Spiritual fire can feel very elusive in our modern, apathetic Christian world. Just as a dwindling campfire can be reignited into a roaring flame by being stoked, there are specific action steps that can do the same in our spiritual lives. I would like to explore three principles for the Christian life that naturally lead to spiritual passion.
I wearily sat down on the cold hotel bed, feeling completely overwhelmed as I watched my two toddlers toss restlessly in their portable cribs, coughing every few seconds. For the past two weeks our lives had felt like absolute chaos. Our four children, all under the age of six, had been hit with a serious respiratory infection that required us to give them nebulizer treatments several times a day.
The coffee mug slipped from her hands and shattered across the kitchen floor. Debbi stared at the brokenness scattered around her feet — a perfect picture of her life: everything was in pieces. She allowed the tears to come. It wasn’t about the mug; it felt like it was everything, all at once. The argument with her husband that morning. The mounting bills on the counter. Her mother’s declining health. The kids’ constant needs. The church commitments she’d said yes to when she should have said no. Her relationship with her best friend which now felt strained and broken.
“Annie, I’m really concerned about your dad’s low oxygen levels and his worsening, deep cough. At his age, there’s a real danger with pneumonia — something you want to get on top of quickly. And his heart failure is a delicate complication. My strong recommendation is that you take him in to the emergency room.”
“Annie, I’m really concerned about your dad’s low oxygen levels and his worsening, deep cough. At his age, there’s a real danger with pneumonia — something you want to get on top of quickly. And his heart failure is a delicate complication. My strong recommendation is that you take him in to the emergency room.”
Looking down at the caller ID, I briefly held my breath before answering my phone. It was the doctor following up on our communications about Dad’s symptoms over the last few days.
“Annie, I’m really concerned about your dad’s low oxygen levels and his worsening, deep cough. At his age, there’s a real danger with pneumonia — something you want to get on top of quickly. And his heart failure is a delicate complication. My strong recommendation is that you take him in to the emergency room.”
Imagine for a moment that you’re in a workout class. You probably know the feeling — a hot room, a big whiteboard listing every brutal exercise you’re about to endure, and maybe a group of people beside you, sweating it out on the same journey. The intensity is high. Your strength is fading with each passing rep. You feel like you’ve given it all you’ve got, and you’re ready to call it quits and head home for the day.
My dad was uncharacteristically quiet, and it worried me. He sat on a bench in his room staring down at his legs with a wearied, almost defeated expression on his face. We’d been dealing with large, open wounds from weeping edema (signs of his progressing congestive heart failure) that extended from both his ankles to his knees, and the healing process was painfully slow.
The season brought warmth, birds, and flowers, but I barely noticed the beauty and life around me. I was caught in a funk darker than the bleakest winter day. Physically, I had been sick with an infection I couldn’t shake. Spiritually, the enemy was assailing me through the bitter words of another. Emotionally, I was in turmoil because of the failing health of my husband.
The calming scent of cedar filled the room as I slowly lifted the heavy lid of the wooden chest. It had likely been more than ten years since I last looked inside. I drew out the familiar pink and white baby blanket resting on top and held it close, imagining how my dear mum had wrapped me up countless times in its pillowy folds and nestled me in her arms.
I’ll never forget the day my debt was cleared. The heavy, soul-disquieting weight I’d been carrying for several years was lifted in a moment — an expression of the mercy of God, the love of the body of Christ, and the profound beauty of grace.