I remember thinking my mom was fanatically protective of my sister and I. She was every youth pastors nightmare from swirly patrol to parental screening of every-move-we-made. The same mom once painted the cover of a Herb Alpert Whipped Cream and Other Delights album cover when there was too much delight and not enough whipped cream. I was sheltered. I was protected. To the degree that I remember leaving movies like "The Towering Inferno" and "Tommy" feeling unarmed and nauseous. I remember only pieces of a conversation I had with my parents one summer on the living room sofa. They were asking about tickets to an operetta I was accompanying at the college and I didn't want them to come, which was a first. I had avoided any and all conversation to do with this particular project (also a first) because I knew she would not approve of its content. I still love the music of Candide and can remember the challenge of learning the score and the thrill of being a part of such a talented cast, but I also remember how sick I felt inside to have to tell her what I had hidden from her and why.
Looking back these events were the beginning of my desensitization to world. Add in my appetite and curiosity for romance and I'm beyond grateful Kevin was my first and only. My nature has such aptitude for falls it is only by the call of God on my life that my list of consequence isn't longer than it is.
At some point I developed quite the healthy self-esteem, not to be confused with self-confidence, and I have never had any trouble liking myself. Always felt loved, cared for, respected. And actually, I think I'm pretty awesome half the time. A fault to be sure if reverence and appropriate regard for the holiness of God Almighty is expected. Even dangerous, should the gospel I love so much leave me unchallenged, ungrateful, unignited. And that is what had become of me. I thank God for granting me the grace to recognize my apathy and His faithfulness to be found when I turn and seek, but I have to say I am pretty surprised He would recall for me those particular markers. In light of what my eyes see now, in light of the lack of content that provokes few if any "flags" (never to the state of nausea) I know undoubtedly I am not working out my salvation with fear or trembling. Entitlement, maybe. Certainly I have easily forgotten my reflection and walked too long away from the mirror.
I have been listening to a host of sermons on Holiness, Sin, Heaven and Hell. I have been praying intently for the Holy Spirit to illumine, to convict, to teach, to frighten, to discipline, to critique, to awe, to excite, to ignite, to revive, to redirect, to inspire every bit of my heart. I have always loved everything about my Trinity. I haven't intentionally wandered or lived defiantly to His will, but I have somehow, ironically in the midst of all-things-worship, lost my need for the cross. And through my petitioning and earnest searchings His rich mercy let me see this verse with new eyes.
Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.
Philippians 4:8
I have known that verse forever and always apply it to fixing our eyes on the prize, to helpful discipleship. What I had never seen before is that thinking about "these things" doesn't only keep us from sin, it might be the key to recognizing sin, in light of His holiness, to begin with. This was no coincidental recall for me. I know God is showing me when it began and why. I believe He wants me to remember the nausea I felt and to recognize that as guilt, a guilt I have long learned to manage and silence. And without guilt, what hope do I have to moved by the cross or my salvation? No wonder His holiness doesn't slam me to my knees. I tell you what, it's a strange thing, but the uglier I view myself, the more certain I am that I am headed the right direction, again. I am the world's daughter and I have been dancing on the fence. I would laugh at someone painting that album cover even now, but there is an awakening that begins in tiny passes whenever we think about things that aren't true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, commendable, excellent or worthy of praise and it is an awakening to compromise and justification, to mediocrity and self-acceptance. It lowers the throne to the degree it (He) no longer awes, it (He) no longer trembles, it (He) no longer terrifies. Or at least that's what I reason has happened to me. Too much delight, not enough whipped cream...
