High Above it All - Remembering God in the face of storms, elections, wars, and more

 “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." John 16:33

Ahh…a nice warm cup of tea, my favorite corner on the couch, our old Jack-Russell waiting to curl up beside my husband or me, the morning news….  That’s our routine before we each must face the work day.   I love that part of the morning, something about it seems to suggest that though the day ahead might be looming, these still moments offer a kind respite before it all begins.  However, the respite is slowly being crowded out as the news continues to bring stories of such deep un-rest residing close to home and throughout our world.  I've learned to keep the T.V. off while soaking in the deeper truths of scripture instead! Yet in spite of, or perhaps because of, spending time with God in His written word,  I find I cannot ignore these news topics either.

In the news:

Follow-ups on Hurricane Matthew in the Southern U.S., as well as updates on the Pacific Northwest “Typhoon” were all the rage a few weeks ago. Actually, Its hard to put the two events in the same sentence since one has been significantly more devastating than the other.  Buildings crumbled under the winds and rain, hundreds of lives lost in Haiti, death-tolls rose from flood waters, and there’s a general sense that we’ve been here before, only under different aliases like Katrina and Sandy. And depending on where one lived, their little brother, Matt, was as much of a bully as they were.  Hmmm...Bullies.  Bullies are all over the news as we watch the color of our skin determine who we love and who we hate.

Of course, also in the news is the presidential race coverage.  Two women still running for president (let’s not forget Jill Stein), and two men (Good ol’ Gary Johnson is hanging in there too), while the two leads, Hillary and Donald, bring their own “hurricane” of sorts, and the general public watches the trajectory of a nation, like a weather tracker watches a storm off the coast.  Distrust mounts, parties find their corners and tighten their gloves; and we the people, are left wondering which is the lesser of two evils.

Still worse is the rising conflict in the Middle East where sorrow lingers on the face of a shell-shocked child, and hovers in the streets like a requiem looking for a cadence.  These are the stories making their way into my home by 7 am, and probably into yours as well. 

We look for answers but answers aren't that easy.  Sometimes we hear the stories and wonder if there’s any hope for a better tomorrow.  What type of future will our children have based on the current world climate – a climate where “typhoons” with water may be the least of their worries?  It’s easy to think that the right government will bring peace - That if we can just get someone good in there, it will all be ok. But the truth is, no one person is that powerful or that good - They were never intended to be.  I am reminded of the words of Gideon in Judges when upon his victory in battle, the people wanted to make him king.  He responded by saying, No.  if I am your king you will look to me rather than to God as your leader.  I wonder how similar we are, looking for a man or a government to rescue us and return us to some form of power where we may once again “thrive”.   Isn’t that what the Jewish people were looking for in Jesus too?  They ushered him in with palm branches, only to shout “crucify him!” a week later when their “coming king” did not perform as expected.  Hate becomes the means to power; and power (in one form or the other) becomes an end in itself.

We are a disappointed and angry nation, and from our passions come, “Crucify him”, “Crucify her".  In our fear we build walls in hopes that we may sandbag ourselves from what we disdain.  Maybe it goes beyond a nation. Maybe we are disappointed and angry world.  Powers posture and hold their stance.  Winds from all directions converge into a perfect storm.  And we wonder what will happen as the waters of war, politics, and disasters rise.

There is but one place where hope is found. 
The band For All Seasons, says it this way:

"Waters roar and mountains fall
you remain high above it all.  You are high above it all!
Kingdoms rage and nations shake
but you remain high above it all; 
you are high above it all, Almighty God!"

And so like David in Psalm 77, we pause to remember the One who laid the foundations of the earth, and made the sea with a breath.  Where a barren life birthed a nation, while provision was found in a thicket.  Where waters obeyed, and enslaved people were freed.  We recall the One who made the walls fall at the sound of His trumpeted name.  Light shined in the darkness even when the darkness could not comprehend it. This is our God!  - Strong and powerful, High above it all!

