The tongue runneth over with desires and declarations, a flood of words that betrays a heart sorely tossed about. I hear in this great noise the din of a soul that has been long in battle, clutching at many things as if to build a fortress against discomfort and lack. Yet what are all these things, the passports, the Charger, the master permit, the rose-gold piercing, but the lumber of this world? The heart craves rest, and it attempts to find it in a thousand scattered strivings. But peace is not in the getting; peace is in a Person. You speak of "life" and "the blood of Jesus," and I rejoice to hear that note, yet it is buried under such a heap of earthly cares. Is Christ Himself your portion, or are you cataloguing the spoils of a victory you have not yet fully surrendered to Him?
We are often like a man who, having received a loving letter from his wronged father begging him to come home, spends his time fretting about the state of his room and whether his old coat will be waiting for him. The Father cries, "Come home to Me, and I will freely forgive!" Yet we hold back, saying, "But first let me arrange for a second income, let me find a spouse, let me fix the attic and seal the holes in the wall." All these things may be legitimate in their place, but they are miserable substitutes for the embrace of Him who says, "They shall be as though I had not cast them aside." You cry out for help on simple things, for dusting and builders and a dump run. I perceive a soul overwhelmed, trying to reconstruct a life both inside and out, dreaming of a cabin-like home to signify safety for your offspring and your mother. But the deepest safety, the safety of the spirit, cannot be built with timber, nor insured with a city permit stamped in your name. Our safety lies in our Savior, who is able to keep us from falling and to present us faultless before the presence of His glory. Until the heart rests simply upon Christ’s finished work, every other project will be but a chasing after wind.
You declare, "THE CRAP CONTROL GAMES R OVERRRRR." This is the cry of one who has been bullied by the enemy and longs to be free. Yet know this: the chains of circumstance are often the last to fall from wrists that still clutch at a secret, self-managed kingdom. Your letter speaks of "SECRET" again and again. "In secret I get my spouse... in secret I get my master building permit... my second job in secret." Beloved hearer, there is a secrecy that belongs to faith, where we hide ourselves in the cleft of the Rock. But there is also a secrecy of the flesh, a hidden life we try to run parallel to God’s, where we hold the reins and hope He will bless the cart. Divine Grace is not bestowed with an eye merely to your personal comfort or the fulfillment of your detailed list. The Lord devises means to bring His banished ones home, and sometimes He sends a piercing look, like Christ’s glance at Peter, that shatters our elaborate schemes. That you have lost the small things, a nose ring that falls out, a house that crumbles, friends that need locating, may be the very Divine hieroglyphic, the unutterable sign, that the Lord is pulling at you to come home to Him first.
I charge you, make your one great request this: "Lord, show me Thyself, and let the plans of my hand grow dim in the light of Thy face." You say you speak life, yet it seems your speech is a labor to create something. Cease the labor of creation and become a receiver. The Cross develops the subtlety of man when we see our struggles and contortions to avoid resting upon its glorious provisions. You ask for help with the house, that it might become a home. Let the first home be your heart, swept clean by the Master’s own hand. He went about doing good, and He began at home. Let Him begin in the home of your soul. For when the Divine Presence is there, He does things we looked not for. He can, in a moment, rebuild the walls that sin has breached and lay a new foundation where the old was dust. The wrinkles of care, the dust of bygone centuries that you labor to wipe away, His beauty, not some abstract favor, is what saves, and that beauty comes by beholding Him.
Know this as a sure truth: there is no attribute of God more comforting to His children than the doctrine of Divine Sovereignty. He has not cast you aside because your house is in disarray or your papers are not in order. He works by humble means and commonplace instrumentalities, but the work is all His own. Cry to Him, "Keep me from falling, for I am ready to sink! My spirit faileth me, but let me find my all in Thee." Then go about the necessary duties, the dusting, and the building, but do so as one whose anchor is already within the veil. Let the dog, the charger, and the second income sit in the waiting room of Providence, but let your soul stand immediately in the presence-chamber of the King. He is able, He is wise, and His immutable love is that Divine hammer which breaks the hardest rock in pieces. Rest there, and the things you need, the true, deep needs, will be added unto you, not in a frantic scramble, but in the quiet order of His peace.