Lollipops and Hammers

Blessing.

That’s a loaded word.  And I find myself sludging through the muck of all the misguided or ill-formed definitions that seem so readily available to me. 

Think about it; I bet at least two conflicting definitions that you’ve heard over the years have already popped into your mind.  “What does the ‘Blessing of the Lord’ mean to you?”  You ask that question, and you will get a myriad of responses!  Some biblical, others... not so much.  But since it’s 4:30 a.m. and I am in no way tired (but very likely will be right about the time my little balls-o-energy wake up all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed!), I couldn’t stop my mind from pushing through more of the murk to find something a little less... squishy.

I’m not done wading, but here’s where I landed this (early!) morning, at least.  Sometimes I belt out “God’s just blessed me so much with <insert good thing that I wanted HERE>!”  But then if the status of that “good thing” ever changes, I look to God in disbelief like a toddler to a parent after having a thrice-licked lollipop torn from his chubby little hands.  Can’t you just hear that little guy yelping, “But that was mine, mine, MINE!”?  

But what if these things I’ve deemed as God’s “blessings” in my life are really more like His tools that He’s loaning me in His timing to accomplish HIS continuing work in and around me?  What if they are less like lollipops  and more like hammers?  With the “lollipop” view point, the “blessing” is all about my pleasure and even more, MY CONSUMPTION.  Alternately, viewing God’s provisions as tools allows me to see clearly that the intention of the “blessing” is to accomplish His Purpose and expand His Kingdom... not simply to fill my sticky hands.  And when the time for those particular tools’ use has come to completion, God may choose to hand me new ones instead.  And if I am rightly perceiving them as opportunities to make HIS name great, then when He exchanges that hammer for a vice grip, my question is less of a “But, why?!” and more of an “Alright, Master Carpenter; what do you want me to do next with this one?”

(This, to me, is an excellent time to remind myself of the GLORIOUS richness of our promised eternity with HIM!  We’ve been forgiven, set free, and shown inconceivable GRACE with this gift!  And that’s a blessing, a promise that transforms the viewing of these earthly “tools.”  Our divine Gift is our sonship through Christ, not simply what lines our wallets or the walls of our homes in this temporary life in the flesh.)

And again, I am well aware that this only begins to scratch the surface.  But it IS a start.  In the meantime, I am beyond humbled and thankful that God has graciously listened to my many “But, why?”s while ever so patiently challenging how I consider the instruments in His toolbox.

When “good” just doesn’t feel like it.

I’ve thought a lot about God’s goodness over the past few months.  Add that to the varying perspectives that folks have lovingly shared with me since having a miscarriage back in the fall, and I’ve experienced quite a few personal wrestling matches regarding this subject on the mats of my brain.

Here’s the reality.  I’m cautious this time around, pregnancy-wise.  Am I excited about the possibility of holding a brand new healthy baby boy or girl in my arms sometime in early February?  Absolutely.  But can I squeeze that mental picture tight, holding onto it as though it was a promise made to me?  Honestly, no.  In fact, I’m finding it difficult to fully embrace this “future” without holding back some of my heart... just in case.  Yeah, I know.  This is not attractive.  Some may even say “not trusting.”  But here’s where I struggle.  God has not promised in some obscure portion of His Word that “all my dreams will come true.”  He has not guaranteed ease in this life.  Painlessness either, for that matter.  And so as I look toward what I long for, there is this sense of caution, worry that it could be taken away in a moment of “let your light shine bright” in the midst of the most painful of circumstances.  

And then I have to face it, “it” being the Truth that everything I love, everyONE I love, could be taken away... and at any moment, too.  No?  Then check out Job.  Or Stephen (Acts 7).   Or Jesus‘ “Blessed are the”s in His sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5:3-12).  I have not been promised security in an earthly sense of the word.  

My sole, and I mean SOLE security is in my position as co-heir with Christ (Romans 8:17)... that at the end of my lifetime, be it full of happiness or heartache, I will finally experience true, complete JOY in that eternity where there will be no more mourning, no more pain, no more flesh.  And honestly, that’s the only future True enough to hold onto for dear life.  

