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Grace for the new year

Jan1

Sitting in my rocker by the fireplace, window open to the every-changing Kentucky weather, I listen to rain drops and the chirping of birds in the little woods. A few hours in the comfort of home are not taken lightly.

Sweet William and I spent the closing holidays of 2020 in the hospital. Like many, this is a year of remembrance, its strangeness not ceasing even to the final day.

I recognized the seriousness of his health in the months leading up to a sudden doctor’s visit that began a roller coaster of emergency activities and a surgery we didn’t expect. We were on a ride controlled by something other than ourselves and our plans were laid waste.

Christmas presents sit unopened.

It’s interesting how schedules, lists, to do’s and obligations stagnate when life takes a sudden turn and all one can do is take the next step. It was survival mode for days, texting family and friends for prayer, weeping and leaning hard into Jesus. I kiss Sweet William’s cheek and tell him, “You are a warrior.”

Scripture is a promise to hold. Praise music permeates my atmosphere, driving out the darkness and turning my eyes to the One who is strong when I am weak. And I feel so weak, like a child needing to be held in her mother’s arms.

Great is His faithfulness.

In a year where we were distanced from each other, we were comforted from afar by ones we hold dear. Reassuring texts promised prayer and told us we are loved. Sounds of familiar voices, a little laughter and stories were a balm in Gilead. An actual visit in the hospital entrance found me sitting with two who were determined to feed me potato and ham soup that nourished body and soul. Another friend brought two bags of goodies: real tissues, gum, snacks galore, socks, and sanitizer, surprises I needed but didn’t know how to ask.

Hospital staff are kind, behind masks of protection, caring for Sweet William tenderly and competently. The attendant at the cafeteria gave me a cup of coffee yesterday, at first me not understanding when he said, “Just take it.” It was a welcome gift.

And I am awed at the love of God shown us through people. It is His way, His hands extended through His church, which is not a building or a denomination but flesh and blood, in the marketplace and in the corridors of everyday life. The body of Christ is active, living out His commandments to love God and love people. I have seen His glory, shining brightly in the moments of our days.

This morning I write in my joy journal because the gifts are many.

Friends who take care of Maisie while I’m away from home, loving her, feeding her, letting her out as needed, assuring me she is OK.
Music to lift my spirit heavenward, reminding me of God’s everlasting love and faithfulness.
Caregivers in hospitals who work with diligence, even on holidays and weekends, with a cheerful heart.
Sweet William’s doctor, his expertise and skill, his determination to do what was needed.
Greeters at the hospital who recognize me and speak kindly.
Security guard who walked me to to my car late one night.
The newlyweds who brought me a Christmas dinner plate on a frigid night.
The ancient recliner in Sweet William’s room where I slept somehow.
The little black Honda that gets me where I need to be.
The comfort of a good dog.
Neighbors who watch over the house while we’re gone.
Family who are a treasure to this only child, who took us in to the circle of love many, many years ago.
Our dear ones, miles away, brought near by their tenderness and love, and a cell phone with video chat.
Ongoing texts from the multitude who promise to pray, who assure us of their love, who are life-giving to us in these hard days.
The often written promise, “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask. We are here for you.”
Those who come, show up, do what I don’t even know what to ask for.
Learning to love better through the actions of these good people.

It is a new year to remember. I take time to reflect on the past and look toward the future. I have no idea what is to come. What I do know with certainty is my Lord and Savior holds all things in His hands. His is trustworthy and faithful. I have seen it with my own eyes.

I’ve reminded myself of God’s message in the night hours before the frantic days of this last week. “Hope in God.” My good Father prepared the way before me, sent me His Word of invitation. I reach for Him and rest in His promises.

He is strong and He is good. And I am His child.


Monday grace

Sep30

As the month of September meanders to its end, I glance backward to what lies behind me.

Those days have been hard, dry and cracked open with suffering. And how do we go on from here?

Three times in my seventy years I count the most sorrowful of seasons. All involved death, real and symbolic. As if something were being ripped from my grasp, my heart was left crushed, my soul whimpering.

I spent time wandering the wilderness of my own confusion, my questions were without answers as I watered my path with weeping.

Looking backward with the perspective of time and wisdom, I see lessons I was meant to learn. Though I felt alone, I perceive that God’s presence surrounded me. My tears were noticed, my groaning was heard, and the Father of all comfort drew nearer to me in my brokenness.

I bear the scars still. The wounds have healed but their evidence remains, a reminder that no one gets a reprieve from suffering in this fractured world.

As I walk beside others in their wilderness journey, I identify with their pain, remembering the aloneness and the desperation. I feel their longing for relief from the angst of this affliction. We enter into the fellowship of human suffering.

With thanksgiving, I recall the bright and beautiful days, the gentle meanders through green meadows, the soft breezes on my face, the sweet communion of friends in joyful song.

But it is in the dark, thunderous storms that my heart is tendered by my tribulation. Those were the times I ran to the gentle and strong Shepherd while wolves surrounded and I trembled in the unknown. His comfort and protection were what I needed.

