Post Category → faith

thankful: wednesday

Three things from yesterday:

…watching eager little hands reach into grocery bags, making it feel like Christmas and not just another grocery trip.

…a beautiful afternoon, perfect for an hour at the playground.

…a baby cuddled up with his daddy every evening; a daddy cuddled up with his boy every chance he gets.

*****

It started as just a song stuck in my head; it’s turned into a point of conviction and an opportunity to grow.

We are supposed to be growing in this walk of faith. His goal is to transform us into the image of His Son, bringing us from faith to faith. And that’s fine with us — sometimes. On paper. In theory, from the pulpit on Sunday.

But in reality?

Is it just me, or do others find thoughts running through their minds:

This is what works for us in our marriage, and that’s how it is.

This is my decision about children.

The work of the Holy Spirit in this age is ____. Period.

Church should be _____.

My parents have issues. They just do.

Our family can never be like them.

These are my weaknesses. I am what I am.

They’ll never change.

I’ll never change.

Of course, those are the big things. Then there are the little thoughts we have all day long that paint us into a corner, that leave God out of the equation. It’s so easy to live life based on the truth that we can see, forgetting that with God, there’s a whole other realm of Reality that we can experience.

And so I’ll keep singing today, letting the Lord confront all of my human vows and judgments, bringing me repentance and the reminder that He is so much greater than I give Him credit for:

I have made You too small in my eyes
O Lord, forgive me;
And I have believed in a lie
That You were unable to help me.
But now, O Lord, I see my wrong
Heal my heart and show Yourself strong;
And in my eyes and with my song
O Lord, be magnified

Be magnified, O Lord
You are highly exalted;
And there is nothing You can’t do
O Lord, my eyes are on You.

I have leaned on the wisdom of men
O Lord, forgive me;
And I have responded to them
Instead of Your light and Your mercy.
But now, O Lord, I see my wrong
Heal my heart and show Yourself strong;
And in my eyes with my song
O Lord, be magnified
O Lord, be magnified.

on the road to beautiful (charlie hall)

listening…

I crumble at Your kiss and grace
I’m a weakling in the dust
Teach me how to cling to You
With all my life and all my love

Father come to me, hold me up ’cause I can barely stand
My strength is gone and my breath is shot, I can’t reach out my hands
But my heart is set on a pilgrimage to heaven’s own bright King
So in faltering or victory I will always sing

And on the road to beautiful
My seasons always change
But my life is spent on loving You
To know You in Your power and pain

You’re my portion in this life
You’re my strength now in my fight
And to You I pledge my heart
In the pain and in the dark I’ll love You

I’ll love You, I’ll love You

I’ll love You…

today

Yesterday while Jameson napped, I stepped out into the garden for a few minutes and got rid of some weeds, some old tomato plants, some annuals that never were quite alive, and I thought of Liz. Being out in my own garden, being very clueless and frustrated by dying plants for who-knows-why, I always felt a kinship with her, hard at work in her own yard in Italy, trying to work her mother’s magic. And I always admired the hours she and Christian put into a place they knew they’d only be for a short while.

But not this short.

And so go my thoughts while trying to accomplish the tasks at hand, always turning to her. Shuddering at the sound of aircraft that fly overhead all day long. Startled at strange times by the agony that overwhelms. Wanting to somehow comprehend this, but rejecting all attempts at understanding.

Stinging. Yes, it stings.

But not forever, as Brietta reminds us.

Not forever. We have a Redeemer.

*****

Two things I’m thankful for, from yesterday:

1. A call from Lore, which included encouragement to embrace this season of my life, and not grow weary.

2. A jar of buttons, a few moments of quiet, and a bit of inspiration that equaled a Christmas gift.

a time for weeping.

For those who may not know, my friend Liz has suffered a great, great tragedy.

This sorrow has gripped me, and so many, since we learned of the crash. This is an occasion where we need not remind ourselves to weep with those who weep; our tears spill freely. We wake with a start over and over: even in sleep, we bear this burden.

My heart cannot comprehend her loss, but not from lack of trying. I ache with compassion. My soul hurts with attempts at empathy. And my mind is stunned.

This is darkness, overwhelming and blinding.