So here I am in the middle, having not yet reached that destination of heaven, but headed in that direction.  With His work of sanctification in full swing, I hope to see the Spirit’s clarifying of how I view “goodness.”  Is the Lord good?  I can’t put that on the scales to measure based on my unmet desires and disappointed dreams.  I have to go back to the cross.  Is what happened in that redemptive hour when He rose from the grave enough to call Him ever and always good?  And before you or I yelp out our Sunday school answer of “yes!”, we must really, truly wrestle with it.  Can we still declare Him “Good!” even if our lives crumble to the ground as Job’s home did with his children inside?  Because if we can’t, then I don’t know that we have fully accepted the significance of our sin or the divinely redemptive qualities of our Lord on the cross.  

And while I eat yet another piece of humble pie, I look to His grace.  I fall back on the ever-refining Spirit dwelling in me, the one who recognizes my weaknesses and intercedes on my behalf.  May these eyes look less with squinted hesitation and more with hope and trust to the One who took my punishment before I had ever recognized the need for it.  And may He change my cautious praise into unrestrained gratitude, regardless of what tomorrow brings.  

“The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away.  Blessed be the name of the Lord!” Job 1:21

His Name in the Desert

430 years.  That’s a long time to live as refugees in a foreign land.  Couple that with the jealous fear of an insecure ruler, and you come face to face with years of slavery and oppression. 

It didn’t start out like a nightmare for God’s people.  The famine in Israel had pushed them into the bountiful arms of Egypt.  Their way had been beautifully orchestrated by the Father Himself through the person of Joseph.  You probably know that story already, but through a set of God-ordained circumstances (none of which we’d willingly sign up for!), Joseph became second in command to the Pharaoh, in the perfect position to protect and feed his family of 70 as they migrated to the storehouses of Egypt.  

Happily ever after... until it wasn’t.

Over time, the Pharaoh saw this growing group of people as parasites to be exterminated.  No longer were these refugees welcomed, but rather feared.  Worried that they would somehow rise up against the whole of Egypt, Pharaoh determined to break their spirits with the yoke of oppression.  And as their bleeding backs nearly gave way to the weight of such slavery, they cried out to their God, begging to be freed.  With tears and with sweat, they groaned.  They pleaded.  They prayed for redemption.  But years passed.  Long forgotten were the times of peace and prosperity that they had once enjoyed in the land.  And although they grew in number, their spirits cracked beneath such heaviness and sorrow.  

And Moses bore witness to it all.  Though somehow spared from the murderous grip of Pharaoh, this Israeli boy had grown into a man in the courtroom of the king. He looked on from the shade of the palms as his people nearly buckled under such oppression. And in a moment of passion, he took things into his own hands by using them to take the life of one of the slave drivers.  And then he ran.  He ran into the hills of Midian, far from his people, where he lived for 40 more years in fear of the repercussions.

But then, the burning bush.  With flames that never consumed it, the bush beckoned Moses to come.  And as he did, he heard a voice call out to him, 

“‘Moses! Moses!  Do not come any closer.  Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.  I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob.  I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out because of their slave drivers, and I am concerned about their suffering.  So I have come down to rescue them from the hand of the Egyptians and to bring them up out of that land into a good and spacious land, a land flowing with milk and honey... And now the cry of the Israelites has reached me, and I have seen the way the Egyptians are oppressing them.  So now, go. I am sending you to Pharaoh to bring My people the Israelites out of Egypt.’

But Moses said to God, ‘Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?’

 And God said, ‘I will be with you. And this will be the sign to you that it is I who have sent you: When you have brought the people out of Egypt, you will worship God on this mountain.’

Moses said to God, ‘Suppose I go to the Israelites and say to them, “The God of your fathers has sent me to you,” and they ask me, “What is his name?” Then what shall I tell them?’

God said to Moses, ‘I am who I am.  This is what you are to say to the Israelites: “I am has sent me to you.”’” (Exodus 3:4-14)

I AM.  

Fast forward many, many generations later to the 400 “years of silence.”  The last prophet had proclaimed his final prophesy, and it was another 400 years of waiting.  Another 400 years of seeking.  Another 400 years of seeming silence.  And by the end, the Jews were under the harsh rule of the Romans, the priesthood was no longer from the line of Aaron, and God’s people were desperate for a mighty leader to deliver them from their misery, heartache, and oppression.  

And they would remember back to the words from the prophets in ages past:

“In love a throne will be established;
    in faithfulness a man will sit on it—
    one from the house of David —
one who in judging seeks justice
    and speeds the cause of righteousness.”

