Me and my flesh

I'm thinking about Jesus. I want to say that I do this often but since I've been swimming in a pool of doubt, fear, rejection, abuse, and denial for the last year, I have to say that most of my thoughts have been on the selfish side.

Yesterday, we had an evangelist at our church. I was going to write about this in my previous post, but decided against it. I don't know why. Instead, I mentioned the Harvest Festival and talk about memos to feet and doorways I linger in. Well, here's the underbelly of the beast, namely me and my flesh.

Then they came to the town of Jericho. As Jesus was leaving there with His followers and a great many people, a blind beggar named Bartimaeus son of Timaeus was sitting by the road. When he heard that Jesus from Nazareth was walking by, he began to shout, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!" Many people warned the blind man to be quiet, but he shouted even more, "Son of David, have mercy on me!"

Jesus stopped and said, "Tell the man to come here."

So they called the blind man, saying, "Cheer up! Get to your feet. Jesus is calling you." The blind man jumped up, left his coat there, and went to Jesus.

Jesus asked him, "What do you want Me to do for you?"

The blind man answered, "Teacher, I want to see."

Jesus said, "Go, you are healed because you believed." At once the man could see, and he followed Jesus on the road.

Mark 10:46-52, NCV

Amazing. Even now, typing those verses for the sake of expaining yesterday, God spoke to me again. I cannot believe His goodness and faithfulness sometimes, so far from my own.

Yesterday, as the evangelist read the portion of Scripture above, I was only half listening, I admit, and, after being grabbed by the Holy Spirit, I only half listened again! This is proved by what I saw as I copied the Scripture down. But, I digress...

It was after Bartimaeus was instructed to be silent, but continued to shout to Jesus, defiant of those around him that wanted to keep him in his place of misery, that the evangelist paused and asked us to say the word, "shout". My soul leapt within me.

It has been so long...so very long...since I've lifted my voice in worship, in pure joy, without feeling judged by those around me. I have allowed my worship to slip into the coat of mediocrity and have excused it away, slathered in pain, and existing on the remembrance of yesterdays long since faded. I have stood on the threshold, looked into the feast, and refused to move.

What beckons me forward now is Jesus. Why? Because He loves me. Wow! Can you imagine the depth of His love? I can't. I can't even begin to fathom it because I have nothing to compare it to.

**

I sit in sludge and pinch my nose, breathing through my mouth because the stench is so overwhelming I would vomit if my sense of smell was fully engaged. The sludge is compromise and sin and doubt and fear and darkness and abuse and lies and anger and it is so thick that I cannot stand and remove myself. And, as I sit there, weeping and wishing, a fragrance unlike any other overwhelms the smell of filth and I lift my eyes. There, standing in the sludge is a Man in white. The white of His garments are radiant and seem to pour light over me in the dark place I linger in. He isn't looking at the sludge that doesn't dare tarnish His purity but rather looks down at me...tenderly. Do I warrant such tenderness? This sludge was created by my own hands and He stands in it as though it doesn't exist, though I know that He is fully aware of it and my part in its creation. His hair carresses His shoulders and His blue eyes are fused with intense power, yet I am not fearful. In fact, my heart leaps at His nearness because I can feel His compassion though He has not spoken a word. He doesn't feel sorry for me sitting in my own sludge...no...He cares for me, He is concerned for me...and in a fiery way!

The fragrance of Him removes the stench almost completely and my hand falls from my nose to my thigh, covered in my tattered prostitute garments and saturated with foul-smelling sludge. In the presence of this wonderful Man, what must I look like to Him? Why does He linger here, looking at me so kindly, so tenderly? Why does He stretch forth His hand to me? Do I dare take it? Do I tare reach up my calloused and dirty hand to take hold of His perfect hand? I hesitate until I notice the scars in His wrists. Why would this Man have such scars?

I notice then that He is leaning toward me. His hand is so near to me that I don't have to move mine far at all to take hold of His. His brown hair has slipped over his shoulders and waves softly about His handsome face, where His eyes burn passionately into my own. Desperately, I reach out and take hold of His hand because in that moment I cannot imagine refusing Him. Why would I ever turn away such a perfect Man?