And let us not forget that He is also the one who comes near to the broken-hearted, visits the lonely and rejected, and keeps our tears for safe-keeping.  He binds wounds, and forgives sins. He calls the sinner out of the sycamore to share a meal, He gave the prostitute a new name. He loved when love didn’t make sense; and hung on a tree to shatter the power of hate, vengeance, and death…sin.  And he will not forget us – you, me, the country and this world.  We are remembered by Him.  We are forgiven by Him. We are loved by Him.  I need this reminder, don't you? In the words of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “Then peeled the bells more loud and deep: God is not dead nor doth he sleep!”* (Words penned by him during a deep grief of his own.)

These current happenings are held in the care of The One who is both powerful and good.  Yet, like so many who have gone before us, we wonder if He is indeed good.  We ask why in his goodness and power have things not changed.  We have questions without answers.  …That’s for the next blog post. For now, we will remember Isaiah 57 - 

A Message from the high and tower God,

    Who lives in Eternity,

    Whose name is Holy:

“I live in the high and holy places,

     But also with the low-spirited, the spirit-crushed,

And what I do is put new spirit in them,

      Get them up and on their feet again. - Isaiah 57:15

*I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day, By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1863

A Diamond In the Rough - What I learned about EBay, Barbies, and becoming God's beloved

"While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us."

I have a confession. I used to be an EBay vendor.  Yep, It’s true. I love garage sales, and old dusty treasures that most people would rather discard. To me, they are “diamonds in the rough” and I find it crazy satisfying when others see value in those nostalgic-somethings too.  I guess that’s why selling things on EBay was such a good fit for me back in the day.   I sold everything from old Champion Juicers, to toy tractors, and old hats.  It was fun to find discarded treasures and give them another chance at life.  It was usually a bit of a gamble too, because no matter what I originally paid, the real value was always determined by the highest bid at the end of the auction.

I remember the day I picked up two boxes of Barbie dolls at a garage sale.  My husband must have thought I was crazy when I spent just about all we had left in the budget on them.  (Thankfully payday was only two days away!)  I had no idea what was in the boxes, but I handed the man $25.00, piled them in my car and drove away with a new treasure.

That night, I took my first look at that investment as I unpacked the boxes. What a mess! A Ken doll with chewed up legs and a missing arm, a Barbie head with no body, dolls I didn’t recognize, old clothes and accessories that seemed faded and worthless!  It didn't help that my husband sat three feet away from me while I scrubbed layers of dirt off these old things for who knows how long. He had to be wondering why he married such a crazy person!  I remember wishing I'd waited until the next day when he was at work.  That way I could hide the grime of some of it!  But Barbies hold intrinsic value sometimes, and maybe there was value hiding underneath some of this dirt and grime. 

The pressure was getting to me as I scrubbed, Which is why when I found a pair of small red shoes requiring no cleaning, I took a picture, went to the computer and listed them on the spot.  Only in my hurry I accidentally added an extra zero to the starting bid.  immediately I realized what I did and went to change the amount from $20.00 to $2.00.  However, to my surprise they were already purchased!  I was shocked!  (Apparently, if the bottom image says "Made in Japan" , its a big deal!)  Who knew that a tiny pair of red plastic shoes would sell for more than the real pair I had sitting in my closet! So, I listed a few more things.  The Barbie without a body…she sold for $52! And that chewed-up Ken doll?  Someone purchased him for $73!  There were clothes that sold by the outfit for over $150, cars and Francie dolls for even more! (turns out the unknown dolls were Francie and Midge... and also a big deal!) In the end, my little investment of twenty-five “junkie” dollars turned into over $2,500! 

Now you might be wondering why I shared this story on a Saturday’s Blog. After all, the story's interesting but why put it into a spiritual formation blog? Here’s why:  To many, those Barbies looked like old, dirty, discarded junk.  I certainly had no idea what they were worth until I knew what someone was willing to pay for them.  The people who bought them understood their real value. And that’s MY story!  It’s YOUR story too! ...For God SO LOVED the world that He gave his one and only son...He became the highest bidder.