Isaiah 16:5

“Marshal your troops, O city of troops,
    for a siege is laid against us.
They will strike Israel’s ruler
    on the cheek with a rod.

“But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah,
    though you are small among the clans of Judah,
out of you will come for me
    one who will be ruler over Israel,
whose origins are from of old,
    from ancient times.”

Micah 5:1-2

And then a baby was born in Bethlehem (Micah 5:2). From the line of Jesse (Isaiah 11:1-5) and the House of Judah (Isaiah 37:31), this baby was born of a virgin (Isaiah 7:14).  But the Jews couldn’t “see” it.  They simply did not recognize Him.  

When this boy grew into a man, He began His ministry.  But he looked nothing like the military hero that Israel was scanning the horizon to find.  They were longing for a leader to rise up, a messiah to save them from the political plight they were experiencing.  But Jesus was a far cry from such a “hero.”  Instead, He came with humility and expressed Himself through the heart of a servant (Philippians 2).  And His teachings only enraged the very religious keepers of the law! 

At one point, they even accused him of being demon-possessed!  

“‘I am not possessed by a demon,’ said Jesus, ‘but I honor my Father and you dishonor me.  I am not seeking glory for myself; but there is one who seeks it, and he is the judge. I tell you the truth, if anyone keeps my word, he will never see death.’

 At this the Jews exclaimed, ‘Now we know that you are demon-possessed! Abraham died and so did the prophets, yet you say that if anyone keeps your word, he will never taste death.  Are you greater than our father Abraham? He died, and so did the prophets. Who do you think you are?’

 Jesus replied, ‘If I glorify myself, my glory means nothing. My Father, whom you claim as your God, is the one who glorifies me.  Though you do not know him, I know him. If I said I did not, I would be a liar like you, but I do know him and keep his word.  Your father Abraham rejoiced at the thought of seeing my day; he saw it and was glad.’

‘You are not yet fifty years old,’ the Jews said to him, ‘and you have seen Abraham!’

‘I tell you the truth,’ Jesus answered, ‘before Abraham was born, I am!’”  (John 8:49-58)

I AM.

I AM.  Yahweh.  The Self-Existent One.  Jehovah, the Only One able to reveal Truth.  YHWH, the Only One who can redeem.  

Remember Moses, a man who had grieved the oppression of his people, a people who had cried out for salvation for years.  Had his view of YHWH shrunk as he witnessed them being burdened and enslaved?  Had his vision of the LORD’s Self-Existent nature diminished with the sound of those whips being snapped on the backs of his brothers?   Did he think that God Himself had abandoned, stepped back, or removed Himself from the equation?  “Who am I to tell them has sent me?” he asked.  “I AM.”  And in that moment, Moses was reminded by the Creator and Sustainer of the Universe that He was oh, so intimately involved and sovereignly aware.  He had not forgotten.

And the long-awaited Messiah?  After 400 years, He was rejected by those very ones who had dedicated their lives to memorizing the signs that could point them to Him.  Even as they desperately sought the political leader who would surely lead them to freedom, they were turning their backs on the only true Deliverer, Redeemer, and Promised One for all mankind.  When they questioned the sanity of this meek Lamb before them, the roar of “I AM!” echoed back in their ears.  Jesus, Son of God, Lion of Judah, was proclaiming to them all that He and His Father were One, the Self-Existent One.  Though there had been a painful waiting, salvation was coming in the form of I AM, hanging on beams of wood, the One who had never, ever forgotten.

Have you been in that desert with Moses?  I have.  Have you stared longingly at the horizon, with fading hope in the “not-so” Self-Existent One?  Do you see the pain around you, the pain inside you, and allow that doubt of God’s all-sufficience to make it’s home in your heart?  Does it seem as though your cries have somehow missed the heights of His great throne?  Hear Him:

I AM.

And let the Truth of His Great Name sink deep into your spirit.  Hold fast to that Name of Names, even as you face the desert of darkness, waiting, and the unknown.  Hear Him remind you of His Power, His Presence, His Love, His Justice.  His redemptive story is still at work in you, in me... and hope remains on the horizon.  

“...He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.”  Philippians 1:6

Blog Bobber: Brought to You by the Letter "Y"

4 year olds.  They ask loads of questions.  But the go-to of all go-to’s is....

