Buy It for Yourself

This morning I went to church feeling very low in spirit. My daughter and I shared some harsh words last night and, as always, I “lost my witness,” as my friend from Mississippi sweetly describes it. Whenever she pushes my buttons – which she is very adept at doing – my true feelings come rushing to the surface and spewing out of my mouth…and she capitalizes on it to the nth degree. It took all my faculties to calm myself and not let it escalate any further; because I wanted to take it to the limit. The devil had a foothold on my heart and was relishing every second of it. It’s at these times that I realize that I’m not very loving – or lovable, for that matter; and, as Jimmy Carter so aptly put it, “I sinned in my heart.”

I wanted her to die. I wanted to kill her. I felt nothing but hatred for her; and, as she continued to spout off at the top of her lungs, my hatred increased tenfold. I eventually, locked myself… and my food…and my TV remote, in my room. I know that sounds very childish; but when you are dealing with an overgrown child, you have to employ those kinds of measures.

I went to sleep thinking I would not go to church this morning because of the wretched hypocrite I really am. I was going to stay home like the heathens and sleep half the day away, then get up and carry on as if the world revolved around me…much like I did when I was 37. I cite that particular age because that is precisely my daughter’s age now; and when I think about it, it’s really no surprise why she is the way she is.

I was so stubborn and resistant in coming to Christ, that it literally took me forty years in the dessert to finally notice that burning bush. No other person could reach me for the sake of the Gospel; it was something I had to come to on my own. And, by the grace of God, most days I do feel that I was snatched up from the pit. But last night I felt a very real and hard fall from grace.

I have enabled my daughter for so long – always been her safety net – that she is even more stubborn and resistant than I was/am. I’ve allowed her to bleed me of finances, automobiles, credit integrity, and other relationships until she is down to taking the food right out of my mouth. She has squatted here for the last year and claims she is doing everything she can to please me – to no avail – but it’s not me I want her to please. I want her to please herself, by getting and holding a job and becoming a productive member of society. In the heat of the ranting last night, she said she would be better off in jail – at least she would get three meals a day with milk. I verbally agreed with her.

My father used to rant about milk in our house too; but when budgets were tight, you weren’t allowed to just go in the refrigerator for any and everything you wanted. And, my daughter, having never learned the true value of a dollar (or, the value of a dollar these days) doesn’t contribute, yet feels entitled to more than anyone else. For the most part, I don’t allow myself to drink milk because I know I need to use it for cereal in the mornings and cooking in the evenings. But ever so often, I will treat myself to a glass of milk, savoring every glorious ounce, and all the while convincing myself that I am entitled. What sets my teeth on edge and brings out the beast in me is my daughter’s ungratefulness and boorish way of taking what she wants.

In spite of myself, I did manage to get to church this morning. We heard a tract from Scripture where God tells Jeremiah to buy Hanamel’s field at Anathoth. Usually Old Testament verses just seem like a story to me, but this morning I heard it with new ears. Jeremiah was imprisoned by King Zedekiah, who asked him why he prophesied as he did. Jeremiah explains that the Lord had spoken to him and revealed to him that his uncle would be coming to him to sell him his land. When he said, “It is your right to redeem it and possess it, buy it for yourself,” I realized he was talking about much more than the land. He was talking about the availability of all of God’s promises, even when we feel imprisoned or oppressed - perhaps especially then. Later, in Jeremiah 32:14, he says, “retain the deed in an earthen vessel,” which convinced me further that this was about so much more than mere land and vineyards. We are all cracked earthen vessels (dust to dust), but we all have the promises of God written in our hearts; we just can’t always unbury them from the hardened shells of anger and resentment that try to snuff them out.

After the readings we heard a sermon which was ironically about prison ministries. He was telling about the maximum security prison that he enters on a regular basis to minister to inmates, many of whom have psychological problems. He told a story, in particular, about an elderly inmate who began sobbing uncontrollably one day and was brought to him in the clinic. In talking further with him, he learned that the man was overcome by grief because he had suddenly realized that he had lost all his worldly success from a single unforgivable offense; and would probably be spending the rest of his life trying to forgive himself, God’s forgiveness be hanged.

All this homiletic information came swirling into my brain, mixing and blending with all my thoughts of guilt and shame and made me realize that God knows my sorrow. God knows my sacrifice. God knows my sin, cracked earthen vessel that I am. But He is rejoicing because I was strong enough to end the madness last night. He is proud that I resisted doing what that old man must have wished he had been strong enough to resist. He is glad that I knew Him well enough to know the promises He has made for me; and for holding onto what’s written on my heart, beneath all those tender pressure points that my daughter likes to push. He is happy that I made it to church to hear this particular message because by His Spirit He strengthens me so I will not spend the rest of my days in prison. I am set free. It is my right to redeem and possess it. But my daughter – she must buy it for herself.