The Armor of God: Forward Facing

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of His might.  Put on the full armor of God, so that you will be able to stand firm against the schemes of the devil.  For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, and against the world forces of the darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places.  Therefore, take up the full armor of God, so that you will be able to resist in the evil day, and having done everything, to stand firm.

Ephesians 6: 10-13

     We, my family, are on the verge of our second international adoption. By my calculations, we are down to months---six or less.  I know the realities of what we will face. I've walked this road, before. I know the realities that this nearly six year old boy, my son, will face. I've witnessed them with my Jack. We're heading into battle, a battle for the unseen--hope, joy, peace, love, faith, all the fragile, intricate pieces that make up the inward parts of a little person we will call our own.  There will not always be Hallmark endings that fit tidily into our self-made, dreamed up boxes. There WILL be hard days, maybe, many hard days--possibly, years of hard days. That's how putting broken pieces back together looks. It's messy business.

     How do we face the battle? How do I, the one who goes by the simple title Mommy, look into the eyes of my child, see overwhelming hurt, grief, abandonment, confusion, anger, fear, insecurity, and not crumble--completely crumble into the farthest corner imaginable and never get up? He is how. My father says,   "Put on my armor, face forward, and move into the battle." 

1.  The armor is His.  We do not manufacture, hope for, or earn His armor.  That would mean that it somehow belonged to us.  The very nature of the armor is derived from God.  It has been since the beginning.  It was  made available to us through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.  If we are a believer, it's lying at our feet.  Because we are His, it is ours. We need only to put it on!

2.  We choose to wear the armor.  Twice in the above scripture, Paul admonishes the church of Ephesus to put on God's armor.  Choosing God's strength over our own strength is a matter of the will.  Do we choose the tools He has made available to us by crucifying self, or do we choose to move in our own strength?

 Notice Paul tells us to put on the whole armor of God. We can also opt to wear only the pieces of armor that we deem necessary, but scripture is clear. This will leave us susceptible to failure.

3.  The armor is meant to be permanent.  "Put on" means put it on, and leave it on.  We can conclude with certainty from this statement that trials, heartbreak, temptations, devastations...and the list could go on.. will come into our life.  If for no other reason, there is a spiritual battle that is going on around us, and whether we realize it or not, when we chose Christ, we chose the battle. Secondly, trials and temptations are not isolated events.  They will come and go as long as we are passing through this foreign land we call life. Our armor must be a constant source of protection.

4.  The struggles are difficult and exhausting.  The word used for "struggle" in this passage refers to hand-to-hand combat. In other words, satan can become up close and personal with us.  Although we all face common struggles, sometimes, the evil one will be allowed to hit us where it hurts the most. The demons knew the names of the apostles, and satan wanted to destroy Job. He is not oblivious to us. Lest we fear, the war was won at Calvary, however;  to have an effective walk, we should expect and be prepared for exhausting warfare that can only be won through the power of Jesus Christ.

5.  There is no armor for the back.  Of all the armor that is given to us by the Father, there is no protection for the back.  We are called to be forward facing, continuously moving ahead in battle--spreading the gospel, loving the unlovable, reflecting His glory--simply put, being aware and submissive to the prompting of the Holy Spirit.

We will be forward facing because there is never a need for retreat.  Our God, the Loin of Judah, lives within us.  It is impossible, through His strength, to fail in such a way that we could never get back up.  He created the Universe.  Surely, He has conquered every trial and temptation that could ever cause us to stumble.

Lastly, my friend, we are forward facing because we are continuously moving toward a glorious ending.  Trials here lose their grip when we set our sights on Eternity. No matter how battle weary we may be, there is coming a moment when we will march in from battle, many with wounds to show, and we will slip off that dented up, beat up armor and lay it at the feet of the very One who made the armor possible---forward facing, all the way to our Savior.

     

Casting Our Nets

And it came to pass, that as the people pressed upon him to hear the word of God, he stood by the lake of  Gennesaret,

And saw two ships standing by the lake: but the fisherman were gone out of them, and were washing their nets.

And he entered into one of the ships, which was Simon's, and prayed him that he would thrust out a little from the land.  And he sat down, and taught the people out of the ship.

