Pebbles
Pebble number one is labeled "My Pride."
It's the one that likes to pretend that it's a priceless gem,
But really it's nothing more than a pebble,
Covered in sand.
And pebble number two is all I planned to do.
I worked hard on that one,
Weighing all the pros and cons, the ends and the means.
Yet still it seems, it's just a pebble.
But my King said,
"Give me your pebbles. Empty your hands.
Then watch Me fill them with My priceless gems.
Let go of your pebbles and behold,
In Me are riches untold.
If you will let go of all that you have known,
I will fill you with more than you can hold.
So let go."
Pebble number three is what I like to do, the things I enjoy.
And pebble number four can talk.
It's always asking, "What will everyone think?"
All these pebbles and more, I've clutched in my hands
For so long.
But my King said,
"Give me your pebbles. Empty your hands.
Then watch Me fill them with My priceless gems.
Let go of your pebbles and behold,
In Me are riches untold.
If you will let go of all that you have known,
I will fill you with more than you can hold.
So let go."
All this time I've held these pebbles, and treated them as gold.
I couldn't understand why He would ask me to let go.
But then one day I finally beheld the One Who is more precious still.
And in His light, at last I could see
That my treasures were but pebbles, and that He was worth far more.
He asked me to let go, and at last I could obey.
I cast all my pebbles at His feet, and there they shall remain.
It's a mystery, this Grace, that takes our worthless pebbles
And instead gives us priceless jewels.
For my King said,
"Give me your pebbles. Empty your hands.
Then watch Me fill them with My priceless gems.
Let go of your pebbles and behold,
In Me are riches untold.
If you will let go of all that you have known,
I will fill you with more than you can hold.
So let go."
[By the way, I can't take credit for the pebbles-and-jewels concept--I got it from someone else, and I'm not sure now exactly where it traces back to.]
This song is a sort of allegory of something very real I've experienced somewhat gradually in the past year or so, but at the same time I can look back and pinpoint one day in particular where this exchange took place. See, for most of my life I've had the head-knowledge that Jesus is worth more than all else, and that He is worthy of all we have to give--all we are--and more. But sometimes it sort of seems like--as with other areas of head-knowledge--to an extent, this incredible truth was kept back in some dusty, far corner of my brain and only consulted (to be brutally honest) in order to judge another's actions. (In case you're wondering, yes, my pride [a.k.a. "pebble #1"] is now smarting quite a bit after that remark.) And at the same time, for so many years, I thought I had this concept down, and believed I had truly surrendered myself completely unto God.
That is, until the day God asked me for everything.
The memory is vivid for me, and yet it is extremely hard to put into words. It could be partially because my memory tends to work more in snapshots and scenes than videos, if that makes any sense. But another part of why it is so hard to articulate is simply that, frankly, encounters with the Creator of the universe tend to just be extremely hard to put into mere words. Nonetheless, I will try to relay to you as best I can what took place that summer morning in Colorado.
It was Wednesday, June 16, 2010--a day that has special significance to anyone who was at Ellerslie during that day and the ones that followed soon after it.
But before I share about that day in particular, let me backtrack to something I just came across in my journal when I was looking for details to help me try to express what happened on the 16th. I had forgotten about this, which is part of why it's so handy to keep a journal sometimes (though I'm not always the best at it). On Tuesday, June 15th, I recorded in my journal a prayer asking God to change something that had once been true of my life. In a way, I asked that my life would no longer be marked by milestones--that I would no longer look back upon single nights and specific experiences where I had seen God anew, but instead that my life would be spent looking forward. Not that I wanted to forget those special times, but as I wrote that day, "God, don't let them be punctuation marks in my life anymore. Let it be an everyday experience to see You in a new light, to draw dramatically closer to Your heart, to have a new revelation of all that You are and all that You have purposed. It will never grow old. Let me not live off old experiences, but be ever-presently listening for Your voice and seeking and finding You; at the same time, let me always remember all You have done, not only to bolster my faith, but to be ever thankful for all You have done, are doing, and will do in me and in this world." In wrapping up the same journal entry, I asked expectantly that God would press us all deeper into His heart, saying, "Be our hearts' desire from this day forth, God, and help us never waver, never hesitate, to pursue Your heart and will with everything that is within us." And it's interesting to look back on that now, because it was the very next day that God would test me on how willing I was to allow Him to make such things a reality in my life.
