftermath and made a bitter little statue that you pay tribute to every time you react, or act, or speak? Are you done with this idol you've made for yourself? How long do you plan to worship God and burn incense to your idol? I know you care for it, after all it's all your pain and suffering, but are we done pretending now? Find the first hammer and smash it to pieces because this ends today!

I'd like to say that from that day on I have never thought about my little idol or never went on a pilgrimage to the place I have burned it, but that would be a lie. Every time I faced a situation where using my past as an excuse would have been so convenient, I wanted to rebuild it right there on the spot. Pathetic, I know. But that's why I can't graciously listen to someone's sad story if they feel the need to share it more than once. Because I see their idol and it reminds me of mine. 

by Cristina Pop

Prayers

I've had many different ways of praying to God in 22 years of following after Him. In the beginning my prayer was only for 'spiritual' things. I wanted wisdom, I wanted understanding, I wanted gifts, I wanted rainbows and unicorns as it seems to me now. Then as years went by, I began to pray for things to happen in my life. Then I prayed for things to stop happening in my life. Then I prayed to want something, anything at all because I was just numb and it felt like even wanting for luxury was better than not even caring whether I breathed or not. I wasn't depressed, just numb.

I have wanted many things for many different reasons, but for the past two years every time I want to pray I have this image in my mind. I am alone in the boat with The King. Every time there's a little 'please' being squeezed out of my very core, I think of the little boat. Why? Because it helps to center my self. I tend to pray because I'm scared, or pray because I need, or pray because I want. I don't pray to talk to God. I talk God's ear off all day every day. Everything I see, everything I hear, everything I think, everything is just a conversation with God. I don't need to pray to tell Him things. I tell Him things whether He wants to hear them or not. But praying? That is a different thing. I take it as seriously as petitioning The King in an official capacity. I measure my words, I compose my requests. You might think, 'that's sad', but it's what I do. I don't need to be told about the doctrine of prayer, I don't need to be told how your prayers are better, I'm telling you these are my prayers.

Anyway, the boat. The calming of the storm comes to mind every time I think of my boat.

“And a great windstorm arose, and the waves were breaking into the boat, so that the boat was already filling. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion. And they woke him and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” And he awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm. He said to them, “Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?” And they were filled with great fear and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even the wind and
the sea obey him?” - Mark 4:37-41

The disciples knew Him. But they got scared, not because they were despicable human beings, but simple human beings. They were afraid because they were fishermen and they have seen boats caught in storms before. They knew how bad this could go. They knew that even if they were the best swimmers in the world, they won't survive the waves. They weren't being unreasonable. And the most upsetting thing was that being on the sea that day wasn't even their idea. Jesus wanted to go in a boat. And then He falls asleep at the stern. Who even sleeps in such conditions?! They were probably yelling to one another because of the storm's noise. I cannot believe Jesus was sleeping, but it seemed that way to them. Can you imagine their despair when they woke Him and said 'Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?'

I have felt that way many, many times. I have been on the sea my entire life. I have been in shipwrecks and have seen other people shipwrecked many times before. I know what a bad storm can do to your boat. But now I have Jesus in my boat! Right? So it's supposed to be smooth sailing. Only it's not. And for many years I thought that me having Jesus with me was for my supernatural protection. I have something that the other boats don't! And then as it happens on the sea, the storm comes. Over the boats that have Jesus in them and over those that don't have Jesus in them. And sometimes Jesus gets up and calms the storm and you just feel so special and empowered. But sometimes He just sits there. And all you can do is cry out, 'Lord, do you not care that I am perishing? Do you not care that it's now or never? Do you not care that I'll lose everything? Do you not care that this is my mother I have to bury? Do you not care that this is my father I have to bury? Do you not care that I am perishing?'