Now when he had left speaking, he said unto Simon, Launch out into the deep, and let down your nets for a draught.

And Simon answering said unto him, Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing: nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net.

And when they had this done, they enclosed a great multitude of fishes: and their net brake.

And they beckoned unto their partners, which were in the other ship, that they should come and help them.  And they came, and filled both the ships, so that they began to sink.

When Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus' knees, saying, Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord.

For he was astonished, and all that were with him, at the draught of the fishes which they had taken:

And so was also James, and John, the sons of Zebedee, which were partners with Simon, Fear not; from henceforth thou shalt catch men.

And when they had brought their ships to land, they forsook all, and followed him.

Luke 5 1-11

     As much as I like science, it's the statistics behind the science that really call to me.  The realist in me wants to know her odds, and the faith in me wants to know the odds that her God is going to overcome.  I wrestle between the two---my odds and my faith.  We all do.  Needless to say, when I heard these verses of scripture, I sat up and took notice.  Actually, my eyes took notice. They filled with tears. The odds said there would be no fish in that net. Faith said listen to the Rabbi.  Everyday, just as Simon Peter did, we choose between our odds and our faith--the concrete, what we can see and touch, and the unseen, the Father's promises and precepts. 

        What happens when we choose to let down our nets, even in the face of disappointment? The disciples had clearly been disappointed. What happens when we resolve, through the power of the Holy Spirit, to follow Him when it doesn't make sense, when it hurts, when the most we can muster is a "Help me, Father", when we can't see through our anger or our tears, when our home is silent, when our future is shattered, when there are no pieces to pick up because the pieces are simply gone.  So... what happens?

     Casting our nets after disappointment means we do what is counter-intuitive to our logic.  Simon made this point to Christ. "We've worked all night and caught nothing."  Peter had the feeling he was wasting his time, but he had enough faith to obey--despite his doubts.  Notice there is no sentence of rebuke from Christ written between Simon Peter's statement of the obvious and his obedience to Christ. Faith, which translates into obedience, doesn't have to come without fear or hurt or questions. It means faith should follow even in the presence of all these emotions. Through tears, confusion, and disappointment, we cast our nets.

We Get a Glimpse of the Savior
     We would be remise if we mistook the fish as the blessing.  Read the last line of the passage. They left the fish! They forsook everything. The fish were nothing to Peter, James, and John. This scripture is not about Jesus giving a group of fisherman a bunch of fish. It's about the Giver of the fish. The miracle caused these boys to get a glimpse of the Savior.  They recognized His sovereignty over all of creation. They knew they had come in contact with the real deal, the Messiah.

     This recognition started to change the fishermen from the inside out.  Peter fell at Jesus' feet and confessed his tenacity for being a sinner.  He realized who he was in relationship to the Messiah.  Jesus was God and worthy of Simon's everything.  It was the day Simon Peter surrendered his life to Christ.  He would never be the same.

   Obedience in the face of disappointment--complete disaster, even the kind that seems unfixable--changes who we are because it changes how we see the Father. Our minds can not get an understanding of our Father if we sit with clinched fists and fear in our hearts, refusing to listen to His call. It is impossible for the Savior to transform our hearts when we choose self-preservation over the One who wants to transform our inward parts.  

   
     When we answer, "Yes." and walk in the paths He has called us to, He starts the renovation. Everyone's call is different, but there's always a call. The answer is our choice. To say yes means, we begin to see the sovereignty of Jesus.  There is nothing that is beyond His sphere of control. It changes our hearts. It makes us more like Him. Our lives are never the same.

We Get a Glimpse of Our Future
     The fish represented a much larger idea. Jesus was in essence saying, "You ain't seen nothin', yet!"  The fish were a picture of the men's lives that would be impacted by Peter, James, and John's obedience. They were going to turn the world upside down for Christ.  They got a glimpse of their futures, and the futures were way cooler than being fishermen.  Christ allowed them this insight.  They clearly could have had no idea of the scope of their influence, but it was enough of a glimpse for them to be all in.

