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.
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