The Resolution for Women

by Priscilla Shirer

  This trail eventually winds around to a small, dry creek bed that doubles as the perfect place for many of our imaginary story lines to develop. On one occasion, we became particularly entertained by a large tree that had fallen across the ravine. My kids considered this a thrilling discovery. Each one of my sons, balancing themselves carefully, took turns going across, laughing at one another’s bobbles and falls, then celebrating when victory was finally achieved.

  I sat down on a patch of dried leaves nearby, entertained. Just watching. Didn’t feel the need to get up on that thing myself. But my children wouldn’t let me off the hook that easily. They began begging that I participate with them, taking my own turn to balance myself on the log and go from one side to the other.

  I finally obliged.

  When I first started out, I didn’t think it would be that difficult. I had been a bit of a gymnast as a kid, after all. Surely I could walk a few feet on this wide tree trunk—balance beam style—especially with the boys cheering me on.

  Everything was going great until I got about midway across and started to hear a tiny cracking sound underneath me. Uh-oh. It didn’t take but a couple more seconds before the entire log snapped into pieces and fell crashing into the creek bed. My backside wasn’t far behind.

  There on the ground, I sat completely stunned. It had all happened so fast. Took me a moment to regain my composure. But after clambering to my feet, dusting myself off, and looking back at the splintered remains of the tree trunk scattered along the ground, it was clear what the problem had been. Despite the tough, thick bark that made it appear so strong and secure on the outside, this fallen log, now with its insides exposed, showed just how rotten it was. Decay and deterioration had set in over time, which was likely what had caused it to collapse in the first place. When the boys walked across it, their tiny bodies hadn’t been enough to reveal its weaknesses. But when I stepped onto it with an adult weight, it couldn’t bear up. There wasn’t enough resiliency on the inside to match its appearance on the outside. Couldn’t handle the pressure. Snap. It didn’t have . . .

  Integrity.

  Sooner or later, for all of us, the inevitable pressures of life will reveal the truth of what’s inside. Sure, external strength alone can be enough to handle some of the simpler, less demanding situations, but when the stress builds to a certain weight and downward force, when it’s more than our surface assets alone can carry, the person lacking depth of integrity will snap. Fall to pieces. Implode. Then everyone can plainly see that underneath the masquerade of strength was a hidden, interior life infested with decay, unattended and uncared for.

  And unfortunately, we see way too much of this. Both in ourselves and in others.

  But not in everyone. And when we come across a person who defies this depressing trend, we should come closer to observe. Look and learn.

  Enter the prophet Daniel.

  When he and his talented young friends, along with around ten thousand other Hebrews, were captured by King Nebuchadnezzar and hauled away to Babylon in 605 BC, they were threatened on numerous occasions to change their lifestyle to suit the new surroundings, to become something different from what they knew they’d been commissioned to do as followers of Israel’s God. Their handlers, seeking to co-opt their skills and potential for nationalistic purposes, gave them Babylonian names, trained them in Babylonian literature, even sought to reorient their tastes by plying them with Babylonian foods.

  Yet even in this new reality, Daniel refused to compromise his standards of holiness. And because no one could help but notice the superior intellect God had given him, including his ability to interpret dreams and visions—surpassing that of even the king’s most capable wise men and appointed officials—Daniel was swiftly promoted through the Babylonian ranks into positions of royal influence and service.

  Pretty heady stuff for a young Hebrew.

  So when the Persian Empire gained control over Babylon, toppling the power structure, Daniel was faced with the prospect of losing his prestigious career and promising outlook. Unless he wanted to risk the newfound stature he’d grown accustomed to, this might be a good time to make at least a few strategic, acceptable compromises away from the values of his upbringing.

  He didn’t have to wait long for the chance. When a jealous, conniving brood of officials sought to trap him by convincing King Darius to sign a decree commanding that everyone, for thirty days, direct their prayers and petitions only to the king and to no other god—punishable by death in the lions’ den—Daniel had to choose. He could lower his standards temporarily, for a month. He could do his real praying in private, not out where everybody else could see it. Lead a double life to save his singular position.

  But instead . . .

  When Daniel learned that the document had been signed, he went into his house. The windows in its upper room opened toward Jerusalem, and three times a day he got down on his knees, prayed, and gave thanks to his God, just as he had done before. (Daniel 6:10)

  He didn’t change his standards to suit the new regime.

  Didn’t reformat his convictions to remain popular and accepted.

  Didn’t hide his reverence to keep from being found out by others.

  Didn’t alter his schedule to fold into the new dictates of the king’s decree.

  Rather, he stayed sure and strong and steady. He remained the same person behind closed doors (and open windows) as he claimed to be on the other side. Even when faced with the ultimate test—the extreme, lip-smacking pressure of the lions’ den—he didn’t crumble under the stress and strain. He was able to stand courageous in the face of daunting circumstances because he was “found innocent” before the Lord (v. 22).