He cares. It's not for lack of caring that He doesn't stop every storm. It's because maybe He wants me to to fix my eyes on Him and not to tempt Him with my cajoling. When He told His disciples of His plan to go a be a sacrifice for the world, Peter took Him aside and rebuked Him. Peter, that blessed imperfectly perfect disciple rebuked The Lord. It makes me smile every time I read that passage. Jesus has a few choice words for him and then tells him, 'For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man.' (Mathew 16:23) I have my own plans, my own desires, my own ideas of what God should do. I was upset many times that God seemed clueless of my situation. And like Peter, I felt the need to remind Him of what He should want, meaning my well being. And many times, like Peter, I have been a hindrance to Him. A hindrance to His will. A hindrance to His plans. Many, many, many times He had to stop and tell me that my mind is set on the things of man and not on the things of God. And I have no doubt He'll have to tell me that many more times before I finish my race. But I am not without hope. I am in the boat with Him. Who knows, maybe one day I'll learn to take His sleep at the stern as a sign that He's not worried and I shouldn't worry either. Maybe one day I'll learn to fear Him more than the waves. Maybe one day, it will be enough to look into His eyes and I won't want for anything but to hold His gaze. One day...

by Cristina Pop

Offended

I pay close attention to the words one says and those that are left unsaid in any given situation. Whether it's an article, a book, a speech, a conversation, you name it, I pay close attention. If the person I happen to talk to is boring I feel the need to flee immediately because I will listen to every word otherwise. Not my best move, but it happens. It can also be a problem because being attentive to every word does leave one more prone to take offense easily. I used to get offended every day. Sometimes several times a day. And when offended I attack. Not strategically, not cunningly, but a full frontal attack. It didn't even occur to me that maybe I misunderstood or was mistaken. There was no pause or deep breath, just instinct. Then one day this person I had a lot of respect for told me that any mature mind sees taking offense as a clear sign of insecurity and fear and that mine were screaming louder than anything they'd ever seen. That really offended me. I went home in a huff while playing and replaying their words in my head. By the time I reached home I just went down on my knees and begged for help because it hit me at once just what a sad, pathetic state I was in. So I decided to work on myself. And I did. Day after day for many years. I got better. I even got good at not taking offense. Then today, out of nowhere this well meaning brother basically called me a child and that if I ever want to reach his level of walking with God, I need to start 'lifting weights'. My first instinct was to point out all my guns towards him and obliterate the very soul inside him. I felt anger the likes of which I haven't felt since before Christ. I wanted to pull out a resume of all my accomplishments, to list all my credentials and to pour down the worst torrent known to humanity: a woman's wrath. But just as I was about to fire away, I felt The Lord sitting in front of this brother. Smiling. Daring me to give it my best shot. I felt ashamed. I still feel ashamed. I had forgotten for a moment that I was about to strike one of His Own. And for what? Because a brother didn't know me and still decided to issue an opinion? But I am doing that every single day. Because his assumption offended me? Like I don't do that. And who's this 'I' that he offended? I have decided long ago,

"But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss, because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order than I may gain Christ.” (Philippians 3:7-8)

Thank You, Lord, for always reminding me I don't belong to myself anymore.Thank You for never ceasing to catch me right before I break my head open. Thank You for not laughing at my haughtiness when I was thinking I am not easily offended anymore. Forgive this foolish child for her short memory. Don't give up on me, Lord, for You and I both know, I'll cut off my arm/tongue before hurting You.

by Cristina Pop

At Your word

I sometimes feel a bit like Peter did on the day his life changed forever. Disappointed. Exhausted. A little angry. Precisely the worst kind of day for a divine appearance.

Peter had been fishing all night with nothing to show for his trouble. He comes back empty handed. He's frustrated with life and he decides to do the only thing he can do. Clean his nets and go home for the day. While he's in the middle of his task, along comes a rabbi followed by a crowd and without even asking, gets on his boat. Then just because his day couldn't get any worse, the rabbi tells him to move his boat a little bit away from the shore so he can address the crowds. I think Peter was too exhausted to even argue. He does as he was asked. The rabbi starts talking. In Luke 5:1-11 we're told of this incident. Luke doesn't tell us what Jesus taught the crowd from Peter's boat, probably because Peter wasn't even able to pay attention to His teaching. He was just worried for his family. Jesus finishes his sermon and turns to him and tells him to take the boat into deep waters and let down the nets for fishing. At this request Peter snaps out of his thoughts, 'Master, we toiled all night and took nothing! But at your word I will let down the nets.'

