by Keith Miller | Christian Living, Weekly Devotional
Dear Keith, I’ve been troubled a lot with anxiety lately and seem to be having more problems with my relationships recently. I have made a commitment to Christ and asked God for the filling of the Holy Spirit and I have done everything my friends have told me to do to get rid of this anxiety and these problems. I have gone back to reading the Scriptures and praying regularly and I’ve gone to several people for counseling, but I still seem to have these problems. Do you have any idea what this might mean?
You sound as if you think anxiety and problems are bad things and that you should do things to improve your spiritual life so these problems will go away.
I believe that problems and anxiety are not necessarily bad things. I think any time we are anxious, it is like a fire alarm going off warning us that there is something not being faced either in our relationship with God, another person, ourselves, or with our work. Some people, for instance, are overworking terribly and suddenly become anxious “for no reason at all.”
What I do when I become anxious or have a problem in a relationship is to stop and ask God, “What messages are you trying to get through to me?” In other words, instead of praying that the anxiety will go away, I am learning to ask God, “What is the anxiety signaling that might help me get closer to You and to live more sanely as your person?” Most often, the problem or the anxiety I am experiencing is merely a signal that something is wrong. Rather than trying to get the signal to stop, I find it’s better to locate the fire or the difficulty that is causing the anxiety or the problem in the relationship. When I discover the real problem, and address it (which usually requires me to change some unacceptable behavior) then often the anxiety disappears.
For example, one day I woke up anxious, afraid, and feeling very insecure—all adding up to a frightening loneliness and doubt about the reality of my Christian commitment. I hated to admit it, but my Christian friends began to get on my nerves. They seemed to be so untroubled, and I knew intuitively that some of them must have similar problems—but they just didn’t talk about it. So I started faking it, without even being conscious of it. Someone would call and say, “Hey, buddy, how are you feeling?” And I would reply, “Fine, things couldn’t be going better,” when in reality I was dealing with something serious or was worried sick.
Don’t misunderstand, I am not for telling everyone about your every ache and pain in order to be scrupulously honest, but sometimes I think we hide our less than joyful feelings because we believe that it is a denial of Christ to be miserable. Consequently I, and some of my friends, being human, were left alone and guilty in our times of misery.
Then I began to see that this position of hiding our humanity is that of the “whitewashed sepulchers” Jesus spoke of, smiling on the outside and rotten with guilt, anxiety, and incompleteness within. (See Mt. 23:23–28)
As I struggled with this problem, I had to take a new look at my humanity—the humanity of a man who wanted with all his heart to be God’s person and yet found himself anxious and restless inside. Why would I have vague feelings of unhealthy dependency and incompleteness, just when I seemed to be living a disciplined, outgoing life?
At last this search sent me to my knees, beginning again like a child. God had used my anxious sense of incompleteness to drive me back to the place where I would again put my life in his hands. The “fire,” in this particular case, was expecting myself to live up to some kind of image of what a “perfect Christian” would look like and hiding from myself the fact of my own humanity.
For me then, anxiety and restlessness as a Christian were not necessarily bad, but, like physical pain, they could be a warning signal—warning me that something was out of balance in my life, that I was somehow ignoring God—even while I was doing religious disciplines to “earn” some peace and quietness. And because of the signal that anxiety provided, I could stop and do something before I destroyed myself and the work I was trying to do.
At about that time, I remember being asked to speak to a men’s group on the subject “The Christian Life.” I went to the meeting and spent five or ten minutes telling the men very honestly that I was feeling weak and miserable. I was tired of speaking to groups and of being a Christian, and had even considered not coming that night. Then I told them that I had realized that whatever else had meaning to me besides God was so far back in second place that I had decided to come and tell them that I was a Christian almost by default—that is, there seemed to be no other way to find any purpose or meaning in my life at all. I had come to the meeting on the chance that some of them might live with misery and incompleteness too—that some of them might be looking for a Way that could give purpose and meaning even to a life that included anxiety and restlessness and the accompanying lack of confidence in themselves.
