Yesterday our family set out on what was supposed to be a short hike. It turned into four-miles. I realize for a lot of you that is short. Not for me, especially in muddy, rocky, uphill terrain, with altitude as a contributing barrier. As I was struggling through a large uphill span of our hike, I was noticing all the ways nature mimics life. The trials of that riddled trail were a parable of life. There are times in life when we are sucking air just to survive, and there are times we are enjoying the view. Struggles are often long and appear as if they will never end. Giving up or giving in becomes an attractive option. Fears are frequent and real. The bends and turns are prone to placing us in barren places rather than beautiful spaces. We have this great hope, though, that a great joy awaits, so we pick ourselves up and continue walking. When we experience those moments where we catch our breath and enjoy the beauty around us, we appreciate them more because we know the effort and intention it took to get there. The experience gives us a fresh supply of endurance for our trek knowing those encounters are just preludes to something greater. The walk goes on. We cycle through stages on a spectrum somewhere between worn and wonderful. It is within the worn corners we grow in determination and perseverance. In the wonderful places, we cultivate grateful hearts, and our eyes begin to see the fountains of grace poured into our pilgrimage. Life is a necessary combination of both, the broken and beautiful so that we remain steadfast with our eye on the ultimate reward ahead-Home. Yesterday for me, the grand reward was the sight of our car. As we walk the path of our eternal home, though, knowing for certain the joy that awaits us is sustenance for the trails of our hike. Keep walking friends. If you believe the Bible to be true, there is unimaginable and everlasting gratification at the end of your journey. Hebrews 12:1~Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us.
A Beautiful and Broken Union
I was standing at my kitchen sink crying and smiling this morning as I washed my grandmother’s Christmas Rose, China, and some of my mom’s serving pieces that I now own. I noticed the strong incongruence in my soul. There I stood, looking out at the frigid, yet beautiful, weather on the eve of such a glorious day, a broken heart full of broken pictures as the ballad of my soul played its hymn; this is not how it is supposed to be. But then there was an accompanying melody of, thank you, Jesus, for how it was. Imperfect moments, incomplete holidays accompanied by irreplaceable memories; both beauty and brokenness reigned there in the ordinary, yet extraordinary moment at my kitchen window.
This year, I have followed countless stories of friends, family, and strangers near and far as they have navigated some of the most ruthless roads. Their stories tell of the same sentiment, hurting but not deprived of hope. Their paths are oxymorons, and the perplexing weight of that juxtaposition is heavy. Fractured people, fractured countries, a fractured world, but all encapsulated by a forever kind of grace that guides us through the weary when we cannot feel or see her presence. It is not supposed to be this way, but it is. It is hard but not absent of holy!
A couple of Christmases ago, as I was sitting in a Christmas Eve service singing Silent Night while lighting the candles. God showed me a picture. For the dormant candles to be kindled, the light from our neighbor must remain upright and firm, while the one receiving the light must bend, lean, and become vulnerable, to be ignited. At times we are the beacons, and at times we are the broken. We each have light to give and light to receive, but the cycle cannot be sustained without both the shattering and the shining of souls.
The examples of the ever-present and unchanging reality, the union of beauty and brokenness, are more pervasive than I can list. They are present in every moment and every memory, our tears, our triumphs, our pain and passions, our struggles, and our strengths. Where there is beauty, there will always be brokenness, and it was that way from the beginning.
I am thankful that The Son of God, The King of the world, was born in a dirty stable and laid in a messy manger. The Light of the world, God’s most perfect gift, a Savior for the world, entered this life, and surrounding His arrival was beautiful and broken. Broken circumstances, broken parents, broken leaders, broken countries, and broken plans were the backdrops that set the stage for the most handsome inheritance the world would ever know. It reminds and comforts me when life is not congruent with my heart; it remains in the care of my Savior’s hands. More often than not, it is a fight to remember, and that is alright as long as the fight goes on.
Many of you are experiencing the poverty of loss, illness, and other difficult circumstances this Christmas Eve. I pray you find strength from the life of a baby born into bankrupt surroundings, who suffered among both the sick and the “sufficient” so that He may bring the beauty of His perfect light to mingle among the broken parts of our lives. Jesus, give us eyes to see your grace flowing through our moments of grief, and may that console, sustain, and encourage us through mangled moments as we journey Home.
Merry Christmas, friends!
Merry Memories
One of life’s significant challenges is being able to lean into life, love, laugh, and live in the presence of sorrow; while learning that one is not irrespective of the other.