    Refusing to allow disappointment to hinder our full-on surrender to Christ can do the same for us. Christ gives us a glimpse of our future. Sticking with Him means we are allowed to experience the weaving back together of our broken dreams. We start to recognize that with Christ our futures are unbreakable.We, like the Disciples, will never know nor understand the full impact we will have on future generations, but  what casting our nets teaches us is that we are unstoppable, invincible. We are more that conquerors with Christ.  This, my friends,  is our future.

He is our future.

The Closet

      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.
   
     

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.

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!

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.
   

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.

He is our forever and ever! The Son never moves. 

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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.

Lessons in Disappointment: Defining Disappointment
Lessons in Disappointment: The Effects of Disappointment

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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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

Tuesdays

     It was not my plan to spend my Sunday afternoon at the computer.  It was not my plan to write another blog beyond the summer.  Life is busy and time precious.  My plan was a nice long Sunday afternoon nap.  As I lie there, I could here the call, Get up....get up.  Put it down on paper.  So, here I am, Sunday afternoon, my blue earplugs in my ears ( Remember, I'm the mommy. ), and my iPad in my lap.
      Usually, by the time I get this far into the process, I have a plan, a notion of how to get from point A to point B in a fairly easy to follow, concise sort of way.  I will tell a story or have scripture in mind.  Sometimes, I've researched for a good long bit.  That's not the case, today.  Today, my mind is on doing the hard things, those things that can't be done without Christ.
     My mind is on the third anniversary of the death of my eldest son.  It's coming Tuesday.  I know this because I can feel it in the pit of my stomach.  It's the familiar ache, the one I felt on that first day. As of late, I can see the images,  think the thoughts, hear the sounds,  and feel the unrelenting emptiness of losing the flesh of my flesh, the one that I grew inside of my womb and that I pushed out into this world. He is the one who greeted me with big, warm brown eyes on that first birthday, the same ones that grew dull and empty on the day that he left us.
       Tuesday is coming.  Tuesday is coming for us all.  We will all have days that transcend human reason, human strength, human fairness.  There will be days that leave us gutted, lying and bleeding, fighting for breath.  There will be days when breath seems a bother.  There will be days when all the eggs in our basket lie shattered at our feet as we frantically try to piece them back together, rewind time, wish it had never happened, fail to make the connection in our minds of clay that this will never be what it once was.
     What do we do with our Tuesdays?  Not the first or the second ones, but when they start to come year after year.  The first years, they are meant for grief, but after that.  What do we do with those days that start to hold us captive, the anniversaries, the birthdays?  What do we do when we start to hear Christ calling us to freedom from our Tuesdays?  I hear Him calling....I want to be free.
     I will trust Him.  I will remember His promises, but, at this moment, not without a shaky resolve.  Today, I feel as though I am standing on the edge of an abyss, waiting to furl myself into the darkness, with the hope that I will feel His arms gather around me as I answer His call.  Freedom can be found in the arms of my Father.  I know because I have been there many times.
      As Tuesday comes, I want to dare to be as Christ in my thinking.  I want to dare to celebrate Tuesday, to see from Eternity's point of view.  I want to dare to be unselfish, to give my child, with open hands, to the King.  I want to dare to be happy, on my Tuesday, because Jesus paid our sin debt and there is hope in the cross.
      As Tuesday comes, I want to be about my Father's business, an impossibility within my own strength. I want to love my family, my friends, my students.  I want to be faithful. I do not want to come down off my Nehemiah's wall.  Fatigue grips me at the thought of loving anyone besides myself on my Tuesday.  It will be the Holy Spirit who will need to do this improbable work.  I cannot.
      My mind is on doing the hard things.  My mind is on Christ.  Tuesdays are the days that go far beyond anything that we could ever repair.  They are the days that our Father sets aside to reflect His glory, the days when we can only point to Him between our labored breath and whisper, It is He, not I. May I point to Jesus on my Tuesday.  May you point to Jesus on your Tuesday.  May we whisper His name to a lost and hurting world.  May we point them to the cross of Calvary.

