Tonight at my young couples Bible study, one of the questions concerning our exploration of ecclesiastes was "Can you think of a time where you didn't feel like God was there, that He had let a bad thing happen?" The obvious answer is yes, so much of a resounding yes that I could not count the emotional memories connected to that question.
One of the guys that attends our bible study spoke up with a story I've heard before, that his grandfather was terminally ill with emphasima (sp?) during his college years, and then ended up dying. My friend said that the only saving grace that allowed this guy to keep his faith was that his grandfather was allowed to die at home in his own bed, surrounded by family. But even just the debilitating disease affecting the person my friend looked up to the most had an effect upon his faith. Though his grandfather was a devout catholic and was not bitter; the "why did this happen to a good man" question still lives in my friend's heart and soul. And not in a...safe, comforting way, like with time and perspective, or even just acceptance without understanding, he and his faith have grown. In a grudge-holding, hurt kind of way, and his relationship with God is handicapped because of it.
A similar thing happened to my father when he was in his twenties. His favorite and most respected friend, his grandfather, died. In that moment, my dad disowned his God. Not decided that God didn't exist, but rather that the God that did had no mercy for those who deserved it.
For years, he shouted at God, bitter and in pain about the death.
One day. In a church for the first time in years, with his new girlfriend who insisted that it was going to be with God or without her, my dad broke down in tears. I have never seen my dad cry in all of my life; not through pain, not through the birth of his children, not in joy. My mom says he bawled like a baby in the back of that church. And he saw his God again, not as the stranger and sinful being he had created God to be in his mind, but for who He is, and was, and is to come. A Just, Merciful, Grace-filled, Omnipotent God.
God did not kill either grandfather. Nor did He let either one die in an act of apathy.
Everything works together for the good of those who love him. As a pastor at my church would say "God always works towards deliverance." Though we cannot see it, though we cannot understand it, though it seems nonsensical to us, the everyday events of this world are always working towards deliverance. Evil still exists, and bad things happen because of our original choice in the garden and our choices now as sinful human beings, but God does prevail. He will always weave the events and relationships together for the good.
My friend and my dad demonstrate two ways to react to the sorrow that life may bring. One recovered his faith, and realized that God will give, and God will take away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. Though he slay me, yet I shall trust in Him.
9.19.2008
Ratio of Care
I am constantly trying to remind myself that God knows and cares about all of these big unknowns in my life. But sometimes, something comes up that reminds me that God knows and cares about the tiniest details in my life.
Last night was one of those nights at the end of one of those days. I left for work at 7:45 a.m., spent three hours on my feet at a meeting I didn't need to be at, rushed around in heels planning an event, drove a half an hour after work to a meeting, drove back home and went to the gym, and then stopped by the store on the way home. I didn't get home until 9 p.m. At which point, Tim was out at his men's Bible Study, so I was all alone.
Feeling very solitary, I decided to call someone. One of my friend's is in China, two others didn't answer their phones, and my mom was busy. So I wallowed for a bit in my own lonliness. Then my phone rang! Excited, I picked it up, expecting a returned call from a friend. What I got was Houghton's fund. The girl making the call was a freshman at my alma mater, and seeing as this was only the third week of school, probably feeling overwhelmed. She sounded nervous and not sure what to say, so I eased her into a conversation. We talked for about fifteen minutes, giving advice, talking about the new experience and new england, where we both originated from. She left the call sounding much more confident in herself (even though I didn't give any money). I hung up feeling better, having just chatted with someone.
I stopped for a second, realizing that in the exact moment of my lonliness, God sent a ray of light. in an unexpected way, of course. But He didn't just pretend He didn't hear because I was whining again, He saw my need, essentially, knew my need, and provided exactly what I needed. I never cease to be amazed.
Last night was one of those nights at the end of one of those days. I left for work at 7:45 a.m., spent three hours on my feet at a meeting I didn't need to be at, rushed around in heels planning an event, drove a half an hour after work to a meeting, drove back home and went to the gym, and then stopped by the store on the way home. I didn't get home until 9 p.m. At which point, Tim was out at his men's Bible Study, so I was all alone.
Feeling very solitary, I decided to call someone. One of my friend's is in China, two others didn't answer their phones, and my mom was busy. So I wallowed for a bit in my own lonliness. Then my phone rang! Excited, I picked it up, expecting a returned call from a friend. What I got was Houghton's fund. The girl making the call was a freshman at my alma mater, and seeing as this was only the third week of school, probably feeling overwhelmed. She sounded nervous and not sure what to say, so I eased her into a conversation. We talked for about fifteen minutes, giving advice, talking about the new experience and new england, where we both originated from. She left the call sounding much more confident in herself (even though I didn't give any money). I hung up feeling better, having just chatted with someone.
