Grace | All is Well

The Whole Christ: Book Review

March 9, 2016 By Shelly Durkee

A couple of months or so ago, I read a pre-release review of the upcoming book The Whole Christ, by Sinclair Ferguson. My interest was immediately piqued, so when Crossway Publishers offered a free copy in exchange for a review, I decided to delve into it.

I had never heard of the Marrow controversy before. And, after reading Ferguson’s book, I am honestly not entirely sure that I understand it yet completely. It is a very nuanced event in church history, it seems. But I found the debate and the logic presented by both those who were caught up in the historical controversy 250 years ago, and how it has played out through today, absolutely fascinating.

But, more than the debate and logic aspect (which I admittedly love) of the entire thing, I found myself drawn to the more personal intonations–law vs. Gospel, law and gospel, law or gospel. While it seems that it would be (and is, by reading various books and blogs and articles) easy to fall into one category or the other in our personal theological framework, it is so much more complicated than that. Or, maybe we make it more complicated, by divvying up our opinions on the subject and adding labels such as legalist and antinomianist, and somehow completely miss the beauty–and necessity–and scriptural truth–of both.

Ferguson does an excellent job here of continually pointing us back to Christ, and Christ only. I am both an habitual rule-follower and a rebellious rule-breaker. I fluctuate back and forth, sinfully finding comfort both in law and in grace–depending on the day and whatever I might happen to be justifying in that moment–rather than adoring and worshipping the whole Christ. I want to fit Him into what fits me, in any given moment. This book was a kick.

What was most fascinating was the relationship between the legalism/antinomianism topic, and assurance of salvation. That’s something I’d never quite made a connection on before, but Ferguson’s explanation makes sense (although I am far from understanding it well).

This turned out to be more than a nerdy theological read. At times it was frustrating, and created far more questions than answers, but overall I found it to be excellent, though-provoking and challenging.

Dwelling Place

March 8, 2016 By Shelly Durkee

Our little house that is a home received a face-lift today.

A gentleman from the dear Methodist church that we rent from, came by and painted the shutters a bright, cheery blue. The color reminds me of the blue sky that I love so much.

I often write about our little home. It is God’s grace to us; a gift given to us when we truly didn’t know where we would live. It allowed us to stay near our own church family, and for the kids to remain in their school districts, during a time of much uncertainty and fear in our lives.

I love this home.

And, we have not just lived here, we have dwelt here.

I think there is a difference between “living” somewhere, and “dwelling” somewhere.

“Dwelling” evokes images of putting down roots, burrowing in, settling down and saying “This is where I belong.”

And, that is what we’ve done. We have dwelt, here in this little 3-bedroom, 1-bath home. We have learned a new way of living within these walls; a new normal that at first felt odd and strange, and terribly unsettling, but now feels–well, normal.

We have laughed much in this living room with its strangely colored walls. We have tried to cook (none of us are very adept at cooking) in this kitchen, and have also played some great games of kitchen soccer as well. We have had long one-on-one and family talks in these bedrooms. We’ve found refuge in them, also, when the tears have come. We’ve celebrated birthdays and good report cards and Navy acceptance calls and job successes and soccer game wins and graduations in this place. And I’ve worked from this worn desk day after day, to provide for my crew.

I love this place. And I love dwelling here.

In fact, in looking up the definition of the word “Dwell”, I found this word listed as one of its synonyms: Be Settled.

My soul and mind settle best, within this dwelling.

A couple of weeks ago, at my dear church–also a place we have dwelt in as refuge and sanctuary–we sang a song by Tommy Walker. The title is Dwelling Place.

I’ve thought long and hard about the lyrics of this song, in the past few weeks. And when we sang it as worship that Sunday morning, I struggled to get through it. The words express something that I have come to discover as truth–and my (and our) only hope: God is our dwelling place. He is my dwelling place.

It is in Him, and Him only, that I am truly settled in both my mind and my soul.

The chorus of this song by Mr. Walker is this:

You’ve been our home
You’ve been our shelter safe
For young & old to generations past
We stand in awe of a God so great
We stand in thanks for your faithfulness
O Lord, you’ve been our dwelling place.

And those are the words I can barely sing, without being overcome.

He has been our home.

He has been our shelter safe.

He is my shelter safe. He is a safe place, in the middle of the dark night, when the walls close in. He is a safe place, when weariness overtakes me and I think that I cannot push forward one more step. He is a safe place, when there are parenting and life decisions that must be made, and I don’t know where else to go. He is a safe place–yes, even when I am struggling with doubts about who He is, and about His goodness! Even then, He is the safe place to take those thoughts and questions and fears.