  His integrity saved him.

  Kept those lions’ mouths closed. Kept him intact, from being torn to pieces. Kept him protected amid mounting adversity.

  And it sent a rippling message of the strength of Yahweh throughout the entire land. King Darius was so shocked, overwhelmed, and grateful for Daniel’s veracity and Yahweh’s response to it that he issued a new decree, recognizing Him as the only true and living God.

  The tree trunk of integrity held strong across a ravine of possible disaster. It made all the difference in Daniel’s life.

  And it will make the difference in yours.

  • Resolving to be a woman of integrity is one of the best gifts you can give yourself. It means you’re free! No longer living in fear of a secret life being “discovered” or “found out.” By signing and agreeing to this, you are agreeing to line up your whole self with the person God has already rebirthed and transformed you to be. You’re also opening yourself to become an influence and example that will draw others around you to Christlikeness. So come on in. The living’s good in here. Much better than advertised.

  MY INTEGRITY

  I will not tolerate evil influences even in the most justifiable form, in myself or my home, but will embrace and encourage a life of purity.

  __________

  MY HEART

  A resolution to care

  Look Again

  Why do You force me to look at injustice? Why do You tolerate wrongdoing? (Habakkuk 1:3)

  I didn’t want to see it. The images were too disturbing. The towering HD-quality screen perched overhead translated every single pixel of this devastating story into a larger-than-life reality for me, as well as for the fifteen thousand other women who were assembled there, watching.

  We were at a conference in Sydney, Australia, a gathering held once a year and attended by women from every corner of the globe. Olive-skinned Asians dressed in bejeweled saris from India; fair-skinned blondes from Denmark; dark-haired, exotic Russians; black, French-speaking sisters from some obscure island I’d never even heard of, all sharing the same space for this momentous affair. The convention, one of the largest of its kind, is intentional in its focus. It’s not just a once-a-year experience where you come, do the weekend, then don’t really think about it till next time. It
has actually become an ongoing, year-round sisterhood—a transglobal connection of women seeking to serve Christ, pursue justice, and change humanity through specific outreach and ministries.

  Frankly, this kind of meeting was new for me. The majority of the conferences I attend are in the States, and while they’re always filled with great teaching and amazing worship experiences, they don’t normally have a focus on humanitarian efforts. Being in the midst of this type of event was opening my eyes in a whole new way to issues the global community is facing.

  And it was convicting.

  Because who can deny that this kind of active mercy is what Christ compels His church to do? And if so, why wasn’t I doing it? Why wasn’t I using the platform the Lord had given me to encourage women to look outside the tight orbits of their own lives and pressing concerns and see the grave suffering around them? Why wasn’t American Christianity—from the best I could tell—as visibly broken by these gaping needs as believers from other countries seemed to be, some of whose nations and homelands are far less economically stable? These women, far from wanting to come to a conference for their personal edification alone, sensed a responsibility to impact culture as a result—as a goal—of their time together.

  Some of the issues presented to us that day were ones I already knew about at some level. And yet, ashamedly, I’d always felt oddly removed and void of obligation to do anything about them. Others of them, I had no idea existed . . . like the one currently flashing across the screen in front of me.

  Pictures of women. Hard to look at. Tortured at the hands of brainwashed child soldiers in Uganda. These hardened kids under the supervision of the LRA (Lord’s Resistance Army) had been trained to commit some of the most terrifying, heartless crimes and injustices you can imagine, leaving women wounded and scarred for life, barely able to function in the normal realms of society, their facial features violently marred at the hands of a renegade soldier’s razor blade. Plastic surgeons, we were told, were standing ready to help, willing to give of their time, skill, and training. All that was needed now were the resources for travel and medical costs. And we were being commissioned to help.

  A steady chorus of gasps and sniffles resonated throughout the vast arena as the video presentation played. Tears streamed down our cheeks. We passed tissues down the rows. So moved, so touched, so traumatized. On more than one occasion, unable to bear any more, I had to lower my gaze momentarily to escape the visual assault.

  This just couldn’t be real! This kind of thing doesn’t really happen. To real people. To mothers and daughters. In their own land. Does it?

  When they showed the same clip a second weekend (when the conference is repeated for another influx of attendees), I’ll admit—I sneaked out. I just couldn’t do it again. Didn’t think I could handle another look at those images that gave me such churning emotions, that made me lose my appetite the rest of the day and then kept me up at night nursing the horror of what I’d witnessed.

  I didn’t want to see.

  I didn’t want to look.

  And maybe you don’t want to look either. Perhaps, like this particular issue, the pictures you see (but don’t want to see) are of some devastating reality that plagues another part of the world or a faraway people group. Your typical response is to change the channel or turn the page, to look away from the bloated bellies, polluted water wells, impoverished squalor, and orphaned children.

