This is objective. This is an observation.
What is subjective I will address later on after this.
You cannot stand it when things don’t go your way—it’s
almost as if you cannot live with it.
You whine and complain about it, frustrated with the
world. You wish for life to just stop because it isn’t going your way, but life
would not stop for you—thus your tantrums and explosive attitudes. You very
simply cannot live with it; you would
most rather die (as you have often said so).
You have a false view of yourself and of others. I believe
this stems from a false view of God. (I personally know the dire consequences
of it.)
You know that you aren’t perfect and openly
acknowledge it. Though that is true, you think yourself as a good person—at least
good enough. You don’t think you need
to change because you’ve changed enough, and you find yourself to be above
certain others. After all, you are “not that bad.”
You accept your flaws and simply call them a part of
who you are—you embrace them. You don’t think to change them instead.
You like your confidence and are proud of it, but it
will ultimately be your downfall. A person confident in self is nice to hang
out with, not pleasant to live with. How will your husband fare?
You recognize your strengths and call them your own—you
add a touch of “gratitude to God who gave them.”
You view yourself as a person who is open to
instruction and wisdom—you perceive yourself to be teachable. Perhaps to people
whom you respect you are so, yet to me—well, I know better.
You often tell me to talk to you like how I did with
Hanne or how I do with Natalie, but I have noticed that even when I do switch
that “ministry mode” on in myself and talk to you, you do not listen and shut
yourself up instead.
This could be because I have snapped at you more. With
each apology I’ve had to make, you tell me I’m forgiven. What then do your
actions mean? Am I to apologize once more? How many more times? (Would it be worth
it?)
I cannot quote Scripture to you—to you, that is me telling
you that I am above you and that I know better than you.
I cannot share my devotions with you—to you, that is
me informing you that I did mine and yours needs to be done.
You count your emotional experiences as spirituality—nothing
can be farther from the truth. You’ve taught me to never judge a book by its
cover.
You shed tears and know the Word well, but your life
and desires do not reflect those experiences on the surface.
You think guilt is conviction itself, but guilt itself
is a sin. It is a good starting point for repentance, but it is a sign of not
living in the reality of Christ’s victory. I don’t remember ever seeing you use
it as a starting point to turn away.
You have come to treat life lightly; I think it to be
because the reality of eternity isn’t instilled in you. (The world has no hope
in the future and thus no purpose in the present—they treat life lightly
because it has no eternal meaning to them.) I do not know the reason for your flippant
attitude towards life.
You give in to whatever desires rage inside of you—when
you are angry, you’ll just be. When you are sad, you’ll just be. When that
womanly time of the month comes, you throw tantrums, justifying it on account
of hormones. You openly show that you are mad and think it not a problem. “That
is just who I am.”
You constantly require a human companion—you see it as
a need and not a want. Thus I am to always be by your side—no exceptions. When I
have my own plans or wish to make separate ways, you throw a tantrum. After all,
life did not go your way. You then get frustrated and try to change me. Perhaps
I should sometimes change more for you, yet I wish you knew that change would
not be from you but from Him.
You do not claim victory in Christ. There are glimpses
of Christ which I see in you—sometimes you seem frustrated with your sin and
wish to change. Sometimes I see you longing for His Word (even if it’s for
selfish desires). Though you sometimes do crave for Him, you do not lean on Him
and win by faith—you simply fall down instead and call it quits. It is “too
hard” for you.
You wish to marry to have children. You wish to have
children because they are living dolls to you. I’ve never heard you talk about discipling
your kids. Your goal in life is marriage because your ultimate goal in life is
to have children, but this will bring in failure. In God’s design, your husband
is always to be priority over your children—I wish I can tell you that.
You do not have any desires in life—sometimes I think
it is because you do not ask Him about which direction to take. I have chosen
the route of Bible college and The Master’s—it is a huge desire of mine because
I personally heard from Him and see His hand leading me.
You came along because you “hate being alone” and “don’t
know what else to do with your life.”
I wish I can minister to you and exhort you to seek
His face and presence each day. He actually delights in guiding us—what a
wonderful God we have!
Yet even if I exhorted you, you would get mad and
defensive instead—I would only be standing in the way between you and Him.
You tell people openly about the monster I used to be—your
focus is always on the wretch I was and not on the grace of God. Perhaps it is
because you’ve yet to understand what His grace really means.
What is outside of me is objective—God sets them; I
live them.
What is inside of me is subjective—I choose them, and
God gives me the strength to change, when I’ve by His grace chosen rightly.
People ask if we get along.
They wonder how and why we can live together.
Perhaps for you it has been easy. (I pray it has been
easy.)
But for me, it’s been the hardest thing I’ve ever had
to do.
Going to ecamp and speaking in front of hundreds—I’ve
done it. Sitting in front of Hui Xin and lovingly ministering to her, with the
thought of her using me and playing me in the back of my mind—I’ve done it. Spending
days and nights with minimum food and sleep as the videographer for camps—I’ve
done it. All these I’ve done by His empowerment.
Yet when it comes to the task of living with you, I
sometimes lose faith and lose hope that He is able to empower and strengthen
me. I sometimes doubt His power.
I sometimes get angry at Him for putting you here with
me.
Yet there are days when I kneel before His throne and
ask to see His glory. There are days when He reveals Himself to me and fills me
with joy unspeakable. There are days when after reading His Word, I smile to
myself, gently shut His holy book, and stare at it with sheer fulfillment
painted all over my face. There are days when I hold my chest and look up at
the sky, taking a deep breath because I know my Father loves me. There are days
when I am so filled with the Spirit that the thought of you in the flesh simply
diminishes.
And I start to treat you like a proper human being.
And I start to see you accurately—as a person loved by the same God who loves
even me. I start to lose sight of how wretched you are—I start to just meditate
on the thought of how glorious He is.
I start to love Him more, and I start to love you.
It isn’t that you’ve changed or deviated from the
above descriptions of you.
It is that I have been changed.
And that change was from Him.
It isn’t that I am living all this out by myself—it is
that Christ lives in me!
I cannot help but quote Galatians 2:20 here; it is
just too true:
“I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I
who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I
live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me.”
I relate—I understand those words in the fullest context
of the struggles in life.
I stand with Paul, repeating the themes of death and
life, of flesh and faith, of love and sacrifice.
I have a standing with Christ, justified by faith and
saved by grace.
You can stay where you are—you can continue in the way
you’ve been.
But I’ll be praying and watching, and I’ll continue to
lean on Him for every passing moment with you. I’ll continue to submit to His
change.
This has been long.
I need to study.
J
Starry
