Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 9, 2016

Queen of Denial

Jesus was very clear in Matthew 26:32 that he would die, be raised and see the disciples again on earth... specifically, Galilee.

In their shock and grief, did the disciples forget that He said that? There had to be so much swirling in their heads that weekend. PTSD was not yet a thing, but I'm certain they had it after Christ's crucifixion.

When He said those words, they didn't want to believe Him. They remained in their denial even as He was trying to prepare them for the days ahead. They chose not to believe Him. They chose not to hear Him. Maybe "chose" is not the right word. Their brains didn't want to believe Him. Did they subconsciously block His words?

I think I totally did that when my mom was dying. She tried to prepare me. And it wasn't just words. She was so sick--she was dying right before my eyes and my selfish brain could not deal. So I blocked it. I even told someone it was "all in her head." I can't imagine what they must have thought. What a selfish, spoiled little brat.

I'm so grateful that God allowed me to see my sin, confess it and be forgiven. From that point on, though my default is still denial, I work really hard to see things for what they are, to work through them and obey the Lord in them. I still fail... often... but I am better. And I am more thankful for His grace than ever. That's my unswerving hope.

Monday, March 7, 2016

The Gift of Grief Revisited

I wrote most of the following entry about five years ago. As I pray for another mom who has a milestone to get through today, I am reminded of it. I made a few edits, but this, for me, is probably my most memorable post.


As I woke up this morning, I had a picture in my head of grief being like a gift. (The image above doesn't even come close, but it's the best I could do.) I know that sounds strange, but it’s true. It’s a gift that no one really wants, but we all receive at some point. Some of us receive it earlier in life. Some receive it more often. But if you ever love anyone, chances are, you will receive the gift of grief somewhere along the way.

My grief is wrapped up in a beautiful box. Early in my grief journey, I carried it with me everywhere I went. It was heavy and it consumed every moment of every day. It invaded every decision, every action, every move I made. I couldn’t escape it. I couldn’t go into Wal Mart without carrying this giant gift with me. It was heavy and cumbersome. I felt like everyone was looking at me and my conspicuous package. I felt like I had “Grieving Mom” tattooed across my forehead. I would think, “Yes, I’m the one… the mom of the one you read about in the newspaper last weekend. She was my sunshine and my delight and now she’s gone. I am her grieving mother.”

As time went by, I was able to leave my gift at home more often. It was still there. It was still mine, but I didn’t have to carry it with me everywhere I went. Now, almost seven years after my daughter’s death, (it's almost 12 now.) it’s like I keep my gift on a shelf. Every now and then, especially on holidays, birthdays, and what would have been milestones in her life, I take my gift down off the shelf. I open it up and take out my grief. I hold it in my hands, turning it over and over. I feel the weight of it, the hardness of it. The coldness of it. I know this sounds crazy, but I also admire its beauty. I cry a little—sometimes a lot. I blog about it some, but not as often as I used to. But then, I put my grief back in that box. I tie the beautiful bow around it, and I gently place it back on the shelf.

Then I go on with life. Seven years ago, I never would have believed that I could go on with life without my daughter. But here I am, functioning, parenting again, serving, living. And my gift of grief remains… until the next time I take it down off the shelf. My grief has changed my life, but it no longer consumes my life. Because of this gift, I have found a Hope that I otherwise would never have known… a true Unswerving Hope.

Monday, October 12, 2015

Pressing On Toward the Light

The other day, I went for a walk down the Trillium Valley Trail. It was beautiful. It followed a little creek, and sometimes I could hear the water trickle. I was enjoying my walk, but as I went deeper into the valley, it got darker. It was early in the day, so the sun was not yet high in the sky. I started to feel a little claustrophobic.  I began to focus more on the dead trees leaning this way and that across the creek. Some of the hillsides and tree trunks were looking a little creepy. I needed air. It felt like the valley walls were closing in on me.
 
Just about the time I was trying to decide whether to turn back or keep going, I came to a trail marker. I could go straight, which would lead me into Buckeye Valley--a nice flat, easy path--or turn left to go up hill to Wren Run.

Sometimes we choose the easy path, even though it's not exactly what we want. We continue in "more of the same" because it's what we're familiar with--we know what to expect. Even though we want something better, we continue to choose the path of least resistance. We stay stuck in darkness instead of putting out the energy it takes to make a change.

I looked to my left. The trail leading up to Wren Run was steep, and I new it would take more effort to go that way than to continue on to Buckeye Valley, but my desire to get higher, more out in the open sunlight, was enough to push me up that path to Wren Run.