And, when I truly, truly dwell within the circumference of who He is, I am settled.

Much like I am, within this home. Only more so. Deeper. Certain. Settled.

So, standing in my yard today, looking at my newly-painted-blue-like-the-sky shutters, I am in awe of a God so great.

That He has given us this home.

And, that He is our home. Our dwelling place.

And I stand in thanks.

One thing have I asked of the Lord,
    that will I seek after:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
    all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord
    and to inquire in his temple.

⁵For he will hide me in his shelter
in the day of trouble;
he will conceal me under the cover of his tent;
he will lift me high upon a rock.

Psalm 27:4-5

‘Tis So Sweet….

February 23, 2016 By Shelly Durkee

‘Tis So Sweet, to Trust in Jesus,

Just to Take Him At His Word….

These are words that I heard this morning, early, as I made the drive from the airport in Atlanta, 90 miles down the road to Warner Robins, for a series of work meetings.

It was pouring rain, with lightning strikes and thunder and water on the roadway. But the weather wasn’t what was creating uneasiness in my mind and soul, as I traveled. In fact, the ride itself was smooth–I had scored a free upgrade to a Jeep Renegrade SUV; I was quite safe as I navigated the traffic and the weather.

But my soul and heart were, and are, maybe still, a bit….uneasy.

I love my job; very much so. And, I don’t really mind the occasional travel that it requires. I enjoy meeting up with my team members in different cities, to do excellent work. They are among some of the finest people, in the industry. Plus, they are just fun to be around.

But the timing of this trip, for my crew, is not good. Some challenging situations that have cropped up in the past 8-10 days, made leaving them so much harder this time.

So when I turned on Pandora, and this old hymn that expresses these sentiments so surely and confidently came on, I found myself thinking of the words.

How could the author of the words–written in 1882–sing this with such unwavering steadfastness? How could she–her name was Louisa M. Stead–how could Mrs. Stead say that trusting Jesus is..sweet? As opposed to using words such as “hard”? And, “unnerving”? And, even, a bit frightening?

I think it is easy to say or sing the words–they are beautiful, indeed. And scriptural. In fact, we often turn to such words, in scripture, when we are in turmoil:

Psalm 28:7:

The Lord is my strength and my shield;
in him my heart trusts, and I am helped;
my heart exults,
and with my song I give thanks to him.

How often have I–and you–and we turned there, for comfort and assurance? And these words, too, found also in the book of Psalms:

Psalm 112:7

He is not afraid of bad news;
his heart is firm, trusting in the Lord.

Saying them, when we are not in the midst of hard things, or even saying them when we are, and are looking for comfort and assurance, is one thing.

But doing them–applying them as verbs to our souls and minds, is quite another. When the “bad news” comes, what does it mean to “Take Him at His Word?” How do we rest upon His promise? Upon the sovereignty that rings through the phrase “Thus Sayeth the Lord?” How do we cease both sinfulness and self-centeredness? How do we sing to God—and mean it–“Just to know that thou art with me”?

And, how do we know that He will be, to the end? And, beyond the end, into eternity?

It’s hard to live the verbs of these phrases, when the bad news comes. It’s hard to do the active clinging to the promises in scripture, as parents, when we see our children hurting, and making wrong choices. It’s hard to–can I say, obey?–the call to trust God, when the diagnosis comes, and our world is spinning.

I don’t know about you, dear reader and friend, but I find the words of this beautiful hymn to be challenging.

The author of the lyrics of this song, knew those tough times. One sunny afternoon, she, her husband, and their 4-year-old daughter decided to picnic off of Long Island Sound. At some point during their time together that day, they heard a boy calling for help, from the water. Mr. Stead entered the water in an attempt to rescue the boy, but they both drowned.

And Louisa Stead found herself alone–a young widow, with a young child to raise.

And it is from that flash-point need to decide where she would turn to, in the frightening days that lay before her, that these words were born out of her soul.

Later in life, Louisa and her daughter would travel to South Africa as missionaries. And, according to Kenneth W. Osbeck, author of 101 More Hymn Stories, Part 2, this is the message she sent back to the United States, upon arriving in what was then known as Rhodesia, but today is known as Zimbabwe:

“In connection with the whole mission there are glorious possibilities, but one cannot, in the face of the peculiar difficulties, help but say, ‘Who is sufficient for these things?’ But with simple confidence and trust we may and do say, ‘Our sufficiency is of God.’”

Simple confidence and trust. Our sufficiency is of God.

But where lies the ability to connect these words with the action of trusting God?

