Goodness as a Reflection

My husband was just telling me about this article he had read in some National Geographic magazine which intrigued him to no end.  It was about Singapore, a country 1/8 the size of Delaware. It states: "Out of a malarial swamp, the tiny island at the southernmost tip of the Malay Peninsula gained independence from Britain in 1963 and, in one generation, transformed itself into a legendarily efficient place, where the per capita income for its 3.7 million citizens exceeds that of many European countries, the education and health systems rival anything in the West, government officials are largely corruption free, 90 percent of households own their own homes, taxes are relatively low and sidewalks are clean, and there are no visible homeless people or slums.  If all that, plus a typical unemployment rate of about 3 percent and a nice stash of money in the bank thanks to the government's enforced savings plan, doesn't sound sweet to you, just travel 600 miles south and try getting by in a Jakarta shantytown."1  Sounds nice, right?

But when you start to read about their laws and how their enforced policies extend to every little facet of life, you wonder if the price of their prosperity and security is worth it. There are fines for chewing gum, spitting, even bringing durian fruit into certain places.  Littering trash or a cigarette butt will get you a $200 fine the first time; next time you'll find yourself doing community service and picking up others' litter.  If you're found with even small amounts of drugs, you'll be sentenced to a court-ordered caning.  Penalty for drug trafficking is death.   And woe to the foreign immigrants who find themselves in a family way!  Pregnancy means deportation.  Couples are encouraged to marry within their own status so college graduates should marry other college graduates, and the "Two is Enough" slogan gives you an idea of their population control.  The article goes on to explain the minister's ideas on humanity: "'The Confucian theory was man could be improved, but I'm not sure he can be.  He can be trained, he can be disciplined.'  In Singapore that has meant lots of rules - prohibiting littering, spitting on sidewalks, failing to flush public toilets - with fines and occasional outing in the newspaper for those who break them."  According to the minister, the idea "'that man could be perfected...was an optimistic way of looking at life.'  People abuse freedom.  That is his beef with America: The rights of individuals to do their own thing allow them to misbehave at the expense of an orderly society.  As they say in Singapore:  What good are all those rights if you're afraid to go out at night?"

Even if it still sounds somewhat like an Utopian society to you, here's how some of Singapore's citizens summed up their thoughts:  "I do lament our lack of freedom to express ourselves, and the government's seemingly unmitigated grip on power and what appears to be an inconsistent willingness to listen to public sentiment that does not suit it." and another sentiment "Singapore is like a warm bath.  You sink in, slit your wrists, your lifeblood floats away, but hey, it's warm." Utopia?  Hmmm...

I was reminded of the above article when I came across a quote today in a book.  

"I was taught right and wrong as a kid.  But the truth is that I drive completely differently when there is a cop behind me, and when there isn't.  It is hard for us to admit we have a sin nature, because we live in this system of checks and balances.  If we get caught, we'll be punished.  But this doesn't make us good people; it makes us subdued people.*  Just think about the Senate and the House, even the President.  The genius of the American system is checks and balances.  Nobody gets all the powers.  Everyone is watching everyone else.  It's as if the Founding Fathers knew intrinsically that the soul of humanity, unwatched, is perverse."2 

The idea that just because we might know right from wrong and live accordingly doesn't make us good.  It makes us subdued.  Only the Father is good.  Only Christ is good.  Only the Holy Spirit is good.  And the more we give ourselves over to God and allow the goodness of the Holy Spirit to shine through us, the more good we'll seemingly look to others.  But we will never be good ourselves and on our own terms.  Countries can mandate good behavior, but goodness or righteousness can never be attained.  Let us never forget that we are only the reflection of God's goodness to others.  Having no light of our own, we are the moon to His sun.  

1. From the January 2010 National Geographic magazine titled "Merging Man and Machine"

2. Quote from Jazz Notes: Improvisations on Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller

* Bold font mine.

Note: Any references/notes pulled from Nat Geo or the book Jazz Notes does in no way mean I agree/believe with the philosophies put forth by either resource.  

"The Room" by Joshua Harris

My daughter is the one who found this story and shared it with me.  After just reading it and with tears in my eyes, I feel compelled to share it also with you.

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features save for the one wall covered with small index-card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different headings. 

As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I Have Liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.

And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match.

