The Measure of a Life

Over the week my heart has been cradling this question – What is the measure of my life?

There are moments in life when everything around me seem to come to a standstill, when the world becomes a black & white picture. And the only things that are real and alive at that moment are the words being whispered in my heart.

These moments are life-changing. They are the catalysts for paradigm shifts, repositioning, and re-prioritizing.

This is such a moment for me.

As these words – What is the measure of my life? – swirl around my heart, they create a tidal pool that enlarges my vision and stirs up a desire for something more.

There are so many ways in which we can measure our lives. We live in a generation that makes it so easy.

I have measured my life in many ways and with many things, but this week I cannot help but wonder – What would my life look like if Love became its measuring rod?

What if, at the end of all things, the only accomplishments in my life that had any value were the things I did out of love? What if the only moments in my life that really counted for something were the moments where love was present?

If I took my life and held it up to the measuring rod of Love, would it count for anything?

And as I sit here in this ever-widening tidal pool, refusing to let its intensity and vastness scare me back into the comfort of self-sufficiency, I see that everything I have built apart from Love look just like castles built on sand – child’s play, perishable, lacking substance.

So I have resolved to make love the measure of my life. And when my life is measured, I want it to meet the mark. But I look at myself and I know that I do not have it within me to be all that I want to be. My heart cannot be love poured out all the time, my motives cannot be constantly pure, my temper unceasingly sweet.

But what I do have when I reach the end of myself, is the source of unlimited and purest love. The very essence of love. Love incarnate. Jesus.

As I stand there seeing my own emptiness, He stands there with arms outstretched, waiting to pour all the measure of His love into me. To be able to live a life of love, all it takes is to start with a very simple daily prayer from Ephesians 3 – “Lord, I pray that I would be rooted and established in love, so that I may grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses understanding – that I may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.”

His love poured out into my heart, to be poured out to a thirsty world. There is no other way that I can stand up to the measuring rod of love, because such love is ferocious and savage and unrelenting; no weak and paltry human attempts will survive in the face of such intensity.

Today is Thanksgiving Day, the time of year that I like to reflect on all the many blessings I am thankful for.

This year, I am adding a new element to this occasion (on top of the turkey and ham, of course!). This year, and I think for every year after this, I am going to reflect on how much of my year was spent in love, for love, through love. I am going to measure my life with Love’s measuring rod, and make notes on motives and attitudes that need adjustment in my life.

I want Love to be the measure of my life, because Love is the only thing that never fails – even fairy tales know that “Love is the most powerful magic of all.”

What is the measure of your life? What would your life look like if Love became its measuring rod?

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When Healing Doesn’t Come

I have asked many questions in my life, but this one – Why doesn’t God heal me? – has been hands-down the most painful.

I ask this question a lot – for myself, and for others. Why doesn’t God just pour some of His power down and heal all the sick in the world? He has the power, and I know in theory that He really loves us… so it doesn’t add up that He would leave us to wallow in our pain and misery.

In fact, this question has pulled me too many times into a vortex – dark, cold, away from the warmth of God’s love. I found it difficult to believe that God loved me, much less cared about me, when He wouldn’t give me the thing I needed most at that moment – healing.

It is easy to believe in a God of goodness and love when the sun is shining and the world has taken on a rosy hue. That’s when I know that God loves me. Life is good.

But when sickness rears its ugly head, those warm and fuzzy feelings dissipate into fear, confusion, frustration. At those times, it is not so easy to believe that God is as good as He says He is. Harder still to trust that He loves me.

I have wrestled with this question for most of my life. I have received prophecies about healing- but it does not come. I have received countless prayers for healing – yet still it does not happen. I have gone the “word of faith” way, claiming and declaring healing – but healing tarries.

I tried all ways until, like the woman with the issue of blood, I ended up exhausted and dead-ended. No more resources within me to keep trying.

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But like that woman, as I lay on the ground, I see the feet of Jesus before me. And I realize some things that I had missed out in my single-minded focus to get healed.