  Up and up I climbed, breathing heavily, (yes, I'm more than a little out of shape!) but so thankful for more light. Everything started looking more yellow and bright. The added brightness was enough to spur me on. I even met a little toad on the way up. He startled me at first, but then he hesitated so I could take his picture. I finally made it to the top and caught my breath. 
Light and fresh air have always been really important to me. Maybe it's because I grew up in the country with lots of wide open space. Our farm house was huge and was surrounded by corn fields and pastures. Yes, I need my space and lots of light, but I've had my share of dark valleys too.
Grieving the loss of a child was one of them. Continuing to pray and believe for one so dear, who is trapped in a darkness of his own, is another. But God is faithful, and my intense need for light pushes me forward and upward. I can't stay in the darkness for long. I'm so thankful for the light of Christ that gives me hope... that keeps me plodding along.


Can you see my shadow in this picture? It's right in the middle. I'm standing on a bridge over the Trillium Valley with the sun at my back. Valleys are a necessary part of our existence, but we can't stay there forever. We've got to make the decision to hike up the steep trail, even though it takes more effort and maybe even a little pain. But it's worth it to be out in the light, up on that bridge! Keep pressing on, my friend, keep pressing on!

Thursday, September 10, 2015

Letting Go of Regrets


Two days ago, I wrote in my journal about some regrets I have... Most of the time I can put them on the back burner and continue to enjoy life, entrusting those regrets to the Lord. But lately I feel them weighing me down. I've been having dreams at night that make those regrets feel even more acute.

Then today, I read a devotional that I get a couple of times a week called "The Loop." It often strikes a nerve, and it certainly did today:

You want to know what it looks like to pray to Me? To be with Me? To listen to Me? You are full of questions . . .when you pause. . . when you ponder your heart. Questions about Me, about how to live this day, about how to have more joy and freedom  . . .

Don’t feel guilty about the hard days, the long days, the stumbles, even the falls. You could look back on them, analyzing them, thinking about how you could have done things differently and how tomorrow, no matter what (oh, you are resolute!) you will not repeat what you did before. .  . Except, you fear you will.

You fear time passing so quickly—so quickly—and not being able to hold on tightly enough to time. A moment isn’t holy in-and-of itself. It is Me, inhabiting the moment, which makes time holy. So how could you mess it up? How could you make a moment less holy?

Don’t regret, child.

The only purpose in looking back on time—in endeavoring to appreciate it—is looking forward, looking to where I was, in the moment, then. Look back, if you must, but only so you may see Me in the moment.

Wow, did I need to hear that! I need to know that He was there... in those moments I regret. I need to know that He can make those moments holy. I need to know that He can redeem them.

I need your touch, Lord. I so need your presence in my life. I need to hear from you. I need your direction, your joy, your peace. I find my strength in you.

Give me grace in place of judgment
Give me love in place of comparison
Give me generosity in place of envy
Give me joy in my position--my God-given position
Let me be who you want me to be
Let me do what you want me to do
Let me love whom you want me to love
Give me what you want me to give--not just materially, but gifts of empowerment, support, encouragement, beauty, creativity

Sunday, July 26, 2015

Believe

Mark 16:9-14 

Three paragraphs--three cases of disbelief.

The disciples were in shock. All their hopes and dreams were crushed. Life didn't turn out like they had planned. They were mourning and weeping when Mary Magdalene burst into the room with the most wonderful news!

But, like the Shunamite woman, (2 Kings 4) they were emotionally too frail to entertain such a thought. It was too much of a risk to believe that, just maybe, he was alive. They had already been devastated--their hope for any kind of future--everything they had staked their lives on--was gone... dead. It was just too risky to believe.

May I never be too afraid to believe. Even if it means making myself vulnerable... at risk of being hurt... Lord, help me to believe.

Sunday, December 28, 2014

Christmas is Hope


There’s a hole in our Christmas… Maybe there’s one in yours too.

We are missing several key members of our family. Our hearts ache for them a little more at Christmas time when we are reminded more intensely that they’re missing.

But Christmas is worth celebrating. It’s about so much more than being a big happy family. So we choose to celebrate… and hope… because that is what Christmas is about.

As Ann Voscamp says, “His Glory in the Highest always runs down to meet us who are in our lowest.”

We’ll rejoice in the anticipation that, because of Christmas, we’ll see those deceased loved ones again. Because “Christmas is the beginning of the story where death itself gets killed.” And we’ll hope in the anticipation that the one who is still living, yet absent, will find his way.

Because that is what Christmas is all about…
     …Joy
         … Hope
               …Anticipation

That’s why He came…
     …In the midst of a genocide
          …As a homeless refugee                 
               …Poor and powerless

That’s how the King of the Universe entered our world.

He has turned our HOLE into HOPE! So we grieve and believe. We rejoice in hope and anticipation.

Merry belated Christmas
and a Hope-filled 2015 to you!

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Is Your Affliction Your Identity?



On Thursday night of our mission trip to the Dream Center, we attended a worship service at Angelus Temple. We had spent two days cleaning and preparing Angelus Temple for this service. This building holds a special place in my heart because my husband's family had been there many years ago when Kathryn Kuhlman led healing services there. I've heard many stories about the miraculous healings they witnessed there.