Like the dusty treasures I used to find for EBay, we are like diamonds in the rough. Each of us hold intrinsic beauty and value that come from being HIS. But, much like what I found in those boxes, we may look at our life and see all the mess and blemishes and devalue our worth. sometimes the pressure gets to us as we try and scrub out blemishes by acting the part of someone who has it all together; we want to hide like I wanted to hide the dirty boxes from my husband. But there is something more profound than our mess. Even when our circumstances and broken ways of living shroud us in muck, God finds crazy joy in redeeming our story.

In your messiest condition, someone saw you and wanted you.   HE is the one who sits with you in the mess and lovingly tends to your dusty story; redeeming it for something beautiful! You were made in his image. Your value was determined on the cross. Your potential has resurrection power! 

 Scripture says it this way,

…”He rewrites the text of my life when I open the book of my heart to His eyes…He makes my life complete when I place all the pieces before him…He stood me up on a wide-open field, and I stood there saved, surprised to be love.”  (Ps 18: 25,21,20 – in that order)

What are the messy parts of your story?

Ask God to show you how to open up your heart to His eyes

Let him love you in the mess, tend to the shame, and lead you into something/someone new.

After all, we love because He first loved us! (1 John 4:19)

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. 

Favored, Not Forgotten - A look at how even in our darkest places, God redeems our story.

"Long lay the world, in sin and error pining; till he appeared and the soul felt it's worth. A thrill of hope. The weary world rejoices! For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!"

I live in the California Central Valley where much of the ground is dry and barren as we’ve weathered a long drought.  There was an earnest hope for rain as fall approached, and from this December 24^th viewpoint, we can see the drought finally breaking! Its finally raining!  I was wondering if the ground could recover from such a long dry spell, but there are tender little green things, long forgotten beneath the soil, finding their way through the top.  Little sprigs of hope serve as reminders how from the dark, quiet places….even when on the surface things look bleak and barren, life will emerge.

It reminded me of the SATURDAYS post, “Arise” from last Christmas - the one that talks about taking off our grave clothes to let the resurrected Jesus live through us.   But that's the good part of the story, kind of like when those fall rains finally came this year.  The before part of the story happens as Jesus showed up days after Lazarus died.  It didn't look so promising from that point.  Mary waited, and Martha scorned...By all accounts it was too late. Their brother was good and dead and the one person who could have done something about it passively wandered his way there.  Why did Jesus wait so long? Did He forget the urgency of the situation, or just choose to ignore it?  It seems so dismissive.

I’ve felt that way - forgotten by God.  Haven’t you?  There are times I want God to show up and make the situation better….NOW, but my prayers only seem to go as far as the ceiling then fall right back down and hit the floor.  I get weary in the wait and wonder if anything will ever change. (as mentioned in the previous post).  God's favor seems a far way off in the distance. It’s often in such vulnerable space that evil shows up, mingles with my story, dances with, doubt, shame and regret, and tries to convince me there is no way out - that things will never change, that I am (or the situation is) too broken to be made whole. But just like with Lazarus, God’s timing is different than ours, and he has something in mind far beyond what we can imagine.  

In the quiet, dark places where nothing seems to happen and our lives appear deeply submerged under the soil away from light…away from living, we can believe there is something better.  Our soul- soil, made by God, holds the seeds of long forgotten life. Lazarus comes forth.  Droughts receive the rains.  Night gives way to dawn.

For anyone out there who doesn’t know where you’re going, anyone groping in the dark, trust in God... lean on your God! – Isaiah 50:10

God isn't passive in the dark, he does some of his best work there!  Light dawned on the night a humble, betrothed Jewish woman, living under Roman occupation was visited by an angel who said, “Greetings… you who are highly favored”. Such words dispelled Mary’s terror.  Yet, her favored position didn’t look very favored at first.  It meant, misunderstanding, confusion, a change-up on her marriage plans, a marginalized reputation, a donkey ride for who knows how long …in labor!... only to be turned away during her most significant hour of need.

