Faith

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... did not turn to the right hand or to the left ...
2 Chronicles 34:2



There are some days that, when opening to a passage of scripture, I am caught up by the very first words. Today is just such a day. I couldn’t get beyond verse two of 2 Chronicles 34, even after writing Heaven's Tears... still I linger there, before this mirror that reflects all too clearly. I don’t care for the reflection. I want to lay claim to doing right in God’s sight. I long to rest in walked in the ways of (the Father) . But the words that follow won’t allow rest, for they acknowledge rest in self, if I’m honest. Only when did not turn aside to the right or to the left reflects in my mirror is it Jesus, instead of me, walking in this tent of flesh I call me.

I hear Him speak, quietly, gently, but with unshakable firmness. “Abide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in Me....apart from Me, you can do nothing. Abide in My love...these things have I spoken to you, that My joy may remain in you, and that your joy may be full. This is My commandment that you love one another, laying down your life for one another as I lay down my life for you.”

There is something about abiding that’s protective. If I am ‘abiding’ I can’t be wandering anywhere, not right, not left ... even a fraction. To abide is ‘to remain within’ something outside of myself. How protective grace is! I abide in Jesus AND He abides in me. As incomprehensible to this ‘tent’ as grace is, how I cling to it. Because abiding doesn’t come easy to me ... while wandering my own ways is all to familiar. As much as I want to be able to say, “I do only the things I see my Father do...I say only the things I hear my Father say,” I’m not there, except wrapped in Grace’s covering. And until I’m choosing to abide I’m not even close to loving. Not Jesus’ way of loving, not sacrificial loving, not the loving that calls for dying.


O, may God’s grace continue to pour upon this vessel. May He hear the yearning of this all too marred clay, and keep His hands upon the wheel until I’m the loving work of art He longs to see.


© 10 June 2005
DeAnna L. Brooks

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