Holy Saturday - When the story doesn't go the way we expect and God seems oh so silent!

So today is THE Saturday for which this blog was named, which is why it seemed just plain wrong to bypass posting for today.  I’ve had a lot on my mind lately,  Things I am learning as I move through the loss of a loved one, things I’m learning as I make vocational changes, and places of flux as my family grows up and my role shifts in their life.  All feel like a “Saturday” of sorts.  The sun is setting while Friday goes to sleep,  Sunday is not yet here and I find myself, as one would, lingering between “death” and life.  Waiting, sometimes weary, sometimes, sleepy, sometimes at rest.  It’s rather quiet in my soul, like the hushed obedience the mountains give after a fresh-fallen snow.

 We remember Christ crucified on Good Friday and Christ Risen and alive on Sunday -Friday and Sunday,  but what about the in-between Holy Saturday?  Not much is said about the day when God goes silent and a resurrection has yet to come. The day when all that is known is the aftermath of recent loss or the vague sense that something is not quite right.  Saturday has gone largely unacknowledged for me.   What does one do with this symbolic bridge-day that moves us from death to life? 

Well today on March 26, 2016 I have met with a client, sat with my mom as we thought about facing the first holiday without my dad.  I've taken my daughter to find Easter shoes, helped my son and his friend head back up to college for their final quarter, and will pick up dinner rolls,...my portion of the Easter meal.  (A case of bronchitis makes me glad for packaged rolls!) My husband has worked hard this week to prepare a sermon that will break the rhetoric hum of the Easter Bedtime story – (and I think he did, by the way!)  Earlier today he headed 40 minutes away to to evict a tenant and struggled deeply to do it in a way that is loving and good.  I’ve navigated a difficult conflict with a close friend and experienced deep pain, betrayal, and regret in the process... and I suppose they have too.  The laundry is slowly getting done, and my kitchen counter is visible for the first time since the boys came home last week (Let’s hear it for small victories!!) That’s what this in-between day has held…mini in-between moments, unfinished business, less than ideal snapshots of real life, and the reminder that something is not yet quite right.

But Sunday is coming.  Tomorrow we will sing, listen, reflect and pray on what this resurrection means - how we are grateful, wonder if we are, wish we felt more grateful or maybe elated that we do! Christ's crucifixion made available to us his risen life. 

Resurrection...Life arises from death. The first generation of wilderness-Israelites died before God would lead their children into the promise land. Even nature bears witness to this death-to-life phenomenon. A pine cone consumed in a fire releases its otherwise dormant seeds birthing a forest out of the ashes. And as I look back on the past few years it seems I've experienced a similar passage-a firestorm of sorts- in which my own dreams & desires - what I know to be my "life" are slowly being laid to rest.  

Its been said, God's dreams are better. There have been glimpses of that in this journey. And in it, this incidental Saturday-season becomes God’s silent storm where he comes near,  holds us as we writhe, weeps with us, and loves us intimately.  It happens in those stormy places that we often dare not share with another human heart; that's where God finds his home. He decends into those hellish shadows longing for deliverance, and we are forever changed! 

We journey to Sunday by way of the cross. Dallas Willard said, "We were meant to be inhabited by God and live by a power beyond ourselves.  Human problems cannot be solved by human means." He was so right! As we surrender to the pause, waiting becomes active.  Somewhere, out of the ashes, new life emerges as the Divine One works on our behalf.  Oh how I have been tempted to run - Haven't you?!  But we must stay in this Saturday, every hour of it, before Sunday dawns.  There are no short-cuts, just ordinary-remarkable happenings with a God who shows up along the way.

So in some ways, I've grown rather fond of this "wait-day" – there are times I wouldn't wish it away.  That's when the grit of my struggle finds the embrace of God's love.   But there are other days when my soul sits in begging screams – pleading to be taken off this bridge, this highway, that's commanding my surrender.   Yet... as I remain...God's hand works in ways I thought were impossible; and slowly, ever. so. slowly, there is a sliver, a glorious sliver of light as Sunday's dawn peeks over the horizon, awakening my dormant soul.  It all happens through the sacred wait of Saturday.