  Or maybe what you’d rather not see is not a world away. Quite possibly it’s in your own backyard. Your own neighborhood is showing signs of activity you were certain you’d be able to avoid by moving here. Or perhaps the current state of politics in your town is leaning in a direction that you’re certain will lead to the demise of bedrock values. Moral decay is creeping in, less and less inconspicuously every moment. Escalating, addictive behaviors are stealing the health and futures of people young and old, people who can’t seem to get out of their own destructive way.

  Whatever it is, the sight of it makes your stomach turn into tightened knots. Your emotions can barely stand one more minute of this reality—these scenes flashing before you—a story you’ve noticed but have not really wanted to think about, care about, or do anything about.

  Until now.

  Until this resolution.

  For even though you can’t be humanly responsible for everything you see, and even though God would never place the burden of the whole world on your shoulders, He is placing this circumstance there. And in prayer He may be saying to you that one small part of its solution is staring you in the face when you step up to the bathroom mirror in the morning.

  Listen, I totally understand why you—why I—would rather look away. I understand our tendency to feel like somebody else will surely take care of this. It’s always easier and more comfortable to pull back and disengage, to find something more pleasant to dwell on. Much like the biblical prophet Habakkuk, you and I can feel like turning to the heavens when we see things happening we don’t want to see or know about, and ask, “Why do you force me to look?” (1:3).

  Seems like a God who loves us so fiercely wouldn’t mind giving us a break from all this. Seems like with all we’re required to shoulder in our own lives, with our own schedule and all our demanding circumstances, He’d give us a pass to look away, to ignore, to disregard. Right?

  Then His answer to Habakkuk’s question may surprise you. For after forcing the prophet to sit back and watch the suffering of his own beloved people, here’s what God said to him.

  Look . . . ! Observe! Be astonished! Wonder! Because I am doing something in your days—you would not believe if you were told. (v. 5 NASB)

  In other words, seeing is believing.

  If God didn’t show you, your heart would not be moved. If He simply told you what His plans were or how He was going to use you to solve them, you wouldn’t be able to grasp the full depth and height of the problem or what the touch of His supernatural care, kindness, and wisdom could accomplish through you. If He allowed you to turn your face away and remain unaware of the situation, you’d never know the outworking of compassion the Spirit of God is inviting and empowering you to experience.

  So He’s decided to show you—to let you see the chaos, the devastation, the damage, the ruin, the waste, the loss—preparing you to envision how stunning His work can be, even through the likes of ordinary people like you and me.

  So don’t stop looking. Don’t turn your eyes away. What you’re seeing, He has orchestrated for you to see. In His sovereign plan for your life, He is calling you, wooing you, compelling you to get involved.

  Light is brightest against the backdrop of darkness.

  Diamonds are most brilliant against a backcloth of black velvet.

  Look. Again.

  Until what takes your breath away is not the gravity of the problem but the power of God to heal it—one touch, one person at a time.

  • What global or local devastations are you currently seeing that stir compassion in your heart?

  • What has kept you from doing something to help?

  • What is one thing you can do and would be willing to make time to do?

  How Do You Heal an Unbroken Heart?

  When the video clip was over, no one moved.

  Everyone, including me, sat glued to her seat, unable quickly or easily to digest what we had just seen. The conference host took a moment to collect herself before continuing on with the program.

  It was indeed a moment.

  I bet you know what I mean by that—one of those rare glimpses of supernatural invitation when you just know God’s presence is hovering, inviting, impressing upon you a sense of His specific call. We all knew for sure that our hearts would never again be the same. How could they? We couldn’t be stirred this deeply and then just move on with our lives as if nothing had happened. We were sure—I was sure—that if we were truly concerned with helping others get to heaven, we’d better be equally concerned about the quality of their existence in the he
re and now.

  The days of my ministry being relegated to teaching from a platform or writing books were over. That just wasn’t enough. If we weren’t deliberately, purposefully resolved to help people in practical ways and encourage others to do the same, we would be forever lopsided, guilty of doing only half of what God’s people have been called to do.

  I bowed my head before the Lord, unsure of what to say to Him exactly. So I just asked—asked Him what He’d have me do in response to this internal gnawing I sensed from His Spirit. And before His answers could even begin taking shape in my mind, the praise team took the stage, their chorus ringing out as if preparing the way for His response:

  Break my heart for what breaks yours

  Everything I am for your kingdom cause

  As I walk from earth into eternity2

  There it was. The first hints of God’s answer to me. I needed a heart that was broken. Not just to allow it to break but to ask Him to break it. I needed to be offended and heartsick over the same things that touch the heart of the Father. Instead of sticking to my normal line of prayer requests, basically asking Him not to allow my heart to be broken, I was to ask Him to shatter it—until all that was left was that which made me follow Him in the direction He wanted me to go.