                                                                      

                                                                     

                                                                  

                                                                   

                                                                   

                                                                    
                                                                   
                                 

Catching Coons

     It's unusual that a passage from a children's book would get the attention of this teacher in the middle of a regular school day, but it happened.  It spoke to me in such a way that five months later I am writing about it.  The words on the page jumped right out of the book and seared my unexpecting heart.  It was a precursor to a summer of many hard learned, must need lessons.
     From Where the Red Fern Grows,  Grandpa is giving instructions to Billy on building a raccoon trap:
"Now you do everything exactly as I tell you," he said,"and you'll catch that coon."
"Yes, sir, Grandpa," I said, " I will. I'll do anything to catch one of them."
"Now the first thing you'll need is some bright objects," he said. "The best thing is bright shiny tin. Cut out some little round pieces, a little smaller than this bit.  Do you understand?"
I nodded my head.
"Now," he said, "you go down along the river where there are a lot of coon tracks. Find a good solid log close by and bore a hole down about six inches. Drop one of the bright pieces of tin down in the hole, and be sure it's laying right on the bottom."
I was all ears, I didn't want to miss one word my grandfather said.  Now and then I would 
glance at him to see if he was kidding me.
In a serious voice, he went on talking. "Now pay close attention," he said, " because this is the main part of the trap."
With eyes as big as a hoot owl's, I looked and listened.
He took four of the horseshoe nails from the sack.  With the thumb and forefinger of his left hand he made a small "o" about the size of the bit, which was an inch and half in diameter.
"Now we'll say this is the hole you bored in the log," he said. " About an inch apart, drive these nails in on a slant opposite each other."
Holding one of the nails in his right hand, he showed me the right angle.
"The ends of the nail will enter the hole about halfway between the top and the piece of tin, " he continued.  "Leave an opening big enough for a coon to get his paw through." ..........
" How is that going to catch a coon, Grandpa?" I asked.
"It'll catch him all right," he said, " and it won't fail. You see a coon is a curious little animal.  Anything that is bright and shiny will attract him.  He will reach in and pick it up.  When his paw closes on the bright object it balls up, and when he starts to pull it from the hole, the sharp ends of the nails will gouge into his paw and he's caught."........
It was all looking pretty good to me and I was on point of saying so, when it hit me.  Why all the coon had to do was open his paw, drop the object, and he was free.
I stepped back and almost cried as I said, " Grandpa, you're kidding me. That kind of trap couldn't catch a coon. Why all he'd have to do is open his paw, drop the piece of tin, and he could pull it from the hole."........
" I just wanted to see if you we're smart enough to see there was a way for the coon to free himself.".......
" When I was a boy I had a pet coon.  By watching him, I saw and learned a lot of things.".......
  " My mother had an old churn.  It was one of those kind with a small hole in the lid for the dasher.  When she would get through churning, she would take the dasher out to wash it.  That crazy  coon would climb up to the top of the churn, poke his little front paw through the hole, and get a fistful of butter. The hole was small, and when he closed his paw, he couldn't get it back out.  All he had to do was open it, drop the butter, and he would be free, but do you think he would?  No, sir.  He would carry that churn lid all over the house, squalling and growling.  Why, it took everyone in the house to free him.  I'd have to wrap him up in a gunny sack or an old coat and pry his claws loose from the butter.  Seeing this time after time is what gave me the idea for this trap.  Once he reaches in and gets hold of that tin, he's caught, because he will never open his paw."