Without a doubt, if my parents could tell me one thing, it would be to enjoy the breadth of every day; and I agree — some days that looks tidy and together, while other times it is outright messy.
Grief is an ebb and flow of hibernation and then exacerbation. That is to be alive, though. I am not a super-spiritual machine untouched by suffering. In fact, following Jesus makes me more prone to experience the depths of the world’s anguish, as He did.
Grief is a necessary means of grace; although it is not fun, it is fundamental to healing.
If you are mourning the loss of someone special this holiday season, you are not alone. Many hearts are experiencing the holes that absence creates. When we are travelers on grief’s rocky road, the season brings moments infused with peace, while others are piercingly painful.
Perhaps God gave us memories and purposeful reminders of those we mourn so that the “merry” remains in Christmas.
A Hard and Holy Christmas
A Hard and Holy Christmas
I wish for life to be like a Hallmark movie where love and contentment always win. The ending is tidy and sealed in a pretty package accentuated with a red bow, but that is entertainment and far removed from reality. These movies lead me off course every year around the holidays. They provide a magical escape from the tender truths that are indigenous to what many profess to be the happiest time of the year. There is a not-so-jolly presence that we cannot escape, though. Suffering. The Christmas season is prone to hold a magnifying glass up to an unfair world.
The shattered fragments of people’s pain wear many faces, hold no prejudices, and do not adhere to calendars or circumstances. Maybe the agony shows up in the loss of health, a job, a relationship; a loved one, or the incredible heartache that settles in when we hear someone has to bury their child. Broken people, broken families, broken worlds; may all present differently, but fractured hearts are inherent to us all. The holidays, as merry and bright as they are for many, are equally melancholy for others.
Life is incongruent with my desire for everyone to be happy, but I have learned this difficult lesson: happiness is a circumstantial frailty, not a gospel actuality. Without the assurance of our eternal inheritance, we stand here poor, hopeless, and lost.
Hope is hard and holy, yet both were the backdrop for the birth of our Savior. Nothing in this world lacks the melodic marriage of beauty and brutality. That is not easy, but when we focus on the tenants of the first, it fosters gratitude despite the latter.
In his last words, a 1700s French writer captured something very tragic yet significant. “And so I leave this world, where the heart must either break or turn to lead.” ~ Nicolas Chamfort
Sometimes our greatest challenge as we go about living in this world that is remarkable one moment and ruthless the next is continuing to engage. It is tempting to check out, but we are called to check-in. Numbing our hearts feels like safety, but it dims love and light in a world that desperately needs them. Is leaning into life straightforward in our climate of unparalleled death, destruction, and hatred? No, it is not effortless, but it is essential.
I know many of you are facing unspeakable burdens. My heart aches for you. Right now, pressing in may feel overwhelming. That is understandable. Take the next smallest step in the right direction, and your stamina will increase over time if you keep your hand to the plow. We, unfortunately, have to drink from the cup of hurt before we can be quenched by the hand of The Healer; but God will not forsake His children. One way He manifests himself is through community. I pray wherever you find yourself today, the love of those around you warms, even if just slightly, the weeping heart inside you. Your internal song may never be the same, but I know your soul will sing again. The lessons grief teaches will remain with you and be the balm for the next hurting heart that crosses your path. At the intersection of someone else’s pain, yours will find purpose, and that makes all the difference!
The Risk of Hope
Sometimes it feels too dangerous to hope. Hope is risky. I have to hold that reality in tension with the truth that God does not have a plan B for my people or me. Standing on the rock of God’s sovereignty, I can dare to believe in the goodness rather than the grief of unseen plans. Sometimes our longings are satisfied, and other times they remain seemingly lost in the deafening silence of waiting.
What is it that you long for; resolution for a circumstance that never changes, a problematic relationship that feels hopeless, the end of an illness that no one sees or understands? Maybe anxiety and depression are sidekicks you cannot shake? All of these things fuel fear and frustration.
Although we have very little control, we do have a choice to believe in the goodness of God or the groans of the world. Hold hope in your hand, friends. Do not let her go.
Faith is a commitment to waking up every day and renewing our resolve to stand firm in the face of shifting situations, fluctuating feelings, and the presence of the eventual but maybe not yet.
Chasing Sunsets
I have always felt the nearness of Heaven splashed across God’s mighty canvas in breathtaking color. I see the beautiful skies as a veil between an earthly vapor and a vast eternity. Yet, amidst the beauty, suffering remains.
All weekend brokenness has intruded my space and pierced my ears as a deafening interruption. It is there in my loss and yours. It is present in a friend’s diagnosis and in stories of loneliness, suffering and death.