I am surprised that He lifts me from the sludge so easily. It is as if the sludge let me go simply because I had taken hold of His hand. I look down at my filthy, torn rags and bare feet and I am ashamed. I can feel His eyes upon me and I lift my gaze. His smile removes all fear from my soul and my heart is His without reservation.

Walking with Him down the streets is a delight! Though my clothes are not the best and my gait is unsteady, the smell of the sludge has already left me. It is a distant memory...a nightmare I never want to revisit. At the edge of the town stands a grand carriage. I don't dare think that He wants me to ride in that but He nears it and the doors open and He helps me into it. Sitting in the white carriage upon the white seats has me fearful of the dirt that lingers upon my flesh and clothes. But, as with His garments, the white in the carriage is not affected by my sin.

He tells me of wonderful things as we ride in the carriage. He tells me about Himself and the love He has for me. I listen in awe and wonder and am surprised to hear that He has been watching for me, waiting for the moment when I would hear Him calling to me in the midst of my sludge. He tells me that He has been watching me struggle to break free and it has broken His heart every time that I have cried out in despair. When I finally saw Him, He says that His heart leapt within Him in great joy to know that He could help me at last.

We have arrived at a palace and He helps me from the carriage. When we enter the grand doors, He leads me to a room full of garments and fragrant roses. He seats me in a chair beside a dressing table and I see my dirty reflection. I turn away quickly and look as He kneels at my feet and lifts my bloody, dirty feet into His hands and begins to wash them in a basin. The water is warm, His hands gentle upon my flesh, as He removes the sludge and dirt. The wounds on my feet feel better with every soft brush of His hands and soon there is no pain at all and my feet are pale ivory.

He slips golden slippers upon my feet, intricately beaded with diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, and pearls. They are soft as silk! I stand and He gently begins to wash the rest of me. In my hair, He braids fragrant flowers into the tresses and the sludge smell is completely gone.

The gown He gives to me is obviously a bridal gown of the most costly fabrics. It is white and flows in modest beauty, a long train filling the room behind me. I look up at Him and He smiles and my heart melts and I know what love truly is, in that moment, though I have only sampled it.

At the wedding feast, I hear why this wonderful Man has scars on His wrist and that there are others on His feet as well. I can't help myself and I cry as He sits beside me, His eyes feasting upon me. It is then that He tells me that it was His greatest joy to save me from the sludge of my sins...no matter the cost He paid.

That night, after dancing with Him and feasting until I could barely keep my eyes open, I had the best night sleep ever, under His watchful gaze.

**

To restore passion and boldness, I must take the first steps. I must lift my hands and voice, I must worship Him out of the love and joy in my soul. Truly, does He deserve any less than my best, than my all?

This was realized yesterday and the evangelists wife prayed for me and challenged me in my boldness. She challenged me to tell those close to me so that they can keep me accountible.

As I wrote the Scriptures, the phrase, "Cheer up! Get to your feet. Jesus is calling you." spoke volumes to me. Why? Because today I have not been cheerful. Cheer up, Julie! I should have a love-sick smile on my face at all times. I am loved by the most wonderful Man to ever exist. Where others make promises and fail, being only human and imperfect, as we all are, He is amazingly perfect, keeping all His promises. How can I not be head over heels in love with Him to the point that I smile constantly knowing that my love for Him does not return to me void because He loves me too...more than I could ever comprehend.

Get to your feet. Yes. I need to be bold for Him. I need to worship Him without fear or reservation. I need to fall to His feet or stand to my feet or kneel or jump or dance or clap or sing...whatever His love moves me to do...without fear. Get to your feet, Julie, and be bold for Him, as He is bold for you.

Jesus is calling you. Echos. Do you see that? If you didn't read my blog from this morning, you won't see the echo but there it is. Jesus is calling. Jesus is calling. Ah, yes, Jesus is calling!

Shalom ve Ahava!