     The Word says we are like sheep. I'm convinced that we are a lot like coons, too.  Year after year,
I drag my churn around, squalling and growling, because I refuse to open my fist and let go.  It is
such a simple act, opening our hands.  But, we stiffen our neck and tighten our grip.. Everyone we know can try to pry our hands loose, but it takes the harshness of God's gunny sack to free us.  We, I, listen to the father of lies rather than the truth of the Word and hold on for dear life.  Rather it be the easy way or the hard way, our  hands must be pried away from the butter.  We are coons to the core.
     John 8:31-36 reads: So Jesus was saying to those Jews who had believed Him, " If you continue in My word, then you are truly disciples of Mine; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free."  They answered Him, " We are Abraham's descendants and have never yet been enslaved to anyone; how is it that you say, ' You will become free'?"  Jesus answered them, " Truly, truly, I say to you, everyone who commits sin is the slave to sin.  The slave does not remain in the [God's] house
forever, the son does remain forever.  So, if the son makes you free, you will be free indeed."
      Christ makes it clear how we become trapped like the coon with his hand in the butter churn.  Simply stated, it's sin.  We could all immediately list off our vices, our pieces of shiny tin.  I have mine. You have yours.  That said, what about someone else's sin? Does it have you trapped by your own sin of unforgiveness?  How often do we think to ourselves, That hurt, and I'm not letting it go because I won't let it happen, again.  I'm not going to talk about it, look at it, or think about it. I'll stiffen my upper lip, pick up, and move on.  I'm going to just forget about it.
     I love what Wesley writes about the Jews in this passage.  They state, " [We] have never yet been enslaved...."  Wesley points out that at that very moment they were enslaved by the Romans.  They had spent so much time enslaved that they had forgotten what it was to be free.  These Jews were a bit delusional! Crazy, right? Oh, but ladies, how long have we carried around that hurt and unforgiveness, day after day, until we believe we are free when we are still in bondage?  It becomes easier to lie to ourselves than to forgive, to dare to believe there is something better beyond the hurt.  We are going to hold that person accountable for what they have done to us.  All the while, we are dying inside.  It takes root and becomes part of our marrow, festering and poisoning.  It is only the Spirit of God who can free us and the confession of that unforgiving spirit, laying our heart on the
altar of God.
    John 8:31 says...."If you continue in My word, then you are truly disciples of Mine; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you [spiritual liberty] free."  Christ promises to free us. No where in the passage does it state, You will be immediately freed.  The Word of God says, if you continue.  It's a process.  It is not a process marked by perfection. As believers, we face the struggle against our flesh, daily.  However, our life should be marked by a continuous desire to serve the One who first loved us.  MacArthur states, Real disciples are both learners ( love that!) and faithful followers.  If we follow Christ and learn the lessons he sets before us, we are promised freedom
      Christ is calling us into freedom.  Is it always an easy path? No.  Sometimes, we're like the Jews of Jesus' day.  We have been in bondage for so long, we are so upside down, we don't even know we are a slave to someone else's sins.  It takes the gunny sack to get our attention. But Christ, but Christ, but Christ, promises us freedom on the other side of the hurt....if only we'll open up our hand.  We can give him the hurt, and the anger, and the fear, and the disappointments.  He wants his children to be free, and if I don't know anything else, I know I don't want my hand in that old butter churn for one more day.

