The Closet was written somewhere between the passing of my oldest son and the adoption of my youngest son. It was in that space of time that God revealed Himself to me, holy, powerful, all consuming, able to rescue us from the darkest places, hope giving, Father. We are never left alone if we dare to trust His presence and providence.
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There's a closet in my home where the Shekinah glory of God resides. It's down a narrow hall, last door to the left. That's my son's room. Within the room, the closet rests. Shekinah---His presence. It bears repeating--- The presence of the Glory of God. His presence does not go unnoticed. It does not go unmarked. It is the place where miracles happy---where the impossible transpires. We have seen the hand of a mighty God within the confines of a hollow space. God filling a hollow space, He's good at that.
Shekinah presence led the children of Israel to the Promised land, destroying armies, giving provision, parting the sea, leading day and night. His glory is not found in boot strap moments. It's found in the deserts of life, the moments only He can heal, the moments that are empty of self, the hollow moments. He fills the hollow spaces.
The closet knew Shekinah glory in the mere seconds that pass while passing between life and death--our boy, received into the presence of the Father. He slipped from death into life. God did not miss the moment. He was present. He was in the hollow space. He filled the space.
Shekinah glory thrusts itself into the horrific places, the places we are too weak and too human to claim. It thrusts itself into a closet that was meant for destruction. It thrusts, saturates, permeates itself into a broken home, into broken hearts of flesh, those that could only bring themselves to sleep in the farthest reaches of a home, far away from the closet, piled all in one space. It was a hollow space. He filled the space. He's good at that.
Shekinah glory, the presence of the Glory of God, surrounded a mother, dragging herself to claim the closet, holding the hand of Glory. Her Father met her in the floor of the closet. Some days were numb, others weeping. Some days were anger and rebellion. God did not miss the moment. He was present. He filled the hollow spaces.
It is He who began to change the hollow space of the closet. Shekinah glory calls us into obedience. His kind of obedience demands love. It is how we know He has been in a space. He propels us to lands far away, across ocean and continent. He calls us to fill the hollow spaces. The empty, long neglected places of an orphan. Of course, He's really filling the spaces. He's good at that.
There's a closet in my home where the Shekinah glory of God resides. It's down a narrow hall, last door to the left. That's my sons' room. Within the room, the closet rests. It overflows with toys, baskets of shoes, half hung clothes, and a pile of hand-me-downs---awaiting another trip across ocean and continent, another orphan-- and life, yes, life. It comes from a little boy. He has my heart, but not my DNA. It's the kind of life that comes from empty spaces being filled. That's how we know He's been there. He fills the hollow spaces. He's good at that.
Theemommy
Saturday, December 13, 2014
Saturday, November 15, 2014
Freedom
Freedom from my sin did not begin with my love for Him, but it is, without argument, the opposite that calls me into liberty. It is Christ who proved His love for me on a cross two thousand years ago. Despite all power and authority, He submitted Himself to death and carried the sin of all generations--past, present, and future--to Golgotha. He epitomized the servant-leader, displaying His tenacity to demand the best for my existence. Christ elected to demonstrate that He is worthy to be entrusted with my well-being.
The freedom from sin comes in my decision to trust. It does not take root within my desire to please Him, my love for Him, or white-knuckled self-control. These attributes are secondary, arising from the trust I place in Christ. If I rely on these motives, I have moved from Christ being the centrality of my freedom. I have made myself into a god, becoming my own object of trust.
The upside-down paradigm that Christ has created in our path to freedom has been twisted by the evil one. Self-control equates to failure, toil, anxiety, and guilt. The weight of our reflection of holiness falls upon our own shoulders. The yoke of our pursuit of Christ becomes heavy. It was never meant to be heavy.
The well-spring of liberty flows from trust. Trust allows me to slip gently into a welcome submission to the One who loves me. Trust empowers me to release from my grasp the temporary pleasures of sin because it cannot compare to the riches of a life within the safety of Christ. Trust embraces the already demonstrated truth that the best for me flows from a sovereign Father. I need only to choose to believe this truth.
Trust is quiet, gentle to the spirit, restful,... without burden. Trust carries a light yoke, allowing me to work and play within the watchful eye of my Father.
This Father calls out for us to trust. He pursues our trust. It is the power behind broken chains. Trust is the ticket to our freedom.
The freedom from sin comes in my decision to trust. It does not take root within my desire to please Him, my love for Him, or white-knuckled self-control. These attributes are secondary, arising from the trust I place in Christ. If I rely on these motives, I have moved from Christ being the centrality of my freedom. I have made myself into a god, becoming my own object of trust.
The upside-down paradigm that Christ has created in our path to freedom has been twisted by the evil one. Self-control equates to failure, toil, anxiety, and guilt. The weight of our reflection of holiness falls upon our own shoulders. The yoke of our pursuit of Christ becomes heavy. It was never meant to be heavy.
The well-spring of liberty flows from trust. Trust allows me to slip gently into a welcome submission to the One who loves me. Trust empowers me to release from my grasp the temporary pleasures of sin because it cannot compare to the riches of a life within the safety of Christ. Trust embraces the already demonstrated truth that the best for me flows from a sovereign Father. I need only to choose to believe this truth.
Trust is quiet, gentle to the spirit, restful,... without burden. Trust carries a light yoke, allowing me to work and play within the watchful eye of my Father.
This Father calls out for us to trust. He pursues our trust. It is the power behind broken chains. Trust is the ticket to our freedom.
Saturday, November 1, 2014
An Orphan's Gratitude
I've never known a good parent whose motivation for loving and serving their children came from the expectation that their child/children would appreciate all of the hard work, passion, and commitment that it takes to raise a happy, healthy family. We parents know that children are greedy by nature, especially in the early years. They don't care that you've worked for eight hours, cooked dinner, cleaned up their mess, and now need a good night's sleep. They will keep us awake all night...well, just because. After only a few brief hours of parenthood, most are smart enough to have figured out that " thank you" will be a long time coming.
Adoptees have the same experience. No child ever appreciates being taken from all they've ever known, flown to a far away land, and then, spending the next six months not understanding a word of anything that anyone says. A family is the best thing, but the disturbances at hand take precedence over the long term goals of giving a child security and a future with choices. Whatever grandiose ideas adoptive parents hold of their children having a heart of gratitude ends on a plane ride somewhere between throw up in their laps over the northern polar cap and a nearly, screaming fit-induced, flight delay in Atlanta. This is just speaking from personal experience, of course.
But then, one day it happens-- the gratitude. This year was Jack's third time celebrating Halloween and the first year that he didn't become so overwhelmed that the whole thing ended in tears. He loves the orange Halloween lights that are hung on porches for the night's festivities. As we were approaching the first trick-or-treating house of the night (with the orange lights), he yells out, "Wow! Look at that!" He puts his little arms around my waist, squeezes, and says, "I love you, Mom." He was thankful! He got that it was a big deal that he was there, in that moment, with us. As his parents, we've always understood the importance of the idea that he was chosen to be ours, that we chose him out of all the children in the world. Now, he is starting to comprehend the very same thing. It reveals a maturity and an understanding that is growing within our boy.
It made me wonder. Do we have a heart of gratitude toward our Heavenly Father? Just like Jack, we all have a past. As life often goes, that past can be filled with tremendous heartache, sin, abandonment, and all out pain. Life can hurt! Do we continue to hold on to the pain, with closed fists, because holding on means we reduce the risk of more disappointment? Because holding on means we are in control of something even if that something is destructive? Do we become so consumed with our heartache that we forget that we were ransomed with the price of The Lamb's blood?