Now, for June 16, 2010...
Since it was a Wednesday, by 5:30 a.m. I was up and waiting on the semicircular slab of concrete, ready for one of Ellerslie's thrice-weekly morning prayer times to start up. (These prayer sessions were optional, but God had been pretty clear with me that He wanted me to be there.) I don't remember specifically what took place that particular morning, other than a general impression in which I felt a predominant burden and pressure in my soul. I remember, when Eric dismissed us, having the distinct and unavoidable knowledge that I needed to find somewhere to be alone with God. It was time for a heart-to-heart unlike any I had ever experienced before.
That morning, as I found a secluded spot on campus where I felt hidden away from all eyes but God's, it was as if my King were standing right before me, His gaze penetrating but at the same time filled with limitless compassion. It was time. A decision I thought had been made long ago was laid before me afresh, and I was aware as if for the first time of its full weight.
He was asking me to surrender.
Here is why I had thought this issue had been settled long before: for the previous four or five years of my life up to that point, God had set before me specific scenarios on various occasions and asked me to choose which I would follow--my desire, or His. True, sometimes I had resisted, but it always came to the point where I could resist no longer, and I would submit.
That morning, as the King stood before me and asked me to lay down everything at His feet--to truly surrender every area of my life to Him--there was a desperate battle being waged within my soul. At the time, it was harder to distinguish exactly what was going on, but in hindsight it is much easier to identify the opposing forces. Part of me, that part in which the Spirit of God was working, was desperately pleading for God to take me deeper and to show me what it truly means to let go of all else and cling to Him only. And yet, something was struggling against this desire, fighting against it with such force that to a large extent I felt incapable of doing what my King was asking. I felt as though there were a paper-thin barrier between me and God, between me and what God wanted to do in me--and yet, even though the barrier was so thin, I lacked the strength and the ability to break through. So, I went to my knees and pleaded earnestly for my God to come through on my behalf and to destroy this barrier.
That day was a day of anguish for me, for as the morning went on I could not shake the urgency within my soul. Something had to be made right within me, this barrier of parchment had to be removed, and though I lacked the power, I knew my God was strong enough. So I continued to plead for Him to pull me through, and in the process, the burden became not so much a desperate need for myself, but a desperate need to have the strength to extend to my brothers and sisters--to be made right so that I would be in a position to be able to help pull others through. (If you are reading this now and were one of the ones present at Ellerslie during the days that followed, you know exactly what God was leading up to then.)
At several times throughout that day, I found myself doing something I rarely, if ever, did. I asked people to pray for me. I explained to them the feeling of this parchment-thin barrier, though at first I didn't know what that barrier was. Then, someone asked me to be more specific, asked if I could identify what it was standing in the way. And suddenly, my vision cleared. The barrier had begun to crack earlier in the day, after the first time I had asked a few people to pray for me, and it was as if light streamed in through the cracks, giving me hope. And in that instant, I knew what the barrier was: my pride. I hadn't realized it at the time, but all along, it had been my selfish pride vying for the throne of my life--though it knew just as well as I did that that throne rightfully belongs to Another. And throughout that day, as I pleaded with God and recognized my own inability to break through, as I humbled myself by admitting to my brothers and sisters that I was not as I should be and needed them to join with me in prayer--slowly but surely, my pride was being attacked again and again, worn down, and cracked.
June 16, 2010 was a day of reckoning for my soul. It was a day of surrender deeper than any I had experienced before. That afternoon, I stood nearly waist-deep in the waters of the Lake at Ellerslie, and stood before my entire class, and, in a spiritual sense, before all the powers of both Heaven and Hell, and declared with a perspective and a confidence I had not known before that my Self and my Pride were truly dead and buried with Christ, that my life was no longer my own, and that it was no longer I who live, but Christ in me. I don't remember my exact phrasing, but that's the gist of it. And as I stood in that water, I knew the barrier was about to fall.