There are times in every disciple's life that leave one speechless with God's audacity. Times when His way is so inconvenient, you just want to cry out with frustration. Or maybe it just happens to me.

I am not one of those meek people that Job-like accept things and bow their head. I always envied those people. They always seem to know something I don't or believe in a superior way to mine. Alas I am the type that will end up doing God's way grumbling all the way. And as much as I despise that in myself I never cease to make my sentiments known to Him, 'I mean, be reasonable, Lord! This is extremely inconvenient right now!' Yeah, no worries I am aware what a handful I can be for my Father. I do find comfort in the fact that He has seen and heard it all before. 

Sometimes, I want to yell at Him, 'why do you want me to go back out there?! I've just been there and there is absolutely nothing. I mean if you had some different outcome in mind you should have told me while I was out there. But you waited until I got back on shore, took out those heavy nets, put them out to dry and now you want me to go out there again?!' And then I capitulate like Peter... 'But at your word, I will go out there again. At your word, I'll let down the nets. Again.'

In my most ungracious moments I used to think He's having fun at my expense. In my wiser moments I knew He wasn't.

In Peter's case, if he would have said, 'yeah, I am not gonna do that, go home rabbi!', he wouldn't have been hit by lightning from heaven for daring to speak that way. But nobody would ever know who this illiterate fisherman from Galilee was. He would have lived and died like every other fisherman in Galilee. But he took a good look at Jesus and then an even longer look at the empty sea and made his decision, 'I know what's out there. I know the other fishermen know as well. I know it's gonna cost me time and effort for nothing. But at your word, I'll go back out there one more time!' Because he chose to believe this crazy voice that told him to try again, Peter ceased to be a fisherman and became a fisher of men. People still talk about him to this day. All because on a random day, when he came back empty like many times before, he decided to believe. He caught so much fish that day that he filled two boats and they still struggled to carry all the catch. He could have lived a happy, comfortable life from that catch alone. But the whole incident wasn't about a fish trick. It was about him leaving the fish and the nets and the boats, and following after Jesus.

Do you have any idea how many times I've failed at this, Lord? Do you have any idea how badly I needed this to work and it hasn't? Do you have any idea, how exhausted I am from my toils? Still...

I know the sea is empty. I know that nothing's gonna change but at your word, Lord, I'll go out there again. At your word, I'll jump. At your word, I'll run. At your word, I'll swim! At your word, I'll try again, because maybe, just maybe, in the process I'll teach my rebellious heart to heed your every word.

by Cristina Pop

In between

 So, I am forty today.

When I was in my twenties I always thought forty is such an ancient age and if I'll ever have the misfortune to live it, I'll be this paragon of wisdom and virtue by the time I reach it. I am completely unsurprised by the fact that I was wrong. I have to agree with Voltaire that, 'What most persons consider as virtue, after the age of 40 is simply a loss of energy.' I believe you simply lose the energy to care passionately about every little topic under the sun. You don't jump into every idea ready to do battle for 'the truth'. You're still not wise enough to abstain from battle all together, but you're not young enough either to hang onto every little notion as if allowing room for difference will turn you into some unknown creature. It's a weird place to be honestly. It's definitely an in between place to be. In between youth and old age. In between certainty and doubt. In between wisdom and folly. In between smooth skin and wrinkles. In between excitement and resignation. I have always hated in between. I am someone that deals better in rules and absolutes because they seem safe. In between doesn't feel safe, but I am convinced for the first time in my life that in between is not such a bad place to be. For the first time I feel that the option that this could go right in a multitude of ways or wrong in an equal amount of ways isn't such a bad thing. I hate surprises because I hate to be unprepared. But something has happened to my soul in the past five years. Secretly, hidden even from myself, I started to nurture this little thought, 'what if I'll just let You, Lord, surprise me'. I thought, I'll only utter that thought when I'll be ready for it to be true and face the consequences. But I woke up brave today. I am forty after all. So here it is, Lord: Surprise me! (In small enough ways that I won't freak out)

by Cristina Pop

Liar, liar

I used to be a liar. Sometimes even now, against my will, I still lie. As you read those lines, do you feel a little stir of judgment? I am not worried. Keep reading.