Or, do we recognize that we were orphans? We were rescued never to be abandoned, again. By growing in the knowledge of the gospel, our hearts can overflow with a song of gratitude. Jack's past has left his body broken, but even within the fatigue and overwhelming emotions, he could enjoy the moment. He could enjoy the lights because he knows what it is to be without the lights. We, too, have known the darkness. Now, bought with a price and adopted into His family, we know The Light! Let go, and with great thanksgiving, rejoice!
Adoptees have the same experience. No child ever appreciates being taken from all they've ever known, flown to a far away land, and then, spending the next six months not understanding a word of anything that anyone says. A family is the best thing, but the disturbances at hand take precedence over the long term goals of giving a child security and a future with choices. Whatever grandiose ideas adoptive parents hold of their children having a heart of gratitude ends on a plane ride somewhere between throw up in their laps over the northern polar cap and a nearly, screaming fit-induced, flight delay in Atlanta. This is just speaking from personal experience, of course.
But then, one day it happens-- the gratitude. This year was Jack's third time celebrating Halloween and the first year that he didn't become so overwhelmed that the whole thing ended in tears. He loves the orange Halloween lights that are hung on porches for the night's festivities. As we were approaching the first trick-or-treating house of the night (with the orange lights), he yells out, "Wow! Look at that!" He puts his little arms around my waist, squeezes, and says, "I love you, Mom." He was thankful! He got that it was a big deal that he was there, in that moment, with us. As his parents, we've always understood the importance of the idea that he was chosen to be ours, that we chose him out of all the children in the world. Now, he is starting to comprehend the very same thing. It reveals a maturity and an understanding that is growing within our boy.
It made me wonder. Do we have a heart of gratitude toward our Heavenly Father? Just like Jack, we all have a past. As life often goes, that past can be filled with tremendous heartache, sin, abandonment, and all out pain. Life can hurt! Do we continue to hold on to the pain, with closed fists, because holding on means we reduce the risk of more disappointment? Because holding on means we are in control of something even if that something is destructive? Do we become so consumed with our heartache that we forget that we were ransomed with the price of The Lamb's blood?
Or, do we recognize that we were orphans? We were rescued never to be abandoned, again. By growing in the knowledge of the gospel, our hearts can overflow with a song of gratitude. Jack's past has left his body broken, but even within the fatigue and overwhelming emotions, he could enjoy the moment. He could enjoy the lights because he knows what it is to be without the lights. We, too, have known the darkness. Now, bought with a price and adopted into His family, we know The Light! Let go, and with great thanksgiving, rejoice!
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Sadness---The Other Emotion
Tonight, I did what mothers do. I rocked my sick boy, Jack, to sleep. As I always do in these times, I wondered how many times in the four years of institutional living he was sick, and no one was there to comfort him? No one was there to make the calming shhhh-ing noise that all mothers instinctively make when their babies are in need of consoling. No one was there to pat his back, to soothe him with the rhythmic back and force rocking of the innate motion given to mothers, to sit with him, cheek to cheek, or to whisper a prayer over him for peace, healing, and a God-filled future. The thoughts made me sad, but I'm learning to be okay with that.
When we reach into the unknown, we can never return to ignorance. Abstract ideas are no longer just that---ideas. Our presupposed thoughts and emotions on a subject disappear under the concrete realness of an experience. I'm learning that it is the experience that grows the God character within me. I can't ignore the plight of the orphan or the pain of a parent's grief. These are my experiences. There's no guess work involved in the reality of these experiences. There's no room for a buffer or chosen indifference. It's an impossibility for me to close my eyes to these overwhelmingly difficult circumstances. The sadness comes---along with compassion, love, empathy, and the desire to avoid idleness in the Kingdom. The experience becomes fuel for a purposeful life driven by the power of Christ within me.
Why, then, has it been decided that pain should be avoided--that we somehow have the right to a perfectly blissful existence? Whether chosen sadness or God-ordained unexpected sadness, why do we do all that is within us to squash it down inside of ourselves, numb it, run from it? Children are ripped from their mother's womb all for the sake of self-preservation--we've avoided the pain. We vilify the one who did the ripping--His people have avoided the pain. We turn a blind eye to the sick, the mentally-ill, the orphan, the widow, the poor, the spiritually impoverished---we've avoided the pain. In avoiding the pain, we've avoided the blessing. We have destroyed our ability to grow in knowledge---to turn the abstract into the concrete. Thus, we have destroyed our ability to become as our Father. With that, we have destroyed ourselves.
May we learn to embrace pain just as we embrace joy. God help us that we are ungrateful for the darkness that shadows our lives! May we be content in the knowledge that we are no longer ignorant to the suffering of others, and that just as our Father controls the intricate details of the universe, every emotion was created by Him and is under His foot. Just as every piece of His handy work calls out His name, so the pain that weaves itself into the masterpiece of our lives will point back to the Master Designer.
When we reach into the unknown, we can never return to ignorance. Abstract ideas are no longer just that---ideas. Our presupposed thoughts and emotions on a subject disappear under the concrete realness of an experience. I'm learning that it is the experience that grows the God character within me. I can't ignore the plight of the orphan or the pain of a parent's grief. These are my experiences. There's no guess work involved in the reality of these experiences. There's no room for a buffer or chosen indifference. It's an impossibility for me to close my eyes to these overwhelmingly difficult circumstances. The sadness comes---along with compassion, love, empathy, and the desire to avoid idleness in the Kingdom. The experience becomes fuel for a purposeful life driven by the power of Christ within me.
Why, then, has it been decided that pain should be avoided--that we somehow have the right to a perfectly blissful existence? Whether chosen sadness or God-ordained unexpected sadness, why do we do all that is within us to squash it down inside of ourselves, numb it, run from it? Children are ripped from their mother's womb all for the sake of self-preservation--we've avoided the pain. We vilify the one who did the ripping--His people have avoided the pain. We turn a blind eye to the sick, the mentally-ill, the orphan, the widow, the poor, the spiritually impoverished---we've avoided the pain. In avoiding the pain, we've avoided the blessing. We have destroyed our ability to grow in knowledge---to turn the abstract into the concrete. Thus, we have destroyed our ability to become as our Father. With that, we have destroyed ourselves.
May we learn to embrace pain just as we embrace joy. God help us that we are ungrateful for the darkness that shadows our lives! May we be content in the knowledge that we are no longer ignorant to the suffering of others, and that just as our Father controls the intricate details of the universe, every emotion was created by Him and is under His foot. Just as every piece of His handy work calls out His name, so the pain that weaves itself into the masterpiece of our lives will point back to the Master Designer.
Thursday, July 24, 2014
Finding the Son
It was a few months ago that I realized my son, Jack, had never seen the sun rise. I suspect he didn't even know that's how it works, the sun rising and falling.
He's six now, adopted two years ago from an orphanage in Thailand. The moon and stars were his first heavenly discovery. Only a few months after coming home, he pointed into the night sky. It was then that I understood that he had never been outside during the time when the sun disappears and the moon makes its appearance. Jack was given the gift of the moon and stars when he was four years old.
The sun rise was his second discovery. In mid June, we had a trip to make to a city a few hours away. It was the early hours of the morning as we loaded up into the car. The sun was still down. As we drove, the sun began to rise up over the trees.