That Thursday night, we heard a sermon by Pastor Dan Vera that impacted us all. He spoke on  Mark 10:46-52.

What is the heading in your Bible for this section? “Blind Bartemaeus,” right? Not, “Faithful Bartemaeus,” or “Full of Grace Bartemaeus,” not even "Persistent Bartemaeus" but “Blind Bartemaeus. Blind Bartemaeus even wore a “beggar’s cloak” which identified him and gave him the right to sit at the gate and beg. According to Dan Vera, you know you’re in trouble when your affliction becomes your identity. Bart’s affliction definitely became his identity. Does anyone have an affliction that has wiggled into your life, wrapped its tentacles around you, and attempted to consume you and become your identity?

I can think of a few in my life, but I’ve chosen just one as an example today. It’s how I felt shortly after my daughter's death. I felt like I had GRIEVING stenciled across my forehead. Everywhere I went, I felt like people were staring at me because of that label. I couldn’t escape it. 

I remember meeting other moms who had lost children, and thinking, “Wow, they’ve had a hard life.” But I didn’t want people thinking about me like that. I started a Grief Share Group, but I quit teaching it because I felt like I was becoming known as the “Grief Lady.” I’m thankful that someone has picked up that slack! But, as Pastor Dan Vera said, “It may or may not be your fault that you’re where you are right now, but it is your fault if you stay there.” Back then I knew God was drawing me out of my grief. It has changed me and shaped me so I keep talking and writing about it, but it does not consume me anymore. When it comes to our afflictions, Pastor Dan said we’ve got to “Learn to live with it but don’t settle for it.” That is something I’ve been trying to put into words for years, but I just couldn’t quite get a handle on it. When he said that, it was like a light bulb went off over my head—“That’s it! That’s what I’ve been trying to do! Learn to live with it, but don’t settle for it!”

That means so much to me as I pray about issues in my life and in the lives of my loved ones… as I strive to be still and know that He is God… as I wait for God’s answer to my prayers. I’m kind of an all-or-nothing person. I’m either all in or I’m all out. I’m either consumed by something or I’m in complete denial of it. But I’m growing, and I’m learning to live with some issues, but I refuse to settle for them! I will NOT be consumed by them, but I will not deny that they exist either.

Here are some ways Pastor Dan says we can learn to live with our afflictions without settling for them:

1)   Use what you have. Yes, Blind Bartemaeus was, well, blind. But he could certainly hear. Instead of complaining about not being able to see, Bartemaeus HEARD. He used what he had—his ears.

2)   Seize the opportunity. Bartemaeus also used his mouth, and he seized this opportunity. He cried out. But Bart didn’t voice his complaints. He wasn’t having a pity party. He had learned to live with his blindness. Jesus is not moved by your complaining, He’s moved by your faith! You’ve got to see what no one else can see—even if you’re blind!

3)   Press through opposition. Says Pastor Dan, “It took a blind man to see what the rest of this huge crowd could not. The blind man was the only one who knew who Jesus was. ‘Jesus, Son of David’ was a Messianic term. He was saying ‘Jesus, you are the only hope we have.’ The Pharisees were fine with Jesus being a good teacher and even a healer, but they had a major problem with him being called Messiah. So they wanted to shut Bart up!

4)   Don’t get rid of your enemies. What?! Your haters will push you to your dream. When they tried shut him down, Bart cried even louder. That seemed like an odd point to me. I had never heard anyone say anything like that before. I’ve heard, “love your enemies,” and I’ve definitely tried to avoid my enemies, but never this. When we got back to the Dream Center after hearing this sermon, I got back to my perch on my cozy bunk-bed-without-a-ladder and read this paragraph from an unrelated book I had brought with me: “The gospel is so arranged and the gift of God so great that you may take the very enemies that fight you and the forces that are arrayed against you and make them steps up to the very gates of heaven and into the presence of God… God wants of every one of His children, to beMORE THAN A CONQUEROR.” (--Beth Moore) More Then Conquerors was the title of the sermon series our church was doing at the time. God was coming at me from all angles!

5)   Stop the procession. As Bart continues to cry out over his haters, the one man not in the procession stops. Jesus stops. He realizes that “Someone knows who I am.” When we know who God is and see our issues and circumstances through that filter of faith, God stops. I want to be that someone. I want to be one who knows who God is. I want to be one that stops God in His tracks.

