Limitless

"Common sense and faith are as different from each other as the natural life is from the spiritual, and as impulsiveness is from inspiration...Until we know Jesus, God is merely a concept, and we can’t have faith in Him. But once we hear Jesus say, “He who has seen Me has seen the Father” (John 14:9) we immediately have something that is real, and our faith is limitless. "

The above excerpt from Utmost resonated with me for two reasons, 1) In the Big Book, it says, "Common sense thus becomes uncommon sense", and 2) After having seen Christ, my faith has become limitless.

In the Big Book, I actually shared once on the idea of common sense becoming uncommon sense, but I did not relate it to faith. I possibly did not know what faith was in early sobriety; after all, for years I mistook an initial spiritual experience to be my psychic change. I certainly couldn't Let Go and Let God: I have only recently stopped fighting what does not happen to my (immediate) satisfaction. 

So now when I muse on common sense becoming uncommon sense, I will approach it from the understanding that it cannot co-exist with faith - the same way that fear cannot.

And for every time I want to leave the Church, I think about what was my first real spiritual experience, when Christ appeared to me. I was high, or, coming down and trying to use different drugs to alleviate that torment, and Jesus appeared in a tree, right outside the window, almost transparent. When I was a little girl, I was terrified that Jesus was going to appear to me. I told my mother, but she said that if he did, I would feel love. I wonder if I was afraid, because somehow I knew that he would come to me when I was suffering. But she was right, I did love. Love through the act of compassion. He said, "Follow me." and while I couldn't stay sober for a couple of more years after that, I could never leave him. I can't leave him now. And to know that I know God through him, and that God knows me, reassures me that while sometimes I can't properly practice Steps Six and Seven, I remain protected. 

"For we walk by faith, not by sight." - 2 Corinthians 5.7

Survival instincts

I found this a fascinating statement from a Christian, particularly a Reformed, but I know from my own experience, it is probably true:

"We do not need the grace of God to withstand crises— human nature and pride are sufficient for us to face the stress and strain magnificently. But it does require the supernatural grace of God to live twenty-four hours of every day as a saint, going through drudgery, and living an ordinary, unnoticed, and ignored existence as a disciple of Jesus."

Utmost

Foolish impulse

The past week or two I have sincerely been praying to be relieved of my impulsiveness. It is a real challenge in my life, and routinely lands me into trouble, or very awkward situations. I have finally reached a point where I see this, after (exactly) six months of excruciating consequences (that were all sorted out in the end), and where by the grace of God I have been exposed to the dangers. I know that with a contrite heart, and sincere willingness to change, he will remove this impetuosity from me. Today's Utmost reading talks about just this, in a way that I have never be shown before, and really it hit home to the point that I want to capture it, here:

"Impulsiveness is a trait of the natural life, and our Lord always ignores it, because it hinders the development of the life of a disciple. Watch how the Spirit of God gives a sense of restraint to impulsiveness, suddenly bringing us a feeling of self-conscious foolishness, which makes us instantly want to vindicate ourselves. Impulsiveness is all right in a child, but is disastrous in a man or woman— an impulsive adult is always a spoiled person. Impulsiveness needs to be trained into intuition through discipline.

Discipleship is built entirely on the supernatural grace of God. Walking on water is easy to someone with impulsive boldness, but walking on dry land as a disciple of Jesus Christ is something altogether different. Peter walked on the water to go to Jesus, but he “followed Him at a distance” on dry land (Mark 14:54)."

He knows

He knows I am sorry
So he doesn't try to scold
He gives me a look that says
"You were wrong"
and he stands with conviction.

He had compassion for me
Even though I let him down
Even though I let myself down
Even though I was hurting others.

But he had compassion for me
Because he knew I was sick
He knew I was unable
to live with myself.

So he said, "Come"
that I might have a new start
That I might learn
to contribute to life.

Because that's all he wants
It's not for him,
he doesn't need me.
It's just so that I can be
What I was meant to be
And then, he can say
that I had a life
well lived. 

God's test

I've been (not very diligently) reading a thirty-day meditation. It is very short, which is why I accepted to do so. I haven't gotten too much from it, but at Day Twenty, I would like to record "My Day Begins" (My day began hours ago, this is how committed I am to this).

"Whether God leads you

by suffering or consolation

will make no difference

if you truly resign yourself to finding his will.

But you can be sure

that there will be times of spiritual dryness,

of spiritual insensibility,

of exasperating difficulties

whenever you try to pray.

God will test your fidelity to him.

This is the time

to make good and effective

acts of resignation to his will,

for even such one act

could lead to spiritual growth."

What I really liked about today's meditation was first the idea that when we suffer, we will be okay throughout it if we can try to find God's will in it, for we will know that the suffering is really just in preparation for receiving what is good; what we are currently incapable of possessing, and second, that spiritual dryness is an action of God, not the inaction of man. That experiencing difficulty in prayer is really just a test that we are predestined to pass. 

When we can be accepting of our shortcomings it doesn't necessarily mean that we have resigned to being undisciplined, or not good, but rather, it the acknowledgement that may permit even greater spiritual growth.