Then, from the darkness of the womb, the light of life comes.  Life always emerges from dark places – the soil, the tomb, the womb.  When darkness finds it deepest strength, Light shows up and breaks its hold.  Jesus waited on Lazarus because he wanted to tell the world he is coming for the places that are good and dead!  Fragile flesh showed up in a stable to change the story breath by breath.  Love is born!  And if we let it in, Living Water will break the drought and shatter the dark places of shame, disappointment, regret and resignation.  No longer must we live under their oppressive occupation! God has every intention of redeeming the stories we’ve given up on – the ones where we believe there is no way out and resign to the idea that things are what they are.  Those are places best suited for birth!  

Through the heartfelt mercies of our God, God’s Sunrise (Jesus) will break upon us. Shining on those in the darkness, those sitting in the shadow of death, then showing us the way, one foot at a time, down the path of peace – Luke 1:79

The question is will you and I take the journey?  Am I, are you, willing to "lay to rest" our life for His?  Are we willing to change our espoused plans with this world, risk our treasured things and trust that in it all, somewhere deep beneath the barren surface, God has something altogether better in mind?  If we do, we will find we were never forgotten...We were instead highly favored.

Where do you feel the need for urgent change? 
Where might God have you in waiting?
Practice sitting still before him for a few minutes, quieting your heart.  Ask God to show you his great love for you 
See if he desires to give you a vision for his purpose and ask him how you can join him in it.

Christmas, Advent....Keeping Watch - Finding a purpose in the wait...

Here it is the middle of December and I’ve put nothing about Advent or Christmas on this blog yet!  It’s been a strange season so far.  A large part of me longs for the days when my kids were little and the biggest question of the season was, “When can we open our presents?” Although I hated that question when they were younger because I never wanted Christmas to be about that.  So much feels in flux this year, and holds ambiguous waiting within it. I guess that’s exactly what ADVENT is all about. - Waiting, unsure of the how, if or when?

To appease our kids while they waited for Christmas we used things like an advent calendar which held little surprises – usually a sweet chocolate - for each day, or maybe a routine, like reading a Christmas book every night before bed.  Whatever it was, it kept the fire of anticipation stoked, refocused their gaze and reminded them that although Christmas is not here yet, it will be soon!  They were too young to really know why it was such a big deal that God showed up on the scene as a baby.  They just knew Christmas was special - goodness and love showed up for the day, and who doesn’t anticipate that?

To be honest, I don’t have much anticipation this year.  I feel caught somewhere between “Come thou long expected Jesus” and “Deck these stupid Halls with stinking Boughs of Holly” ….fa-la-la-la-la-la is about all I can come up with. 

Perhaps in the chaotic suspense I've become numb and cynical.  Its wearisome waiting for life to somehow make its grand appearance and certain things to be made right…Waiting for direction, waiting for relationships to be healed - ones that despite my best efforts remain as is. Waiting to know if my dad’s stem cell transplant will work.  Many of you, like me are waiting for things too sacred to share.  Humorously, even our car is in flux as we wait to find out if we can drive it come January, and if Volkswagen will correct their rather blatant “oops” in their diesel vehicles. 

In some form or another we all wait.  It is the human condition.   We “second-advent” wait for God to bring our stories to completion in His.  Stories that when we look too far ahead lack direction…stories that are rendered incomplete and less than perfect for the time-being, with chapters we would like changed.  These are the stories Jesus entered in first Advent when he took his first breath in a mucky trough.  They were "waiting stories" that long searched for deliverance.  Yet God purposed the wait.  He was preparing a people for himself - a people who did not know the when, if or how.  As Jesus came ‘in the fullness of time’, many could not discern his arrival.  Only a few recognized the events as sacred….they were the ones who kept watch and stayed patient in the long pause.  They were the ones whose eyes may have been weary yet they found a way to steady their gaze, open the windows of advent and taste for a moment the sweet goodness to come.   How do you and I, in the midst of sacred anticipation and chaotic distractions, wait well?

