the Rock, (the rain, and the glory). part two.

The rock was just like so many of the other ones that line the rubble and trash on the side of many of the roads in our city. It was small and worn, about the size of my fist. And I couldn’t stop looking at it. After all that had happened in the days prior to this one, I learned not to count anything strange, but what is with this rock? Father, what are you trying to say?
The truth is, He was saying more than I will ever know. The 3 days prior to this one, all I could see was one thing.

Darkness.

That’s all I see, Father, total and utter darkness. He opened my eyes to it in a new way one night. Well, more like He came in and rocked me to the core – think “force of a hurricane, ferocity of a tidal wave, speed of a tornado, and impact of a plane crash” type rocking. A big one.

My eyes were opened to it, to a depth not yet realized in my 24 years. The wonderful, precious bubble of small town, church going life, it took a 2x4 to the head. Do I despise my upbringing? Absolutely not, for it made me the lover of people and mercy and sweet tea that I am today. But the Father desired to broaden that view a little more, desired to fit a bigger view of Him into my perspective.

This view, however, began with this revelation. The world is lost.

Now I know, “Duh,” is probably what you’re thinking. And well, honestly, it is what I would’ve said too. That’s not it though. I just came face to face with the evil. Face to face. And it was overwhelming, oppressive, and very, very real.

So the rock, well what in the world are You saying Father? I haven’t noticed anything but these women with their heads covered and these idols and these people in chains for days. I’ve cried and yelled and begged for you to break through. To show me You. Why this rock?
And with more force than the entire hurricane in my heart, He says this,

“It declares My glory.”

Oh, gotcha. I literally laughed out loud sitting on my motorbike, which was quite a miracle given my then current emotional state. “You’re right.” is what I said to Him. Of course, He knows that, but who doesn’t like to hear that when it’s true? And I’m so thankful that with Him, He’s always right. He’s always true. And so, from that point, He began this work. Well, not really. He began it long ago, but this season’s work, it began there. The expansion of His greatness and goodness and sovereignty started right there.

“That tree, it declares My glory.
That rain, it declares My glory.
Those clouds, that grass, those flowers, that sun? Those too.
That person, who is made in My image? Him too.”

Father generally has to start with the basics for my much loved, but so stubborn heart. And so He did. My faith was so weak, and He used a rock to cry out, “He’s glorious!”

And what’s more, that rock was an Ebenezer in this season. “Then Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen and called its name Ebenezer; for he said, “Till now the L0RD has helped us” (1 Samuel 7:12) Here I raise my Ebenezer, hither by Thy help I come. Thanks, “Come Thou Fount” for teaching me so much in one line of a hymn.

He literally used a rock to show me that He is the Rock. That I can bank on Him. That I can trust His glory will come through His kingdom coming on this earth, in this country, on this island, in this city. And it’s only “by His help” that I come, that I can even raise my Ebenezer. I know it’s true. When all I can see is what I see, He gives me the faith to see what I cannot see. That He is here. I can’t do it, but He can. He can bring beauty from ashes. And through the ashes my previous perspective, He is making all things new.

Whoever thought a rock could teach me all that?

the Rock, the rain, and the glory. part one.

To be honest, my life is run by “shoulda’s.” I should have done this or that. I should have tried harder. I should have looked at things from a different perspective. I should have opened my mouth. I should have kept my mouth shut. I should have, I should have, I should have.

Well you know what a lot of “shoulda’s” leave? A whole heapin’ mess of guilt. Operating like that for too long, it is one of the most crippling things I can do to myself. I know this very logical truth, yet do I still fall into the trap? Of course. I’m human. And I’m much like a man I greatly respect who says, “For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate…For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out.” And it is when I sit and think about the source that I learn more than I ever thought I would.

I haven’t written much in a long time. And there’s a good reason. It’s hard. It’s hard to write about lessons that the Father is teaching me, because most all of them these days are born out of my own brokenness. And if my life was my own, I certainly wouldn’t be writing them down for the world to read; yet, “it is not I who live, yet [He] who lives within me.” So what am I to do with that? Oh, yeah. Obey. And we are called to walk this road together, so if His work in my life glorifies His Name and causes others to do the same, then I want to share it.

Living in this country has made me closer to the Father than any other experience of my entire life. And you know what? It’s exhausting being close to Him. It really is. It’s exhausting dying every single day. It’s exhausting being poured out. It’s exhausting learning language. It’s exhausting being constantly intentional. It’s exhausting being totally and utterly dependent on Him. And you want to know why?

Because I am human. And we, as a whole, love too much our own lives and desires and schedules and plans and relationships. And the fight is what is exhausting. The fight between my flesh and Him. And in my heart, oh how I wish it was different! How I wish I would always do the thing I want to do! Yet, here we are. Me writing to you about my shortcomings and my failures. And I’m tired. I’m tired. Of me. Always getting in the way.