6)   Leave your place. Jesus said, “Bring him to me.” So, does Jesus know that Bart is blind? Wouldn’t it be easier for Jesus to walk over to him through the heavy throng than for the disciples to lead a blind man weaving in and out through all these dirty, smelly, sweaty people? Yes, but Jesus wanted Bart to leave his place. Jesus said, if you want what I have you’ve got to leave your place. Joyce Meyer says, if you want the beauty God offers, you’ve got to give Him your ashes. You can’t keep your ashes and still get the beauty God offers.  You have to leave the place you’re in to get to Jesus. Bart didn’t just get up and blindly feel his way through the crowd. He threw his cloak, his beggar’s jacket, his label aside and jumped to his feet and came to Jesus. He didn’t let his handicap, his affliction, his worldly identity keep him from Jesus.

7)   You may have every right to be a beggar. I may have every right to be a griever, a broken-hearted mom. At least two of my friends may have the right to be grieving widows, but God says, NO! You can’t receive from God until you let go of your beggars jacket.  You can’t receive His beauty until you let go of your ashes.

So, what’s your affliction? What’s your label? What’s your worldly identity? “Cheer up, on your feet! He’s calling you!”

Sunday, March 16, 2014

Get a Life... Take the Job!






My older daughter's birthday is this Wednesday. She would be 25. But she's almost 10 according to her heavenly birthday. March will never come without precious thoughts and memories of her. She was shy, but chipper, bubbly, funny, energetic, caring, loving, and always stood up for the under dog. In the first grade, she was chosen by her teacher to watch over, care for, and work with a little autistic boy in her class. He had an adult aid to work with him, and my daughter worked closely with her--in the first grade! That's how caring she was.

I miss her greatly. I grieve the loss of an adult relationship with her. But I can hear her saying, as she did when she was in the 8th grade and I was offered a full-time job, "Mom, get a life... you need a life... take the job."

God gave me the scripture above about two weeks after her death. I was trying to make sense of it all, which is futile. It doesn't make sense, and it won't this side of heaven. My "job" now is to trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly and love extravagantly. I've been working on that for almost ten years now. I have certainly not arrived, but I continue to strive as I hear my daughter's voice ringing in my distant memory, "Mom, get a life... you need a life... take the job!"

Monday, March 10, 2014

Perfect Peace


“You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you.” Isaiah 26:3

This verse is the only explanation I can find as to how I can function… how I keep getting up every morning and putting one foot in from of the other. Sometimes I feel so guilty for having peace and functioning in my daily life, when my loved one does not. When someone I love so much is suffering so severely, how can I keep moving forward and not be overcome with sorrow, grief and fear?

I cannot change my loved one… as much as I would like to and as much as I’ve tried… I cannot fit him into the box of what I think he should be.

God has put a calling on my life, and that calling is not to be paralyzed in constant sorrow, grief and fear. I was born to know God and believe Him, to glorify Him, to find satisfaction in Him, to experience His peace and enjoy His presence. (Breaking Free by Beth Moore)

So, I keep trusting—often a daily struggle—and my mind is steadfast, and He keeps me in perfect peace.

Monday, March 3, 2014

The Whole Creation Groans


We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.  Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. Romans 8:22-23

I hear it all around me. I see it in the faces of those I love. I hear it in their voices.

The family who, far too soon, lost a father, husband, grandpa-to-be…
The mother whose heart is broken over her child’s drug and alcohol abuse…
The teenager who tried to take her own life…
The young man living on the streets…
The father who has been without work…
His family who is struggling just to make ends meet…
The leader who is struggling with the heavy burden of responsibility…
The single woman who aches to be a wife and mother…

We are all looking for something, groaning for something, aching for something. Jesus is that something. He stands at the right had of the Father, and one day, the Father is going to say the word (I get chills just thinking about it) and the waiting will be over. That trumpet will sound. The aching will end and the groaning will become singing—the voices of millions worshiping our God. Oh how I look forward to that day!

Friday, December 27, 2013

The Christmas Gift of Grief

Christmas has a way of stirring up all kinds of emotions in us. My Christmas dinner table has two empty places this year. Maybe you're missing someone too. In light of that I want to re-share this post from several years ago...

As I woke up this morning, I had a picture in my head of grief being like a gift. I know that sounds strange, but it’s true. It’s a gift that no one really wants, but we all receive at some point in life. Some of us receive it earlier in life. Some receive it more often. But if you ever love anyone, chances are, you will receive the gift of grief somewhere along the way.

My grief if wrapped up in a beautiful box. Early in my grief journey, I carried it with me everywhere I went. It was heavy and it consumed every moment of every day. It invaded every decision, every action, every move I made. I couldn’t escape it. I couldn’t go into Wal-Mart without carrying this giant gift with me.

As time went by, I was able to leave my gift at home more often. It was still there. It was still mine, but I didn’t have to carry it with me everywhere I went. Now, almost seven years after my daughter’s death, it’s like I keep my gift on a shelf. Every now and then, especially on holidays, birthdays, and what would have been milestones in her life, I take my gift down off the shelf. I open it up and take out my grief. I hold it in my hands, turning it over and over. I feel the weight of it, the hardness of it. I know this sounds crazy, but I also admire its beauty. I cry a little—sometimes a lot. I blog about it some, but not as often as I used to. But then, I put my grief back in that box. I tie the beautiful bow around it, and I gently place it back on the shelf.