While questions without answers raged in my mind and I couldn’t see farther than the next step, He who is the Way opened the door to Himself, and I ran to His arms.

While I learned to trust Jesus at my mother’s knee and from my father’s example, it was in the dark night of my soul that I comprehended a dimension of God I could not have known any other way.

“The Lord has said that he would dwell in a dark cloud.”

If I could have chosen, I may have taken the gentle way, the easy path, but that would not have been the best for me. I would not learn endurance. I would not know peace in the storm. I would not experience a comforting Presence in my pain. I would not have empathy for my fellow sojourners. I would not see hope in a hopeless situation. I would not stand in awe of the brilliant stars in the blackness of night.

I would not know Jesus the way I do.

So I will walk where my Savior calls me, the road where He promises to walk with me. And though it be through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. He makes a way in the wilderness and rivers in my wasteland.

He turns my Valley of Baca into a spring of refreshing.

He sends a sunrise after the night, and mercy awaits me for the new day.

Sunday grace

Oct7

Pain is part of life. Living in misery is a choice I make.

Someone said it in a different way long before me. Looking for its author, I find that no one actually knows. Perhaps because it is a truth we all need to acknowledge sometime in our lives. Hopefully, we learn it early rather than later.

Here is a quote whose author I do know:

“Instead of being broken and miserable, I chose to be invested.”  — Shelley Gigleo.

I wrote that one down. There were seasons I lived broken and miserable. I don’t berate myself for that since it was difficult circumstances, grief I needed to work through. But one can’t stay there too long without consequences.

In some way, I too chose to be invested. Looking back on how that mindset settled on me, I can only attribute it to my God.

He is the Father of compassion and understanding of my suffering. He weeps with those who weep. He comforts the hurting. He is near to the broken-hearted.

He sees our pain and walks with us in the vally of the shadow of death. He is the Shepherd who brings us to still water and to resting in green pastures.

But He is also the One who calls me to courage, commands me to “fear not,” and offers me an abundant life.

Jesus said it this way: “In this world you will have trouble.” It’s a given. We can’t avoid trouble, pain, sorrow in this broken world of ours.

“But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

Jesus said those things so I could live at peace in a world bereft of it. He is the peace I need when tribulation comes my way, as it surely will.

But I don’t have to live in misery. I can rest in the arms of a Savior who has overcome all things. He is the Captain of the Lord’s army. He is the Victor over sin, death, hell, and the grave. He has a strong arm to save me, to impart strength, to infuse me with power from on high, to enable me to do all things through Christ.

Pain is a part of life. Mine and yours. But we can choose to live in hope, joy, and peace, encompassed in the love of the Heavenly Father. All provided through Jesus Christ.

Sunday grace.101_2112

 

As the storm gathers

Sep9

Sweet William and I have the weather channel tuned throughout the day. We check the latest updates of Hurricane Irma.

We have friends and family who live in Florida, Alabama, and our concerns for them give way to breathing prayers during our daily activity. And not only for them but for others in the path of this storm. Some have left looking for higher ground and others choose to stick it out. We pray for mercy.

A little closer to home, a different kind of storm cloud gathers and swirls over lives. Our prayer list is long with those sick and with needs beyond the ability of medical professionals. Some things can’t be helped with a prescription.

While we rejoice with those who rejoice, we weep with those who weep. We feel their suffering to some degree. We identify with their pain. When we have felt the sting of adversity, we cannot turn away in deafness to the heart cries we hear.

There is a time for laughter, rejoicing, and celebrations. I love those seasons.

There is also a time for tears. We must give ourselves permission to participate in both. Hiding our tears is not a sign of strength, as we have been made to believe. The strong cry and they are the better for it.

May we bear with those who need our support and prayers, holding them up to the Father of all comfort.

May we rejoice with those who celebrate and be happy for them.

May our hearts be tender to our fellow man and do for them what we can.

The One who calms the storm is also the One who can calm His child in the midst of the storm. We trust Him no matter the weather.

Sunrise by MaRanda Green

 

 

 

When I don’t get what I want

Jul23

What I want and what I get are sometimes roads apart.

I could make a list of the things I’ve wanted, prayed and hoped for that did not come to fruition. I could. But I won’t. We all have our own lists because life has a way of surprising us.

I am thankful I didn’t get some things hoped for when I was young. It could have been disastrous.

Growing older, and hopefully wiser, my perspective and my prayers have changed. I pray more “Your will be done” prayers than “I want it my way” demands.

I still believe in healing and miracles and angels unaware coming to the aid of God’s children. I ask for those things. And I know He is able.

It’s just that I don’t always get the answer I want.

Such was the case this week. People for whom I prayed hopeful prayers got less than hopeful answers.

I’m disappointed and hurt. This is not what I asked for. I know it isn’t what my friends wanted.

We live in a troubled world that bears the scars of sin and disease, of fear and anger and bitterness. Bad things happen to good people. And we wonder why.

