waiting

Sometimes we get stuck in this self-defeating mindset of “waiting around.” All we can think about is how we’re waiting for God to do this, waiting for God to do that… waiting, waiting, waiting… poor pitiful us.

I certainly don’t think waiting is always a bad thing. In fact, I would call it a skill, even a discipline. But it is only such when our hearts are expectant of God’s move. Wait in misery, and we find ourselves doubting that God will ever show his face. But wait in faith, and there is hope. I’m a firm believer in the concept “You can’t walk in hope if you’re thinking in defeat.”

When I read Isaiah 30:18 today, I realized we’re not the only ones waiting… God waits too.

God's not finished. He's waiting around to be gracious to you. He's gathering strength to show mercy to you. God takes the time to do everything right—everything. Those who wait around for him are the lucky ones. (The Message)

God is not afraid of waiting. He’s not afraid to take his time. And he is certainly ok with waiting on us if it means we will eventually see his face.

What good news. He was waiting on me long before I was ever waiting on Him. If I’m worth waiting on, so is He.


Reposted from my original blog: http://betsywhitsitt.blogspot.com/

treasures in jars of clay

“Betsy, you’re like a cracked pot, and if you don’t take care of the cracks, everything inside of you is going to come spilling out onto the people around you!”

With those words, I was being admonished by a woman—a pastor, in fact—for my apparent vulnerabilities just after having opened my eyes to the deepest betrayal I’ve ever experienced. My heart was torn wide open and ripped apart, my spirit was crushed, and I was being told to pick it all up and stuff it back down into the urn of my soul. The nerve of me—I was making a mess!

Guilt set in immediately. Someone had noticed. I was flawed. I was weak. And this woman was right: Not only was I a cracked pot, I had flat out shattered. There I was, a person who had made a career out of “holding it all together,” now in pieces on the floor. So now, not only was I fielding the pain of betrayal and grief, I was also ridden with disappointment in myself.

The Lord brought that day from years ago to my mind recently as I was praying, and I got to thinking about why it is that we’re so afraid to be broken and petrified of being flawed. Why is it that often it is felt so true that we should not be exposing our weakness, our fragility, to anyone? What are we afraid might come “spilling out?” I think we fear sometimes that the things that eat away at our hearts—fear, loneliness, unmet expectations, disappointments in ourselves and others—will be exposed. In shame, we keep them sealed away for no one to see, and quickly mend any cracks in the vessel of our soul. We become tightly sealed jars.

But I don’t think that’s how God meant for us to live. We all have cracks. We all have moments of weakness, hurts, and flaws. I realize every day just how cracked truly I am. But I have come to realize that my fractures as a person create a space for the love and grace of God to seep out of me and into the lives of others. I am a broken vessel—with weakness, vulnerability, and faults—but that brokenness creates a tiny crevice through which the Holy Spirit can operate. It is only then that Christ is powerfully revealed as a "treasure in jars of clay" (2 Corinthians 4).

Outwardly, I am nothing, but it is God who is at work inside of me… and it is Christ that I want others to see—not a flawless cistern.

”My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” Psalm 73:26

truth

I read a quote today by Lily Tomlin that I found fascinating:

"The best mind-altering drug is truth."

There is something so powerful about truth.... especially when truth has been concealed, and it is finally brought into the light.

One thing I pray regarding all of my relationships with the people I care about is that hidden things be brought into the light. And trust me, that is not always a fun thing to pray... I have landed some answers to that prayer that I never expected to hear.

But there is such a grace that comes with truth, even when it's painful. More truth has been exposed in my life lately than I care to say, but when it comes down to brass tacks.... I wouldn't have it any other way.

Truth can be painful... and that's why so many people choose to conceal it. We hide who we really are, what we really think about, our struggles and our fears... perhaps because we are afraid of what we might lose. We are afraid of what will happen if we expose the truth.

The illusion seems more liveable than reality.

Could it be, in essence, that we are lacking in our trust of God... that He is bigger than the pain our truth might reveal?

In the last several days, I have become so grateful for the light of God that has forced truth out of the darkness. I am grateful that God has shattered illusions, and that my eyes have been opened to something bigger... something honest.

the power of one choice

When I found Israel, it was like finding grapes in the desert; when I saw your fathers, it was like seeing the early fruit on the fig tree. But when they came to Baal Peor, they consecrated themselves to that shameful idol and became as vile as the thing they loved. –Hosea 9:10

I stumbled upon this verse just over a year ago in the aftermath of a wave of destruction in my life. It really made me think about the power our choices have on the rest of our lives. As my eyes were being unveiled to the nature of deceit and manipulation I had fallen prey to, I was startled to realize that it all began with one choice. That’s all. It took one decision against my better judgment, and in the time frame of one year, my life was nearly destroyed. My sensitivity to the Holy Spirit had dwindled and my passion for ministry was barely visible through the fog of self-betrayal.

It pains me to think about what that one choice did to the heart of God… I imagine it was something like what we read in the above verse. I think God was full of grief to see the children of Israel—whom he had set apart, who were such a source of refreshment to his heart—take on the very nature of the thing they chased after. “Vile.” What a dramatic change from being an image of the glory of God, the one(s) to reveal Him to the nations.

And yet, in the messes we make, there is grace.

Like water spilled on the ground, which cannot be recovered, so we must die. But God does not take away life; instead, he devises ways so that a banished person may not remain estranged from him. –2 Samuel 14:14

It really is that simple. It is a beautiful thing to step into an understanding of the incredible mercy that flows from the heart of God… He always seeks to restore us back to Himself.