Then I go on with life. Seven years ago, I never would have believed that I could go on with life without my daughter. But here I am, functioning, parenting again, serving, living. And my gift of grief remains… until the next time I take it down off the shelf. My grief has changed my life, but it no longer consumes my life. Because of this gift, I have found a Hope that I otherwise would never have known… a true Unswerving Hope.

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Gift of Grief Kinda Day


9 years ago today I thought my reason for living was gone. But here I am, still living, still breathing, still hoping, still dreaming. God is faithful.

Sunday, June 23, 2013

Child of Promise

"Be glad, O barren woman, who bears no children..." Galatians 4:27 quotes Isaiah 54:1. Why would a barren woman in the Jewish culture be glad or rejoice? Why would a woman who has "lost" her children to death or addiction sing? How can an infertile woman who wants children so desperately be happy? How could a young woman who has experienced the grief of miscarriage, often more than one, rejoice?

The only way we who have lost children can sing, rejoice and be glad is to see the bigger picture. We need to try and see things God's way. We need to put Him on His rightful throne instead of our children (or our desire for children)--ouch!

If we can see ourselves from God's perspective, we see some amazingly fertile ground for a miracle! If Sarah had not been barren, there would have been no room for a miracle. She could never have given birth to Isaac, the child of promise.

So, I press on in my struggle against jealousy and envy this graduation/wedding season, I will endeavor to see my life from God's perspective--as fertile ground for a miracle. I will open my eyes to the miracle right in front of me--my own child of promise.

Monday, April 15, 2013

Again "Be Still"

I have been holding on to Psalm 46:10 since last September. And today, I read in Nehemiah 8:11 those same words, “Be still.” At a time when the Israelites were filled with grief and regret over their sins and failures, the Levites calmed them and spoke grace to them. At a time when their failure was weighing heavy on their hearts, dragging them down emotionally, the Levites encouraged them to celebrate and rejoice in God’s goodness.

This speaks to me because I struggle with the what-ifs. Sometimes the grief and burden of past failures weigh me down and keep me from being who God wants me to be. There is a time for mourning and grieving and confessing. But today is not that day. I have mourned. I have grieved. I have confessed. So today I pick myself up, dust myself off and I

rejoice in the goodness of God, trusting Him to redeem my past failures and, yes, even my sin. And that is my unswerving hope.

Monday, March 4, 2013

New Life: Enduring, Persistent, Relentless

I'm going to be sharing this story tomorrow night with a large group of ladies at our church in the form of an interview. I'm feeling butterflies and I think about it. I'm a better writer than speaker... not sure I'm great at either, but I feel like God has given me a message that I can't keep to myself. So, I'd like to try it on you all. Here goes...
 

Tell us a little bit about yourself and how your Christian Journey.
I grew up in a Christian home, but it was one where being a Christian meant going to church every Sunday and being good—or at least looking good. As I became a wife and a mom, I worked very hard at making sure everyone thought my life was perfect. And, for the most part, it was good. Then I came across a book by Kay Arthur, called As Silver Refined. It opened up a whole new perspective for me. In the book, she talks about disappointments being God appointments, about how God refines us through difficulties. In the beginning, she tells the story of an ancient silver smith and the process he goes through in refining silver, and she compares that with how God refines us…

The silversmith starts with an ugly piece of ore that has been taken from the ground. First, he has to smash the ore with a hammer. Once he has crushed the ore, he puts it in a crucible and builds a fire. Now the fire must be very, very hot, but not too hot. He puts the crucible in the fire, but the silver is very precious, so he never leaves its side. He carefully watches as the metal melts and the impurities rise to the top. He skims the impurities off the top then allows the crucible to cool. But he is not finished. Again, he builds up his fire. It must be very hot--hot enough to melt the precious metal in the crucible, but not too hot. Again, the impurities rise to the top and he skims them off. He goes through this process several times. He finally know his work is complete when he looks into the crucible of silver... and sees his own reflection.

That is what God is doing with us... refining us as silver.


I didn’t realize until later what a divine appointment reading that book was for me. God was preparing me for some really tough times in life.

Our theme tonight is new life.  What symbolizes new life for you?
We have a little Prairie Fire Crab Apple tree on our property. It has become a symbol of new life… persistent, enduring, relentless new life. It is a story of redemption.


Why is this tree so special?
This tree was given to us almost 9 years ago by my nephew’s baseball team. Our older daughter had been to many of their baseball games.