"Mommy! It the day time?" Jack was starting to realize that sometime between leaving our home and arriving at our destination, this wonderful transition was taking place. "LOOK, MOMMY! It the sun!"
"Do you see it, Jack? The sun's coming up over the trees. That's what the sun does every morning. It gets higher and higher in the sky."
The only problem was, as we would travel and our car would change directions, the sun would disappear behind the trees. Frustrated Jack growled from the back seat, "The sun hiding!"
"No, Jack. The sun doesn't hide. Our car is changing directions. Changing directions makes it look like the sun is hiding, but the sun never moves."
Need I say more?
The Son never moves. He is unchanging and constant, just as the sunrise. He is fixated within the Universe, and yet, His presence moves beyond eternity and spreads out into our lives. There is no where, nor no one, that is beyond His reach.
We do not have to see Him to feel His light or to experience His warmth. As we travel, there are tragic storms, blindness by sin, clouds of depression, tunnels of anxiety--the kind of tunnels that are so long that we can't see the light until we have stepped into the darkness to begin our journey--, and unforeseen obstacles. All can cause the unfortunate dilemma of losing sight of the Son. But still, His effects do not waiver.
Jesus spoke these words to John the Revelator, I am the First and the Last. I am the Living One; I was dead, and behold I am alive for ever and ever! And I hold the keys of death and Hell.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Lessons in Disappointment: Honestly Overcoming Disappointment
Expectation can be a tricky thing. It can lead us to success. Maybe, it's the idea of a self-fulfilling prophecy. We think it. We believe it. We expect higher results, and we get them---most of the time. Then, there are the other times, the times when our expectations are not met. We trip. We fall. We fail. Unmet expectations can lead to disappointment. Disappointment can challenge our faith. It can challenge our ability to make decisions. It can challenge our self-worth. It can challenge our purpose for existing---the reason we were put here to do this thing called life. How do we overcome disappointment? Better yet, how do we toss it to the side of the road and continue strong in our faith walk?
Be Honest
No one has ever overcome disappointment by hiding it or trying to manage it away. Certainly, no one has ever received healing and freedom from disappointments by ignoring it and stuffing the problem. I am the worst about this. Here are a few lies that I continue to stumble over when it comes to overcoming my disappointment.
- Others won't care about my disappointments. Not sharing our disappointments can be a dangerous thing. When we carry disappointment around within us, it becomes cancerous. Others want to hear about our hurts, but if we allow the disappointment to chisel away at our hearts and we become mean and nasty, the people we love the most may decide that they don't want to help at all. They may choose to love us from a distance.
- I will pull others down with my problems. I don't want to hurt the ones I love; therefore, I choose to hide my pain. Just the opposite! When we don't share our disappointments, we are robbing someone of a blessing. Sharing our disappointments grows not only your faith but others faith, too. When we share our wounds, we are blessed. The person who cares for us is blessed, and the Kingdom is advanced.
- I can handle my disappointment on my own. Ewww...That pride gets us every time! We cannot handle disappointment alone. Christ knows this. It is why He ordained the institutions of family and church. We are too weak to handle life alone. Leaning on those around us is okay. It the way it's supposed to work.
- I will be judged for my disappointments. Maybe...but more often times than not, when I share my disappointments with someone who has earned the right to know my hurts, those whom I have done life with and have proven to be trustworthy and constant, I'm pleasantly surprised to find that they are not nearly as shocked as I would have expected. Of course, sharing intimate details of our lives should be done wisely, but everyone should have one or two trusted friends, who have stuck it out with them through the years, that they can unload on from time to time, especially when the going gets tough.
I believe that Thomas the Disciple got this one right. No one is going to applaud him for his lack of faith, but he does deserve a round of applause for his honesty. The poor guy's gotten beaten up over the years for just saying what everyone of Jesus' followers had thought at some point and time between Christ's death and resurrection. John 20:25 ..... But he (Thomas) said to them, "Unless I see in His hands the imprint of the nails, and put my finger into the place of the nails, and put my hand into His side, I will not believe."
It's easy to get caught up in the negativity of Thomas' unbelief and to miss a valuable lesson that is taught when we read about the interaction between Thomas and Jesus just a few short verses later. How did Jesus respond to Thomas' brutal honesty? John 20:27 Then He (Jesus) said to Thomas, Reach here with your finger, and see My hands; and reach here your hand and put it into My side; and do not be unbelieving, but believing." Jesus HEARD him! He came to Thomas. He met the need that Thomas needed to have met in order for Thomas to believe. Jesus loved Thomas! He loves us!
When we are honest about our disappointments, it opens the door for Christ to work through Believers to heal our wounds. But better yet, more than anything else that anyone could do for us, Christ comes to us and whispers, " Here are my scars. I died for you. I love you. Rest and believe. "
Be honest, my friend. It works.
Sunday, July 13, 2014
Lessons in Disappointment: The Effects of Disappointment
At the very heart of disappointment is misunderstanding. What we believe is going to happen in a situation based on intuition, interpretation of circumstances, teaching, life experience, or a vast array of other reasons does not happen. We base our judgement of situations upon temporary platforms and forget to look beyond our misaligned outcome to the eternal view of the situation. When we lose perspective and start to believe that the temporal is the end of the road, disappointment creeps into our lives.
It happens to the best of us. It happened to Jesus' close inner circle following the days of the crucifixion. They interpreted Jesus' teachings from a worldly point of view. They did not understand there was something much greater taking place, the redemption of all mankind. They weren't seeing the circumstances through Christ's eyes. Thus, the days leading up to the resurrection were filled with tremendous grief and disappointment.
Disappointment can have hard hitting consequences:
We begin to fear the future. Sometimes, we can subconsciously believe that bad things aren't going to happen to us, at least not the really bad things. After all, we're Christains, right? Although we might not say it out loud, on occasion, we get the idea that if someone has a horrible circumstance in their life it's because they've obviously done something to bring it upon themselves. They should have been more careful, they were living in sin, they should have taken better care of their bodies. Then, one day it happens. From out of left field, devastation tumbles into our lives. It doesn't take us very long to realize that we have very little control over our lives and something else, just as horrible, could happen to us again. The disciples were not an exception. After Christ was crucified, they were camped out in an upper room in Jerusalem. They figured if it could happen to Jesus, it could happen to them. They were terrified of what the future would hold.
We stop reaching for the good things in life. I love science. I love the idea of a Creator who meshes together cycles and patterns that work together with great precision, intricacy, and rhythm. Our God is powerful! Nature calls out to us that our God believes in new beginnings. The Springtime, the birth of a new baby, the sunrise all echo to us that our Heavenly Father never stops giving good things, but sometimes, we choose not to receive them. We stand with clinched fists and fear in our heart, trying to protect self, trying to protect our heart. Matthew 28:8 reads: And they (the women) left the
tomb with fear and great joy and ran to report it to the disciples. I thought it was interesting that both fear and joy coexisted within these women. They had seen angels. That would explain part of the fear, but these ladies were as human as we are human. Even though they had gotten a glimpse of victory, they were afraid. The scripture doesn't give us a picture into the most intimate thoughts of their hearts, but maybe, like us, they weren't sure they could survive another disappointment. So, they
held on to fear and refused to grab on to the good things that were right in front of them.