So...What are your Saturday moments?  
Could it be God is journeying you to Sunday's dawn through them?
How can you encounter Him and cooperate with Him along the way?

What Dad Would Tell the World - One of the last conversations between a father and his daughter.

Dad and Mom the first day He checked into Stanford on July 17th

 Most who read this blog know that my father has been fighting leukemia for the past seven months.  On Jan 25^th that fight ended and Dad found himself at home in God’s love embraced by Jesus …for real and forever. Yesterday we paid tribute to his life.  Some have asked if I would share what I shared at his memorial service.  The following is what was shared.

On January 9, I sat down with my dad and asked if he could tell the world anything, what would it be?  He said three things…

“Following Jesus doesn’t always lead us to a place where we want to be.”

In fact, I noticed a Lenten devotional from last spring in His bible that said as much.  It seemed God was preparing him before he ever knew he’d be taking this journey. 

It’s easy to assume if we follow Jesus and do what’s “right” that it will lead to a “blessing” we expect.  The truth is my dad was angry about cancer at first, and the way it was stealing his life.  He felt cheated and so did a lot of us. There were many dark days.  Yet, through a disease that was taking my dad’s life far sooner than he wanted, he was learning the “blessing of following Jesus was actually Jesus… not necessarily good circumstances. And the gift of following Christ was not his presenTS wrapped up in neat little bows set pristinely upon a shelf. Rather, it was his presenCE that comes near when everything else goes dark and life begins to unravel those pretty bows and burst out of our tidy boxes. I suppose that’s why he also said to me during the same visit,

“Michellie, Don’t fall too in love with the world. Wear it loosely.”

Dad was beginning to understand how his despair (and ours) is often rooted in our commitment to the very temporal and unpredictable things of this place called earth.   We strain after our dreams and demand our rights.  We spend time climbing the corporate ladder, and dusting off old trophies.

But loosening his grip on those things allowed my dad to surrender himself to the story God was writing. He encountered God in that surrender even when the journey did not lead to a place he “wanted” to be.  In the struggle, he found the blessings and goodness of God.  It showed up in the presence of friends who stayed by him as he weathered these last few months?  It sometimes appeared in the night as God brought a company of heavenly hosts to hover and attend him in his fear.  It showed up in care-givers who gently came along side to comfort his pain.  It showed up in strained relationships now made whole. And that was a big deal to him.  My dad said one more thing that day…

He said, “I wouldn’t let lousy relationships go unattended.”

"I wouldn’t put off conflict.  I would have been less angry.

I would pick relationships over everything else and I would do it more."

I asked what everything else was and he said, “My rights, my expectations, my ideals, my pride.  There is never a conflict so big that it should eclipse the relationship or our ability to love in it.  Never.” 

My dad didn’t say this because he always got it right.  He said it because he did the heart work when he got it wrong.

Lastly, as I consider the eternal home my dad now enjoys, perhaps if he could say anything to us now, he’d tell us how complete and beautiful it is – that what seems incomplete to us now here on earth, is  already made whole in eternity; and God’s promises are all true - every one of them.  He’d tell us God is gloriously good, and how he is at home in His love - a love that is every bit what we’ve imagined, even more!  He’d invite us to taste it, to trust the journey and know that even when it takes us down paths we’d rather not travel, chances are it’s in those dark places where we will find God in the way we’ve always longed to know him. 

Abba Father! - An honest confession in the midst of the storm

It’s hard to determine how to engage this recent season of the soul.  Maybe it's best if I begin by going backwards from the last post...back to where it all started to unravel.  So bear with me as I share a few journal entries written over the summer. Hopefully it will unfold as we go along. Brackets ([... ]) will be used for clarification when needed, otherwise, these are just plain old journal entries - My hope is others will find voice in their own story through it.