Isaiah 40:3-4 says to prepare a way for the Lord, make a straight path, every valley be raised up and every mountain made low.  There is a purpose in our waiting.  This 'already - but not yet' life is preparing a way for Jesus if we let it.  Mountains, valleys, crooked paths…these are the things that inhibit our ability to receive the arrival of God.  Pride shows up (as it did for the Pharisee) in the high places causing us to look down upon fragile flesh.  Shame finds secret refuge in the valley, mocking our sacred self of all that needs redeeming and tells us we could never be worthy.  In our waiting, we become bored and distractions turn up to divert our path. We shift our gaze and try rewriting a chapters we don't like.  But what if we stay…what if we stay long enough through the boredom and the muck to let God enter our shame and love-level our pride?  What if we let Holiness companion with us through the crooked wait and discover the long awaited gift, the present, is actually his presence…. sight comes.  A star high above appears and journeys us further up and further in to the heart of God.  Our story, swallowed up into His, is redeemed. 

So let us wait…let's crack open the door of our shame and let love in. It won't be pretty but through it God will birth beauty.  Let's listen to our heart and own its arrogance that says, "I am better", and let;s fast from entitlement…lets look for windows of goodness and love happening in the mucky ordinary…and let us ask the Lifter of our head to set our eyes to the sky to keep watch for the star... and we will journey – one step at a time – to Him.

"Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God's Spirit is right alongside helping us along the way.  If we don't know how or what to pray, it doesn't matter.  He does our praying got us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans.  He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God.  That's why we can be so sure that every detail of our lives of love for God is worked into something good."  Rom 8:26-28

This Is the Way - Encountering hope in the storm.

This post is part of an ongoing series of journal entries beginning with "Coming Back"

July 19, 2015


As I awoke this morning it took a few minutes for the pit in my stomach to return and remind me of where I was (a Palo Alto hotel room reserved for families with cancer).  “Oh God, I don’t want to do this day.  I don’t want to do any of them.”   Never the less, up we went, getting ready for the morning.  Scott (my brother) and I sat outside on the sunny patio catching up over coffee and a pastry.  It's been a while since we've seen each other...a long while!  It was nice to be sharing sibling space on a beautiful California summer morning, but it felt like a storm was brewing inside my heart.

As we left our comfortable patio space and re-entered the building, the rigid and reflective walls of the elevator felt rather apropos.  There we stood, suspended between levels of living, waiting for the doors to open so we may carry on.  I felt so conflicted about what I saw in those reflections.  We were an incomplete portrait, missing family members and framed with shock.  I saw myself furrowed in the face.  I wish I didn't look so grouchy. There are few pictures of my Brother and I together, but there we were captured on those tiny doors - doors that were about to open into...something.  I wanted to close the doors and try a new floor.  But at every stop resided stories like ours.  Someone working hard to stay alive, while their loved-ones worked hard to find a path and keep breathing.  Everybody is nice here.  They open doors before you've reached for the handle, but the empty IV towers and lined up wheel chairs are visual reminders of why this special treatment at the hotel desk is so easy to come by. 

Walking through the entrance of Stanford is like walking into an alternate universe.  It's the Stanford Universe.  Where hepa filters greet the weary traveler and blue scrubs with diplomas walk by in teams of five.  Sleeping family members line the couches of the waiting areas much like an airport gate at 3 am.  This is where they sleep when guest houses are full and overnight stays are beyond the budget, but no one opens the door for them here…at least not really.  Down the long corridor we walked, passing doctors, radiology labs, nursing stations until we reach the atrium, which opens up like a sanctuary amid medical chaos.  Colorful flowers and little wooden benches with plaques can go rather unappreciated until they become the only respite.  How this beauty enters the eyes and soothes the soul.  I am grateful for this garden, and that God thought to make reminders of his goodness from soil and dirt.  This "wall canvas"  doesn't cost a dime.  It doesn't matter your means; this display of attentive care is for everyone.  Feast your eyes, dear husband with three small children, or wife of 60 years, or gangster-gone-jaundice.  Let the delicate blossoms remind you there is a Gardener who attends us all.  You, we, they, matter to Him.  There isn't a tear shed that He does not notice and collect.   