Words can become empty. Great pain creates a disconnect between the mind and the heart. There is a reason why words become useless when we are hurting, we do not have an intellect problem. Intellectually, we know the Word, we know Biblical principles, we know God's promises. We hear them being said to us, just as did Christ's followers, but they aren't registering. Ever been there? I have. That's because the problem is not with our brain. It's with our heart. It's broken. The heart requires intimacy if it is ever to be mended. Christ knows this. It was in the garden that He spoke Mary Magdelene's name. It was with the two men on the way to Emmaus that He broke bread. It was Thomas' fingers that felt the scars in His hands, and it was only Christ who could bring understanding and revelation of the scriptures to the remaining disciples. Luke 24:45 Then He opened their (disciples) minds to understand the scripture. We can and should be Christ's hands and feet, but at the end of the day, it is He who binds up the wounds of the broken hearted. As we can see from
scripture, Jesus breathed into the life of Mary Magdelene, the Emmaus men, Thomas, and let's not
forget Peter all in a very different way. Only He knows our secret places. Only He knows how to restore us back to life.
We all suffer from the effects of disappointment. They're not new, they're not unusual, and best of all, they're not condemning. Jesus' followers refused to believe He was alive. They wanted to believe the truth, but disappointment and grief had gotten the better of them. It didn't matter! Jesus loved them. He came to them. He ministered to them. Scripture documents ten separate occasions that Christ appeared to His followers between His crucifixion and the ascension. Jesus told the ladies who had found the empty tomb, Tell my disciples and Peter, Peter! The one who denied Him, I will meet them in Galilee. Jesus met each follower in their sin and disbelief and brought hope back into their lives.
My friend, it is an impossibility that He could love us any less than He loved this rough and tumble group of early believers. We may feel the effects of disappointment, but we are not held captive by them nor condemned by them. We serve an intimate Heavenly Father who is in the business of healing our wounds, one hurt at a time, and restoring our hope for an eternal future.
It happens to the best of us. It happened to Jesus' close inner circle following the days of the crucifixion. They interpreted Jesus' teachings from a worldly point of view. They did not understand there was something much greater taking place, the redemption of all mankind. They weren't seeing the circumstances through Christ's eyes. Thus, the days leading up to the resurrection were filled with tremendous grief and disappointment.
Disappointment can have hard hitting consequences:
We begin to fear the future. Sometimes, we can subconsciously believe that bad things aren't going to happen to us, at least not the really bad things. After all, we're Christains, right? Although we might not say it out loud, on occasion, we get the idea that if someone has a horrible circumstance in their life it's because they've obviously done something to bring it upon themselves. They should have been more careful, they were living in sin, they should have taken better care of their bodies. Then, one day it happens. From out of left field, devastation tumbles into our lives. It doesn't take us very long to realize that we have very little control over our lives and something else, just as horrible, could happen to us again. The disciples were not an exception. After Christ was crucified, they were camped out in an upper room in Jerusalem. They figured if it could happen to Jesus, it could happen to them. They were terrified of what the future would hold.
We stop reaching for the good things in life. I love science. I love the idea of a Creator who meshes together cycles and patterns that work together with great precision, intricacy, and rhythm. Our God is powerful! Nature calls out to us that our God believes in new beginnings. The Springtime, the birth of a new baby, the sunrise all echo to us that our Heavenly Father never stops giving good things, but sometimes, we choose not to receive them. We stand with clinched fists and fear in our heart, trying to protect self, trying to protect our heart. Matthew 28:8 reads: And they (the women) left the
tomb with fear and great joy and ran to report it to the disciples. I thought it was interesting that both fear and joy coexisted within these women. They had seen angels. That would explain part of the fear, but these ladies were as human as we are human. Even though they had gotten a glimpse of victory, they were afraid. The scripture doesn't give us a picture into the most intimate thoughts of their hearts, but maybe, like us, they weren't sure they could survive another disappointment. So, they
held on to fear and refused to grab on to the good things that were right in front of them.
Words can become empty. Great pain creates a disconnect between the mind and the heart. There is a reason why words become useless when we are hurting, we do not have an intellect problem. Intellectually, we know the Word, we know Biblical principles, we know God's promises. We hear them being said to us, just as did Christ's followers, but they aren't registering. Ever been there? I have. That's because the problem is not with our brain. It's with our heart. It's broken. The heart requires intimacy if it is ever to be mended. Christ knows this. It was in the garden that He spoke Mary Magdelene's name. It was with the two men on the way to Emmaus that He broke bread. It was Thomas' fingers that felt the scars in His hands, and it was only Christ who could bring understanding and revelation of the scriptures to the remaining disciples. Luke 24:45 Then He opened their (disciples) minds to understand the scripture. We can and should be Christ's hands and feet, but at the end of the day, it is He who binds up the wounds of the broken hearted. As we can see from
scripture, Jesus breathed into the life of Mary Magdelene, the Emmaus men, Thomas, and let's not
forget Peter all in a very different way. Only He knows our secret places. Only He knows how to restore us back to life.
We all suffer from the effects of disappointment. They're not new, they're not unusual, and best of all, they're not condemning. Jesus' followers refused to believe He was alive. They wanted to believe the truth, but disappointment and grief had gotten the better of them. It didn't matter! Jesus loved them. He came to them. He ministered to them. Scripture documents ten separate occasions that Christ appeared to His followers between His crucifixion and the ascension. Jesus told the ladies who had found the empty tomb, Tell my disciples and Peter, Peter! The one who denied Him, I will meet them in Galilee. Jesus met each follower in their sin and disbelief and brought hope back into their lives.
My friend, it is an impossibility that He could love us any less than He loved this rough and tumble group of early believers. We may feel the effects of disappointment, but we are not held captive by them nor condemned by them. We serve an intimate Heavenly Father who is in the business of healing our wounds, one hurt at a time, and restoring our hope for an eternal future.
Friday, July 11, 2014
Lost---Life in a Campground
If we're not careful, our children will teach us a lesson...or two..or more. It all weighs on our ability to pay attention and our tenacity for living in the moment. Too much worry about the future or distraction with the unnecessary can steal a lesson right out from underneath us. I firmly believe all of the static in our lives is a tool from the devil to keep us restless and unhappy. Vacation is one of those times when we can clear our heads and refocus. We can stop and meditate on the things that bring us peace and joy. It's where I learned my lesson this week.
Jack (my son) and I vacationed with my parents this week. We camp with them every year at Myrtle Beach. We decided on Tuesday that the two of us would head to the pool. It's a pretty good trek across the campground so my mom drove us in her car. She promptly left after dropping us off in front of the building that leads to the pool. Little did we know, the pool was closed. There was no pool and no car. We were hoofing it back to our camper.
Jack has only spent two years in the outside world. The first four years of his life were lived between the walls of an orphanage, and of all the rooms in the orphanage, he usually migrated between only two. He doesn't always understand how things work in this new world where people are free to come and go as they please. Let's just say that in his eyes we had been abandoned and were doomed to roam the campground for all eternity.
He took one step out of the pool building. His eyes got as big as saucers, and he said, "Where'd the caw? I think maybe we lost." To which I replied, " You may be lost, but Mommy is not lost. Get my hand. We're walking back to the camper."
I could see that he was clearly not convinced that we were not lost, but reluctantly he followed my lead. It wasn't without some direction, though. What I mean is that everytime he thought we were near our destination he would be sure to tell me exactly where we needed to go. Now, he really had no clue where he was at or where he was going, but he felt as though he needed to help. Jack hasn't learned that he doesn't have to rely on himself anymore. He has a mommy and daddy (and lots of other awesome people) who take care of him.