July 17, 2015

The view from my "thinking spot" at Lee Abbey

“ 'Over the past two years I have participated in a study of  the life of Jesus where we seek to live in on-going awareness of him as his apprentice (I say “apprentice” because ‘disciple” seems a bit rhetoric in our current Christian culture) and participate in God's good and beautiful kingdom.  We find it by arranging our daily activity in such a way to allow for continual prayerful companionship with him on behalf of ourselves and others.  We find true freedom as we encounter him in our honest human condition and learn to "take up our mat" and walk with him, through prayer, community and scripture.  And as we do, we flounder and flourish in a grace-rhythmed dance with God.  We learn how to live lovingly with others and discover our unique role in the world for the sake of God’s greater Kingdom. Living as an apprentice of Jesus seems a formidable but lovely task.' 

[I typed those words in June, having just returned from staying at the beautiful Lee Abbey in Devon, England. They were the introduction of a larger paper that discussed in further detail the beauty of discipleship to Christ.  I was coming off a very hectic, spiritually dry season and was thankful for the respite, so the words flowed rather easily.  It seemed God was calling me into new places and I was excited!   It's funny when the soul makes space for God how the Father - Abba - finds a way to dine with the ragamuffin and make her cup full.   I was full.  Satisfied.  Ready to move into the deeper, richer things of God.]

Living with Jesus sounds so nice,  'Living in in-going awareness of him.', in 'continual prayerful companionship' Oh the words greet me like a warm blanket! I suppose it’s easy to pontificate the goodness of God when our circumstances support it.  

Photo Credit: Dru Norris

But today, here in this care-house for families with cancer? Those words seem a distant aspiration.  This has been an unusual summer and, among other things, my normally healthy dad has been diagnosed with an aggressive form of leukemia.  Clouds have come to cover the sunny coast-line of England that was so recently in view. Rain falls, and I don't know if I can trust these waters.  As I sit in this hospital waiting room, a different set of words are pouring forth:  

"I want to wake up from the dream.  Run away.  Escape. This is not the road I want.  Its not the way anyone planned it. Go away!

Please, Life!  Go back to normal!...It's strange how the day before everything changes feels just like any other day,with the same routines, same annoyances, same joys, same, same same.  But Same is different now.

How did we get here?  How did the bottom fall out so ruthlessly?  Where did Normal go?

Normal just introduced itself as doctors and nurses; as sterile rooms and beds with machines.  Normal takes blood counts and measures fevers and fatigue.

Normal is long text updates and tears held back by swallows.  It's says just enough,  never more."  

God I know you're here ...but where?  Where is your voice in the storm?  Where are the 'unforced rhythms of grace' that Matthew 11:28-30 talk about?  Where is the joy promised in the midst of sorrow? Or the peace that passes understanding?  Life with you is my investment, my bedrock, my hope! Now when it seems most vital I’m at a loss to engage it.  Rather than a 'grace-rhythmed dance with you', I’m, angry, sad, disappointed, resistant to the circumstances, and full of tantrums!  It’s been ugly…my soul-feet weren't expecting this journey and I am left breathless.

This doesn't feel like a 'Saturday', where we are simply held inside of life's pause awaiting Sunday's dawn.  This feels like Friday, where situations turn cruel.  Friday says, 'Father, if it's your will let this cup pass.'  Friday includes a garden in the night where the soul wrestles with God and sweat-blood falls into the dirt while vigilant prayers fall asleep at the tree.  Friday is a hike up a dusty hill with burdens laden and strength dwindling.  Friday bleeds at sunset.  

Oh find me in this honest human condition, find us all!  Because sometimes we weep. Sometimes we cry out  'Abba Father!  Why have you forsaken me,' ... and that's OK with you." 