I thought that my honest and specific confession of my miserable restlessness and self-centeredness would compel these men to reject me and any message I might have to give them. Instead, I found a room full of brothers, of warm, struggling fellow human beings, who also needed a second touch from their Lord, even though many had been committed Christian ministers for years.
I have found that committing my life as wholly as I can to God and receiving the reassuring sense of his presence does give me a deep and ultimate security my humanity has longed for. And, when I discover that I am again anxious, I remember that Jesus counted on his disciples having troubled hearts and told them he was sending the Holy Spirit to comfort or “strengthen” them when they did (see John 14). And not only that, but I now believe that restlessness and ultimate dependency, like pain and evil, are woven into the fabric of life perhaps to become the motivating power to drive us toward fulfillment in God as he is revealed in Jesus Christ.
Understanding this, however, has not changed the fact that I find it very unpleasant to be anxious, restless, discouraged or afraid. It is all very well to understand that God will teach me something from the inexplicable and anxious periods and bring me closer to himself, but during these times I feel very lonely, and I still resist surrendering control of the people or situations to God in order to find God’s way. Only now, I can remember faster that when I’ve held out and refused to surrender, I have experienced long and unproductive sessions of introspection and discouragement.
My prayers come with this for you. It has not been easy for me to accept the fact that I can even hide things from myself that I don’t want to face. This may not be true of you, but based on my experience it’s what I have to offer you at this point.
Dear God, thank you that you have given us an “alarm system” for discovering things we cannot see about ourselves. Help us to pay attention when the alarm signal goes off, and to begin to change any behaviors, thoughts or situations that have triggered the alarm. In Jesus’ name, amen.
Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.
Psalm 139:22-24 NIV
Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you can live together whole and healed.
James 5:16, The Message
by Keith Miller | Christian Living, Prayer
Keith, what can I do when my prayers are boring—even to me? How can I pray more attentively in a way that leads toward the transformation of my real life?
Years ago, when I first began taking a life of communicating with God seriously, I felt uneasy with silence while praying. So I filled most of the communication time with words. But as the years rolled on and I read the lives of many of the saints of the church, (and met some very loving and unselfish Christians), I noticed that a number of them seemed to view communication with God as a time for them to listen to Him (since they had the idea that the purpose of prayers was to let God change them—instead of informing Him about what He should be doing each day).
At about that time Paul Tournier told me that he and his wife, Nellie, spent time together each day listening for God, and writing down what came to them in the silence. I still didn’t do anything until some years later when another very reality-oriented spiritual friend told me she did the same thing the Tourniers did, and it helped her a lot. So, feeling a little uncertain, I began to listen for ten minutes, writing whatever came to me. At first what came was a cross between a laundry list and a “to do” list for a Daytimer. The first thing I wrote down was “get your car washed.” I shook my head but wrote it down, along with calls to make, immoral thoughts that came up as I was praying, and financial worries.
When I reported that listening for God didn’t seem to work very well, my friend pointed out that I was getting my day organized, and the immoral thoughts could be transferred to my prayer, asking God to help me with them. “Besides,” my friend said, “you’ve told me that you have spent a good many years tuned into other stations in your mind. It may take weeks or months to be able to sort out the way God talks to you.”
I am amazed at what has happened. After many years of listening this way, I now often get a list of everything I need to do for that day in about five to eight minutes. Later I reorder the list, and my day is planned, and—after several years of doing this—I added almost nothing to the list except for new things coming into my office that day. But often the last couple of minutes I’d just sit in silence and listen.
And in that small space of silence, one morning I heard, “Keith, you are a precious child and I love you”—and I wept.
