Lead me to my death...

“God doesn't gratify our instinctive longings. He forgives them, and then changes what we most want.”
–David Powlison, The Therapeutic Gospel

There is a distinct difference between what we humanly crave and what we truly want. It’s funny how we seem to so easily confuse our cravings with our true desires. This holds a particular resonance with me now as I find myself in India with two battling thoughts. The first is my instinctive self-driven longing, “Lord, you must have brought me here to do something great…well, for your Kingdom, of course.” The second thought is far less attractive. Somehow it doesn’t tickle my ears and align with my personal vision the way the first thought does. But it is this second thought I can’t seem to shake—a thought that thrusts me into a discomfort but simultaneously strikes a chord deep within my heart that screams with authenticity—with what I want most. The second thought, directed at me from a loving voice, the voice of one who knows me better than myself says, “Abbie, I brought you to India to die.” A distinct uneasiness, like quickening poison, seeps into my veins at the sound of the word ‘death’. Jesus’ hard truth echoes again, “I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it does, it produces many seeds. The man who loves his life will lose it, while the man who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life” (John 12:24-25).

Upon the awakening of this truth (which didn’t come quickly and still is in the process of reconstructing my mind) I realized what I humanely crave—to do something great for God’s Kingdom— is not what I really want. I no longer crave control, for God to “use me” for selfish gain. No, what I truly want is to die so that He might live in me.

Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies.

Until recently, I had never really thought of personifying the kernel that Jesus talks about. I just thought of it purely in inanimate plant terms. But suddenly, I put myself in the place of that kernel—falling to the ground and dying. Ultimately, being buried—probably in an unappealing heap of animal manure or muddied soil—looming beneath a blackened covering, unable to breathe, motionless with little sign of anything promising happening. When a seed is planted it doesn’t begin to grow immediately. It endures a period of waiting in darkness. Waiting in loneliness. Questioning if anything will come of its future or if it will just remain—an unidentifiable grain in a heap of dirt.

Lately, I’ve felt a bit like that kernel. Due to the heated political situation and the continued threats and persecution against believers in India, the four Americans that are here in Rameswaram (myself included) have been more or less “confined” to the campus for our personal safety. As one week fades in to the next—weeks that often times feel long and dull in nature—I remain inside the four walls of the campus. Walls that are quickly beginning to feel a bit like soil surrounding and burying me with their impeding presence. I’ve questioned God’s purpose in bringing me over the ocean and half-way across the world just to spend most of my hours behind a lap top working on website design or editing the content of a book. Where is the relational activity, the impactful moments of adventurous stories in remote Indian villages? Why would God bring me to India only to have me stay put?

I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it does, it produces many seeds.

God has every right to bring me to India only to have me remain in the same, relatively-confined space. He has every right, because He is God. After weeks of waiting in stillness and after an excessive amount of reflective moments under the stars on the roof of my bedroom, God has slowly and faithfully started to lead me to my death—complete surrender. He is teaching me that His ultimate concern has nothing to do with what I will accomplish here or what adrenaline-filled adventures I will experience. No, His ultimate concern is that I would die. That I would abandon the flesh-driven drive to have some all-significant “purpose” here or a collection of wild stories to take home—desires that center around glorifying me and discard the glory of God in Christ. Desires that are empty in their pursuit of temporal happiness. Desires that forfeit the narrow, difficult road that would bring me deep flourishing and eternal joy.

After weeks of living like a seed stewing in a pile of dirt, I am finally being humbled to see that God is more concerned with using this mundane time of stillness to shape me and make me more like Him. To lead me to my death so that I might truly live. To rewrite the anthem of my heart, to rescript my deepest desires, to show me what it is I truly want.

Instead of striving for a sense of personal significance and meaningfulness, I want to have my faith simplified, deepened and purified. To learn to endure hardship and suffering in hope. To learn to slow down, listen, worship, delight and trust. I want to be a seed that, in my death, produces many seeds. Lord, lead me to my death.

Star how beautiful you shine,
you shine more beautiful than mine.
You shine from sea to shining sea,
world-wide is your strategy.
But shinning star I hope you see—
if the whole wide world is staring straight at you,
they can’t see me.

-Jesus
(from Jason Upton’s Dying Star lyrics)