Coming Back - This summer's journey of finding God in the storms. Part 1

 I’m writing this while sitting in Starbucks.  Not just any Starbucks, it’s the Starbucks – the one where I’ve gone for years.  I sit in one corner meeting with women talking about life circumstances and how God might be shaping us through them.  My dad often sits less than 20 feet away in the opposite corner having similar conversations with his coffee buddies.  The workers nicknamed their table “the office” as they occupy it every morning for hours.  Stories have been told at that table – stories about the market and economy, a spouse struggling with cancer, a home trying to be sold, and retired dreams still held close in conversation.  Every now and then, I hear their familiar belly laughs making their way to my corner.  There’s just one difference, my dad isn’t sitting there.

Today is the first day I’ve returned since July when my dad was diagnosed with leukemia.  which explains why there hasn't been much on this blog lately...but this won't be a sad post, because my dad is recovering.  It is, however, going to be an honest one.  In fact, a few of them will be.

How does it feel to walk into this sacred space?  Weird.  I forgot the doors open out and tried pushing them 3 or 4 times.  I’m sure I looked a little foolish before remembering how the doors work and how the fan announces every entrance.  At first glance I see the guys.  Do I say Hi?  Or do I just get in line and avoid the cordial hellos that may beg a report -  a report now recitable in my sleep...  Maybe I’ll just get in line.  I don’t really recognize anyone else, which surprises me.  Someone in here has the same name as my dad and I keep resisting the reflex to look over and greet the man with a "daughter's greeting". The barista asked for my name for the first time in years.   But several weeks have passed and things change, I suppose.  

It always feels strange to see how life has moved on while yours (including the ones close to you) has been blown over by a freight train and parts of your life are still laying all over the track.  I’m trying to pick up the pieces and find a focus, but feel so disconnected – so numb.  Is this normal?

Maybe I should feel happier...By all accounts, dad should not be with us today… he’s not out of the woods yet, but he is here.  He is probably wondering if that’s a good thing.  So much to adjust. So much to build back.  So many doctors – so many bills, so many private, life-altering moments that can never be explained.

As I watch the last of his buddies leave for the day, I am still sitting here in my corner, where a bitter sip can be sweetened with a shot of vanilla....where I finished a devotional on Ps 23, and remembered how God blesses us with a  cup that overflows of his love and goodness....where the barista's promise on the back of the cup is to "always make it right" If I don't love this drink.  ....but I know better than I did last June, the promise found in a bitter sip.

So, I have settled back into my corner, drinking my tea. What started out sweet in June and turned bitter by August is changing. Autumn is just days away.

...Maybe tomorrow I’ll see if dad can come.

Yet Will I Praise Him...

We bring the sacrifice of praise into the house of the Lord.

Several years ago I found myself saddened over deep loss for the first time.  I remember thinking up ways to try and by-pass the pain.  It’s funny when we are confronted with sorrow how we first seek to avoid its sting.  We do things like get busy, or lose ourselves in movies or books. As much as I wanted to tell myself it was fine the truth was I was disappointed and sad and there was not much I could do about it.  And over time, as things settled, I began to fully bend to sorrows blow.

People would come over and seek to console me but rarely are there words that hold sorrow well.  What I do remember is their presence, and the occasional word of encouragement from someone who had experienced pain and was now on the other side of it.  It never really mattered what it was, after all loss is not always relative.  Loss is loss.

Since then life has afforded many other sorrows and I’ve grieved even “greater” losses.  There were days when picking my head up from the pillow seemed about all I could do, and walking through a market to buy groceries happened on legs that felt like Jell-O, and with a heart so heavy in my chest air had to force its way in.  That’s what grief feels like.  That’s how sorrow makes it way out through our pores. 