I didn’t know whether that came from God or just the deepest part of me. But I wept the first time I wrote it down, because I had never heard anything like that in my mind before. All the inner voices I’d listened to all my life seemed to be critical, pointing out faults and mistakes I had made, or was afraid I would make. And in that last few minutes I have also become aware of ideas for creative projects, many of which I later investigated and some of which I have carried out.
But some days, God seemed to be silent. That is, I didn’t feel or hear God’s presence. And I guess I had the idea that I wasn’t doing something correctly. I smile now as I think of the way I often used to get busy at such times doing religious things, as if by doing that I could get God’s attention. I would increase my time of reading the Bible, or lengthen my (talking) prayer time—focusing on intercession. But most of the time God was still silent.
I told a friend about this not feeling God’s presence. I told him that some days I didn’t seem to have any faith. He smiled and said, “You seem to think that if you don’t have a spiritual feeling you don’t have any faith?” When I looked a little puzzled, he said, “Keith, if you have the feelings that God is with you, you don’t need any faith.” He went on to tell me how someone had pointed out to him that on those days when God is silent, and there are no spiritual goose bumps, that could be an opportunity to give God a special gift—as a matter of fact about the only gift we can really ever give Him: a day of living in raw faith.
So now when God is silent, instead of feeling I’m losing out on a relationship with God, I tell God that I love Him. I say something like, “Thank you, God for this chance to tell you that I love you by risking doing what I think may be your will today and living in faith—with no feelings that you are here at all. I love you! Have a good day!”
Then I try to do something for someone in trouble, or need, a small thing, a call or visit with someone who is lonely. And often I feel much better at the end of such “silent” days in which I haven’t worried about taking my spiritual temperature.
Lord, thank you that you have given us a life of love, instead of just a religion. Help us learn to let love loose in our lives—and through them. Amen.
It’s best to start small. Give a cool cup of water to someone who is thirsty, for instance. The smallest act of giving or receiving makes you a true apprentice. You won’t lose out on a thing.”
Matt. 10:40 The Message
Have you ever tried to spend a whole hour doing nothing but listening to the voice that dwells deep in your heart? … It is not easy to enter into the silence and reach beyond the many boisterous and demanding voices of our world and to discover there the small intimate voice saying: “You are my Beloved Child, on you my favor rests.” Still, if we dare to embrace our solitude and befriend our silence, we will come to know that voice.
Henri J. M. Nouwen
Life of the Beloved
by Keith Miller | Christian Living
Last November I had surgery at a day-surgery center, under a general anesthetic and then went home after a few hours. I always clearly request “no narcotics,” for pain relief, since I have had severe problems with certain drug reactions in the past—both in and out of medical situations. But the new drug seemed to be ok, that is, until I took it.
Since some of you may still be looking for entertaining drugs for weekend adventures, I will not identify the drug, except to say that I was, they tell me, very entertaining for a while, but not for the Christian circuit. And then came the edema, a part of the reaction to the drug that puffed me up like a toad. And when they finally got a diuretic in me I lost 8 pounds in nine hours, (or that’s what I think they said). The pain in the area of the surgery was intense—and saying it that way feels like minimization as I write it.
I am telling this to you because although I finally got back to health before the year was over—or what passes for health in the 82-year-old body I inhabit—I had some sort of fluke accident toward the end of February and split the skin near the old surgery in a vulnerable area. The situation required instant attention and possibly some very negative consequences if I didn’t get it taken care of. After checking into the hospital, and much fast but careful re-testing (because of my age and the short time since the first surgery), I found myself once more slipping into unconsciousness, staring up into the big lights in surgery.
Now this was not to be a big deal, the surgeon said (a surgeon who is very good at his job, and very careful not to take risks with his patients’ health). But having two “knock you clear out” surgeries that close to each other is not to be taken lightly by people in “my group” (the really old guys)—especially after a bad drug reaction following the first round. Although the medical people involved are very good and did their jobs well, I was not a happy camper. I had things I had to do! I was behind on a writing commitment, and I had lost time having my system messed up by the combination of the anesthetic aftermath and ticketless drug trip I’d had a few days earlier (actually several weeks, but it seemed like “only yesterday” to me.) I was really antsy to get back to work.