There are all sorts of liars in this world. There are those that know the truth but choose to tell lies to other people for their own gain. Then there are those that are ignorant of the truth and without meaning to, they lie to others without intent. In both categories one can find liars that are more sophisticated in their lies and others which even a child can tell that they are lying. But the worst kind of liars are those that lie to themselves. Although I have lied to others intentionally and ignorantly as well, that is not why I used to be a liar. I lied most of all to myself. And there are all sorts of lies I used to tell myself. To name a few, 'I don't care what people think'. No person that doesn't care needs to iterate that, because you simply don't care. As soon as you need to announce it, you know it's a lie and in fact you care very much what people think. 'I don't need anyone, I can do this!' Even Elijah in the wilderness needed ravens to fly and bring him bread, everybody needs everything and everyone, but I was a liar, so I told myself I didn't. 'I don't like flowers!', when in fact I can spot one even if it happens to be alone under a bush and feel the need to go a take a picture of it. 'I want to be happy', when in fact nothing is stopping me from being happy now, not in some distant future when I might get whatever I think will make me happy. I used to be quite good at lying because I really believed all my lies.

I could continue with this list forever, but I still have some pride left and it won't let me confess all my sins here :)))

Fyodor Dostoevsky, in The Brother's Karamazov,makes father Zosima tell madame Hohlakov,

“Above all, don't lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love.”

That is why I won't lie to myself anymore. I want to love. A liar cannot love. So I had to stop lying in order to be able to love. Lies will always tell you people are unworthy of love, but Truth? Truth will always tell you, 'LOOK CLOSER!'

 

by Cristina Pop

Not alone

 Somebody asked me the other day if I ever feel lonely. I answered honestly that the times I do are rare and far between. They asked me how is that possible. I answered, let me gather my thoughts and I will answer you. This is my answer to that question.

Ever since I was a little child I have lived inside myself. Maybe that statement is true for many people, but I can only speak for myself. I remember when I was five or six, I was outside looking at the clouds and I have closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I saw in my mind a small room with a high ceiling that had a small window so high up that some light did come in and myself sitting in the middle of the room. Because I was a child and had no deeper thoughts than 'what's for lunch?' and 'ooh, a bird' and 'hmm the sky is very blue today', I didn't know what to do with that image in my mind. Still, whenever I was sad, contemplative, bent on observing everything, I found myself returning to that little room time and time again. Sometimes I would sit there for hours and just make up stories that I would tell myself, I even composed a song or two and sang them to myself in that room. I would observe the blades of grass and concluded they were swords of some secret world bent on conquering us all with their sheer numbers and perfection. I did the same with every notion under the sun and would gather every single conclusion and placed it carefully in that room and marveled over my thoughts like a dragon over his treasures. I didn't realize it then that I have unintentionally turned myself into a thought hoarder. I didn't even take notice of when the room kept getting bigger and bigger around me. Because no matter how much stuff I was hiding inside it never seemed to fill up. I didn't do all that because I was an unhappy child or that I didn't have children to play with or because I wasn't loved. In fact quite the contrary was true. When I was seven my room went through the first earthquake and I have lost most of my carefully gathered notions in that disaster. I mourned their loss for a very long time. My room turned into a little prison of sorts instead of a safe place where I could store precious things. I was going inside it only when I wished to punish myself. It had become unbeknownst to me a place where I would go to scream my anger and in time it got so ugly and awful that I was scared to close my eyes lest I end up in that room. I don't remember clearly how old I was the first time things have changed, but I couldn't have been older than twelve or thirteen. I went to Church with my grandmother, something which I have done forever. Due to the fact it was a small Church in the village, there was no Sunday school, so I have always attended the regular service. I knew that they talked about God, that they prayed, sometimes yelled for no good reason from the pulpit and sometimes my grandmother cried during the yelling, a fact I very much resented. I hated Church on that reason alone. But my point is I knew what the whole thing was about. Still, this day I went with my grandmother and as usual I sat next to her and the sermon began. I prepared myself to float away with my thoughts until it was time to go, when a set of keys landed in my lap. It hurt! I looked up and the preacher said, 'Good! Now I have your attention! See if you can keep up.' And he even dared to smile while he said it in front of everybody. Oh, I was burning with shame and anger. I mean I was ready to do battle angry. He continued preaching like nothing happened. And he talked about a Kingdom and its King, whom loved it so much that He never got tired of building and rebuilding it even from the ashes. I heard that my entire life, but that was the first time I listened. I hated that preacher so much for throwing his keys at me, but I heard every word he said. While we were walking home from Church, I went into my small room with all the dread in the world and miracle of miracles I could see better inside so I couldn't exactly miss the fact that there was now someone else in there as well. He wasn't saying anything and I was mute. I pretended He wasn't there and He didn't seem to mind my silence. We learned to live together. But whenever I was storing something else in there He was touching everything. My first words to Him were, 'stop touching my stuff!' He smiled like I have amused Him. I didn't like that at all. I knew without Him saying a word that He had the right to touch and even alter my every thought. We didn't talk, really talk, until I was nineteen. I mean there was a certain silent communication going on, but not enough to acknowledge that He was there in fact for me. The day I gave in I was so tired. I have built and rebuilt my dingy little room so much and with so little success that I have finally decided that maybe I should give it to Him. Maybe, just maybe, He'll be able to build walls that won't collapse every time there's an earthquake and I won't lose all my carefully crafted or bought notions. Just like I knew, He was delighted by the offer. Like I didn't know, He proceeded to lay dynamite around the whole edifice and blow it to pieces, walls, possessions and all. I turned towards Him mouth hanging open and after days of shock I asked Him, why on earth was He bent on destroying me when I was expecting love and care. What I didn't know, because my anger was blinding me, was that yes, there was no room anymore. But there was an entire world outside it. I mean it did look like a Martian landscape, but it had a sky and birds and water. He took me by the hand and showed me how to start working that land and make it less arid. He taught me how to plant things and how to have patience to see them grow. He taught me how to build irrigation canals and how to store the rain. He taught me in seasons of plenty to store for the seasons of drought. I am busy working my garden every day. The trees need constant pruning. The grass needs cutting. The crops in season need harvesting. But I don't work alone. I've got help. He's always there working right besides me. So I don't feel lonely. That's my point with this extremely long article. I am not lonely. I am content.