Sure enough, as I came up out of that water, it was gone--vanished.
Now, I'm not saying I have never struggled with my pride since that day. Strangely enough, the pesky thing tends to forget it's dead, crucified with Christ. No, the Christian life is a daily death (1 Corinthians 15:31). It is a daily reckoning with the truth and reminding ourselves Whose we are and Who it is that rules our lives--that our lives are not our own, but have been bought with a price (1 Corinthians 6:19-20). I'm not perfect. But day by day, God is transforming me, sanctifying me, molding me more into His likeness. And let me assure you, I have never once regretted the decision I made afresh that day. Just as the song says, in exchange for the worthless pebbles I had been clinging to for so long, my King has filled me to overflowing with the priceless treasures that stem directly from knowing Him: unfailing love, true compassion, conquering peace, unending joy...the list goes on and on.
So, that is my exceptionally long-winded explanation on the story behind the song... =) I hope it challenges you to look down at your own hands and see if there is anything you are holding onto even as your King asks you to let go. He does not ask out of greed or selfishness, for why would He want your worthless pebbles when He has riches in abundance and to spare? No, He asks for that which is rightfully His in the first place, for those who have called themselves by His Name to reckon it as so and to truly surrender themselves to His call, to follow Him with reckless abandon.
This is the choice that is left to us, to
But before I share about that day in particular, let me backtrack to something I just came across in my journal when I was looking for details to help me try to express what happened on the 16th. I had forgotten about this, which is part of why it's so handy to keep a journal sometimes (though I'm not always the best at it). On Tuesday, June 15th, I recorded in my journal a prayer asking God to change something that had once been true of my life. In a way, I asked that my life would no longer be marked by milestones--that I would no longer look back upon single nights and specific experiences where I had seen God anew, but instead that my life would be spent looking forward. Not that I wanted to forget those special times, but as I wrote that day, "God, don't let them be punctuation marks in my life anymore. Let it be an everyday experience to see You in a new light, to draw dramatically closer to Your heart, to have a new revelation of all that You are and all that You have purposed. It will never grow old. Let me not live off old experiences, but be ever-presently listening for Your voice and seeking and finding You; at the same time, let me always remember all You have done, not only to bolster my faith, but to be ever thankful for all You have done, are doing, and will do in me and in this world." In wrapping up the same journal entry, I asked expectantly that God would press us all deeper into His heart, saying, "Be our hearts' desire from this day forth, God, and help us never waver, never hesitate, to pursue Your heart and will with everything that is within us." And it's interesting to look back on that now, because it was the very next day that God would test me on how willing I was to allow Him to make such things a reality in my life.
Now, for June 16, 2010...
Since it was a Wednesday, by 5:30 a.m. I was up and waiting on the semicircular slab of concrete, ready for one of Ellerslie's thrice-weekly morning prayer times to start up. (These prayer sessions were optional, but God had been pretty clear with me that He wanted me to be there.) I don't remember specifically what took place that particular morning, other than a general impression in which I felt a predominant burden and pressure in my soul. I remember, when Eric dismissed us, having the distinct and unavoidable knowledge that I needed to find somewhere to be alone with God. It was time for a heart-to-heart unlike any I had ever experienced before.
That morning, as I found a secluded spot on campus where I felt hidden away from all eyes but God's, it was as if my King were standing right before me, His gaze penetrating but at the same time filled with limitless compassion. It was time. A decision I thought had been made long ago was laid before me afresh, and I was aware as if for the first time of its full weight.
He was asking me to surrender.
Here is why I had thought this issue had been settled long before: for the previous four or five years of my life up to that point, God had set before me specific scenarios on various occasions and asked me to choose which I would follow--my desire, or His. True, sometimes I had resisted, but it always came to the point where I could resist no longer, and I would submit.