But anyway, at 2:00 a. m. the morning following the second surgery, a new night nurse was trying to insert a catheter into my very pain-filled body—the second catheter for me in the previous four hours. A wonderful young nurse trainee came in to report quietly to the catheter nurse some details about two female patients who were just arriving on our hall. Now my nurse, who was working so conscientiously on me, was under a new time constraint! When I closed my eyes, I saw—and felt—a medical training movie I’d seen years before of someone receiving one of the first electrical shock treatments. When the pain hit me during the initial “needle threading” probes, it seemed like nothing was touching the bed but my heels and the back of my head. Then, just as I realized I was about to morph into an angry, irrational, profane, mean-spirited and commanding old white Texas male—something amazing happened.
In a split second of clarity I remembered Jesus and the Father, and my commitment to be present to people wherever I am and to try to help them. I recalled that He was with us in that darkened room with the bright light that was revealing me—in several ways. Instantly I became quiet inside and thought about this dedicated young nurse—and I could feel the pressure under which she worked.
I prayed, silently, “Lord, help me to be your person now. I am exhausted too, but I am only thinking about myself, and my impatience and bracing for the pain.” Then I found myself caring for this harassed young nurse as if she were my granddaughter. I heard myself saying in a quiet confident voice, “Can you stop just a second?”
She looked up, evidently experiencing a very different patient than she had been dealing with—an unhappy and potentially irascible and explosive old man. When her eyes met mine I said calmly, “I’m so sorry all this is descending on you at once,” (as I nodded toward the speaker over which a voice was calling for her). “I know that you need to check on those women who just got to their rooms, and I’m really not uncomfortable with regard to the pressure to urinate. If you’d like to go and check on those two women, and can get back to me in forty-five minutes, I’ll be fine.” And I touched her lightly on the shoulder.
She gave me the strangest look. There was total peace in the room. Then she smiled for the first time, and seemed to relax. And in that instant, my pain was gone.
I said something like, “Go on. I’ll pray for you and the two women. I’ll be fine.” And, I really meant it. My fear and pain had disappeared, and I realized that the young nurse and I—from different continents and perhaps cultures that had been worlds apart—were somehow sitting together in the soft light—in the Kingdom of God..
I was amazed to realize that I was content to be just who I was right then—and where I am in my rickety life right now…if I never get caught up. And I felt very blessed.
***
When I got home, I thought about you, the people who may be reading this blog. And since I didn’t have any spiritual message written to send you, I decided to send this note with a message from Jesus that I recite almost every morning:
“You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you, there is more of God and his rule.” (and) “You’re blessed when you care. At the moment of being ‘care-full,’ you find yourself cared for.” (See Mt. 5:3 and 7, The Message)
P.S. By the way as the nurse smiled and nodded…the catheter was in.
Lord, thank you that in a split second we can connect with your constant presence, even in the midst of excruciating circumstances…at the end of our rope. Thank you for your transforming love. In Jesus’ name, amen.
by Keith Miller | Christian Living
Keith, my problem is that my spouse says that I am selfish, but I buy her nice clothes and presents of jewelry, etc. I even joined the church because she wanted me to. And I know a lot of men don’t do things like that. But in spite of everything I do, she is very frustrated because she still thinks I’m selfish and is getting very discouraged because I still can’t see that I’m selfish (and I’m angry because she thinks that.) What does a man have to do to let a woman know he’s not selfish???! What does being selfish mean to you?
A lot of people (and couples) have wrestled with that one. When I made a serious commitment to become a Christian, I—like you— had always done a lot of “nice things” for my wife (and other people, too), and I was floored when we started getting more open with each other that she felt that I was selfish—even though I was sincere in wanting to be God’s person.
