That I may remain

Every time I start one of these I am confronted by the same blank screen. A pure white empty screen just waiting for my messy words. It stares me down time after time, wishing me into the opportunity it offers. To pen my current state. For better or for worse.

And it is scary. Completely terrifying.

Because at times my current state is anything but pure. It is anything but shiny and promising and worthy of admiring.

There is this saying that you are your harshest critic. At times if feels that that tiny adage holds every ounce of its truth just for me. Because analysis is a part of my days. My steps and thoughts and heart and motivations and words and decisions. I boil them down and pick apart the spoils. To find where I fall short. Where I could be better.

At times this is good. Harsh, but so very good. Because it moves me forward. Toward the Father. And to that end, my analysis is helpful and sound.

Other times it is such a big fat hindrance. A chain that wraps around my limbs and binds me to my failures. My inability to be who I desire to be.

Because most days I walk into my house and immediately see my own chaos. My inability to find discipline in my life. A Bible opened to the same page it was a month ago. A pile of clothes toppling off the end of the couch. Right where I left it last night (if I actually managed to remove it from the dryer). A sink filled with crusty dishes. A stack of unwritten cards intended for other's encouragement.

Each marking their tally of failure on my heart. In my deepest places, my defeats are recorded and analyzed and remembered. Deleting the good from my day and focusing attention on all those places I can't seem to get right.

Where I fail my husband. My family. Myself. My God.

But the Lord has sung His truth over me this week. His melody has been heard above all of my inner noise. All of my grumblings and self-doubt. I have breathed in the goodness of His Word and exhaled the chaos of my messy house and uncooked meals and undisciplined schedule and honestly, my unhappy attitude.

He has reminded me of what it is to abide. To find His heart rather than my own. To see His face past the junk that always seems to trip me up.

He has sung:

I am the true grapevine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch of mine that doesn't produce fruit, and he prunes the branches that do bear fruit so they will produce even more. You have already been pruned and purified by the message I have given you. Remain in me, and I will remain in you. For a branch cannot produce fruit if it is severed from the vine, and you cannot be fruitful unless you remain in me. 
Yes, I am the vine; you are the branches. Those who remain in me, and I in them, will produce much fruit. For apart from me you can do nothing. Anyone who does not remain in me is thrown away like a useless branch and withers. Such branches are gathered into a pile to be burned. But if you remain in me and my words remain in you, you may ask for anything you want, and it will be granted! When you produce much fruit, you are my true disciples. This brings great glory to my Father. 
I have loved you even as the Father has loved me. Remain in my love. When you obey my commandments, you remain in my love, just as I obey my Father's commandments and remain in his love. I have told you these things so that you will be filled with my joy. Yes, your joy will overflow! This is my commandment: Love each other in the same way I have loved you. There is no greater love than to lay down one's life for one's friends. You are my friends if you do what I command. I no longer call you slaves, because a master doesn't confide in his slaves. Now you are my friends, since I have told you everything the Father has told me. You didn't choose me. I chose you. I appointed you to go and produce lasting fruit, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask for, using my name. This is my command: Love each other.

And His song is refreshing to my deepest places. Where guilt at times takes its reign. And defeat is known.

Because His song speaks of the pruning shears of the Father, and the beauty that follows his knowing cuts. It sings of the fruit of my life and not simply the lack thereof. It slices to the heart of my pity and self-doubt and stirs my heart to simply abide. To simply remain. In the love of Christ. In the depths of His grace.

It harmonizes with what I know about myself and what is only known by Him.

You see, His song has reminded me that loving my husband is at times freshly cleaned clothes packed away in their rightful home. That at times loving myself is disciplining my heart and managing my time in a way that prepares it for the harshness of this world. That at times loving others is actually writing on those stacks of cards sweet words of encouragement that will offer a much needed embrace.

But sometimes it is simply abiding. Cutting myself a bit of slack. Removing myself from my own harshness. And just sitting with the One who can (and will) shape my decisions and movements and breaths. Who overshadows my own analysis and replaces it with His presence. His kindness. His thoughts of who I am Him because of who He is.

Sometimes loving is simply being found in Him. Pruned and increasingly similar. Ready for life with others because of who we are with Him.

He has sung that I am not my piles of laundry. I am not my failures and doubt.

I am His.

And today I am tuning my heart to hear and sing His song over my own. To love like He loves. And to remain there.