Surviving when you choose the permissive will of God
Therefore I urge you, brethren, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies a living and holy sacrifice, acceptable to God, which is your spiritual service of worship. And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may prove what the will of God is, that which is good and acceptable and perfect. Romans 12:1-2
A common theme often surfaces in conversations with people who are frustrated, bitter, anxious, or disappointed with their lives. It’s this: They recognize that they took a wrong turn somewhere back in their past, and the anguish and disillusionment they face as a result just about wipes them out. Every negative thing that has occurred in their lives ever since, they believe, can be traced back to that one bad decision. And they live in regret and self-loathing, never quite able to forgive themselves or anyone else involved with the situation.
Not too long ago I spoke with a precious believer whose life has been upended. Years ago, she made a move in her life that she is convinced was contrary to the perfect will of God. Ever since, turmoil, consternation, and calamity have hit her smack in the face—and in her pocketbook, her career, her peace, and her joy. And she is having extreme difficulty forgiving herself for taking that wrong turn way back when.
I shared with her a story about a foolish decision I once made that brought chaos into my own home. Although my mistake was not as earth-shattering as marrying the wrong person, moving into the wrong house, or taking the wrong job, nevertheless, it demonstrated some truths about the permissive will of God. Be cautioned: This tale involves cats.
In December of 2004, I had that instructive dream about which I blogged yesterday. In early 2005, I put my “old man” cat Amos to sleep, decreasing the number of felines at home to a manageable three. However, a former beau decided that I would be the perfect owner for his sister’s cat’s kitten. I told him I wasn’t interested; I didn’t need another cat. He persisted and talked me into visiting the kitten.
Foolishly, I went along with him, and—sucker for cats that I am—I fell in love with that humongous, 11-pound, eight-month-old kitten. To be honest, also in the back of my mind I thought that adopting his sister’s cat would open the door to rekindling the relationship. Pretty stupid, huh?
Most of us don’t make decisions outside of the perfect will of God without “good” reasons. I have since learned to check my motives with the Lord before jumping into new decisions. When our motives aren’t in line with the will of God, our choices usually won’t be, either.
I brought the big, fluffy, blue-eyed white cat home with me and named him Rowe after the cat in my dream. Because this cat was so big and full of kittenish behavior, without missing a beat he threw the house into an uproar that lasted for three solid years. He destroyed a new leather loveseat; it was the speed bump in the middle of his favorite raceway which extended from one corner of my small house to the opposite one—he would leap on the couch and over it, using his enormous claws as traction—both coming and going. I counted as he galloped back and forth, back and forth—30 or more laps at a time—before he conked out in a pile of white fur, only to re-energize and start all over again.
Toilet paper was one of his favorite toys; I lost count of the times I was greeted by shreds of it all over the house; every time it happened, I kicked myself once again for forgetting to hide it.
He followed me everywhere and would leap heavily onto my shoulder as I walked past him; his thunderous galloping was constantly heard throughout the house (and I learned this is why his previous owner actively sought a new home for him). He chased the girl cats who returned the favor with constant hissing and spitting, snarling and screeching anytime they caught a glimpse of him. I thought surely my sweet male cat Gideon could settle him down. He tried. He calmly walked up to Rowe one day, and extending the paw of fellowship, started gently licking him on the neck. Rowe, however, full of mischief and spitfire, knocked Gideon into next Tuesday with one swipe of his paw.
Whereas the girls were in a constant state of seething indignation, Gideon lost his personality that day. He withdrew into timidity and blandness, hiding under furniture and venturing out only when the coast was clear.
I was heartbroken. I had foolishly brought turmoil into my home, and my pets were suffering for it. I prayed, asking God if I should return the cat to his owner or put him up for adoption. I sensed the Lord saying, “You made your bed. Now lie in it.”
When you make a poor choice and confess it to God, sometimes He will lead you out of it. But sometimes He doesn’t. You need to find out from Him what to do next—you got yourself into a mess by doing it your own way; don’t make the mistake of trying to fix it on your own. Let Him determine the next step, whether you like that step or not.
I kept the cat; he ended up needing prescription food for the rest of his life due to a urinary tract condition, and vet and food bills skyrocketed, causing my wallet to suffer. My furniture and “stuff” suffered due to his girth and his zeal for life; my other cats suffered due to his love of the chase; and I repented for my poor decision and prayed for peace to return.
These days, the girls still hate Rowe’s guts, but they have relaxed their constant, seething rage, limiting their disgust to giving him the evil eye and soft hisses. And about a year after the big kitten took the house by storm, Gideon’s personality returned, and he regained “top cat” position, despite Rowe’s six to seven pound advantage. The two boys now adore one another and are usually found napping close together, often grooming each other.
And believe it or not, Rowe is now the best behaved cat in the house. His dog-like personality seeks to please the alpha in the house—me—and he obeys orders that the others selectively ignore.
And to top it off, he has done his best to help me maintain the habit of prayer. Here’s how. Because of his special diet and Gideon’s penchant for edging him out of way and gobbling his food, Rowe eats breakfast every morning in the prayer room while I pray. He is such a stickler for consistency that when I’m in a hurry (or a mood) and don’t want to spend the time separated in the prayer room, the cat stubbornly refuses to eat. Therefore, in order to get him to eat his prescription food, I am “forced” to go to the prayer room with him—he eats; I pray.