Tell us a little bit about your daughter. 
She was a happy-go-lucky, bubbly, silly 15-year-old. We lived out West and she loved to spend much of her summers with our family here in the Midwest. She often went to my nephew’s baseball games. She got to know those boys, and they were all great friends. In March, 2004, we moved back to the Midwest, and that transition was difficult for my daughter. My priority for the next three years was to get her through that transition and through high school. But just three months later, we got the call no parent ever wants to receive. There had been an accident. Our beautiful, vibrant daughter had been killed instantly…  That little Prairie Fire tree had been given to us in her memory. We planted it between two giant rocks on our property and I turned the whole area into a prayer garden.

You have told me before that there were days following the accident that were difficult to even get out of bed. I am sure creating your prayer garden gave you something physically to do.  What else did God give you to help you move forward.
We were preparing to go back out West to do a memorial service at our church there—for her friends. I was thinking and praying about what I would say to them. They were really struggling with their faith and I wanted to be authentic with them. I didn't want to spout scripture and I didn’t want them to think that I thought my daughter was perfect. That made me think of the scripture in 1 Corinthians where Paul says, “when I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child” I knew that the friend they knew talked like a 15-year-old, thought like a 15-year-old, and reasoned like a 15-year-old. But she was not that 15-year-old anymore. I looked the scripture up in the Message Bible, and suddenly, God was speaking directly to me! Not to my daughter's friends. He gave me a word to hang on to that has gotten me through on days when I didn’t feel like going on. The words jumped off the page at me and brought healing to my devastated heart.

1 Corinthians 13:12-13

The Message (MSG)
12 We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!
13 But for right now, until that completeness, we have three things to do to lead us toward that consummation: Trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly, love extravagantly. And the best of the three is love.

 For my daughter, the weather has cleared and the sun shines bright! She sees it all--as clearly as God sees her. She knows Him directly just as He knows her. But for us, we're still squinting in the fog and peering through the mist. We don't understand. And until we do, we have three things to do: trust steadily, hope unswervingly and love extravagantly. [hence, the name of this blog!]

As you were holding on to that hope and moving forward, tell us what happened to your beautiful tree. 
In the fall 2008, a huge windstorm blew through and snapped our little Prairie Fire tree off at its base. It was the saddest day we had experienced since the event that brought us the tree in the first place. I thought, “How can you be so mean, God?” The one living symbol we had of our daughter’s life had been ripped from the ground just as she had been ripped from our arms. It was so painful to see it lying rootless on the ground, so my husband built a fire. We held each other and cried as we watched that broken little tree go up in flames.

As you were working through that pain with God, you had another chapter of life that was developing. Tell us about that.
The 12 months following the day our little tree was broken are like a blur in my memory. Our granddaughter, who my son named her after his sister, who he loved so much, was a year old. Things with her parents were not going well, and she was in a foster home. I thought, “God, how can my granddaughter be in a foster home?!” I made 10 trips to Arizona in 12 months. We were trying to get custody of her and bring her to live with us, but being so far away and having state agencies involved made it difficult. I was full of grief and even anger toward God. We were at the mercy of the system, but isn’t the system at the mercy of God? Couldn’t he move us through the red tape and bureaucracy to get our granddaughter home? How could He let her sit there in a foster home when she could be here with us? And, by the way, couldn’t He have spared our little tree?! What would have been so hard about that for the God of the universe?


How did God show his tenderness through all of this? 
God is so full of grace and mercy. In my grief and rage, I felt His presence… even more so than usual. I vented my anger at Him in one breath and plead for his forgiveness in the next. And I believe He understood and loved me through it. So did my friends. God was gracious enough to put several people in my life who watched me struggle and squirm… who heard me rant and rave… Who were sometimes even targets of my anger. But they also understood and loved me through it.

I remember that year, as you struggled with anger and doubt but then God began sprout those seeds of hope again.
In the spring of 2009, I went out to work on my prayer garden, and to my delight, I saw several little shoots coming up from the roots of my little Prairie Fire! I carefully cultivated the soil around it. I watched it and cared for it as best I knew how. Eventually, one shoot stood out among the rest, so I pruned the rest off and watched all summer as that one shoot continued to grow and eventually became a whole new tree! Then in the late summer of 2009, we made one more trip out West and brought our beautiful little girl home with us! She has brought so much life to our too-quiet empty nest… sometimes more than we can handle!

You have been on quite a journey with God.  From this experience, what would be your message to all of us?
Whether your life is going well, or you’re going through a difficult trial, be authentic with God. Even if you are angry with Him, confess that to Him. Don’t try to be something you’re not. Seek Him with everything you’ve got. He’ll give you something to hold on to. He gave me 1 Corinthians 13:12-13. He may not give you the same verse, but He’ll give you something. He may not give you a tree that tells the story of persistent, relentless life, but he’ll give you something.

