It is always important to remember that nothing can help a person who still believes he or she does not need it.
If you have seen an animal caught in a trap, you know of the absurd spectacle. The beast snarls, foams at the mouth, and bites the hand that attempts to deliver it. It writhes around in a frenzy trying every way possible to release itself, and every thrash only serves to rip the tissue a little more, sending the blade deeper into the flesh. Once at the end of its rope, the creature lies in defeat, hopeless and bloodier than it would have been if it had only trusted the hand that reached in to save it in the beginning. So it is, I suppose, with the child of God. His leg is not caught in the metal mouth of the snare, but his heart is caught in sin. The meat of his muscles is not exposed from the lacerations, but his soul is crushed to the point of despair. Where the animal lies still in the recognition of defeat, the child abandons his stream of questions for the realization that he has no real questions at all. And in that moment, where the wounded brute relies on the mercy of the hand to release it, the child throws himself onto the mercy of the Spirit to intercede on his behalf. There are moments where the heart is so low in the chest of the beloved that he cannot, and perhaps no longer wishes to, murmur a single word to God. He sits in that place of self-satisfied, scoffing loneliness that settles into near acceptance of the permanence of his state. He very well may have resolved to stay there, too, if the wind of change in the trenches of his heart had not continued blowing beneath all of the rubble… The analogy falls short here, as it must. For all the love and understanding, sympathy and justice an animal rights activist can give to a fawn caught in a bear trap, it is far from close to a fingernail’s width of the willingness and devotion, intimacy and care God has for His battered kids. C.S. Lewis once wrote: “Can a mortal ask questions which God finds unanswerable? Quite easily, I should think. All nonsense questions are unanswerable. How many hours are in a mile? Is yellow square or round? Probably half the questions we ask - half our great theological and metaphysical problems - are like that.” It would hardly be surprising if God’s only answer to the pleas for deliverance from His child—that very one walking through the death shade of the valley—was a simple command to go and clean his room. How offended he would be, too, when his deep and probing questions were met with a list of chores. What looks like inattentiveness is, in reality, God helping him on his way. What seems to be cruelty is truly the Father taking his hand and walking with him one step at a time down the homeward bound path. The first step is clear—the child must clean his room. Past that, he has no earthly idea, not even the slightest inkling of what comes next. Which very well may be the whole point—to take the step and listen. It is not so much about what will come of the child cleaning his room as it is the act of him doing it because his Father told him to. It seems that it is not faith that builds obedience, but obedience that builds faith. Should you, child of God, hear that call of His Spirit when you cry to him in your darkest hour, you can be sure that you are quite able to obey. God is not a god of confusion but peace, and He gives His Spirit to all who ask. It is one obedient step at a time to a deeper faith, to that sought after rest. As for me, I am in the process of cleaning my room. I am not sure I will get another answer until I finish. And when it is complete, I suppose the next step will be ready for the taking. I just hope it has nothing to do with the shower drains.
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