Opportunity

     My job can be discouraging.  There's no other way to say it. I work in a title I school as a fifth grade teacher. As I look over my class each year, I am fully aware that some of my boys may not make it to the age of thirty. They will die at the hand of someone else's pride. My girls will become teenage mothers, stuck in a vicious cycle, unable to climb out of the hole they have gotten themselves into. These are not statements of acceptance. Chains and strongholds can be broken, but for now, it is the reality of many of my students.
      I can only hope that I will be one of a multitude of pieces to a puzzle that will lead these students from a life with few choices to a life that is open to the largest of imaginations, the kind of life that seems unattainable on many days.  I keep my fingers crossed that something I will say will stick. I pray that a child will grab hold of what is true about themselves and carry it into adulthood. However, all too often, those truths slip away in the undertow of a life that is focused on mere survival and a skewed identity.
     But....every once in awhile, God reminds me that I am not the one at the helm, and I must stay the course that He has set before me.  One of those reminders came, today.  I was grocery shopping when I heard from behind me, "Excuse me, are you Mrs. Paxton?"  I turned around and knew the face and name immediately. That's saying a lot.  After ten years of teaching in some form or fashion, it's not always a given that I will remember a name.  We'll just say he was one of those students that had an excellent way of making his presence known.
    I can remember thinking to myself during his year with me, I don't know about this one. He's smart, but he sure likes to get into trouble.  To be honest with you, it shocked me into almost being speechless that before me stood a respectful, well-spoken young man.  It was obvious that there had been some changes in his life.  It is my understanding that his mother worked more than one job to set this child up with opportunities that would be game changers.  It's working. I walked away saying to myself,  Yes! Yes! Yes! This one is going to make it!
     We exchanged some conversation.  He went his way. I went mine.  As I walked away, I thought,  What should I have really said to him?  What did I really want to say to him?  I wish I could have held him by the shoulders and said, "Do you realize the opportunity that your mother has given to you?  Do you understand that you have hit one of life's lotteries? Take it and run as hard as you can with it!  Even if what is happening around you is out of your comfort zone, embrace it. Learn from it.  You are on your way to a prize!"
      Oh, but what about myself? Spirit of God, convict me for forgetting the opportunities that Christ has laid before me; salvation, opened doors, relationships, talents, all of the graces of God and gifts of the Spirit. Do I squander these great gifts God has given me? I am redeemed by a God who has pulled me from the pit, and yet, I turn my back on Him when life becomes uncomfortable and unfamiliar.  I consider myself lost and disoriented only because I spend far too much time walking my own path rather than finding myself on His path running, crawling, face down, prostrate before my Father, looking for a glorious ending.  I fail to embrace and learn from each experience God has allowed to grace my life.  I lose focus of the prize. I forget it's real.
    The glorious ending, the prize, do I truly grasp the prize? I imagine Heaven. I hope there is a seashore and water that is pure and translucent,  far beyond anything we have ever experienced in this fallen world. I imagine my children running up and down that seashore, waving their hands frantically over their heads, waving me home, yelling, "Mom, mom, we're here! We've been waiting!"  Then, I want to wait there,  just a little while,  for the children that will come behind.  Waiting to dance. Dance to a music that this fleshly body could never hear nor understand. I want to dance on the shores of Heaven with my babies....
      But, what about this prize?  It is far less about the beauties of Heaven and far more about those that we will bring along with us.  Will I stand on the shore of Heaven to no avail? Waiting, waiting, waiting, only to realize that no one is coming, not my children, not my extended family, not my students, not my neighbors.  Will I stand before Christ with empty hands because I neglected the opportunities that He has given to me or because I failed to learn the hard lessons?   Will I stand on empty shores because I failed to show and invite others to the love of Christ, or worse, because I have acted as though Christ doesn't love me?
      My friend Leslie shared this on Facebook a few days ago. I was reminded of it when I began writing this blog, today.  It is from Anything, authored by Jennie Allen:
That night on the floor I told Him, " From this point on things are changing.  I am living for the moment when I will face you.  I want to get to Heaven out of  breath, having willingly done anything 
that you-God of the universe-ask......ANYTHING."  I had a constant nagging feeling that God was 
real and this life wasn't a game; it wasn't about my comfort or my curtains or how much everyone liked me or approved of me.  Heaven was coming, God's voice was clear, and I needed to quit pretending that everything was just lovely.
      I, too, want to get to Heaven breathless.  I want to take God up on every opportunity He provides. I pray that all His grace provides will fall from my hands into the hands of those around me.  I want those around me to know that I've hit Eternity's lottery and the abundance is to be shared.  It never runs dry. I even want to learn the uncomfortable lessons, the ones that make me more like Christ.  I want. I want. I want more then anything else in the whole wide world to dance on the shores of Heaven, and while I am dancing, to look across those translucent waters and see a familiar face, or two..
   
     

   

