From Sanctuary to Woodshed

My Pretty Purple Room is my haven.  It’s my go-to spot for when I want to relax, read, refresh, and reflect.  It’s where I do many of my Bible Studies, journaling, blogging, and enjoying my crafts.  It’s my sanctuary.

Not many folks are allowed in.  It’s sacred, in a sense, and must be enjoyed by those who enter into it.  It’s where I meet with God and feel closest to Him.

Imagine then, to my chagrin, when last night this place of beauty became one of beating.  My security nest became my courtroom and I was the one on trial.  

It all began innocently enough.  Steve had mentioned that he wanted to catch up with me on my studying on the Book of Proverbs so we verse by verse read and discussed Chapter 18.  We talked about many of the parallels we had noticed in biblical brothers and in a set of brothers we know fairly well.  And then, out of the blue, the conversation shifted and BAM!  Suddenly I was the brother.  I was the man with the broken spirit.  I was the offender.  In my tongue was the power of life and death--and death was what I was causing.

Oh so gently but with great compassion, my faults were laid out.  My transgressions that I had been unaware of were listed and brutal facts were bared as I realized what I thought was my place in actuality was not and the spankings began.  As each issue was confronted, I felt the sting of the chastening rod.  As my pride was dealt with, I reeled with the blows.  And as the lesson was explained, all I could do was cry hot tears of anger, frustration, and see that yes, indeed, I have been out of line, and the tears of guilt and shame flowed down my embarrassed cheeks.

I had no defense.  No excuses would cover my “crimes.”  No witnesses were called in to vouch for my character, for you see, my character had been already determined and found lacking.  The evidence of my behaviour was there in all its sad glory and I was found guilty.  And then came the sentencing stage.  My punishment was to...to change my ways.  To accept my mistakes and learn from them.  To be thankful for the opportunity to do better next time. And the next.  For you see, I am not held prisoner to a life-sentence of gloom and doom.  Instead, I am being released on my own recognizance.  

As I wrote in my thankful journal (the one I started the other day to write down one thing that brought me joy for each day), the tears of sorrow were tempered with joy because, you must understand, I realized that my God loves me.  My God loves me enough to chasten me, to correct me, to discipline me, to reprove me.  Reprove:  isn’t that a great word when read as re-prove?  It’s like one is given another opportunity to prove that s/he is worthy.

Here’s what I wrote.  Read it slowly, pausing after each phrase.  Feel my pain and then?  Experience my joy as again, I am reminded that God loves me, that my husband loves me enough to tell me the truth, and that between us all, hope arises for better.  Amen?

My PPR tonight became a woodshed experience.  So many hard truths were exposed and oh, how my flesh was...spanked?  No.  Torn apart?  Yeah.  Broken.  Cut.  Bruised.  

And I thank You, Lord God, that it was.  Yeah, it hurts but I know this discipline was necessary and I know I must let go of my desires and trust You for the greater good.  So, yes, thanks Lord for this woodshed experience.  May the wisdom taught to me tonight take root in my soul, be applied to my heart, and be exampled in my life is my prayer.  Amen.