It was after about the second direction, about the time that I was on the verge of losing it (It was hot, very, very hot, and trying to convince Jack that all was not lost was futile.), that I realized I handle my own insecurities the same way as Jack was handling his insecurities. I mean I'm not in a campground, but I'm doing this thing called life. Sometimes, I have no idea where I'm going or even a frame of reference for where to begin, and I panic.
As many times as I've found my Heavenly Father faithful, I still only reluctantly follow Him. Even after I start on the path and He is leading, I feel as though I somehow need to help. Me, in my finite wisdom, helping the Creator of the Universe. Really? How could I be so insecure and prideful?
The really fantastic part, He gets it. He understands that I am impossibly flesh. He knows I will wrestle with this sin nature until my glorification. He never leaves me stranded, the same way I would never leave Jack's standing alone and terrified in that campground. He gently takes my hand, listens to my fears and complaints, and then reassures me, " You may be lost, but the God of all Creation is never lost."
Jack (my son) and I vacationed with my parents this week. We camp with them every year at Myrtle Beach. We decided on Tuesday that the two of us would head to the pool. It's a pretty good trek across the campground so my mom drove us in her car. She promptly left after dropping us off in front of the building that leads to the pool. Little did we know, the pool was closed. There was no pool and no car. We were hoofing it back to our camper.
Jack has only spent two years in the outside world. The first four years of his life were lived between the walls of an orphanage, and of all the rooms in the orphanage, he usually migrated between only two. He doesn't always understand how things work in this new world where people are free to come and go as they please. Let's just say that in his eyes we had been abandoned and were doomed to roam the campground for all eternity.
He took one step out of the pool building. His eyes got as big as saucers, and he said, "Where'd the caw? I think maybe we lost." To which I replied, " You may be lost, but Mommy is not lost. Get my hand. We're walking back to the camper."
I could see that he was clearly not convinced that we were not lost, but reluctantly he followed my lead. It wasn't without some direction, though. What I mean is that everytime he thought we were near our destination he would be sure to tell me exactly where we needed to go. Now, he really had no clue where he was at or where he was going, but he felt as though he needed to help. Jack hasn't learned that he doesn't have to rely on himself anymore. He has a mommy and daddy (and lots of other awesome people) who take care of him.
It was after about the second direction, about the time that I was on the verge of losing it (It was hot, very, very hot, and trying to convince Jack that all was not lost was futile.), that I realized I handle my own insecurities the same way as Jack was handling his insecurities. I mean I'm not in a campground, but I'm doing this thing called life. Sometimes, I have no idea where I'm going or even a frame of reference for where to begin, and I panic.
As many times as I've found my Heavenly Father faithful, I still only reluctantly follow Him. Even after I start on the path and He is leading, I feel as though I somehow need to help. Me, in my finite wisdom, helping the Creator of the Universe. Really? How could I be so insecure and prideful?
The really fantastic part, He gets it. He understands that I am impossibly flesh. He knows I will wrestle with this sin nature until my glorification. He never leaves me stranded, the same way I would never leave Jack's standing alone and terrified in that campground. He gently takes my hand, listens to my fears and complaints, and then reassures me, " You may be lost, but the God of all Creation is never lost."
Sunday, July 6, 2014
Lessons in Disappointment: Defining Disappointment
Over the past few weeks, I've given a great deal of thought to the idea of disappointment. When I listen to others, when I see devastation around me, and when I examine my own life, I realize that at the heart of many of our hurts is disappointment. Disappointment is not selective. It comes to all of our doors: the person who said they loved us stops saying I love you, the job promotion that we deserved slips through our fingers, our husbands aren't the fathers or leaders that we were sure they would be, we lose a job or all of our investments, our best friend stops calling. We usually don't think too much about disappointment until it becomes personal, but when it's me or you that it happens too, disappointment can become hard to survive.
Then, there are the stand out disappointments that have others looking from a distance saying, Wow. I hope that never happens to me; our children die, sometimes, more than one, we're diagnosed with cancer, our spouse slips away with Alzheimer's. The problem is it's happened to you, and it doesn't seem quite right. It stings and cuts at our souls. We realize it's the disappointment that nearly chokes the life out of us. It's the should have's, the what if's, the it's not fair's. It didn't turn out the way I planned. Why me? My future is forever altered. This is NOT what I signed up for. They were supposed to be here.
The scary part of disappointment is that it creates these very real emotions that are crippling. Those emotions challenge our faith and cloud our thought process. Ever had this thought? If God is good, why did this happen? He could have fixed it. He could have intervened. We all have. Disappointment brings us to that place. If we're not careful we'll be so thrown by our own doubts and emotions that we'll start to implode. We'll shut down, stop looking for answers, stop being real, stop listening for His voice.
I was reading through the last chapters of Luke today, about the crucifixion. Luke 23:49 says, And all His acquaintances and the women who accompanied Him from Galilee were standing at a distance, seeing these things (the crucifixion). The crucifixion was so traumatic to them that they had removed themselves from the situation. Ever been there? It was surreal. Their minds could not process what was happening. They were devastated, incredibly confused, and disappointed.
Why? Because what the people surrounding Jesus thought was going to happen and what actually happened were two very different scenarios. They thought that they understood what Jesus was all about, and they did kind of get it. Their faith was in Him. However, they were seeing everything through an earthly lens. They believed Jesus was going to set up an Earthly kingdom. How could He be their king if He was dead? Jesus said the temple would be destroyed. It was still standing. Talk about being confused and disappointed! Jesus' followers were seeing with physical eyes , not spiritual eyes.
So, what is disappointment? First, it's something that causes deep pain, and on the surface, it is when what we believe will happen ( sometimes, with great faith) and what actually happens do not line up. We believe in a healing, but it doesn't happen. We do all the right things for our struggling child, but we can't turn them around. We are the best wife we know how to be, but our husband still walks out.
When we dig deeper, disappointment is a reaction based on our perceptions. Like the followers at the cross, sometimes what we believe with all of our hearts is not really reality, and in order to overcome disappointment we must change the lens that we are looking through from an earthly perception to a spiritual perception.
Then, there are the stand out disappointments that have others looking from a distance saying, Wow. I hope that never happens to me; our children die, sometimes, more than one, we're diagnosed with cancer, our spouse slips away with Alzheimer's. The problem is it's happened to you, and it doesn't seem quite right. It stings and cuts at our souls. We realize it's the disappointment that nearly chokes the life out of us. It's the should have's, the what if's, the it's not fair's. It didn't turn out the way I planned. Why me? My future is forever altered. This is NOT what I signed up for. They were supposed to be here.
The scary part of disappointment is that it creates these very real emotions that are crippling. Those emotions challenge our faith and cloud our thought process. Ever had this thought? If God is good, why did this happen? He could have fixed it. He could have intervened. We all have. Disappointment brings us to that place. If we're not careful we'll be so thrown by our own doubts and emotions that we'll start to implode. We'll shut down, stop looking for answers, stop being real, stop listening for His voice.
I was reading through the last chapters of Luke today, about the crucifixion. Luke 23:49 says, And all His acquaintances and the women who accompanied Him from Galilee were standing at a distance, seeing these things (the crucifixion). The crucifixion was so traumatic to them that they had removed themselves from the situation. Ever been there? It was surreal. Their minds could not process what was happening. They were devastated, incredibly confused, and disappointed.