But HOPE. It rises up and flourishes in the presence of the muck and mire that at some point, all are called to wade through. And it gives us the courage to live for the Destination in spite of the details.
In this land of parched living, my soul thirsts to find You and my people in the places I find rest. There, the heartache is bearable because I am in the presence of scriptural truths not sentimental tales.
Tonight, on the side of a mountain cliff, I stood on a solid rock to take this picture because I needed a glimpse of your glory. How perfect; the rock was my firm foundation at the edge of peril. But that is where I found You.
It is hearts closely aquatinted with grief that offer me so much comfort. In my reading I found this,
“But resurrection is not just consolation — it is restoration. We get it all back — the love, the loved ones, the goods, the beauties of this life — but in new, unimaginable degrees of glory and joy and strength.” ~Tim Keller
He Already Knew
Last week I was apologizing to a friend, and she kindly said to me, “I had my mind made up about you a long time ago.” Those words gently landed on my heart leaving an imprint that I don’t think I will soon forget. They have clothed my mind like a warm hug every day since.This morning when I walked out onto my porch, I was marveling at the beautiful sky, and those words softly sang to me again, I had my mind made up about you a long time ago. I think God must want us, His children, to know that. No matter how far we fall, where we stray, how dark the depression or crushing the anxiety; God already knew, and He loves us anyway. Abba Father knew every word of our story because His hands authored each plot, twist, turn, comma, period and question mark. Through the highs and the lows, our sins and sufferings, redemption and renewal God was there; He saw us and had His mind made up.For a long time I was a passively, complacent child, but sometimes great loss pushes us out of our places of unexamined comfort to positions of challenging questions. Questions force me to dig deeper, searching for answers, understanding, and acceptance. But God’s ways are not predicated on my approval, rather His assurance.
Some questions, especially spiritual ones, have no clear answers and the Bible tells me that in Deuteronomy 29:29~ “The secret things belong to the LORD our God…God does not want or expect me to understand everything. He asks that I trust His faithfulness not my feelings. Still, God knows that like the persistent child I am, I will circle back to wrestling and striving to comprehend that which is not for me to realize. Because He made up His mind about me a long time ago, despite it all, He still calls me His beloved.
Sometimes in the midst of life’s chaos, one of my biggest challenges is as one writer put it, “living loved.” I think one key to “loved living” is to remember that God made His mind up a long time ago, and I have little power to make myself unloveable to Him. The same is true for you, friend. May we live loved today-God’s Day.
Your Strength, Lord
Do you feel lead to do something but fearful feelings of inadequacy are holding you back? Are your dreams stagnated by the voices that tell you, you will fail, or you do not have what it takes?
Me, too. I am not sure why I let my heart become burdened because God has shown Himself faithful to me time and again.
Anytime I go into a situation feeling fully prepared; the outcome is usually not prosperous.
It is the times when I am desperate because I know I alone have nothing to give except needy cries for help to be filled and equipped by The Redeemer that my journeys have yielded the best outcomes.
A few months ago I was going to meet a friend who needed encouragement. I was just three weeks out from an expected surgery that had unexpected outcomes. Not only was I physically depleted, but I was also emotionally flat as well.
It was my first time to drive or get out in three weeks, and I knew I had nothing to give. Nothing. On the fifteen minute drive I prayed, persistently petitioned, and childishly begged for The Spirit to fill my empty tank. “Speak through me, Lord.” “Let me listen to understand and not feel pressured to respond.” “Give me the discernment to know when to speak and when to be silent.” “I cannot do this in without you.” These were the weepings of my weary heart.
My confidence became compromised because ultimately, there was a slow, elusive leak of unbelief hidden in my heart, and the safety valve had given way to the pressure and ruptured.
The lie was, it was all up to me. I was going at it all alone. But guess what, despite my “orphandom,” God still showed up! Not only did He show up but His presence was palpable.
There I was feeling debilitated and deficient, yet strengthened and supplied and I had done nothing but ask from a place of total surrender. No preparation. No planning. No striving. Complete resignation to the competence of Christ instead of the illusion of security in my “skill.”
I want to say I approach every circumstance in humble, self-resignation but that would be deceitful because I often forget this fundamental tenant:
It is a calling of the Savior, not confidence in self that is the qualifier for the task set before me. Knowledge of my inadequacy is healthy because it positions me to work from a place of faithful dependence rather than fearful desperation.
What is holding you back today, friend? Maybe you need to hear this; you are off the hook. It is not up to you. If you are a child of God, He promises to go before you, strengthen you and sustain you where He leads.