As I read the Bible and talked honestly to the other Christian men in a small men’s group about this, I learned that there is evidently sort of a “secret control room” in the center of my mind that has one seat (a throne). And whoever or whatever is sitting on that throne determines all my actions. If I am sitting in the control seat, then without even knowing it, virtually all of my conscious actions are intended to influence and control the people and situations in my life to make me happy or to enhance the image I want to project that will make people admire me or love me. And usually the desired outcomes I try to bring about lead to my getting more than my share of their time, attention and love in close relationships. But I can’t see that I am doing this because I do so many “nice things” for them.
In my case, I began to see that I was trying to project an image of being smarter, wealthier, sexier, and a better Christian than I felt I really was.
Then one day after an argument, I recalled a movie, The Wizard of Oz, in which Dorothy, the young girl from Kansas, was in this huge hall in the land of Oz. She and her new friends (the Tin Man, Scarecrow and Cowardly Lion) were standing before a huge frightening holographic image of the great Wizard. But Toto, Dorothy’s little dog, had run over to the side of the great room and pulled back the curtain, exposing a frumpy little old man sitting at the large control board that controlled the voice and movements of the huge projected image of a wondrously powerful Wizard with a deep booming voice. The little man (the actual wizard) tried to save himself from the shame of being revealed as only an ordinary man by having the booming voice say, “Don’t look behind that curtain!” But it was too late.
That’s exactly how I felt when my spiritual mentor helped me pull back the curtain of denial and see that I had been unable (or unwilling) to recognize and deal with my motivations for maneuvering to get outcomes I wanted from people and situations in my life. I was in denial not only about pretending to be more than I am, and a pretty unselfish husband, but also I had not been able to face that I am inordinately self-centered even as a Christian.
It finally got through to me that becoming a Christian meant putting God in the center control seat (of my life) so that His character revealed in Jesus and His values would determine my actions. Through study and prayer, but mostly by confessing my Sin of taking God’s role in the center of my own life (and the lives of people close to me) and then surrendering that place to God, I began the reorienting process of making decisions on the basis of what will help God transform me into the loving, giving, culpable, and vulnerable person I believe God made me to be.
And when I began consciously to surrender to God the throne room and control board of my life, I discovered what my wife had been trying to tell me—that just giving her nice clothes and jewelry (although a nice thing to do) also made her a more beautiful trophy wife, part of the larger-than-life image of myself I was unconsciously trying to project as a successful male in America.
I was horrified to discover this and it was only the beginning of discovering the double meaning of a lot of my “unselfish” behavior. This does not mean that I didn’t love my wife, or that I didn’t want to give her nice things because I love her. (Because that was true.) But it does mean that until I am willing to face, confess and make amends for my self-centered taking of God’s place by trying to ‘shape’ the world around me into my image, I can never be the intimate, happy and loving man I was made to be—and now want with all my heart to be.
This has already meant a revolution in the way I live my days and nights. In order to know how to love the people around me, I am having to learn to listen to them and discover what I can do to help them become all they want to be—instead of insisting they play their parts in my drama of being the “Wizard of Austin, Texas.”
Lord, I want to see more clearly where I am occupying the throne in my life in Your place. Help me to become aware when I am on that throne. Show me how to get out of Your way, and how you would have me love and free the people you put in my life. In Jesus’ name. Amen.
“You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are—no more, no less. That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought.”
Mt. 5:5, The Message
“You’re blessed when you get your inside world—your mind and heart—put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.
Mt 5:8, The Message
Blessed the man, blessed the woman, who listens to me, awake and ready for me each morning, alert and responsive as I start my day’s work. When you find me, you find life, real life, to say nothing of God’s good pleasure.
Prov. 8:32 The Message
The day will come when, after harnessing space, the winds, the tides and gravitation, we shall harness for God the energies of love. And on that day, for the second time in the history of the world, we shall have discovered fire.”
Teilhard de Chardin