Reposted from my original blog http://betsywhitsitt.blogspot.com/

the dark

One of my least favorite memories is of the very first night I was left alone at home to babysit my little brother. I was petrified. I’m not even sure how old I was. All I knew was that it was getting dark outside and mom and dad were leaving… and every young child knows that the monsters come out when mom and dad aren’t around. It wasn’t until that lonely night that I realized the element of safety that my parents’ very presence could establish.

We lived in a 1900s remodeled Victorian style home, complete with its creaks and squeaks. The doorways were large, the ceilings were tall, and the stairway was endless. Oh yes, all the more room for the shadows of the night to haunt and the creaks to echo through my desperately ringing ears. Suddenly my home became my worst enemy—the source of my mental tantalization with its creaking and settling in the gusting night’s wind. It was me against my very own fear of the lonely night. In short, I was afraid of the dark.

I chuckle to myself now when I think about that night and all of the silly things I did in distressed attempts to overcome my fear. I laugh as I think about trying to comfort my little brother while I was shaking in my own boots. But as I reflected this morning on that fearful night so many years ago, something stopped me dead in my tracks. I am still afraid of the dark.

Yes. It is true. I still exhibit a panicked display of thoughts and behaviors when I come to a situation in which the light is dim. Although I say that I “rest in the shadow of the Almighty,” the creaks of the howling world seem to become louder and louder in their distraction, and my blood pressure rises when the fierce winds of uncertainty rattle the windows of my life.

There are a few things going on in my life right now in which I am distinctly seeking God’s direction. And yet, this seems to be one of those times where I am timidly walking the halls of my own faith… in the dark. There doesn’t seem to be any well-defined direction as to what to do or where to go next, and so I just keep walking. I could lie to you, but I won’t: I don’t like the dark. Darkness requires slow, careful movement. It demands patience. I’m not very good at any of those things!

As much as I don’t like the darkness, what I do love is the peace that comes with trusting God fully. When you’re in the dark, there’s not much else you can do. I suppose I could drive myself nuts with the endless questions of “How?” “Why?” and “What if?” But I’ve been down that road before… and I got so busy rattling off questions that God couldn’t get a word in edgewise! It’s amazing the peace that comes with learning to shut your mouth. Even in the dark.

freedom found me

As I prepare for an evening of fun on this 4th of July holiday, I can’t help but think about the freedom I have found in my own life. I am so glad that I celebrate and step into new realms of freedom more than once a year on a blazing summer day.

Freedom may not always appear as booming displays of sparkling and radiant color lighting up the night sky, and it is not always choreographed to the tune of songs we wish to hear—but God alone is the author of true freedom, and I count it an honor to be a part of His story.

Freedom has found me like a hero in the night over and over again. It found me when I was hopeless; it found me when I had walked away from all things true; it found me on the lonely roads of destruction and uncertainty; and it even found me when I had settled for being a captive.

So, I celebrate today like I did yesterday. And I will celebrate again tomorrow. Freedom has found me.


Reposted from my original blog http://betsywhitsitt.blogspot.com

joy is not a moving target

Very recently, I led a discussion with a group of women about “Joy.” The one thing that these women had in common is a dark history of pain, hurt, and suffering. For this particular group, joy was a topic that compelled a myriad of thoughts, perspectives, and even confusion. When I asked them what joy might look like, here were some of their responses:

“Being really excited about something.”
“Maybe like winning the lottery.”
“It’s being so happy you can’t stand it.”
“Something really great happens that you really wanted.”

One lady, who was the last to speak, had a response that I found particularly disturbing. In almost a whisper, she said, “Joy doesn’t happen to everyone. Joy is for those people who have everything they want and they are smart enough to have not made the mistakes that I have made. I’m not sure I’ll ever know what joy feels like.”

After some discussion, I posed the following observation to the above answers:

“What if joy wasn’t contingent on any form of external circumstances? What if joy took the form of… Contentment? Feeling safe and secure? Knowing someone loves you unconditionally?”

My question was met with eyes the size of softballs and the most piercing silence I think I have ever experienced. It nearly cut my heart right in two. These were looks of shock, wonder, and perhaps a little bit of timid hope. No one spoke, and all 15 of them leaned forward to see what I would say next, as if wondering what the catch was.

You see, this is such a common dilemma. We substitute external situations and tangible expectations for true joy and peace in our hearts. I watch these women as they struggle and toil, thrashing about in a world that keeps throwing them curve balls. They swing high, they swing low. They maneuver about in desperation, hoping beyond hope for a hit, for a break. They try, they try, and they try harder—to no avail. It’s no wonder they are in despair. They are chasing a counterfeit form of joy, and every time they grasp it in their hands, it escapes them yet again. One wrong move, and it is gone; one mistake, and it vanishes.

How often do we chase after a person, a word, a look, a purse, a drink, a book, a dress, a sport, a show, a scent, a smile, a promise, a home, maybe even a sermon, a mentor, or a class… to give us the fulfillment that we so deeply desire? We set our eyes on moving targets and begin to engage in a sort of mental gymnastics as we chase these things down, demanding the “joy” they have promised us. The entire time that we are running the gauntlet of our own dissatisfaction, God is waiting on the sidelines for us to come to our senses and rest in Him. What usually happens is that we finally collapse under our own exhaustion, and He scoops us up in His arms and carries us off the playing field of the game we were never meant to play.

The joy of God is not a moving target. It is not something we must search and seek to attain. It is a place of the heart where we rest in the comfort of the One who created us, where the world is silenced and all is forgiven.

Reposted from my original blog http://betsywhitsitt.blogspot.com/