I wonder how my kids are doing back home.  Are you attending to them, Lord? They will probably sleep until noon, largely insulated from this tempest, packing for their long-awaited trip.  OH God!  The trip!...We are set to leave in five short days for Slovenia.  I don’t know what to do.  This mission with the kids seemed so clear when we decided to go.  How could we have known what would come up?  How could your voice have seemed so clear when we said yes? You knew about my dad then, right?  Do I – do we – stay or do we go?  I'm not sure if knowing you had this planned from the beginning brings assurance or a deeper mistrust right now.  I want to be mad at you, but somewhere deep in the recesses of me lives a secret atrium – a “holy of hollies” – where, in your mercy, you are staying present and I am not capsized.  Albeit ever so slight and quiet, it holds as a beacon in the night.

This is no detour.  This is the path.  These are the deeper, richer things of God.

"Although the Lord has given you bread of privation and water of oppression, He, your Teacher will no longer hide himself, but your eyes will behold your Teacher. Your ears will hear a voice behind you saying, "this is the way; walk in it."  Isaiah 30:21

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.

Arise!

“You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy,” - psalm 30:11

Since I am a preacher's wife, rarely is there a Sunday when I skip church.  Not because I'm so incredibly spiritual, but because...well... where else would I go? ...(and some of my reasons and thoughts are found in the Saturday's post titled "I Went To Church Today")  Over the years I've listened to various preachers, but most of the time it's been my husband. And believe it or not, even though we may have discussed the sermon ahead of time during the week, I often find something new, something fresh that the Holy Spirit might want to cultivate in me after the sermon is heard on Sunday.  Last Sunday was no exception.  Only this time the message - and my consequent "ah-ha!" moment - came from our new youth pastor.  Pastor Dan picked the passage in John 11 where Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead - Not your typical after-Christmas “sermon package” but timely to say the least.

I’ve read that passages a few times and over the years I’ve noticed things in the story.  Things like, Jesus raising someone from the dead (Yeah, that's kind of a big deal.)  Or how Mary and Martha were so very grief-stricken and how Jesus cried too.  I’ve wondered why Jesus seemed in no hurry to get to Lazarus.  But this time as we read that passage in church I noticed something new.  Jesus called Lazarus forth out of the tomb and said, “Take off the grave clothes and let him go.” 

I guess it would seem an obvious instruction, considering Lazarus had been dead for 4 days and now he wasn't.  He was alive and grave clothes were not only smelly, they were inappropriate for someone living.  The bandages kept his hands and feet bound and covered his face.  He could not move and he couldn't see, nor could he eat or speak with these bandages.

Covered eyes, bound hands and feet are appropriate for the grave.  Tombs are remarkably silent and the dead require no nourishment. And that’s where the connection was made.  The grave…the clothes…the feast-less silence.  In a moment of honest, personal disclosure, I had to admit this muted soul of mine felt dead and was feasting no longer on Christ.  I had grown accustom to the "grave".  Sipping on Christ's life as if it was a limited resource.  Loss, disappointment, confusion, and a journey of surrender had led to a personal grave site.  Frankly, for a season that tomb was necessary, I needed it while my little life became entrusted to his, while my soul was learning to set down the boxing gloves, stop running, and fast from lesser loves.   These are the things we will learn for a lifetime.  But the solemn nature of the grave can become too familiar, and we forget how to live. 

This Christmas, as I set the babe in the little manger scene on our piano, God was birthing something new in me.  Its glimmers had been showing up here and there but not quite discernible.  As pastor Dan read the passage, and the phrase resonated inside,”take off the grave clothes and let [her] go.”, something clarified. The sermon muffled while I surrendered to my thoughts.  “Am I still wearing ‘spiritual grave clothes’”?  I wondered.  “Have I received God’s gift of life but somehow the bandages have remained?”