Jumping the Gap

     Getting a penny stuck in one's esophagus ( That's the one that goes to your stomach, not your lungs...no worries!) is not usually the time when one would expect to hear a great big,  Are you paying attention to what I'm trying to teach you? from the Lord .  Well, if you're the one with the penny stuck in your throat, it may be a good time to hear from the Lord, but if your that person's mother, you're thinking about more earthly things, such as:  x-rays, IVs, tears, How am I supposed to keep this kid on a bed?, and  I wonder how much this little escapade is going to cost me?  However, that is exactly what happened to this mommy last week.  In the midst of great chaos, God spoke quite loudly and vividly into my spirit and reminded me of His character and His purposes.
      Jack Paxton, dubbed "Jack Knife" by a family friend, which I love because the child is an accident waiting to happen, got the most interesting idea I've heard of in a long, long time.  Being only the mommy, I did not realize that chewing pennies would increase your muscle mass.  Jack did.  In his attempt to become the next Mr. Olympia, he ended up with a penny lodged in his throat. I'll spare you the details and only say that we found ourselves at the hospital for an overnight stay and surgery the following morning.
      Before we go any further, I must tell you that my extremely creative and most intelligent son was a very sick orphan for the first four years of his life. From the information that we have gathered, Jack probably spent about half of those fours years hospitalized.  As far as we know, there was never one constant person with him throughout those stays.  It is fair to assume that he spent many days, nights, hours, weeks, and months alone.  He developed such anxiety that he pulled out his hair in large patches and scratched his skin to the point of leaving open wounds.  The hair has grown back and the scratching has decreased, but the emotional scars run deep down under the surface.  There are certain situations that make those scars rear their ugly heads, and they show up kicking and screaming loud enough to get every one's attention.  Thus was the case the night of our hospital stay.
     One failed attempt at an IV would send any kid over the top, two without question. Finally, number three hit the target, and I had a child on my hands who was hysterically trying to remove his own IV.  I had gone from being mommy to being the enemy, not once did he seek my comfort or call out my name.  Trying to console him was impossible.  He had learned to do that for himself.  The emotional response that had been invoked from years of abandonment and a scenario that was all too familiar,  left me with a kicking, screaming, untouchable boy.
     By 2 am, six hours later, I was exasperated.  In one last desperate attempt to soothe my child, I picked Jack up and held him close to me.  I got what I expected, nearly beat to death by flailing hands and feet.  Then, he did it, just at the very moment when I was about to let him go. He jumped the gap. The gap being the distance between what we feel and what is actually truth.  He let go of his past and jumped into his future.  He grabbed on to me and never let go. All night, he held on.  I knew in that moment that something big had happened.  He had chosen, despite his overwhelming emotions, to trust, just one more time.  Our relationship changed. 
       The circumstances surrounding that evening were difficult, devastating to Jack, and overwhelming for me.  Nothing about the exterior of the event changed that entire night, not before the jump, not after the jump.  It was on the inside that changes were made.  God was doing a work on the interior of an ex-orphan boy and his momma.

     
     Romans 8:28-30 reads:  28.And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are called according to his purpose. 29. For whom he did foreknow, he also did predestinate (determine) to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brethren. 30. Moreover whom he did predestinate (determine to conform), them he also called: and whom he called, them he also justified: and whom he justified, them he also glorified.
      I was curious about the word called in verse twenty-eight. I did some asking around and found out that this word is not a past tense verb, but an active present tense verb. There are future implications that result from answering the call of the Holy Spirit.  That means that there is a process that is going to follow our initial calling or conversion.  This process includes three promises from God. Through Christ we are justified, sanctified, and ultimately receive glorification, justification being reconciled with God through Christ's sacrifice, glorification happening after this life when we are made perfect in the likeness of our Savior.
     It's that middle step that God spoke to me so loudly about in a hospital room with a broken child, the step of sanctification.  Paul tells us in verse twenty nine that God has determined to conform us into the image of Christ, to reflect the Son.  It will never be about our environment, our circumstance, all the things that pass away.  It is always about the transformation on the inside. God is always about the eternal, those things that will last forever. His character is good. His purpose is to bring glory upon Himself by redeeming the saints through the process of the call.  He wants us to look more and more like Him (sanctification) so that we may draw others to the cross and in the process, break our own binding chains.
      What are the good things that Paul speaks of in verse twenty-eight? They're not a better job, more money, perfect children, or a textbook marriage.  Those things may or may not get better. Looking at these things will only leave us discouraged. It's the promise that God is working all these circumstances, good or bad, to make us more like Christ. In other words, He wants to build us from the inside out. It doesn't get any better than that.
      So, are we going to jump the gap the way that Jack did, terrified, feeling betrayed, hurting?  Despite his very real emotions, he jumped with everything he had.  Our Father is standing with His arms outstretched, calling to us, over and over, again, " Jump! Answer my call. I have a work to do within you." The most wonderful thing about the call,  it never stops. We hear it every second, every minute, every hour, of every day.  He never stops calling us to healing. He never stops calling us into becoming more and more like Himself.  It is up to us to respond.  Will we? Will we stand on the very edge of the gap, knees shaking, heart raising, letting go of our circumstances, and jump with all of our might, straight into the arms of our Savior?  Will we allow Christ to do what He does best, change our heart for all eternity.