Looking over the hymn tonight, and over scripture, I wonder if it might not lie, in the living of these words:

“How I’ve proved Him, o’er and o’er…”

Has He not been faithful? Has He not been steadfast? Has He not seen? And known? And acted?

Is His love not evident, in the very Gospel itself–that He came to earth to be among us–God in flesh–and then became the sacrifice for our salvation–not because of anything we have done to earn that kind of love, but simply because He loves us.

Has He not been our Lord and Savior, our Father, our shepherd, the holy and righteous one who is sovereign in all things?

He has. He is. Oh, how I have proved Him, o’er and o’er, my friends. So many times. With so many to go, I am certain.

But here is where you–and I–must live our lives, every day–it is where we must return to consistently and continually and always–in the joyful times and in the dark times–we must recognize our need for the last line of the chorus of this beautiful hymn:

O, for grace…to trust Him more!

And, in those moments when we are in need of that grace to not just say that we trust Him, but truly to trust–in those heart-stopping, mind-numbing moments, or those weary-long-day moments, we must turn to Him for that grace, because truly it only comes from Him.

²⁰And they brought the boy to him. And when the spirit saw him, immediately it convulsed the boy, and he fell on the ground and rolled about, foaming at the mouth. ²¹And Jesus asked his father, “How long has this been happening to him?” And he said, “From childhood. ²²And it has often cast him into fire and into water, to destroy him. But if you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us.” ²³And Jesus said to him, “‘If you can’! All things are possible for one who believes.”

²⁴Immediately the father of the child cried out and said, “I believe; help my unbelief!”

(Mark 9)

O, for grace, to trust Him more.

The Source of Steadfastness, When We are Caught Off-Guard (Isaiah 41:17-20)

November 28, 2015 By Shelly Durkee

Occasionally–this happens to each and every one of us–we get suckered punched. In the gut.

We will be joyful, settled, good, and then something will happen, that cuts our legs right out from underneath us.

That was my world, this past Wednesday night, in our church sanctuary–a place I seek and find refuge and safety in, often–when I and my girl were unexpectedly blindsided by a message from my girl’s dad, through someone who had recently visited him.

And, complete honesty, it messed us both up a bit.

We tried to laugh it off, as we sat there waiting for the service to begin. But my girl put it quite well, as we drove home afterwards–it really wasn’t that funny. It really wasn’t funny, at all.

It was painful.

And, in those moments, the wind was knocked out of my lungs.

And, in those moments, I struggled mightily to dig my nails into what I know to be truth: God is real. God is sovereign. He sees, knows and acts. He is the provider of grace and mercy. And there will be a day, when the grief of this world is no more.

But my grip was tenuous, at best.

We’ve all been there. We’ve all experienced those unexpected moments of despair. The ones that bring us from worshipful joy and laughter and settledness, to a place of feeling ill and unsettled and wrecked.

And, in those moments, there is only one place to go.

Sure, we could find comfort in friends, or therapists, or chocolate, or binge-watching TV, or any number of avenues.

But none of those avenues provide the only real balm to the raw places in our souls.

Our only hope to escape those moments of darkest despair, is God.

It’s these verses, right here, in Isaiah 41:

When the poor and needy seek water,
    and there is none,
    and their tongue is parched with thirst,
I the Lord will answer them;
    I the God of Israel will not forsake them.
¹⁸I will open rivers on the bare heights,
    and fountains in the midst of the valleys.
I will make the wilderness a pool of water,
    and the dry land springs of water.
¹⁹I will put in the wilderness the cedar,
    the acacia, the myrtle, and the olive.
I will set in the desert the cypress,
    the plane and the pine together,
²⁰that they may see and know,
    may consider and understand together,
that the hand of the Lord has done this,
    the Holy One of Israel has created it.

When we are poor and needy and in search of water for the parched place that is our mind and soul–God promises He will answer.

He will not forsake them. He will not forsake us. He will not forsake me.

The imagery here is one of peace and provision. The words that portray rivers and fountains and springs and pools—whew. There is peace there. There is water to slake our thirst. There is rest. Rest. Rest beside the waters.

And, in our wilderness, there will grow things we never imagined would ever grow again. In these verses, the author writes of things one would never see in a wilderness–alive and growing: cedar, acacia, myrtle, olive, cypress, pine. And in our own hearts and minds, God causes things to grow that we never thought we’d see again—love, joy, peace, settledness, assurance, safety, and a sense of the realness of His presence.

The hand of the Lord has done this. And will do this. Because He will not forsake.

Even when our breath is taken by the unexpected. He is the only steadfast one, and our only hope.

And He is the only one who can steady our unsteadiness, in those unexpected, gut-punched moments.