But be sure of this, though, is it His calling to a place or position, not you’re coercing towards a platform He never commissioned?
Commit everything you do to the LORD. Trust him, and he will help you.~ Psalm 37:5
Grace and Grief
Disrupted dreams. How often does life turn out different than our embellished expectations? It is a steep road to navigate when we are holding the shattered pieces of our “pretty” pictures in the palms of our bleeding hands. Life is unfair and not partial to my dreams. I have been struggling lately with the temptation to shut down. Close the door. Close it tight on the hope that offers me the glorious burden of present realization versus rejection.
There is only one hope that stands eternal, and that is not the one that resides in this world built around unsafe scenarios. It is a future hope, secured by the gift of everlasting life obtained by the sacrifice of Jesus Christ. But, here, now, I battle to not close myself off to my desires while striking a balance of preventing rainbows from becoming requirements. It is an unpredictable place to be where peace becomes precarious.
The challenge is leaning into life with open hands softly cupped around pliant pages of immaculate intentions.
It. Is. Hard. I am stubborn, born of flesh that efficiently demands fruition. My hands are sticky. Like the freshly spun strands of spider silk, arrangements cling to me, and I wrestle to break free. But when I am standing amidst the shards of well-crafted storylines, reality reminds me that it is a harsh and unforgiving rival. And so I come to a crossroads where I peer at the scandalous hand of hope or the hostile hike of desensitizing from a world that supplies both grace and grief.
Father, you know me and all my intricacies. Remind me that you knitted me together, every fiber when the shame of a not-all-together life creeps in. Help me to open my hands and my heart so that my mind is mailable to your purposes, not my pursuits. There is nothing in me that is strong, good or steadfast except You. When I remember that truth, I no longer answer to the copious condemnation that shadows me. I had not envisioned life or an impending empty nest without the presence of my mom. I am moment by moment dependant on you to whisper that you are with me and there will be mana for every step but only available for the moment in which I stand. The future lends anxiety. Please help me to be an occupant of the present. Remnants of regret litter the past. Flood my heart and mind with the memories of precious times. This day, this moment is where You meet me, and although there is future grace, I was never permitted to stray there. Enable me to stand in the two faces of hope; free to smile, free to laugh, live and love not because I deserve it, but because You secured it.
To hide is not to honor You. To thrive is a testimony to You. May I remember that all the days of my life.
Sincerely, a daughter who desperately needs and loves You.
Within this shadow box is a special and tangible reminder of my beautiful mom. I will treasure it forever.
Grief, A Ruthless Friend
It is incredible how the mind defaults into a self-defense posture one minute, only to fail me the next. The reality of grief is always there, lurking, but the full realization, while it may have reached my head, has not settled in the depths of my heart.
It has been said that is the longest distance, head to heart, and I know it to be right, on this dirt road that many are asked to walk in this life. No mileage signs signal an end, only hazard ahead around each bend.
Grief is a ruthless friend, but one that every loss must respect. He allows me to forget momentarily, then quickly be disheartened by the raw reality that is waiting on the other side of remembrance.
Countless times I reach for my phone to call her. There are so many things I want her to know. I want her to share my highs and lows and all the spaces in between; after all, that is the way a mama’s love goes. They say time heals all wounds, but I do not believe that is true. Some aches seem I will never be able to bid adieu. And if I am honest, never would I want to.
My mind is deceiving me, as it is prone to do. Feelings charade as facts, leaving me vacillating between pain and perseverance. The later must win in the end, but right now the two of them are stumbling hand in hand. To laugh, to live to carry on is to betray the loss, my disloyal thoughts deceptively whisper. On a head level, I know that is fraudulent and untrue. Maybe if I remind myself enough times, my heart will catch up too. For now, I am grappling for the grace to journey straight through the thick and heavy dew.
People are so kind and well-intended; they say do this, or that, believe this or that, and these things you must do. The problem is there is no universal recipe for the profound loss that accompanies the days I must filter through.
And my faith, it feels weak, that is undoubtedly true, but it is not up to me, for it was a gift secured by a Savior in which I had nothing to do. So I struggle, limping and tracked by the tears, as I walk the best I can, crying out and fighting to trust the only Man who will see me through. I thank Him, then question Him. I wrestle with Him and rest in Him, as all wounded warriors do. I am a paradox of emotions, The Psalms living and breathing as they once were for the writers overcome by grief so blue.
Trauma, the place I am traveling through, someday to be ousted by thankfulness-a destination I sometimes see but am not yet fully submitted to; for it is a harbor I am fighting my way towards when the anointed time is due.