By Cristina Pop

When I fall

 You will lose hope. You will lose faith. You will lose love. Not all of them at once. But you will. If you get hit fast enough, hard enough and often enough, you will fall. Fall out of hope, fall out of faith, fall out of love. You will fall not just on your knees but flat on your face. It will feel like your lungs will never be able to breathe in air again and that you'll spiral out of control forever. It will feel like you forgot everything you knew by heart about God, about good or bad, about yourself. It will feel like your very soul is being crushed by some giant boot and you're being powerless to even get out of the way. If you read this now and you say to yourself, 'Never! Not me! I will follow The Lord to the death! He would never allow such a thing to happen to me because He loves me!', believe me, so did many others, including Peter when he swore that he would never deny Christ.

It's not a question of if it will happen, it's a question of when it will happen. And it will happen not because God can't protect you, or that He doesn't love you. It will happen because it has to. Every time I happen to take a face planter and I sit there all dazed and confused and I try to remember how to breathe, I remember a video I have seen of a mother bear and her cub climbing up a mountain.

If God's sole idea of love would entail keeping me safe from anything that might hurt me, then the moment I decide to follow Him, He would hurry up and put me in a glass cage to protect me from anything that might so much as scratch me. What a frail love that would prove to be.

But He knows the strength and potential there is in this small seed of truth that was placed in my heart the moment I first believed. He's not worried that I might misjudge His plans or love for me. He knows that He has to walk through tough terrains and unforgiving weather and if I am to follow after Him, I might end up in harsh, ruthless and dangerous situations. He knows that If He ends up climbing up a steep mountain I might not keep up. He knows that I might fall time and time again. He is aware that I might fall even to my own destruction. But He's not worried that I won't get back up. He knows that whatever He has placed inside me will pull me back up every time I fall. He knows that I have nothing else but Him. He knows there's nowhere else for me to be, but right there on His trail. There's no going back. Come hell or high water, I have to follow. Because if I keep going after Him, I just might learn to one day climb mountains by myself.

By Cristina Pop