“But, why?”

If parents had a nickel for every time that question was uttered, college tuitions would be as easy to achieve as a stale lollipop for a chubby toddler hand in the grocery store checkout line.  

Well, the other day was one of “those” days... three shopping trips down and heading home, my 4 year old had found my last exposed nerve and was gleefully bouncing up and down on it, “But, why?  But, why?  But, why?”  

Whew.  I finally said, “Alright, Buddy.  No more questions for now.  We’re just going to be quiet for a bit.”  

“Why?”

“Why?”

“WHHYYYY???”

“Nathan, didn’t I JUST say not to ask that again??”

His reply, without skipping a beat: “No, Mom.  I was just saying the LETTER Y.”

“Y!”

“Y!”

“YYYYY!!!!”

And then I broke the cardinal rule of parenting.  I laughed. Outloud.  Followed by a shudder at the thought of this clever boy in, say, 10 years or so.  Man, oh, man.  This parenting thing can be a treacherously funny road sometimes.  

A Place to Land

When aching hearts are

all wrung out

all beat up

all torn down

There seems 

no rest

no peace

no joy

so the mind goes searching

for a place

to land.

But like a bird over the sea

soaring, sailing, 

bending, straining

no limb

no branch

no rock to pause

but only more-

seeking

stretching

yearning

-still holding the heart that 

has to mend.

Weakening arms and weary eyes

scanning for

longing for

begging

for

rest.

But no rest comes.

At least,

not yet.

So with eyes

to the horizon

and hopes set 

beyond

a few more miles of 

sailing

And a heart that hungers on

for only that which

can bring comfort

The One Whose Wings

withstand the storm

a peace that passes understanding

and a Heart that Knows when

this one’s done.

Exposed

*I wrote this back in January, but I wanted to share it again so as to explain an upcoming post!*

Alone time.  It’s not something that I have on a regular basis.  And this past fall was quite a “knock the wind outa your sails” season for me on several fronts.  So when we had the opportunity to visit sweet friends in North Carolina over the holidays, I found myself with that rare moment to take a long and fairly ugly trail run through the woods.  Ugly, because trail running is not my thing; I can’t ever seem to find my “groove” between avoiding tree roots and surrendering to the inability to set a pace of any sort.  Ugly, because somewhere in mile two, I had a run-in with a wicked briar patch.  Ugly, because me running uphill in the woods is about as graceful as a gorilla’s attempt at the same.  

So, after a few miles of this awkwardness in exercise form (I still loved it, though... even with bleeding shins), I took a breather in a nearly hidden cemetery behind this little country church.  I walked around it for a bit, checking out the family names and daydreaming about what their lives had been like, who they were and what was said of them on the day they’d been buried there in that little plot of ground.  And after a while, I settled underneath a large, gnarly tree that was on the edge of this sacred space.

With stolen time to sit and think, I spread out and looked up through those dark, outstretched branches to the brilliant blue sky beyond.  Being in the middle of winter with its covering of leaves long gone, the ugliness of those limbs was laid bare for the world to see.  Exposed.  And even as those immense branches reached heavenward, there was no denying the evidence of past storms... knobs where limbs should have been, branches that took sudden, awkward twists and turns, gashes in the bark.  Like I said, gnarly.

Gnarly, but still reaching.

I could relate to that.

What poured out in that moment and filled me right back up was the mirror-like reflection I faced in looking up through that tree.  With the absence of all things green, what was left behind seemed a skeleton of what once was.  And yet there was this reaching.  When so much appeared brown and brittle, hope remained.  In the midst of brokenness, there was a sense of praise- wounded arms outstretched.  

But, HOW?  Where is that kind of hope found?

It’s found in Christ.  Hope in the One who is the Creator, Lover, and Redeemer of mankind (John 1:1-4, 2 Peter 3:9). Hope in the One who promised salvation for all who believe (John 3:16).  Hope in the One who knows us intimately (Psalm 139:13).  Hope in the One who cares and comforts the brokenhearted (2 Corinthians 1:3-4, 1 Peter 5:6-7).  Hope in the One who will continue to sanctify and mold us for His purposes until we see Him one day face to face, whole and perfected (Philippians 1:6, 3:12).  Hope in the One who is preparing a place for us (John 14:2).  And no matter my circumstances, it’s this Truth of Hope that paves the way for worship... even as my weaknesses are laid bare.