God may deliver you from the poor choices you have made. Or He may say to you like He did to me, “You made your bed; now lie in it.” However, when He does direct you to walk out your “permissive-will-of-God” choice, once you confess your error and humbly entrust your future to Him, He will—sooner or later—turn it around for your good and for the furtherance of His will in your life.
Don’t live in regret. We all make mistakes; sometimes we make huge mistakes. But God is in a covenant relationship with you and cares for you more than you can fathom. What He desires of you is not 100% toe-the-line perfection; instead He seeks intimacy and honesty from you—and a depth of trust that can say to Him, “Lord, I’ve blown it. Forgive me and show me what to do now.”
And with a heart like that, He can work His wonders. All He needs from you is your honesty and trust.
Dorothy
Read MoreAntidote for spiritual staleness
I’ve had some wild dreams, most of which were the result of a colorful imagination or unusual culinary concoctions right before bed.
However, at the end of December, 2004, I had a vivid three-part dream I’d like to share. It came at a time when spiritual staleness had crept into my life, and I needed God’s help to break out of its grip.
Part One: I was dead (but very aware), lying on my back on a cold slab in a dark, eerie mausoleum. Across the room from me I saw three or so demons hopping and dancing about, paying no attention to me at all because I was dead. Although the room was creepy and I was terribly uncomfortable, I realized I was unafraid and very safe. I knew that the demons couldn’t touch me—again, because I was dead. I felt a strong connection to Christ and said to myself, “Well, anyways, I’ll rise up again!”
Part Two: As I was looking out my back door, I noticed a cave off to the right. A large bear emerged, and I thought, “I didn’t know there were bears in these parts.”
Then I saw a huge Galapagos tortoise walking through the yard from the left side, and I worried that the bear would devour him. However, the bear paid no attention to the turtle. Strolling to join the Galapagos was another—a female (I could tell by her long eyelashes. Stop laughing—it was a dream), and the two of them walked through my yard slowly but surely, without a care in the world.
Part Three: I looked out the same door again and saw a filthy white and red tabby cat named Rowe. I knew the bear would get him, so despite the fact that my resident cats would throw hissy fits, I let him in.
I noticed problems with Rowe’s mouth right away. He had blackish blisters on his lips, and his lower right canine tooth was missing. I opened his mouth and saw that he had a blackish tumor the size of half a grape on the back of his tongue. My thought was to get him to the vet as soon as possible.
Upon awakening I realized that God had given me insight into the staleness of my spiritual walk and was revealing steps to recapture the fire.
First, He showed me to reckon myself as dead. Dead people don’t get offended. I had been living my life very much alive to offense and hurt—and it was dulling me. He showed me that dead people in a cemetery are unmoved by what the living walking above them say. In the same way, in Christ I was to reckon—consider and count—myself as dead to the enemy and all his offensive tactics against me. “Even so consider yourselves to be dead to sin, but alive to God in Christ Jesus” (Romans 6:11); “For you have died and your life is hidden with Christ in God” (Colossians 3:3). Walking in offense was just as sinful for me as having an affair, boozing it up, or stealing from my friends. Uh oh, I thought. Time to reckon myself as dead.
Secondly, He directed me to put on the armor of God (see Ephesians 6). The Galapagos tortoises could amble about without a care in the presence of a prowling bear because of their shell-armor. I, too, could gain confidence and move without fear in the purposes of God if I was clothed in the armor He provided.
And third was the mouth. The cat in my dream was diseased in his mouth. God revealed to me that to live effectively involved maintaining a healthy mouth. I had grown lazy with my words, complaining, backbiting, and spewing bitter words without restraint. In the dream, I had pity on the sick cat and had a sense of urgency to get him veterinarian help; however, I needed to be all the more diligent to obtain spiritual medicine for my own mouth.
As I reflect on this dream ten years later, I am intensely aware of my need to take up these spiritual antidotes once again. A season of reckoning myself dead to sin and offense won’t cut it. My enemy seeks to pull me off course daily, and as I consistently reckon myself as dead, his job success decreases exponentially.
Likewise, putting on the armor every now and then is as foolish as getting dressed only once in a while! God has given me an invaluable set of protective armor so that the enemy’s tactics won’t find me vulnerable or exposed. But I must put it on as readily as I put on clothing every day if I want to effectively resist in the evil day, doing everything to stand firm (see Ephesians 6:13).
And on that note, I realized that for me to guard my mouth except when I get hurt or offended—or tired or bummed out or sick—is about as smart as wearing a seatbelt except when I’m in a big hurry, or there’s bad weather or a lot of traffic. To watch what I say only when things are going well isn’t very spiritual at all. But on the other hand, “the tongue of the wise brings healing” (see Proverbs 12:18)—even to my own life!
So take it from an unusual dream: Reckon yourself as dead in Christ, put on the full armor of God, and acquire spiritual medicine to heal your mouth of diseased words! These are surefire antidotes to spiritual staleness.
Dorothy
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