What good is the gift of HIS life if it remains clothed in the tomb?  The words of Jesus echoed in my thoughts, bouncing off the stone walls of my heart, traveling deep within - to the dead places. Like an alarm they sounded, “Wake up! Come forth!” I could almost hear God audibly speaking, “Stop living among the dead. Arise!  Let the bandages fall.  The days of mourning are being set aside.  Step into my glorious promise – my light-life – and live!”

The exhortation fell like a spring rain, washing away the muddy winter. And in that moment, within the silent forgotten places of me, my soul was shedding grave clothes.  The weight of sorrow was falling off.  Hands that had forgotten how to reach were reaching again, daring to ask God for his good pleasure and favor.  Feet that had long planted themselves within the dirge, danced …just a bit.  And eyes that were accustom to tones of grey saw the faint whisper of color off in the distance.

 So I am returning to songs of joy for worship (sometimes).  When asked how it's going, I am lifting my head, ready to share the promise rather that the pain.  There was a season to share the pain, and sometimes that story is still important, but grief is not an unending pit.  It has a bottom.  Christ is there and He shares the grave with us for a moment.  Then He calls us forth to new life, new stories, where our sorrow is not forgotten - just redeemed.

It would be dishonest to say, just like that, my soul awakened and came fully alive - that there are no signs of grave clothes anywhere.  That simply is not true.  We are all in process, moving from death to life, and “Saturday” takes time...but perhaps this story rings true and you find yourself in the dirge,  stuck, weighed down with the clothing of the tomb and a new you, the alive-in-Christ-you, is being invited to come forth, take off the grave clothes,... and live.  

Safe-Keeping

“You Yourself have recorded my wanderings. Put my tears in Your bottle. Are they not in Your records?” – Psalm 56:8

The other day I was looking for something at my parent’s house.  I haven’t lived with them for long time, so occasionally my search requires some snooping .  While I was looking, I came across a box of my dad’s.  It was just the sort of place that may hide what I had been looking for. 

What I found instead was a much better treasure.  The contents of the box held no monetary value whatsoever; but still my heart burst as I caught a glimpse.  They were things only a father – now grandfather- would hold dear.  It contained a picture of his parents walking along a city street, holding hands and in love.  There was a scrap of paper with words penned by my grandfather, making record of his personal, living encounter with Christ. My dad had saved my very first business card.  There was a small case marked “tooth”.  Things from my brother were in there, my daughter’s picture and a baseball picture of my son were there as well, along with some of the little trinkets he'd been given over the years.  All things held special by a father …or a son…or a grandfather.

Seeing that little box and what it held inside surprised me.  The sudden realization of quiet, vigilant love spanning decades will do that.  While I was racing through my teens, he was collecting the moments.  While I was consumed in raising toddlers, he was storing the snapshots, when his own parents passed he wasn't fighting for investments, he was preserving their story.  Holding each one close, tucked away safe from decay or forgotten-ness.

My dad and I many years ago
walking in the snow with my kiddos 

It hit me as I walked away from such a tiny archive that God’s love is similar.  He records our wanderings and puts our tears in his bottle (ps 56).  Every little bit recorded and preserved for His safe keeping.  Why?  Because he vigilantly loves us.  While we are racing through life, God is collecting our moments, keeping them ready for the day when we are willing to pause and remember with Him.  While we are consumed with the stress life brings, God is preserving snapshots, holding each anxious thought present.  While we may be distracted, investing in this world, God is recording our story, caring most about the words being penned upon our heart. What really matters are the living encounters that cannot be measured by a 401-k or the praises of man.  Sometimes we go looking for one thing and find something far greater.

God holds your story, and He holds mine.  The years are not wasted or lost on Him.   When I saw what my earthly father treasured, I gushed silently, “He’s held all these things dear!  All these seemingly insignificant things have been treasures to him.  For years!”  I have always known my dad loves me, but this time it was different.  I had taken a glimpse of his heart and better understood the depth of His love.  Rest assured God has a box like that, and it holds similar things – “worthless things” of infinite value to Him. 