And amazingly, this is when the comfort comes, for God does not deny the darkness we must walk through. He does not pretend our suffering is trivial. And He does not require us to somehow transcend the pain in order to find Him. No, He is not a God like other gods. He is a God who meets us in Reality. He is a God who is known in the muck and mire of Time. He is I AM, and when we stop trying to shut out life, and instead look for Him in the midst of it, we know Him in ways we never would have imagined.

This is one thing I love best about our God.

He’s right in the midst. Emmanuel. He doesn’t wait for us to attain heaven; no, “even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death… You are with me,” and “If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there… Your hand will lead me, and Your right hand will lay hold of me.”

He’s right there, and He can transform our ashes. He can bring light to the worst blackness of our souls, for, “Even the darkness is not dark to You, and the night is as bright as the day.”

*****

So now we weep. And it is right that we do so. There is a time for weeping, and this is it. But as we weep, we’ll comfort one another with these words, words that take on a whole new life when heard through the waves of anguish:

“But we do not want you to be uninformed, brethren, about those who are asleep, so that you will not grieve as do the rest who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who have fallen asleep in Jesus. For this we say to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive and remain until the coming of the Lord, will not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive and remain will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we shall always be with the Lord.” –1 thessalonians 4

*****

We love you, Liz.

Discerning the Call of God (Elisabeth Elliot)

(Today’s devotional:)

As a little girl I especially loved the story of God’s call to the child Samuel as he lay sleeping in the temple. I wondered if God would ever call me. Would I hear Him? What would He say? Throughout my growing years I read missionary stories and heard them told at our dinner table by guests from many lands who came to stay with us. I was always eager to know just how they were called. As a college student I worried much about whether I would fail to follow the Shepherd, would be deaf to His call. I thought it such a bewildering matter.

It is not a worry anymore. Experience has taught me that the Shepherd is far more willing to show His sheep the path than the sheep are to follow. He is endlessly merciful, patient, tender, and loving. If we, His stupid and wayward sheep, really want to be led, we will without fail be led. Of that I am sure.

When we need help, we wish we knew somebody who is wise enough to tell us what to do, reachable when we need him, and even able to help us. God is. Omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent–everything we need. The issue is confidence in the Shepherd Himself, a confidence so complete that we offer ourselves without any reservation whatsoever and determine to do what He says.

What He says? But how shall I know that?

He calls us every day, “o’er the tumult of our life’s wild, restless sea.” He comes to us in the little things, in the ordinary duties which our place in life entails. When I was a child He called me. The duty which my place in life entailed was obedience to my father and mother. In school and Sunday School He called me through the teacher. What she said I knew I was supposed to do. In first grade (yes, in public school) we sang the hymn, “Father, We Thank Thee.” The second stanza says, “Help us to do the things we should, to be to others kind and good, in all we do at work or play to grow more loving every day.” God’s call again.

It’s alluring to think of our own situation as very complex and ourselves as deep and complicated, so that we waste a good deal of time puzzling over “the will of God.” Frequently our conscience has the answer.

My friend Jim O’Donnell tells how he, a hard-headed, hard-hearted man of the world, found Christ. His conscience was awakened. The call of God was immediate: “Go home and love your wife.” The change was so sudden and so radical, Lizzie could not make head or tail of what had come over him. This self-confident and self-interested man had quit living for himself. He had died. An altogether new kind of life was now his. The first difference it made was the difference that mattered most–in his private life. It was there that he began to obey.

We are not talking here about audible voices. Although people in Bible times often heard God speak, we can expect that He will usually speak today through conscience, through the written Word, through other people, and through events. Events themselves, the seemingly insignificant happenings of every day, reveal the will of God. They are the will of God for us, for while we live, move, and have our being here on earth, in this place, this family, this house, this job, we live, move, and have our being in God. He “pulls strings through circumstances,” as Jim Elliot said, even the bad circumstances (see Genesis 45:8, 50:20).

Three questions may help to clarify the call of God. Have I made up my mind to do what He says, no matter what the cost? Am I faithfully reading His Word and praying? Am I obedient in what I know today of His will?

“Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul” (Psalm 143:8, NIV).

(emphasis mine)

jameson.

We are long, long — dare I say shamefully — overdue for a Jameson post.