There’s this constant bondage to self and sin that I still walk in. Seriously, I thought I was done with that? The thing is, Father is done with that. Remember, Morgan, “It is finished.” You just never really realize fully how much we need the Good News. Every. Single. Second. And I’m learning that more and more. I’m living as a slave to something that I’ve already been set free from. How dumb is that? I mean, when you really think about it, what slave, no longer bound by the law, would still desire it? I mean, it is comfortable, because it’s a pattern. But yet, when I see glimpses of the freedom that surrendering brings, I crave it. I crave to believe that I, truly, in and of myself, cannot do it. And moreover, be okay with that.

I can’t do it.

There’s a difference in typing that and saying that, and then having to actually mean it and believe it. And these past 10 weeks, I really, totally, completely have believed that I cannot. How’s that for blowing the “shoulda’s” out of the water? No amount of striving on my part can achieve a standing with Father different than the one I already have. Innocent, holy, dearly loved, child. And in coming to the end of myself, I realize that surrendering to that, welllllll, it brings so much freedom.

I can’t do it. These 10 weeks, there has been no back up plan. There has been no B. There’s been no, “oh, I can survive this season.” My pleadings have been, over and over again, “If You don’t show up, Father, I don’t know how I’m going to do this.”

Y’all, He did. He showed up every single time.

So I feel obligated in thankfulness and humility to talk about it. To talk about what has happened in the past 10 weeks. The good, bad, and ugly.

Because I can’t, but He can.

the top button.

Then Moses said, “Now show me Your glory.”

And the [Father] said, “I will cause all My goodness to pass in front of you…”
Exodus 33:18-19

It happened. The same thing happens again and again in this place, I learn lessons that I thought I had nailed down for a long time. The goodness of our Father, that’s a new one. Growing up in a small town and in the church, while I am ever grateful and thankful for it, did lead me to have perhaps a false impression of the general state of the world. It’s bad, y’all. Some of you know that because you’re not quite as sheltered or just as self-proclaimed optimistic as I am. Generally, I enjoy seeing only the best in people, to my own detriment sometimes.

I had the opportunity recently to glean some wisdom from someone whom I greatly respect. It met me right where I was at. In living over here, I don’t know if it’s because it’s a different culture, different worldview, different perspective, or merely a different lifestyle, but it is much easier to see the world with a more realistic perspective. I feel the weight of the fallen-ness (mine and mankind’s) in a way that I had not yet realized. It can leave you questioning, well scratch that, it had left me questioning.

How can You see all this happening and remain as You are? How can You send Your own Son for this mess? How can You know and not act? How does this work, Father, because I KNOW You are good, but I can’t see it?

Enter Psalm 73.

“Truly [He] is good to Israel, to those who are pure in heart. But as for me, my feet had almost stumbled, my steps had nearly slipped. For I was envious of the arrogant when I saw the prosperity of the wicked…”

Asaph’s being totally honest. He knows of Father’s goodness, but he’s struggling. He writes on to talk about how he just sees desolation, wickedness, and slander. And Asaph, man, he just can’t see it. He knows it, but he can’t see it.

”But when I thought how to understand all this, it seemed to me a wearisome task, until I went into the sanctuary of [Father]; then I discerned their end.”

Good job, Asaph. Go into the sanctuary. Isn’t that what we all need? To go into the sanctuary. Fix our eyes on JC, and look at eternity. Their end is not our end.

Asaph resolves,
“Whom have I in heaven but You? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides You. My flesh and my heart may fail, but You are the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”
And…
“But for me, it is good to be near [Father]…”

Stay with me for a few more minutes, friends. I love the progression. I know Father is good. I can’t see it, but I know it. I’m struggling because of all this wickedness, my own and in the world. I go into the sanctuary. I ask Father to reveal Himself. He shows me. There is no one but Him, and then for me, I see Father is good. He is good, and for me, He is good.

The transformation that the goodness of Father has in our lives is imperative to seeing.

The Father uses His goodness to proclaim His glory.


Just like Moses, when he asked to see Father’s glory, what did Father show Moses?
His goodness.


That’s the core, the central truth to all of it. That’s the basis for all my other judgments of the attributes of our Father. This greatly respected man I was telling you about, he calls it “the top button.” Like when you’re buttoning your shirt, how did you learn? Do you start in the middle? Not normally, because then you wind up at the end with an extra button or an extra hole and the two sides of the shirt are out of whack. You start at the top when you button your shirt, so that everything lines up, even until the end.


His goodness has to be the top button. Then, when things knock you down, when conflict or struggle or battle comes, when this world is overwhelming, your top button is still buttoned. His omniscience, His justice, His mercy, His omnipotence – they all come through the lense of His goodness. He is good, and I don’t know how this current mess all plays out, but I know the end. I know He’s good. His goodness proclaims His glory. And that’s what He’s all about.


The top button is buttoned.