I'm generally comfortable in my own skin and satisfied to be myself.
But if there's one thing I don't have, and am morose to be without, it's discernment. Dictionary.com describes it as "acuteness of judgment and understanding". Some of its synonyms are "shrewd" and "astute". My favorite synonym is "perspicacity".
Solomon asked for discernment when God came to him in a dream and offered him anything he wanted. Proverbs can't stop yapping about those who are discerning (here, here, here and then some). A man of discernment is considered knowledgable and wise.
I have some friends that are perspicacious. I want to be a perspicacious person. And I am not. I wish that weren't the case, but that's just the fact of the matter.
One of my dear friends has been going through some difficulties in her life over the past few months. The problems are all knotted up and intertwined, the strands gummed together and fraying, almost impossible to determine one thread of suffering from another. It's a conundrum that would make discernment a useful tool. But I am not a perspicacious person. And when the fact that I am not gets in the way of helping my friends, it makes me half-crazy.
I went for a walk one day, one of those where your jacket's askew and your arms are windmilling and you're muttering and pulling at the ends of your hair. I railed toward the thin scattering of clouds, venting at God, angry with this limitation. Why put me in situations requiring discernment and then give me none? I am not a perspicacious person. And I do not like that it gets in my way.
I pounded twice around the block in my purple Converse All-Stars, frustrated, demanding answers from Him. What the hell, God? You put this girl in my life to help, and I feel like I can't. It's like I've been given a house to remodel and no toolbox. I can't get too much done without a screwdriver, hammer or a saw. Or some dag-blasted discernment.
I glared at the low orange sun as I rounded the corner of the block. I am not a perspicacious person. And I feel gypped, and I feel blind. My arms spasmed in frustration - why tell me to see when I'm born blind? - and then two passages of Scripture pounded onto my shoulders. My steps slowed and softened and my arms stilled as I listened.
The first section came from Romans. Here, Paul had written to tell the Romans that the church is a body, and just like the physical body each part has a different purpose. "These members do not all have the same function," he wrote. OK, well, I must have a different function, is all I could think. I still think discernment is a very useful gift to have. If there's a gifting heirerarchy, it's gotta be pretty high up there. I am not a perspicacious person. And I feel less useful because of that.
But more words came pouring in my mind, this time from I Corinthians. It's another letter by Paul, this one written to the church in Corinth. And the last verse throbbed in my mind: "And now these three remained: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love."
I am not a perspicacious person. But I have love. I can love.
I know love is hard. It is rewarding and taxing, draining and exhilarating, confusing and clarifying. But it's something I have I can give. I am not a perspicacious person. But I can love. And that is the greatest of these.
But if there's one thing I don't have, and am morose to be without, it's discernment. Dictionary.com describes it as "acuteness of judgment and understanding". Some of its synonyms are "shrewd" and "astute". My favorite synonym is "perspicacity".
Solomon asked for discernment when God came to him in a dream and offered him anything he wanted. Proverbs can't stop yapping about those who are discerning (here, here, here and then some). A man of discernment is considered knowledgable and wise.
I have some friends that are perspicacious. I want to be a perspicacious person. And I am not. I wish that weren't the case, but that's just the fact of the matter.
One of my dear friends has been going through some difficulties in her life over the past few months. The problems are all knotted up and intertwined, the strands gummed together and fraying, almost impossible to determine one thread of suffering from another. It's a conundrum that would make discernment a useful tool. But I am not a perspicacious person. And when the fact that I am not gets in the way of helping my friends, it makes me half-crazy.
I went for a walk one day, one of those where your jacket's askew and your arms are windmilling and you're muttering and pulling at the ends of your hair. I railed toward the thin scattering of clouds, venting at God, angry with this limitation. Why put me in situations requiring discernment and then give me none? I am not a perspicacious person. And I do not like that it gets in my way.
I pounded twice around the block in my purple Converse All-Stars, frustrated, demanding answers from Him. What the hell, God? You put this girl in my life to help, and I feel like I can't. It's like I've been given a house to remodel and no toolbox. I can't get too much done without a screwdriver, hammer or a saw. Or some dag-blasted discernment.
I glared at the low orange sun as I rounded the corner of the block. I am not a perspicacious person. And I feel gypped, and I feel blind. My arms spasmed in frustration - why tell me to see when I'm born blind? - and then two passages of Scripture pounded onto my shoulders. My steps slowed and softened and my arms stilled as I listened.
The first section came from Romans. Here, Paul had written to tell the Romans that the church is a body, and just like the physical body each part has a different purpose. "These members do not all have the same function," he wrote. OK, well, I must have a different function, is all I could think. I still think discernment is a very useful gift to have. If there's a gifting heirerarchy, it's gotta be pretty high up there. I am not a perspicacious person. And I feel less useful because of that.
But more words came pouring in my mind, this time from I Corinthians. It's another letter by Paul, this one written to the church in Corinth. And the last verse throbbed in my mind: "And now these three remained: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love."
I am not a perspicacious person. But I have love. I can love.
I know love is hard. It is rewarding and taxing, draining and exhilarating, confusing and clarifying. But it's something I have I can give. I am not a perspicacious person. But I can love. And that is the greatest of these.
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