    
    
     

Unpacking

   About a month ago, I made my way to our attic to the two forty gallon rubber tubs that hold the belongings of my son Miles. I used them to pack up his life possessions about six months after he died. They contain all the usual things that a boy would own: radio controlled cars, trophies, an alligator head, pocket knives, and so on.  In one of the boxes, I found his most prized possession, his boots. They are not cowboy boots or rain boots but tactical boots, the kind his daddy wears to work everyday.  His father is a police officer. Except, Miles' were brown. His daddy's were/are black. Anybody who knew Miles knows he loved his boots. Whether it be January or June, Miles had on his boots. It didn't even matter if they fit.  He still wore them, rain or shine.  We love Miles' boots because they are the essence of who he was, a rough, tumble some boy who loved the outdoors and didn't mind being a little different, and looking different meant he looked a little bit like his father.

   I had taken the boots out to do a picture for my blog.  To be honest, I loved that Miles' boots were once again lying around the house.  So, I left them by our patio doors to look at as I passed in and out of the house.  Miles would never believe how important those boots have become to the Paxton household. 
   One day as I was standing in my bathroom getting ready for the day, I heard, clump, clump, clump.  I looked to my left and there was Jack standing proud as a peacock with his brother's boots on his feet. " Look, mommy. I have Miles' feet on." There he was, in all of his glory, with boots all the way up to his knee caps and a smile that covered the rest.  It made this momma smile one of those deep down smiles that warms you from the inside out.  He could not have been happier, mimicking his brother, and I could not have been happier watching him stumble around in those old boots.

   

   Seeing Jack in his brother's boots gave me pause to think about how he could be so proud of something that belonged to a brother he has never met.  Miles is real to Jack, or so, it seems. He is as real to him as rain.  I started to think about how we have conveyed Miles to Jack. Why has it worked? What lesson could I learn from seeing him in those over sized boots?  I began to wonder. Do we make Christ as real in our home? Do we make Him so real that my children want to reflect Him, that they long to be like Jesus? The answers were convicting. 

   Because Miles' life is so intertwined with the life of every member of our family, there is a natural outpouring of our heart that makes its way to our mouths and right to the ears of anyone who will listen. The conversation is not a list of Miles' attributes or a succinct description of who he was.  It is a constant flow of remembrances based on how we each related to Miles. Our constant talk is of a relationship, not on the idea of a person.

    Our home is filled with the remnants of Miles, the things that remain simply because of his presence.  You will not get past the front door of our home without realizing that each of our children are incredibly special, as is in most homes. Pictures of Miles remain on the walls, bookcases, and tables. Home videos are stored in our computer. My top dresser drawer holds a hand written book. Because Miles' life mattered, we hold close to the things that are connected to him. They have become precious to us.

    We made a choice when Jack came into our family that we would not take Miles out of our conversations.  We could have waited until the "right time" and sat down and had a conversation with Jack about Miles, but we wanted Miles to be a part of Jack's normal. We wanted him to become woven into Jack's life in the same way that we all had to begin to knit ourselves together as a family. He has never known life without Miles.

    All this to say, Have I done the same thing with Christ? Have I displayed the things of Christ to show to my children? Does He grace every nook and cranny of my home? Am I so involved with Him that I talk of what he has done for me, daily? Are there remnants of His presence that fill my home? Is He deeply woven into the fabric of my children's lives, them not knowing anything different? Have I made that choice?

    When I weigh these questions, I realize I have some unpacking to do, just as I unpacked those old boots that so remind us of Miles. I need to put on display and love the things of Christ. There should be somethings in my home that make Christ real to my children. I have a Bible that needs to be opened, and a mouth that needs to talk of my Savior as my Father and Friend, hymnbooks that lie around and a song of thanksgiving that fills the air, church bulletins, and prayer lists.  Some of these items alone are meaningless, but they are what remains when He has graced us with His presence.  They are the culminating results of a Spirit filled home.

     May my children never know the opposite. May Christ become so real to them that they want only to stand as proud as a peacock and say, " Look at me! I look like my Father!"  Even if it means, they look a little different.

Now...if you'll excuse me. I have some unpacking to do....