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Brutal Honesty



I just read a book by Kristen Johnston, called “Guts”. Johnston is an actress (3rd Rock from the Sun) who is also a recovering alcoholic/drug addict. She swears like a sailor, and she and I would not see eye to eye on much of anything relating to religion or politics. One thing we do see eye to eye on is the need for honesty… the brutal, gut-level kind. And that is what I found refreshing about her book.

I really didn’t even mind her swearing and I eventually got past the religious and political gap--first, because she doesn’t spend a large amount of time talking about those things; and second, because I was so drawn in by the way she admitted that she used to lie… all the time… about everything. A huge part of her recovery, and probably the biggest hurdle she had to cross was telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. She had never done that before, and she didn’t think anyone else did either.

Being a recovering Polly Anna (and liar… the denial kind), I value brutal honesty more than I ever knew possible. Telling the truth is also a large part of my recovery and I cannot stand Christian literature that glosses over the ugly truths about what goes on in the human mind. Frankly, I don’t think Jesus can stand it either. In the world today there is real suffering, real pain and real sin. If the truth about those things cannot be told, how can we ever be healed from our grief, our sin, and yes, our addictions—and we all have them—IF we are brutally honest enough to admit it!

Sunday, July 15, 2012

The Best Worshippers



“I’m convinced that the only people worth knowing are those who’ve had at least one dark night of the soul. Now, a dark night of the soul is completely different from simply having a very bad night… Recovering addicts and alcoholics sometimes refer to this as their ‘bottom’ but it happens to almost everyone, at some point or another.  It’s that life-changing moment when everything you’ve always wanted to become, everything you actually are, and everything you know you’ll never be, all slam into each other with the deadly force of three high-speed trains. It’s the night of your reckoning, the terrifying moment when your mask falls away and you’re forced to see what’s actually been festering underneath it all these years. You finally see who you really are, instead of who you’ve always pretended to be.”
--Kristen Johnston in “Guts”

And I am also convinced that the very best worshippers are those who are in the very midst of their “dark night of the soul.” The dear friend who continues to wade through one financial setback after another, all while facing the grief of losing two family members in the past year, the single mom who faces the challenges of maintaining a godly family in a very ungodly world, the parents navigating the mine field of life and death boundary issues with their adult children who have made really bad decisions, the family who gathers around one of their own who, due to a tragic accident, is responsible for the death of another, the list could go on and on.

These folks are facing faith shaking dark nights of the soul… there are no more masks, no more pretending… hopes and dreams are dashed… the future is frightening, and yet they raise their hands and tear-stained faces to God in worship. It is truly a sacrifice of praise, and it’s the kind that’s most dear to the heart of God. Psalm 56:8 even says that God keeps a record of our tears—as if he keeps them in a bottle. They are so precious to him.

As I see people who I know are facing unthinkable life challenges reach out to God during worship, I am touched with the thought that they are the truest worshippers. Any of us can sing and dance on a good day, but those who do it during a dark night of the soul are accomplishing something truly miraculous.

Monday, June 25, 2012

The Gift of Today


A year ago today, I downloaded a devotional called Jesus Calling to my Kindle. Today’s entry is interesting since this date has the power to reach deep into my soul and jerk the tears right out of my eyes. Here’s what it says…

“Open your hands and your heart to receive this day as a precious gift from Me. I begin each day with a sunrise, announcing My radiant Presence. By the time you rise from your bed, I have already prepared the way before you.”

Really God? Was this day eight years ago a precious gift from you? Did you prepare it for us before we even got out of bed that morning? Because by 6:00 that night, my entire existence was changed. My little girl’s life on earth came to a screeching halt as you gently lifted her off this earth and into your presence. Great news for her, life changing, faith altering, excruciating grief for me!

Eight years ago? Really? Can it have been that long? Or has it been 800 years? Sometimes it feels like it was that long ago. And yet, as I type this, the tears flow as freely as if it were yesterday. Yes, this is a Gift of Grief kind of day.

My devotional continues… “Bring Me the gift of thanksgiving, which opens your heart to rich communion with Me. Because I am God, from whom all blessings flow, thankfulness is the best way to draw near Me. Sing praise songs to Me; tell of My wondrous works. Remember that I take great delight in you; I rejoice over you with singing.

Oh, I remember those days following this date eight years ago. Praise and thanksgiving did not come easily. It was truly a “sacrifice of praise” as I stood in church and attempted to sing. It’s hard to sing when you’re choking on grief. But I did it anyway. Sometimes alone in the balcony with my sweater pulled up over my head and tears streaming down my face. But deep in my heart, I knew You were weeping right along with me. Those times were indeed excruciating, but Your presence was so near. There is a special sweetness about those times. Thanksgiving in the midst of such pain really does open our hearts to rich communion with You.

So, again today, for the eighth time, I will offer up the sacrifice of praise, trusting that Your Word is true… that You are who you say You are… That You’ll do what You say You’ll do. You are my only Hope—My Unswerving Hope.