Why? Because what the people surrounding Jesus thought was going to happen and what actually happened were two very different scenarios. They thought that they understood what Jesus was all about, and they did kind of get it. Their faith was in Him. However, they were seeing everything through an earthly lens. They believed Jesus was going to set up an Earthly kingdom. How could He be their king if He was dead? Jesus said the temple would be destroyed. It was still standing. Talk about being confused and disappointed! Jesus' followers were seeing with physical eyes , not spiritual eyes.
So, what is disappointment? First, it's something that causes deep pain, and on the surface, it is when what we believe will happen ( sometimes, with great faith) and what actually happens do not line up. We believe in a healing, but it doesn't happen. We do all the right things for our struggling child, but we can't turn them around. We are the best wife we know how to be, but our husband still walks out.
When we dig deeper, disappointment is a reaction based on our perceptions. Like the followers at the cross, sometimes what we believe with all of our hearts is not really reality, and in order to overcome disappointment we must change the lens that we are looking through from an earthly perception to a spiritual perception.
Thursday, June 26, 2014
Talking About Nothing
Yesterday morning I sat in the hot tub on our back deck with my six year old son Jack. When you are six years old and less than four feet tall, the hot tub is the place to be. It's your own personal swimming pool. He climbed up onto my lap and snuggled up close. It was just the two of us. It was quiet. I decided to listen to whatever he had to say. The time is fleeting, and I know that in a year or two the stories he tells will not be nearly as entertaining or imaginative. Right now, they make me laugh. So, I listen.
He talked about absolutely nothing, nothing that would be important to you and me, but it was important to him. I heard about a tree cutting expedition in the woods behind our house, how he and daddy had cut a tree down and made a stump. With loud yells and arms flapping around, he told me how daddy had yelled, "Move! Move!" and that the tree had fallen down to the ground. "You can't see it," he said, "It's in the woods." Cutting a tree down was spectacular stuff to a boy who had never been part of such an exciting event.
I decided in that moment that listening to Jack's story was probably going to be the best thing I had done all day, and it was. From the outside looking in, it may have seemed as though I was wasting time. There were definitely lots of other "productive" things that I could have been doing ---laundry, dishes, picking up toys, all the things that mothers do a hundred times a day. I could have even been doing tasks that made me look or feel more spiritual, things that people in my life might look at, and they would be impressed. Wow. I do that all.the.time.. In a world where more is more, even in the church, how do we weed out the important stuff from the stuff that becomes distracting busyness?
Busyness---lively but meaningless activity.
I thought about the Children of Israel marching around Jericho ( Joshua 6 ) for seven days. I imagine the Israelites must have been pretty busy people, between taking care of their families and their religious obligations. (This is starting to sound very familiar.). There may have even been some complaining going on in the camp. "Why do I have to walk around the wall? I have laundry to do,
and I have to drag all these kids along with me. Why can't the priest and soldiers do it on their own?" The overtly religious probably sounded more like this, " Tomorrow is not a good day for me. I need time to make a sacrifice. Everyone is going to think I don't love God if I don't get to that sacrifice." The soldiers, more than likely, had their own opinions, too. "Is this what I've been training for, to walk around a wall? I want to do some real fighting."
Lucky for them, they listened to Joshua and did what God told them to do. They shut it down and got behind the Ark and simply walked. They weren't involved in "works", those things that make us feel good about ourselves and make others to feels good about us, too. As a matter of fact, what they were doing looked somewhat like idleness and made absolutely no sense to the people of Jericho. They didn't even bother to attack the Israelites as far as we know. Walking around Jericho didn't seem logical or impressive to those who were spectators. All the children of Israel knew was that they
were following God, both by faith and in a real literal sense. They were walking behind the Ark of the Covenant.
In the end, it was simple obedience and the hand of a mighty God that brought victory to the Isrealites. It was about Him, not the Israelites or what others perceived about the Israelites. In this case, they were able to see clearly what was most important and to lay aside all other busyness (including talking) to make an eternal impact on the world. How do we do the same?
1. Decide. Does it really have to be done? Sometimes our immediate answer to this is, "Yes." Our emotions tell us that things that aren't really that important are important. Stop. Take a breath, and logically think through what will really happen if you don't get that one thing checked off your list. Usually, unless it's something like paying the late electric bill, it will simply be there for you to do tomorrow. The opportunity to invest in someone may not be there tomorrow. We can only count on the present when it comes to the people around us.
2. Are you at peace with what you are doing? As children of God we have the Holy Spirit to guide
us and convict us. If we are getting that internal static every time we do a certain activity, we should probably look at it more closely to judge if it is inconsequential to the Kingdom and making us too busy to hear the Father. We can have a range of emotions about many things we do. Don't get me started on motherhood, but at the end of the day, there should be peace about what we are doing.
3. Does it have lasting value? There are some things that simply must be done, but priorities can be made by this question. We can decide what can wait a little longer and what should be carved out, seized, or sought after. Jesus does not care nearly as much about whether we have a clean floor or a large bank account as He does as to what we have done to bring honor to His name.
4. What are our motives? We know Jesus is about the eternal, but He is also about the internal. We need to ask ourselves why we are making the choices we are making with our time. There is always something going on internally when we choose to engage in any activity. So, are we doing it for the right reason, or are we secretly struggling with worry about not looking like a "good" Christian? Are
we teaching that Sunday School Class because we felt pressured into it? Do we, on some level, feel that we will gain favor with God if we just do enough? Does it build our ego up if someone is bragging on us? Our motivations can be telling.
Separating our deeds into a keep pile or a throw away pile can be difficult. It can take a little (or a whole lot) of bravery. It can mean that we risk being misunderstood by a world that doesn't seem to have the ability to slow down. However, it can also transform us from being busy for the Father into being beneficial for the Father.
Oh, by the way, one more thing about Jericho, Jericho is the city where Zacchaeus the tax collector sought out Jesus and where Jesus chose Zacchaeus. Guess what Zacchaeus was doing when he
encountered Jesus ? Just sitting in a Sycamore tree.
He talked about absolutely nothing, nothing that would be important to you and me, but it was important to him. I heard about a tree cutting expedition in the woods behind our house, how he and daddy had cut a tree down and made a stump. With loud yells and arms flapping around, he told me how daddy had yelled, "Move! Move!" and that the tree had fallen down to the ground. "You can't see it," he said, "It's in the woods." Cutting a tree down was spectacular stuff to a boy who had never been part of such an exciting event.
I decided in that moment that listening to Jack's story was probably going to be the best thing I had done all day, and it was. From the outside looking in, it may have seemed as though I was wasting time. There were definitely lots of other "productive" things that I could have been doing ---laundry, dishes, picking up toys, all the things that mothers do a hundred times a day. I could have even been doing tasks that made me look or feel more spiritual, things that people in my life might look at, and they would be impressed. Wow. I do that all.the.time.. In a world where more is more, even in the church, how do we weed out the important stuff from the stuff that becomes distracting busyness?
Busyness---lively but meaningless activity.
I thought about the Children of Israel marching around Jericho ( Joshua 6 ) for seven days. I imagine the Israelites must have been pretty busy people, between taking care of their families and their religious obligations. (This is starting to sound very familiar.). There may have even been some complaining going on in the camp. "Why do I have to walk around the wall? I have laundry to do,
and I have to drag all these kids along with me. Why can't the priest and soldiers do it on their own?" The overtly religious probably sounded more like this, " Tomorrow is not a good day for me. I need time to make a sacrifice. Everyone is going to think I don't love God if I don't get to that sacrifice." The soldiers, more than likely, had their own opinions, too. "Is this what I've been training for, to walk around a wall? I want to do some real fighting."
