Growing up in the church, I heard a lot of testimonies from people who went from bad to Jesus. Their lives consisted of one bad decision after another, which is what made their story so powerful. From alcohol, drugs, sex, and cigarettes, their rebellion would lead to a dramatic climax. Jesus showed up and their lives looked completely different. There was no denying that God got the credit.
As a girl who accepted Jesus at a young age, I couldn't relate. In fact, I admit to sometimes wishing I had a few years of rebellion under my belt. Then my story would be interesting and dramatic too.
Emily P. Freeman
Grace for the Good Girl
I've borrowed Emily's words today, because literally word for word she is telling my story.
When I was eighteen years old I went with our church's college group on a missions trip to Chungli, Taiwan.
I remember in preparing for the trip, we were all told to be ready at any time to share our testimony. I struggled with that.
Saying I prayed to accept Jesus as my Lord and Savior when I was eight years old and had been trying to live for Him ever since just seemed so boring. Not powerful enough.
I'd heard so many people share their testimonies through my teen years, and the stories people seemed to get excited about were the dramatic ones. The ones of night and day change in a person. Just like Emily says in her book.
I didn't have that. So I was conflicted over what to say. I did end up sharing once on that trip, with a couple of girls. The most impacting thing I could think of to do was to tell them about seeing God's hand at work during the life and death of my little sister. It was so fresh in my mind at that time, and the most powerful thing I could think of to share.
And I'm not saying God didn't use that. Or that it wasn't an amazing part of my life. But I didn't really feel like it was my testimony. I felt like I was just trying to say something impressive because I wanted these girls to know how amazing God is.
A dictionary definition of testimony is open declaration or profession, as of faith.
Last December, I was asked again to share my testimony. In a different kind of way at a ladies Christmas dinner.
Obviously, more than a decade since my last experience, a lot had changed. Still working through an intense season of my life, my thoughts and perspective on things were quite different.
After hours of contemplation, this was the testimony I shared:
I knew it was slightly vague, and lacked any impressively intense details. But in my life, it was paramount.
And I had come to the place where I finally realized my testimony is not really about me. It's my story of course, but it's not sharing my story for the sake of you knowing about me. It's sharing the story God has given me, that through it you might see Him. It is my declaration of faith. My professing who I have known God to be. Me, following in the footsteps of the magnitude of believers before me, testifying that God is God. That He is exactly who His Word says He is, and that I want you to know that I have seen this to be true.
In all this talk about rest for the last thirty-one days I have struggled.
I have feared sounding like I have some kind of authority to tell you something, when I know I have no authority to tell you anything. I have worried about getting it wrong. Saying something that isn't quite correct, misinterpreting a verse, taking someone else's words out of context…and more.
I have feared you perceiving that I live all of the things I am telling you perfectly. Thinking I have learned these lessons and I am all set now when it comes to rest.
Please don't think that.
If I can be so blunt as to tell you how I'd like you to receive my words from this series, this is it: they are my testimony.
This has all been me testifying of what I have seen of God. What I have come to know through faith-testing experience. What I want to share because I want you to see what I have seen.
Mark Buchanan writes:
All our authority is derived. Either God gives us words, or we are only giving opinions. Either God vouches for us, or our credentials are forged. If anyone ever stops to listen to you or me, this had better be solidly in place: Our speaking comes out of our listening. What we say comes out of what we hear. We have to be people who listen day and night, to God. Our utterances ought to be as Jesus' were: an echoing of the Father, an imitation of Him.
I know all that I've written about rest is full of human flaws. But I can say without question that it has all come out of a long season of listening. A season of utter desperation spent seeking for God to make Himself known to me.
And now as I wrap it up, my final thought: Don't let rest become an idol.
Don't become a worshiper of rest.
Worship Jesus.
With all your heart, mind and strength.
He will give you all the rest you need.
Will you take this? Jesus does love you. Jesus is always near you. I do not talk about the cross so much as about Jesus who was crucified. I do not talk about the grave, but about Jesus who rose. I do not talk about the ascension, but about Jesus who ascended. He is with you and me always. It is not holiness, but it is Jesus the holy one. It is not meekness, it is Jesus the meek one. It is not purity, it is Jesus the pure one. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus! Not it, not an experience, not emotion, not faith, but JESUS.
You have got the fountain beside you. You do not need to take your pitcher and go to draw in some external well. You have Jesus in you heart, a fountain springing up to everlasting life.
O soul, how rich thou art, who, passing through Jordan, hast come into the good land of rest!
F. B. Meyer
God is always speaking. "There is no speech or language / where [His] voice is not heard" (Ps. 19:3). But we're not always listening. We don't make the effort and so fail to go boldly into His throne room to receive what we need: a word that can pierce, and cut, and heal.
Here's the paradox: If we don't listen, we never enter His rest. Yet if we don't enter His rest, we never listen.
Practice a deeper listening during Sabbath. Most other days, by necessity as much as by choice, we live amid a clatter of noise. I am a man of unclean lips and live among a people of unclean lips. Certainly, our lips are busy. But Sabbath is when we stop. We slow down. We play, we rest, we dream, we wonder. We cease from that which is necessary and turn to that which gives life. And in the hush that descends, we listen.
Are you listening?
Mark Buchanan
The Rest of God
Today ended up being a full day with lots to accomplish and time spent with many dear friends.
I thought I would have time to write. But I didn't.
And now it's late and I'm tired, and I'm thinking about the irony of coming to this point where I need to practice what I preach.
So tonight I'm choosing rest. Very willfully, against every natural tendency within me. I'm choosing what I know is best. And comforting myself with these words that help me (the overachiever) know that it's okay.
Be. Trust. Receive. Respond.
When I live as though I believe that's true, activity doesn't stop. Rather, it takes on new life. It doesn't require an entire day of quiet reflection, although I wouldn't turn it down. It is purposing in my heart not to fret. It is allowing the day to go as it will. It is holding my plans with an open hand and a willing heart. When I have a chance to either be still or check my email, I can choose to be still. Not every time. Just this time.
Even in the midst of lots of activity, our souls have permission to rest. I don't always choose rest, but this is a sweet reminder to me that I have that option.
Emily P. Freeman
Grace for the Good Girl