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

A Cruel Prayer?


“I do not pray that you may be delivered from your pains…” What? That sounds so cruel, Brother Lawrence. How can you not pray that someone who is suffering be delivered?

I am reading “The Practice of the Presence of God” by Brother Lawrence. He worked in the kitchen of a monastery and had very little education. But what he did have was a profound peace in the midst of poverty, a lowly position, and much hard work. This peace was so profound that visitors to the monastery sought him out to learn his secret. Hence this little book of his writings was assembled.

So this man of great peace wouldn’t pray for his friend to be delivered from his pains… what did he pray for? “…but I pray GOD earnestly that He would give you strength and patience to bear them as long as He pleases. Comfort yourself with Him who holds you fastened to the cross: He will loose you when He thinks fit.” He continues that “men of the world” who consider sickness and pain as just a part of living, and “not as a favour from GOD… find nothing in it but grief and distress. But those who consider sickness as coming from the hand of GOD, as the effects of His mercy, and the means which He employs for their salvation, commonly find in it great sweetness and sensible consolation… GOD is often (in some sense) nearer to us and more effectually present with us, in sickness than in health.”

That speaks to my soul. I have experienced that amazing sweetness of the nearness of God during times of unimaginable grief and pain. It’s hard to describe how you can hurt so badly and yet experience the presence of God so sweetly at the same time. God knows that the pain you are suffering through is unbearable. By the way, despite what many will tell you during times of grief and pain, God DOES give you more than you can bear! But He does not make you bear it alone. He uses it to help you see your utter dependence on Him.

So, if you’re a friend of mine, I’m sorry, but I won’t be praying for you to be instantly delivered from any pain and suffering. But I will be praying for God’s profound peace and the sweetness of His amazing presence to carry you through until He has accomplished all that He wants to accomplish in you. God wants so much more for you than your present comfort.

Brother Lawrence continues, “[God] often sends diseases of the body, to cure those of the soul. Comfort yourself with the sovereign Physician both of soul and body." And that is my Unswerving Hope.

Monday, April 9, 2012

Holy Saturday Moments

Yesterday was Resurrection Sunday—the biggest celebration of the Christian Church! What a gift we have in being alive in the post-resurrection world. 


But what about those who are living in a “Holy Saturday moment”, the day before the resurrection? This man, whom they called Rabbi, Master, Brother, Son—the man they believed had come to take over the world is dead. Their hopes and dreams are gone. Jesus did not do what they thought he would do. 


There are many people, even believers, who are living in a “Holy Saturday moment” right now. They can’t yet see the victory that the resurrection has given them—they are suffering and waiting when all they can see at the moment is fear, uncertainty, darkness and death. 


I have lived lots of Holy Saturday moments. We all will at one time or another. Here’s what my Lenten devotional said we should do if we find ourselves facing a trial or grief that feels insurmountable—as we stand by watching our hopes and dreams as they are beaten, bloodied, crucified—dead: As you stand there in this strange, powerful mixture of recognition and horror, bring bit by bit into the picture the stories on which you have lived. Bring the hopes you had when you were young. Bring the bright vision of family life, of success… Bring the longings of your heart. They are all fulfilled here, though not in the way you imagined. This is the way God fulfilled the dreams of his people. This is how the coming king would overcome all his enemies. 


Our hopes and dreams may be dead. Things did not turn out like we planned. We had great visions of what we would become, of what our children would become. But it didn’t happen. What we don’t know and can’t see is what God is doing behind the scenes. We feel the earthquakes, we see the darkness, but we don’t understand it. We expected one thing and we experienced something quite different, and we don’t get it. 


At times like these, we can be like Peter and the other disciples—we can run away and hide in fear. Or we can be like Joseph of Arimathea, who took courage and did what he saw needed to be done. 


In the face of scorn and even the possibility of death, he requested the body of Jesus, not willing to allow him to be ravaged by wild animals, birds and vermin or to be buried in a common grave. He wrapped the body in clean white linen and placed it in the security of his own tomb with a giant rock placed in front of it to keep it safe. His hopes and dreams may be been crushed, but he knew there was something special about Jesus. He knew God still had a plan, even if it didn’t match his own. Instead of lamenting the loss of his hopes and dreams, (even though he was surely grieving) he joined God in the work that He was doing. He laid down his own plans—he let them go. Then he picked up God’s plan and did what needed to be done. 


My devotional continues, Our part is to keep Holy Saturday in faith and hope, grieving over the ruin of the world that sent Jesus to his death, trusting in the promises of God that new life will come in his way and his time… We aren't sure why we've got to this place, why things aren't going as we wanted or planned, and the life seems to have drained out of it all. That's a Holy Saturday moment. Do what has to be done, and wait for God to act in his own way and his own time.


And that is my Unswerving Hope!