Lucky for them, they listened to Joshua and did what God told them to do. They shut it down and got behind the Ark and simply walked. They weren't involved in "works", those things that make us feel good about ourselves and make others to feels good about us, too. As a matter of fact, what they were doing looked somewhat like idleness and made absolutely no sense to the people of Jericho. They didn't even bother to attack the Israelites as far as we know. Walking around Jericho didn't seem logical or impressive to those who were spectators. All the children of Israel knew was that they
were following God, both by faith and in a real literal sense. They were walking behind the Ark of the Covenant.
In the end, it was simple obedience and the hand of a mighty God that brought victory to the Isrealites. It was about Him, not the Israelites or what others perceived about the Israelites. In this case, they were able to see clearly what was most important and to lay aside all other busyness (including talking) to make an eternal impact on the world. How do we do the same?
1. Decide. Does it really have to be done? Sometimes our immediate answer to this is, "Yes." Our emotions tell us that things that aren't really that important are important. Stop. Take a breath, and logically think through what will really happen if you don't get that one thing checked off your list. Usually, unless it's something like paying the late electric bill, it will simply be there for you to do tomorrow. The opportunity to invest in someone may not be there tomorrow. We can only count on the present when it comes to the people around us.
2. Are you at peace with what you are doing? As children of God we have the Holy Spirit to guide
us and convict us. If we are getting that internal static every time we do a certain activity, we should probably look at it more closely to judge if it is inconsequential to the Kingdom and making us too busy to hear the Father. We can have a range of emotions about many things we do. Don't get me started on motherhood, but at the end of the day, there should be peace about what we are doing.
3. Does it have lasting value? There are some things that simply must be done, but priorities can be made by this question. We can decide what can wait a little longer and what should be carved out, seized, or sought after. Jesus does not care nearly as much about whether we have a clean floor or a large bank account as He does as to what we have done to bring honor to His name.
4. What are our motives? We know Jesus is about the eternal, but He is also about the internal. We need to ask ourselves why we are making the choices we are making with our time. There is always something going on internally when we choose to engage in any activity. So, are we doing it for the right reason, or are we secretly struggling with worry about not looking like a "good" Christian? Are
we teaching that Sunday School Class because we felt pressured into it? Do we, on some level, feel that we will gain favor with God if we just do enough? Does it build our ego up if someone is bragging on us? Our motivations can be telling.
Separating our deeds into a keep pile or a throw away pile can be difficult. It can take a little (or a whole lot) of bravery. It can mean that we risk being misunderstood by a world that doesn't seem to have the ability to slow down. However, it can also transform us from being busy for the Father into being beneficial for the Father.
Oh, by the way, one more thing about Jericho, Jericho is the city where Zacchaeus the tax collector sought out Jesus and where Jesus chose Zacchaeus. Guess what Zacchaeus was doing when he
encountered Jesus ? Just sitting in a Sycamore tree.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
The Blessings of Losing Big
Spring is hard. It used to be my favorite times of the year. I have high hopes that my love for the season will eventually return. But for now, new beginnings are difficult; especially, when it comes every year. How do you celebrate a clean start when the start will always be impossibly different? How do you look forward to all the fun adventures that the warm months will bring when one of your adventurers, whom also was the biggest adventurer of all, will not be returning? How do you embrace the newness of life, when no matter how gloriously full the cup is filled, it will always be a little empty?
This Spring, I am counting my blessings. No matter how unorthodox it may seem, there are blessings that come along with saying goodbye, too early, to a child. We don't stumble into them. We don't receive them by relying on ourselves, and they do not appear quickly. It can be a hard fight to get to the blessing, a long road filled with tears, doubts, and lots of "why's". Thankfully, the battle is not ours to fight, and somewhere in the process, we realize that the battle was taken care of some two thousand years ago on a cross.
Not really a cross, but THE cross...it was the Cross of Calvary that settled the victory over the grave. It is the cross that levels every death into two questions. "How will this death change me into looking more like Christ?" Maybe, it would be better said this way, "How much of myself will disappear so that Christ may make an appearance that will impact eternity?" The second question, two questions in one, is "Will I see my child again, and who will I bring along with me?"
Death does that. It simplifies the questions of life. It forces us to realize that we don't go around, under, or behind it. We must walk straight through it. That makes every question that has nothing to do with the eternal unnecessary and completely irrelevant. It is when we start to answer these questions in our grief walk that the blessings start to poke their heads up out of a stream of grief that sometimes seems to be waste deep.
My list, The Blessings of Losing Big:
1. Fear of the unknown is whittled down to next to nothing, and often times, it is completely gone. I say "whittled", but truly for me, it was more like a hammer smashing down on all my fear and anxiety. It dissipated the second I realized my boy had left this world. Worrying about the temporal had a hold on me, and I mean a good hold on me. My thinking changed. First, whose opinion of me matters? No one's, short of Jesus. In the end, it will be the Father and me. If He loves me, why would I seek the approval of others? Secondly, the rejection of others could never compare to the emptiness and loss I felt from losing Miles. If it can't get any worse ( and I don't think it gets any worse than losing your child), why not get on with it, get over ourselves, and serve Jesus with the ability He's given us? What if we fail? What if someone doesn't like it? It doesn't matter. What matters is that someone can get a glimpse....no, a full on picture...of Christ because we've chosen to put ourselves in the backseat.
2. The cross has a new meaning. This occurs to me every so often when I'm worshipping. I used to sing the words to songs about Christ having victory or about His goodness, and I got them on an intellectual level. I could take you to a scripture that would point out that God was good. I could have a debate with you about why God was good, but I'm not sure it traveled past my brain and into my heart. It was cool that Jesus took away my sins and someday I would go to Heaven, but there wasn't a real personal value attached to the belief.
Now, there is. The cross means I will see my boy again. The cross means that no matter how crummy this life gets, it's not the end. The cross means that Jesus loves me and cares about my loss. He made a way for us to be together again. The cross means everything to my survival.
3. I have seen the power of the church of Jesus Christ. I have been loved in an incredible way. "I have been loved." How many people leave this world and can never say those words? I could, can, say them again and again and again. I would never have experienced such love without an extreme tragedy. Being loved by my brothers and sisters in Christ renewed my hope in people and reaffirmed the value that others attached to me. It is good to be loved. It challenges me to love in a radical way so that others may see Christ. In other words, I want to return the favor.
4. Healing. Yes, I said healing. When we face a problem that we cannot white knuckle, ignore, or smile away, we have to get help, and get help in a hurry. By the grace of God, I made that decision. It's funny how God always works in opposites. We think healing brings healing, but healing doesn't force us to face our demons or that baggage we've been dragging around for thirty years. Mine had gotten so easy to carry I think it must have had wheels.
It took a few years, but I found freedom. I threw that baggage right back into the pits of hell where it came from. I hope that one day I'll be able to tell Miles how I found freedom despite of the foolish choice that he made, that God worked it all out. Then again, there's a really big possibility that the trials of this life won't matter in the light of eternity. What I do know is God brought purpose out of Miles' death because his death meant something to Him, too. Nothing goes unseen from the hand of God.