So, may these exposed branches still reach, still stretch, still praise.  May my heart soften with the remembrance of all that He is and all that He promised, regardless of the aching, the longing, and the questions.  May His Truth of Hope light up the dark places where doubt tries to seep.  And let that be enough to sustain me through this season of winter...

...but may spring follow in quick succession with its promise of fresh green growth, shooting up from the broken and the brown.

the song without words

*I wrote this at the beginning of last November, but wanted to share it again so as to explain an upcoming post!*

After all of the Halloween festivities at Grandmom and Granddad’s house had died down, I sat for a minute to play the piano.  And as I flipped through one of their many music books, I came across a song I’d never heard before.  It was simple, yet it had that bit of longing to it, as though it was reaching out for resolution, for hope, for peace.  And as I played, I could feel my heart connecting to that wordless message.

I had a miscarriage last week.  I wasn’t very far along and know that this is a fairly common occurance early on in pregnancies.  But just as I had done with Nathan and Stephen, from the second I had found out I was pregnant, I prayed with such joy, such excitement, such hope for this little one.  And simultaneously, I began picturing life as a family of five, planning and adjusting to the changes that would bring.  But four days later, I started spotting.  And when that spotting turned to cramping, I knew.  Just like that, my joy turned into mourning.  

Of course I prayed that God would work a miracle.  But I knew then and still believe that part of our journey as believers is to walk through dark places in order to be light to a hopeless world.  So the majority of my prayer centered on God revealing Himself, even in the midst of pain, so that I would have the strength to bring Him glory through it.  I longed for that reminder that He was ever present as I walked through this valley.  But unlike any other time in my life, I continued feeling empty, dry, numb.  I tried remembering back to other times of God’s faithfulness in revealing Himself through my pain, but it just seemed to bounce off of my heart.  I was searching for a fresh resolve, a new word of comfort from the One I’m to lean on when the darkness feels like it’s taking over. 

And then came Sunday, and with it, a “Night of Worship” at our church.  To be honest, the thought of singing great big praise songs with arms outstretched was not at all what my heart wanted to do.  My desired worship set was one that I’m not sure even exists, and certainly not what most folks would want to incorporate into a time of worship.  But I feel like worship is only sincere when it’s echoing what my heart is currently expressing.  So as I thought of the types of songs I could sing with honesty, more of David’s Psalms came to mind.  This one in particular:

"How long, O LORD?  Will you forget me forever?

How long will you hide your face from me?

How long must I wrestle with my thoughts

and every day have sorrow in my heart...

...Look on me and answer, O LORD my God.

Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death...

...But I trust in your unfailing love;

my heart rejoices in your salvation.

I will sing to the LORD,

for He has been good to me." (Psalms 13)

Not the kind of words you hear in most popular hymns or choruses.

But I took comfort in knowing that David, a man after God’s own heart, had moments of wandering through a spiritual desert, feeling alone and forsaken.  His songs sound more like a pleading for God to reveal Himself in a way that would bring hope to his current place of pain and struggle.  And what I think is so magnificent is that even in his confusion and desperation for God’s presence, David trusts God's UNFAILING love, praising God for his salvation and for His goodness.  That is some kind of FAITH!  Unlike Eve, who entertained and then acted on Satan’s lies that God was not so good nor His love unfailing, we find David clinging to the Truth of salvation and God’s goodness, even when he can’t see or even feel His presence.

I wish I could tie up this little note with a bow, claiming that I’m now where David was, able to praise God for His goodness in spite of the darkness.  But that wouldn’t be honest.  But what I CAN say is that I now have a target, a place for my spirit to aim as it wades through the hurt.   And I can also now recognize the Enemy, the one who’d love nothing better than for me to buy into his lies that God is not as good as He claims to be, that He doesn’t love like I’ve always banked on, and that He’s chosen to leave me in this place alone.  So, that’s a start.

And as my fingers repeated that song without words, I felt something more than numbness.  It was hope in the center of my longing.  So, maybe my heart has its own songs of praise to sing, ones where words just fall short.  For now, at least.  But in the meantime, I’ll cling to the promise of the Holy Spirit’s interceding on my behalf, where words cannot express.

"In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness.  We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express."  Romans 8:26