  1. People. Those who were there in my time of need. They embraced me, encouraged me, and accepted me at my worst moments. Had I not gone through infirmity, I would not have known such sweet blessings of God’s love poured out by the people He placed around me.
  2. Compassion. Through pain, my heart was enlarged. The wells of compassion were being dug deeper and deeper, silently but surely. And when I look at others who are suffering, I understand their pain. And God sometimes uses this compassion to heal them.
  3. Confidence. As I grow in trust that God loves me even whilst healing tarries, I grow to love myself. And this confidence in God’s love for me, since it has grown in the toughest of seasons, will reveal a strong and unshakable faith when winter passes and spring time comes around.

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I am still waiting for my healing. And I still do not have the definitive answer to why God doesn’t heal me.

But I know that He heals. I have seen Him do it many times for others. And I know that my time will come.

In the mean time, there are so many lessons to learn and beautiful blessings to encounter. And so I wait, as the watchmen wait for the dawn. For the sun rises with healing in His wings (Malachi 4:2).

Is there a miracle that you are still waiting for? How do you strengthen your faith in times when your miracles seem so far away?

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Give Yourself Permission to Fall

I am not a good faller.

I’ve never been good at falling down, and neither am I a big fan of the mess, dirt, and plain discomfort that falling entails.

Ice skating, roller-coasters, running down slopes, walking in the rain… these are just a few things that I’ve kept away from because they tend to involve some slipping/falling down. I like my life, and everything in it, to be clean, neat, predictable, and non-painful.

But I am coming to realize how much I have been missing out on… just because I never gave myself permission to fall.

I never gave myself any room to fall in relationships, work, ministry, life, with God. I didn’t want to make a mess, hurt myself, or become “the girl who dropped the ball”. That is why I always approached life with the same cautious carefulness as a little girl who fell down once and determined never to go down again.

I saw no redeeming quality in falling, so I set a standard for myself that I should do things a certain way, behave a certain way, and be known as a certain kind of person – the kind who doesn’t fall. This meant that I was careful (very), perfectionistic (pardon the bad english), right (so I thought)… which are pretty good things, in the right context. But this attitude also made me wary, afraid, and detached. I was afraid to try new things and venture out – What if they didn’t work out? What if those weren’t good decisions? I had to always make good decisions. I had my world set in order, and I knew my part and how to play that role… but there were times when, inevitably, I would slip up. I loathed myself each time I fell. Thus the self-sustaining cycle of self-loathing and striving continued.

Falling down is terrifying because it is something that I cannot control or plan. Letting myself fall is to let the fall take me where it will – downwards, sideways, into a dirty puddle, or into a painful scrape. But the problem with NOT falling is this – we cease to live. I mean, truly live.

And this is what I am starting to realize: Falling is human. And being human is holy. It is beautiful.

The awesome God who is all-sufficient felt the need to create something special that He could love – human beings. He left His glorious throne and came to earth – imperfect, dirty, messy earth – for us, human beings. He descended to the depths of hell to fight for this one thing – human beings.

He could have created us like the angels, but He didn’t. Instead, He fashioned man in His image and likeness. Man, whose hearts are so easily seduced by sin, prone to wander, and often reject God. And to us all the fullness of His love and adoration are poured out.

God loves us. He loves me.

Not in spite of my humanness, but because of it.

He created me human, and He wants me to live as fully human. Jesus never came to earth to immortalize us – He came to show us how to be fully human. He was the perfect human, the full representation of man to God. The fullness of what it meant to be human, the way God created, had been stolen from Adam in the Garden. Jesus came to restore that, “For the Son of Man has come to seek and to save that which was lost.” (Luke 19:10)

And He came to make a way for us to be fully human again. That is why He said, “I have come so that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” (John 10:10)

In trying so hard to be holy and good on my own strength, I had been denying my humanness. I never gave myself permission to fall, and in the process I missed out on true life.

I am still learning, and much healing is still needed in my heart. But we all begin one step at a time and this is my first step: I am going to give myself permission to fall. And I am going to enjoy the ride.

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Idream of Eden. We were made for the Garden and the full pleasure of paradise. We got separated at Eden and we spend our whole lives searching for a way back into that secret paradise. All of life's pursuit + pain + questioning can be traced back to man's search for home. Our deepest instincts tell us that we are not home outside of this reality, and our souls will never stop searching until we return. Only there will we find rest and our true being. There, we begin to dream again the dreams that have laid asleep in our hearts all along.

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