He’s been dabbling with the idea of walking for quite a few weeks. Every once in awhile he’d be standing at the couch with the desire to move to the ottoman, and I could tell he was gauging the distance, calculating the number of steps, deciding if it was worth the risk… Yesterday there was a change. There was no calculation, and he was setting off toward a wide empty space, no ottoman in sight. Of course, he only goes 4-6 steps before falling to the ground, but he seems content with that. How amazing it is to see him turn from the couch and just start walking.

He chatters. My, does he chatter. No distinct words yet, but more and more sounds and tones and obvious attempts at conversation. My favorite is the sweet, high voice he uses when standing inches from a forbidden object. He still thinks he can sweet-talk me. Well, maybe he can.

He’s been initiating games. Yesterday while baking, I heard him busily crawling around the floor, and when I looked, realized he had a spool of thread and was tossing it as far as his uncoordinated arm could, and then would gleefully go fetch it. I knelt down and he quickly included me in his little game of catch — which grew to include a belly laugh every time he managed to toss the spool in my direction.

This morning we came out to the kitchen early, and I turned on a classical CD. As the strings soared (and he loves when I play “air” violin with music), I took one of his little baby hands and began dancing. He quickly caught on, flashed me his charming “insider” smile, and mimicked everything I did — swaying, waving our arms, bowing. So cute!

Of course, this age of discovery, which is happening at breakneck speeds, does not come without its bumps and bruises. Besides the pesky business of learning that Mama does not allow fits or tantrums or anything remotely similar, there are also the spills and tumbles of figuring out laws of gravity and such. Last evening Jameson got his first bloody lip when he fell backwards (??), and in the wee hours of the morning, he fell off the bed. (Oh dear. Don’t I feel awful.) So he’s a bit red and puffy here and there, but what’s a bruise when you’re a one year old with the world to discover?

And me? Well, I’m busy trying to grasp this sudden transformation that’s occurring before my eyes — although I’m also amazed, again, at the instincts that kick in, that suddenly just know that my baby is old enough to understand when I say, “No more crying.” Instincts aside, I’ll confess to being overwhelmed by the task before me of mothering this little person. Suddenly he needs so much more than just to be nursed and cooed to…and this is only the beginning!

But that’s where the “grace moments” come in. You know — the moments when you remember again that actually, YOU can’t do any of this without the help of the Holy Spirit. And, amazingly enough, you can do all this with His help.

The other day my grace moment came in the realization that God gave Jameson to Ryan and me on purpose. (Why? Oh, why, why? Didn’t He know that we’ve never been parents before??) My mom used to say that all the time in conversation with other moms: “I would tell my kids, ‘That’s great that Susie’s mom lets her do that. But God didn’t give you to Susie’s mom, He gave you to me, and this is how I do things.’ ” Moral of story: God gives certain kids to certain parents on purpose, for His purpose.

Of course, that made sense with my parents. I mean, my only question was why didn’t God give all of the kids to my parents? They’re wonderful and awesome and amazing and wow, I loved being their kid.

But us? How would we ever be wonderful and awesome and amazing parents? I mean, we don’t know what we’re doing!!

And the grace moment was when I realized that we won’t be wonderful and awesome and amazing like my parents were. We’ll be wonderful and awesome and amazing the way God wants us to be. It won’t be the same. If we were going to be identical, God might as well have had the stork deliver Jameson to 46 Main St (or whatever the address is these days!) No, He wants Jameson to be raised in our house. He wants us to learn together how to be a wonderful family, a symbol of hope and light and love in the midst of a dark and evil world. And yeah, we’re not there yet. It has yet to be seen what our amazing parenting will look like. And if I only look within for the potential to be an awesome mother, then chances are, I’ll come away discouraged.

But when I remember that it’s by grace, that it’s only with Him — that it’s less of me, more of Him — I can see the potential for us to shine brightly, to show forth the radiance of Him, to reflect the glory of love amazing and grace divine. I remember that in His hands, not much of anything becomes enough to feed the starving world.

Lord, let our home, our family, be the site of a miracle: mere people transformed into the image of Your Son; people with a bent towards strife and selfishness bonded together with love and kindness. Take our fumbling hands and teach them to shape arrows, destined for far-away places in time and space. Take our lacking hearts and make them wells of Living Water, ready to pour into the little hearts You give us. In our weakness — glory.