A Reluctant Worshipper

The other day I stopped to do something I assumed I had been doing for years.  The idea came from a school assignment in which we were asked to offer up a prayer to God.  In the assignment we were encouraged to only speak of our love for God, to avoid bringing up any requests or concerns…just love and praise (Remember, this was just an experiment, Phil. 4 is clear about bringing our requests to God.)  Since this was an experiment, I thought, surely it will be an easy assignment.  

 I was surprised to find it difficult to express any love for God that didn’t feel contrived.  I tried talking to Him from several points of view, but no luck.  It was easy to come with my requests or frustrations, and of course my heart was all in it!  But that was NOT the assignment.  SO...Setting those things aside, while I could profess a contrived love for Him, my heart could not engage it.  Telling God sincerely that I loved Him was just plain hard.   But why? This is a God I KNEW to be so incredibly loving? One thing became glaringly obvious.  While we can use will power to DO something, it’s impossible to will ourselves to FEEL something, and I knew God was reading right through me; which made the whole thing seem all the more insincere.   

After giving the matter some thought, I had to admit that part of me had become unfamiliar with God’s love and I didn’t trust it.  I have been busy doing so many things, that I hadn’t made much time for God and I fell out of a routine of meditating on His love.  When we fall out of a routine of meditating on the love of God we forget that He is good.  As the old hymn says, “Prone to wander, Lord I feel it!  Prone the leave the God I love.”  

So as I tried to confess love for God, another part of me was at the ready, cancelling  out the confession with a quick rebuttal.  It was a real Jekyll and Hyde experience which went something like this:

“The train of your robe, Lord, fills the temple with glory.” I professed out of one side of my mouth.

Then from the other side came, “Really? I’ve grown weary of waiting on you, Lord.  If you are really GOD, then can you not make SOMETHING go right? I’m tired of empty promises.”  

And back and forth it would go.  Clearly I needed a reminder of what His love actually looked like, so I went to scripture (Ps 36:5-9).

Living Translation : “Your steadfast love, O Lord, is as great as all the heavens. Your faithfulness reaches beyond the clouds. Your justice is as solid as God’s mountains. Your decisions are as full of wisdom as the oceans are with water. You are concerned for men and animals alike. How precious is your constant love, O God! All humanity takes refuge in the shadow of your wings. You feed them with blessings from your own table and let them drink from your rivers of delight.  For you are the Fountain of life; our light is from your light.”

The Message:

God’s love is meteoric,
    his loyalty astronomic,
His purpose titanic,
    his verdicts oceanic.
Yet in his largeness
    nothing gets lost;
Not a man, not a mouse,
    slips through the cracks.

^7-9 How exquisite your love, O God!
    How eager we are to run under your wings,
To eat our fill at the banquet you spread
    as you fill our tankards with Eden spring water.
You’re a fountain of cascading light,
    and you open our eyes to light.

As surprised as I was to find it difficult to express love to God in the beginning, I was equally, if not more surprised to find how the Living Word (the Bible) could reveal to this weary child the Living Word (His presence).  As I John says, We love because He first loved us. God’s Spirit used The Word to unlock my heart, which had become closed off and shut tight to His love.  Rather than cynical Jekyll and Hyde banter, I found myself in a much more life-giving conversation.  One that could genuinely express LOVE.

“’In His largeness nothing gets lost.’ – Nothing God? Are you sure?  Oh Hallelujah! Nothing is lost!  Not these years of ministry, not my son as he’s away at school, Not …(so many things!)  Nothing slips through the cracks -  Hallelujah you are attentive to it all!

Your wings God?  Are they indeed so big that we run under them like children playing freely on your beautiful playground? 

On and on it went for a while as I decompressed all that had been stored up.  He, as the fountain of cascading light, ushered me out of the dark and began to open my eyes to light.

It was a good assignment.  One I think I might just go back to once-in-a-while.