That morning, as the King stood before me and asked me to lay down everything at His feet--to truly surrender every area of my life to Him--there was a desperate battle being waged within my soul. At the time, it was harder to distinguish exactly what was going on, but in hindsight it is much easier to identify the opposing forces. Part of me, that part in which the Spirit of God was working, was desperately pleading for God to take me deeper and to show me what it truly means to let go of all else and cling to Him only. And yet, something was struggling against this desire, fighting against it with such force that to a large extent I felt incapable of doing what my King was asking. I felt as though there were a paper-thin barrier between me and God, between me and what God wanted to do in me--and yet, even though the barrier was so thin, I lacked the strength and the ability to break through. So, I went to my knees and pleaded earnestly for my God to come through on my behalf and to destroy this barrier.
That day was a day of anguish for me, for as the morning went on I could not shake the urgency within my soul. Something had to be made right within me, this barrier of parchment had to be removed, and though I lacked the power, I knew my God was strong enough. So I continued to plead for Him to pull me through, and in the process, the burden became not so much a desperate need for myself, but a desperate need to have the strength to extend to my brothers and sisters--to be made right so that I would be in a position to be able to help pull others through. (If you are reading this now and were one of the ones present at Ellerslie during the days that followed, you know exactly what God was leading up to then.)
At several times throughout that day, I found myself doing something I rarely, if ever, did. I asked people to pray for me. I explained to them the feeling of this parchment-thin barrier, though at first I didn't know what that barrier was. Then, someone asked me to be more specific, asked if I could identify what it was standing in the way. And suddenly, my vision cleared. The barrier had begun to crack earlier in the day, after the first time I had asked a few people to pray for me, and it was as if light streamed in through the cracks, giving me hope. And in that instant, I knew what the barrier was: my pride. I hadn't realized it at the time, but all along, it had been my selfish pride vying for the throne of my life--though it knew just as well as I did that that throne rightfully belongs to Another. And throughout that day, as I pleaded with God and recognized my own inability to break through, as I humbled myself by admitting to my brothers and sisters that I was not as I should be and needed them to join with me in prayer--slowly but surely, my pride was being attacked again and again, worn down, and cracked.
June 16, 2010 was a day of reckoning for my soul. It was a day of surrender deeper than any I had experienced before. That afternoon, I stood nearly waist-deep in the waters of the Lake at Ellerslie, and stood before my entire class, and, in a spiritual sense, before all the powers of both Heaven and Hell, and declared with a perspective and a confidence I had not known before that my Self and my Pride were truly dead and buried with Christ, that my life was no longer my own, and that it was no longer I who live, but Christ in me. I don't remember my exact phrasing, but that's the gist of it. And as I stood in that water, I knew the barrier was about to fall.
Sure enough, as I came up out of that water, it was gone--vanished.
Now, I'm not saying I have never struggled with my pride since that day. Strangely enough, the pesky thing tends to forget it's dead, crucified with Christ. No, the Christian life is a daily death (1 Corinthians 15:31). It is a daily reckoning with the truth and reminding ourselves Whose we are and Who it is that rules our lives--that our lives are not our own, but have been bought with a price (1 Corinthians 6:19-20). I'm not perfect. But day by day, God is transforming me, sanctifying me, molding me more into His likeness. And let me assure you, I have never once regretted the decision I made afresh that day. Just as the song says, in exchange for the worthless pebbles I had been clinging to for so long, my King has filled me to overflowing with the priceless treasures that stem directly from knowing Him: unfailing love, true compassion, conquering peace, unending joy...the list goes on and on.
So, that is my exceptionally long-winded explanation on the story behind the song... =) I hope it challenges you to look down at your own hands and see if there is anything you are holding onto even as your King asks you to let go. He does not ask out of greed or selfishness, for why would He want your worthless pebbles when He has riches in abundance and to spare? No, He asks for that which is rightfully His in the first place, for those who have called themselves by His Name to reckon it as so and to truly surrender themselves to His call, to follow Him with reckless abandon.
This is the choice that is left to us, to
"Choose ye this day whom ye shall serve..."
-Joshua 24:15
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