But I learned something during that first season of grief; something that has proved quite valuable. It happened while in church on a day when I had to force myself to even show up.  My husband is a pastor and I knew that I would be sitting alone and if grief decided to makes it appearance it would be unaccompanied and put on display from the front row.  Those were the days when a particular praise song called Shout to the Lord was sung just about everywhere - I knew it well.  But that day in the midst of my sadness as that song was being sung something in me moved.  Something?  …More like God’s spirit in me made a decision on my behalf (Rom 8:26-28).  For whatever reason I could set grief aside, and as the rest of the congregation sat, I stood. (So much for trying to be discrete in my sadness).   It was like I was saying to God, myself and everyone else that while I may be sad and the sky is oh so dark, this sorrow will not steal your glory nor will it steal my strength.

 “Shout to the Lord all the earth, Let us sing!  Power and majesty and praise to the King.  Mountains will fall and the seas will roar at the sound of your name! I sing for joy at the works of your hand forever I love you, forever I’ll stand.  Nothing compares to the promise I have in you!”

That’s when the meaning of the familiar song, “We bring the sacrifice of praise into the house of the Lord.” made a little more sense….”We offer up to you the sacrifice of thanksgiving, joy and praise” (Heb. 13:15).  Sometimes coming to God in worship requires a laying down of that which we dearly love regardless of whether or not we will get it back…and in laying it down God pulls our “Jell-O-ed” legs to stand and holds our heavy-hearted song.  This is not blind trust.  It is evidence of the Holy Spirit's companionship and promises his strength of joy.  Our chosen worship affronts the blows of sorrow and says, “Yet. will. I . praise . Him!”

The Crush

a continuation from previous posts....

"From the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks.” – Luke 6:45

 When grapes are harvested they go through a process called crushing.  That’s when grapes are picked and crushed, allowing the juice to be collected.  As this season of silence continued on with God, there was introduced within me a “Crushing”. 

Through various circumstances that seemed to pile pain upon pain, God was allowing a weight to press into my soul like a mighty crush.  My heart felt like it was in a vice-grip! It was inescapable and remarkably difficult.  I wanted to run far, far away from this slow, methodical pressing.  As soon as one circumstance would give way, another would roll in without mercy.  Many of the circumstances that offered such renderings involve other people and as such, I cannot disclose many details.  Suffice it to say that there was a significant loss of friendship, reputation, and...well... pride.  Combine that with four years of intense insomnia, the passing of several loved ones, and a marriage  that was feeling the strain of it all (Much of these dynamics were shared experiences with my husband.) and you have for one fierce crushing!  I suppose many of you reading this have experienced something similar at times. 

When grapes are crushed usually parts of the leaves and stem are mixed in.  That means it's messy and not very pretty.  It takes a while to get “pure” juice, and by “pure” I mean the flavors are balanced and allow for some of the other elements to remain.  At first I did not like the juices that began to flow from this crush.  They were sour and full of sediment, but Psalm 51:17 gave me hope.

“My sacrifice, oh God, is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise.”

I had to learn to trust that in this broken place - stems, leaves and all, God was accepting me. It was actually "more pure" to let the sediment flow to the surface.  Something tender and endearing happened as I embraced the sediment.  They were the remnants of something once loved...now shattered. It was "sacred-sediment" ...Only a fierce crush could pour forth such a response, because until then we don't pay much regard to our broken places and we believe we can manage them fairly well and keep them hidden.  Crushes force the hidden to the surface and sediment seemed to spew forth from me like a timed sprinkler!  I was often caught off-guard by my responses or thoughts.  Where was all this coming from?  As I was pressed and crushed one thing became clear...the only thing that can come from a grape are the juices that are held within.  “From the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks.”...

As my heart poured forth in unrestrained words and thought God was near.  He held every prickly stem and bitter seed that made itself known.  He gathered my tears and carried my sorrow.  I can't honestly say I believed it at the time, but looking back I know it is true.

Martin Marty said,

“Brokenness and wounding do not occur in order to break human dignity but to open the heart so God can act.”

Through this fierce "crushing", God was opening my heart...