I stopped for a second, realizing that in the exact moment of my lonliness, God sent a ray of light. in an unexpected way, of course. But He didn't just pretend He didn't hear because I was whining again, He saw my need, essentially, knew my need, and provided exactly what I needed. I never cease to be amazed.
9.09.2008
Lost the Identity
I used to wear an ID bracelet (that I conveniently ordered and then had my dad pick up from a jewlery store so he'd have to pay) that had the word "Beloved" engraved on it. It wasn't from my now-husband, Tim, or from a creepy secret admirer. I picked it out myself, to remind myself every day of my identity. Some say Identity in Christ, but I feel like that puts a clarifier on it. It doesn't need to be clarified. It's the entire foundational level of my identity, like the fact that I'm the eldest sibling, I look like my dad, I sound like my mom, I tell it like it is, I make things more dramatic, I don't waste time, I love to write, and my butt is always in good shape :) But before all of those things, before the nature, the nurture, the choices, is the ground zero of my life: I am God's Beloved.
Some of you may recognize the inspiration of my bracelet from Henri Nouwen, with good reason.
I read a devotional the other day, after a couple of recent rejections in one of those situations that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't please my editors. Side effect of being a writer. They know me, they like me, they just are impossible to match exactly sometimes. I was very frusterated and trying not to despair, telling myself: for every article that doesn't come to fruition by being published (and myself getting paid) there's another publication that has asked me to write for them. But logical math doesn't help the grieving woman!
The devotional, by the much-admired Max Lucado, discussed how rejection, on human terms, can hurt very deeply. But on a spiritual and emotional plane, maybe wallowing in that is ridiculous. If I know my Father in Heaven has not, will not, and cannot reject me, then what does it matter if silly, sinful people do? The most perfect Being there ever was, or ever will be, has declared that he will not let me go, will not let me fall, and will not ever send me packing. Ever. For as long as we both shall live.
So why should I lose my identity, my grounding, me, every time things don't go my way? Just because someone does not appreciate my effort or accept my hard work, so what? They can do whatever they want. The foundation, my Beloved status, will not be shaken. Houses with strong foundations are less likely to fall prey to natural disasters. If I trust in my foundation, why should itty bitty breezes, or even large gusts of wind knock me down?
I don't have that ID bracelet any longer. But I will remember the reason I bought it: To declair the definition of my life. To never forget who I am. Beloved.
Some of you may recognize the inspiration of my bracelet from Henri Nouwen, with good reason.
I read a devotional the other day, after a couple of recent rejections in one of those situations that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't please my editors. Side effect of being a writer. They know me, they like me, they just are impossible to match exactly sometimes. I was very frusterated and trying not to despair, telling myself: for every article that doesn't come to fruition by being published (and myself getting paid) there's another publication that has asked me to write for them. But logical math doesn't help the grieving woman!
The devotional, by the much-admired Max Lucado, discussed how rejection, on human terms, can hurt very deeply. But on a spiritual and emotional plane, maybe wallowing in that is ridiculous. If I know my Father in Heaven has not, will not, and cannot reject me, then what does it matter if silly, sinful people do? The most perfect Being there ever was, or ever will be, has declared that he will not let me go, will not let me fall, and will not ever send me packing. Ever. For as long as we both shall live.
So why should I lose my identity, my grounding, me, every time things don't go my way? Just because someone does not appreciate my effort or accept my hard work, so what? They can do whatever they want. The foundation, my Beloved status, will not be shaken. Houses with strong foundations are less likely to fall prey to natural disasters. If I trust in my foundation, why should itty bitty breezes, or even large gusts of wind knock me down?
I don't have that ID bracelet any longer. But I will remember the reason I bought it: To declair the definition of my life. To never forget who I am. Beloved.
9.04.2008
Shouting = Faith
I am not the writer of this inspiring piece, its from Streams in the Desert; the september 4th reading:
"Now, no on can suppose for a moment that this shout caused the walls [of jericho] to fall. And yet the secret of their victory lay in just this shout, for it was the shout of a faith which dared, on the authority of God's Word alone, to claim a promised victory, while as yet there were no signs of this victory being accomplished. And according to their faith God did unto them; so that, when they shouted, He made the walls to fall. "
"Now, no on can suppose for a moment that this shout caused the walls [of jericho] to fall. And yet the secret of their victory lay in just this shout, for it was the shout of a faith which dared, on the authority of God's Word alone, to claim a promised victory, while as yet there were no signs of this victory being accomplished. And according to their faith God did unto them; so that, when they shouted, He made the walls to fall. "
9.02.2008
Steering Wheel
It was very dark, the kind of Pennsylvania dark with patches of fog, no streetlights, and no moon that night. My husband sat behind the wheel of my car, chauffering us home after a very long day at an amusement park. The last couple of rides we went on I was near tears from fear and exhaustion, and our quick bite at a local restaurant resulted in a salad drenched in too-strong dressing, which I picked the walnuts and chicken out of and left the soggy lettuce for a mere 9.99, and then felt my stomach upset on the ride back from the spicy dressing.