A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I Have Betrayed."

The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I Have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed At." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've Yelled at My Brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger," "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped.

I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my 20 years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Have Listened To," I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.

When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.

An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: "No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.

Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.

And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.

But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus.
I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?

Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.

"No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood.

He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished."

I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.

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"The Room" by Joshua Harris. Copyright New Attitude, 1995. You have permission to share. We only ask that you include this copyright byline and do not alter the content.

"Awake, my glory!"

I'm about to run into the shower so I can be ready for our weekly Kajiji Girl gathering, however I could not let this article go by without immediately posting.  If you are the mother of a boy or simply the wife of a man (or consider yourself to be part of the species classified as homo sapiens), you really must read this!  As the mother of four boys (ahhhh!), this topic weighs on me constantly.  Knowing how lust is shoved in our children's faces every day in every imaginable way makes our job as protectors of their heart and trainer of their mind so incredibly difficult.  I just keep reminding myself of my new favorite verse as a homeschooler:

All your sons will be taught by the Lord, and great will be your children's peace.  ~Isaiah 54:13

Just this morning I was reading about David in the book of  I Chronicles, and it mentioned the Hebrew word for GLORY which is chabod.  Jon Courson defines it as "weighty, heavy".  Here the author notes it as kavod meaning "courage, honor".  Those two meanings are a wonderful way to think of God's glory upon and within us.

Hear No Evil See No Evil Speak No Evil Fine Art Print - William Meemken

How NOT to Help Your Son with Lust
by Cliff Graham

In my days as a youth pastor, the most frequent question I was asked about by mothers of boys was, "How do I help my son deal with lust?"

This question was frequently asked by the moms who were single. Dad had bailed on the family, so I can't really imagine how difficult and awkward it would have been for those moms to breach the subject with their sons.  If you are that mom, my heart goes out to you.  Truly.

Even if you live in a happy marriage and you have a husband who can help you navigate those seas, there is something I  must plead with you to understand about my gender.  Lust will always be a struggle for us.

Like any sin of the flesh, lust is a symptom of a larger problem.  That problem is when we have tried to replace the satisfaction of God with the satisfaction of something temporary.  In this life, that never goes away, regardless of the symptom.  

Continue reading here...

The Heart is...Desperately Wicked. Jer. 17:9

 The greatest enemy to human souls is the self-righteous spirit which makes men look to themselves for salvation.    ~Charles Spurgeon

It's only recently I've seen the full evidence of just how unrighteous I am.  As Christians we know and have been taught "there is none righteous, no not one"* however like so many innumerable truths God personally reveals to us in life, having the head knowledge is nothing compared to having the heart knowledge.  I have to admit being a stay-at-home-mom with not much chance to actively break the ten commandments on a daily basis, it's very easy to get fooled into thinking one is a pretty good person.  Mind you, I haven't recently committed any mortal sin to prove how wicked I am - I just simply am.  It's how I was built.  God shed light on this one day by challenging me to "act nice" to my husband and family.  In the midst of actually trying to be "good" while speaking to my husband, words slipped out which I didn't mean to speak.  No, nothing crazy - no curse words, nothing one would even typically notice as being disrespectful; my point being that the words that came out of my mouth didn't come from my well-intentioned brain - they came straight from my black heart.  It pulled me up short and taught me no matter how good my intentions are, no matter how much I try, I cannot and never will be righteous. Every thought, word and deed of mine is tainted with my own sin.  At the end of the day, I have probably broken every one of the ten commandments is some way, shape or form and not realized it.  It is for this reason I must invite the Holy Spirit to dwell within me and control my thoughts, my words and my actions every single day.  It is why I must wake up every morning and commit to die to self.  It is the only hope I have for ever behaving righteously and being Christ to others.

I know that my selfish desires won't let me do anything that is good. Even when I want to do right, I cannot. Instead of doing what I know is right, I do wrong. And so, if I don't do what I know is right, I am no longer the one doing these evil things. The sin that lives in me is what does them. The Law has shown me that something in me keeps me from doing what I know is right. With my whole heart I agree with the Law of God. But in every part of me I discover something fighting against my mind, and it makes me a prisoner of sin that controls everything I do.      ~Romans 7:18-23 (CEV)


* From Romans 3:10