5. I tried it, and I liked it. (As Jack says about everything he eats.). I think that parents who bury their children are special. They get a special treatment from the Father. I have seen the character of God in a way that other believers will never experience, or that they are afraid to experience because it would require great heartache. How do we know the greatness of God if we do not test the Word of God? How do we know every promise is true if we never get the opportunity to live and breathe the words of the Father? We can't. We can have head knowledge, but it is the heart knowledge that propels us into full abandon for Christ. Once we taste His goodness, the possibility of turning back shrinks into nothingness.
How do I know He is good? I got out of bed this morning. I laughed. I could breathe without it hurting the way it did in the early days of losing Miles. I have hope for the future. I was allowed and empowered to love again. Not an easy love, but I was allowed to love the unloved, an orphan. I hear my children laugh. Neither were laughing three years ago. God is good ALL THE TIME.
6. My purpose is clear, and my goal is in sight. I have a temporal connection to an eternal world. My boy is waiting for me, and sometimes, I'm almost certain he is cheering me on. There is no love like the love of a parent for their child. We know this by the Father's love. I will get to Miles. Not getting to him is not an option. It drives me to the Gates. It keeps my focus on forever in a way that nothing else could accomplish.
I used to say that I wanted to see Miles first of all, but the truth, of late, is that I want to see Jesus first of all. I want to thank Him for making it all possible, and then, I want to worship with my family, whole, complete.....no more saying goodbye...no more filled cups with a little missing. Everything will be complete, the way it was intended to be from the beginning.
My list could keep going. There are lists within the list. There are blessings in losing big. Why? Because, as you can see, each trial and blessing points back to our Creator. In our heartache, we are doing what we were created to do, glorify Him. Because He is worthy of being glorified, He promises that the process will bless us, make us more like Him, and the cycle continues, over and over and over again. Each time, we're drawn closer and closer to Him, and each time, He is lifted higher and higher.
That, my friend, is the blessing of losing big.
This Spring, I am counting my blessings. No matter how unorthodox it may seem, there are blessings that come along with saying goodbye, too early, to a child. We don't stumble into them. We don't receive them by relying on ourselves, and they do not appear quickly. It can be a hard fight to get to the blessing, a long road filled with tears, doubts, and lots of "why's". Thankfully, the battle is not ours to fight, and somewhere in the process, we realize that the battle was taken care of some two thousand years ago on a cross.
Not really a cross, but THE cross...it was the Cross of Calvary that settled the victory over the grave. It is the cross that levels every death into two questions. "How will this death change me into looking more like Christ?" Maybe, it would be better said this way, "How much of myself will disappear so that Christ may make an appearance that will impact eternity?" The second question, two questions in one, is "Will I see my child again, and who will I bring along with me?"
Death does that. It simplifies the questions of life. It forces us to realize that we don't go around, under, or behind it. We must walk straight through it. That makes every question that has nothing to do with the eternal unnecessary and completely irrelevant. It is when we start to answer these questions in our grief walk that the blessings start to poke their heads up out of a stream of grief that sometimes seems to be waste deep.
My list, The Blessings of Losing Big:
1. Fear of the unknown is whittled down to next to nothing, and often times, it is completely gone. I say "whittled", but truly for me, it was more like a hammer smashing down on all my fear and anxiety. It dissipated the second I realized my boy had left this world. Worrying about the temporal had a hold on me, and I mean a good hold on me. My thinking changed. First, whose opinion of me matters? No one's, short of Jesus. In the end, it will be the Father and me. If He loves me, why would I seek the approval of others? Secondly, the rejection of others could never compare to the emptiness and loss I felt from losing Miles. If it can't get any worse ( and I don't think it gets any worse than losing your child), why not get on with it, get over ourselves, and serve Jesus with the ability He's given us? What if we fail? What if someone doesn't like it? It doesn't matter. What matters is that someone can get a glimpse....no, a full on picture...of Christ because we've chosen to put ourselves in the backseat.
2. The cross has a new meaning. This occurs to me every so often when I'm worshipping. I used to sing the words to songs about Christ having victory or about His goodness, and I got them on an intellectual level. I could take you to a scripture that would point out that God was good. I could have a debate with you about why God was good, but I'm not sure it traveled past my brain and into my heart. It was cool that Jesus took away my sins and someday I would go to Heaven, but there wasn't a real personal value attached to the belief.
Now, there is. The cross means I will see my boy again. The cross means that no matter how crummy this life gets, it's not the end. The cross means that Jesus loves me and cares about my loss. He made a way for us to be together again. The cross means everything to my survival.
3. I have seen the power of the church of Jesus Christ. I have been loved in an incredible way. "I have been loved." How many people leave this world and can never say those words? I could, can, say them again and again and again. I would never have experienced such love without an extreme tragedy. Being loved by my brothers and sisters in Christ renewed my hope in people and reaffirmed the value that others attached to me. It is good to be loved. It challenges me to love in a radical way so that others may see Christ. In other words, I want to return the favor.
4. Healing. Yes, I said healing. When we face a problem that we cannot white knuckle, ignore, or smile away, we have to get help, and get help in a hurry. By the grace of God, I made that decision. It's funny how God always works in opposites. We think healing brings healing, but healing doesn't force us to face our demons or that baggage we've been dragging around for thirty years. Mine had gotten so easy to carry I think it must have had wheels.
It took a few years, but I found freedom. I threw that baggage right back into the pits of hell where it came from. I hope that one day I'll be able to tell Miles how I found freedom despite of the foolish choice that he made, that God worked it all out. Then again, there's a really big possibility that the trials of this life won't matter in the light of eternity. What I do know is God brought purpose out of Miles' death because his death meant something to Him, too. Nothing goes unseen from the hand of God.
5. I tried it, and I liked it. (As Jack says about everything he eats.). I think that parents who bury their children are special. They get a special treatment from the Father. I have seen the character of God in a way that other believers will never experience, or that they are afraid to experience because it would require great heartache. How do we know the greatness of God if we do not test the Word of God? How do we know every promise is true if we never get the opportunity to live and breathe the words of the Father? We can't. We can have head knowledge, but it is the heart knowledge that propels us into full abandon for Christ. Once we taste His goodness, the possibility of turning back shrinks into nothingness.
How do I know He is good? I got out of bed this morning. I laughed. I could breathe without it hurting the way it did in the early days of losing Miles. I have hope for the future. I was allowed and empowered to love again. Not an easy love, but I was allowed to love the unloved, an orphan. I hear my children laugh. Neither were laughing three years ago. God is good ALL THE TIME.
6. My purpose is clear, and my goal is in sight. I have a temporal connection to an eternal world. My boy is waiting for me, and sometimes, I'm almost certain he is cheering me on. There is no love like the love of a parent for their child. We know this by the Father's love. I will get to Miles. Not getting to him is not an option. It drives me to the Gates. It keeps my focus on forever in a way that nothing else could accomplish.
I used to say that I wanted to see Miles first of all, but the truth, of late, is that I want to see Jesus first of all. I want to thank Him for making it all possible, and then, I want to worship with my family, whole, complete.....no more saying goodbye...no more filled cups with a little missing. Everything will be complete, the way it was intended to be from the beginning.
My list could keep going. There are lists within the list. There are blessings in losing big. Why? Because, as you can see, each trial and blessing points back to our Creator. In our heartache, we are doing what we were created to do, glorify Him. Because He is worthy of being glorified, He promises that the process will bless us, make us more like Him, and the cycle continues, over and over and over again. Each time, we're drawn closer and closer to Him, and each time, He is lifted higher and higher.
That, my friend, is the blessing of losing big.
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