Needless to say I was a bit on-edge
My husband, wonderful man that he is, likes to drive slightly faster than me, and he also tends to brake more last-minute than myself. So as we're driving along curvy country roads in PA, I have my foot on an invisible brake on the passenger side of the car, trying to keep my dinner down, and I'm gripping the hand-rail on my door like my life depended on it. I just keep saying over and over again "Keep us safe, keep us safe," whether it be from a deer, a guardrail, or another dangerous driver on the road. I even closed my eyes for a moment, then snapped them back open because it made me even more nervous if I couldn't see where I was going.
This is the story of my life. I have kind of a bad day, and then when I sit in the passenger seat of my car, which I have promised to do because lets face it, God's always going to be the better driver for my life, I freak out. I try to fight the wheel back (God gently lets me have it until I willingly give it up again). I try to brake and turn when I'm not even the one driving. I grip the door like my life depends on it, when really, my life depends on me taking these curves with grace and flexibility. I can't even close my eyes to relax and enjoy the ride, I have to constantly have them wide open to make sure that I am in control, when really I should just acknowledge that I'm not, I gave up control of my life to Him. Sometimes I remember that, but often I forget.
When I'm riding a roller coaster, I have a set of motions I have to go through to beat the fear and get onto the ride. I have to be riding with someone who will let me hold their hand. I have to be strapped/buckled in as tightly as possible, even if it hinders respiration. As soon as the coastar starts scaling the first hill, I close my eyes. I keep them closed as we go up, up, up. At the top, as everyone pauses for breath, I screw my eyes shut as the camera snaps the photo and grip my faithful friend's hand in a death grip. As we fall down that first hill, I scream in terror.
And then I get over it. After the first, and inevitably biggest and most dramatic, drop, I'm fine. I put my hands up. I laugh a little. I yell. When I get off, I feel invigorated, ready to go again if the lines were shorter.
This is not the story of my life. But maybe it should be. I have to close my eyes, forcing myself to trust that no matter how high we go and how fast I fall, all will be as it should be and I will not be irreparebly hurt. The wind may rip at my hair, I may scream in fear, but all will be well, as Julia of Norwich would say.
Needless to say I was a bit on-edge
My husband, wonderful man that he is, likes to drive slightly faster than me, and he also tends to brake more last-minute than myself. So as we're driving along curvy country roads in PA, I have my foot on an invisible brake on the passenger side of the car, trying to keep my dinner down, and I'm gripping the hand-rail on my door like my life depended on it. I just keep saying over and over again "Keep us safe, keep us safe," whether it be from a deer, a guardrail, or another dangerous driver on the road. I even closed my eyes for a moment, then snapped them back open because it made me even more nervous if I couldn't see where I was going.
This is the story of my life. I have kind of a bad day, and then when I sit in the passenger seat of my car, which I have promised to do because lets face it, God's always going to be the better driver for my life, I freak out. I try to fight the wheel back (God gently lets me have it until I willingly give it up again). I try to brake and turn when I'm not even the one driving. I grip the door like my life depends on it, when really, my life depends on me taking these curves with grace and flexibility. I can't even close my eyes to relax and enjoy the ride, I have to constantly have them wide open to make sure that I am in control, when really I should just acknowledge that I'm not, I gave up control of my life to Him. Sometimes I remember that, but often I forget.
When I'm riding a roller coaster, I have a set of motions I have to go through to beat the fear and get onto the ride. I have to be riding with someone who will let me hold their hand. I have to be strapped/buckled in as tightly as possible, even if it hinders respiration. As soon as the coastar starts scaling the first hill, I close my eyes. I keep them closed as we go up, up, up. At the top, as everyone pauses for breath, I screw my eyes shut as the camera snaps the photo and grip my faithful friend's hand in a death grip. As we fall down that first hill, I scream in terror.
And then I get over it. After the first, and inevitably biggest and most dramatic, drop, I'm fine. I put my hands up. I laugh a little. I yell. When I get off, I feel invigorated, ready to go again if the lines were shorter.
This is not the story of my life. But maybe it should be. I have to close my eyes, forcing myself to trust that no matter how high we go and how fast I fall, all will be as it should be and I will not be irreparebly hurt. The wind may rip at my hair, I may scream in fear, but all will be well, as Julia of Norwich would say.
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