The maxim is familiar: God is good. All the time. And all the time, God is good.

Do I believe that when the test results are not desired, when there’s pain and suffering at every turn, when people die because of predjudice and hate, when the road we travel suddenly takes a nose dive downward and we are holding on for dear life?

It is not given to me to understand it all or the reasons life is not always pretty. My purpose is not to figure it out. My purpose is to faithfully believe that God is good all the time and that He is in control; that what He allows and what He does has a bigger purpose than I can understand; that He is always working toward the ultimate plan for mankind and is not a genie to fulfill my wish list.

Yet at the same time, I believe He is fully focused on His purpose for me and those whose names I lift in prayer. I believe He is constantly working out His divine will for individuals through the circumstances of life. I believe He is personally involved in my life and that He wants my faith to grow in the bright light of day as in the dark night of my soul.

The Psalmist declares God hears prayers, and that He answers prayers. We are assured we will be satisfied with the good things He has prepared for us, even when the good is not wearing a smiley face and carrying balloons. When what stands in front of me is hard and painful, I can still expect good from a God who is wholly good, fully righteous, and always loving.

Exercising my faith-eyes means trusting Him for the outcome when I see the storm clouds gathering. It means leaning my entire self into Him, against the wind of tribulations. It means believing He is the all-wise God who will not fail to complete His purpose in me and in others.

I will continue to pray and hope and believe. I will expect an amazing-grace outcome.

Because God is good. All the time.

But I will look to the Lord; I will wait for the God of my salvation. My God will hear me.  — Micah 7:7

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December thoughts

Dec28

December always brings its own set of lists, activities, family gatherings, and stress.  Each family is different.  Each celebration is different.  Each year is different.

This December 25 was so different, one we will remember.

While we treasure the season and the reason for it, which is Jesus, we often put all the stuff of Christmas away with a sigh and a relief.  It is over for another eleven months or so.  Life will go back to normal. Whatever that is.

But not this year.  Not for my family members who suffered great loss.  There is no normal today.  This is new ground.  They have never walked this way before.

Others have walked this journey.  Others have experienced a similar loss.  And it is only in the suffering that we learn to comfort one another.  It is only when my own heart has been broken that I have been able to weep with, grieve with, and hope with another.

My own experiences of anguish and adversity have made me tender toward another in comparable circumstances.  I tear up easily as we share the intensity of pain and suffering.  I understand the words and the feelings another shares with me.  I’ve been there.  I know.

And so we comfort as we have been comforted.  It is God’s way.  It is one of the ways He brings light from darkness, joy from sorrow.

It is the blessing of Christmas, a Savior who came in infant form, had a rough and tumble boyhood and grew to become a man.  So human He came, though fully godlike in character.  He experienced life yet overcame its pitfalls and temptations.  He laughed and cried, loved and was loved in return, gave His heart and had it rejected.  He was hungry and thirsty.  He was tossed on stormy seas and was so tired that He slept hard through it.

He saw life as we see it yet He saw it through the eyes of One so much different, so much greater.

He had compassion on us.  And so He offers compassion to us.  He runs to our cry, our cries of heartache and heartbreak.  He understands our feelings.  He’s been there.  He knows.

We comfort as we have been comforted by a Great High Priest who lived and died but came back to tell the story.

I can tell the story, His story.  It is a story of a hope beyond all hope, a joy when tears fall, a love that will not let us go, a peace that cannot be explained when the ground shakes underneath us.

Comfort one another with these words.

It is Jesus.  There is no other.  He runs to our cry and we run to His arms.

mary and jesus

 

 

 

 

Sharing grace

Jun14

I read the Psalms this morning and think of a friend who is suffering long and hard.  Her trial reminds me of the road Sweet William and I were on for several years, a dark road that looked endless.

I read the comforting words,

All you Israelites, trust in the Lord—
    he is their help and shield.
House of Aaron, trust in the Lord—
    he is their help and shield.
You who fear him, trust in the Lord—
    he is their help and shield.

The Lord, our help and our shield.  It is He who gives grace for the journey.

I want to share grace with my friend.  Grace is what she needs to sustain, to strengthen.  It is her help and her shield.

I want to say, “Hold on to Jesus.  He is tender and compassionate and knows our sorrow.  He is near to the broken and wounded.”

I want to encourage her with “God is good.  He is Sovereign.  He is with you even in this.”

Grace has been sufficient for me in the darkest nights and the longest days.  Grace has strengthened.  It is grace that saves.

I would share grace with she who suffers today.

Not just Sunday grace, but everyday grace.

Grace and peace to you, my friend.

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Remember His suffering

Mar2

Day 6 of 40 Days to Resurrection day

Today’s suggestion:

Read Isaiah 53 about our suffering Savior

In the movie, The Passion of the Christ, Jesus’ suffering is apparent in the opening scene.  He is praying in the garden to His Father, agonizing for relief.  One disciple remarks to another, “What’s wrong with him?  He seems afraid.”

The men who had walked with Him for three years had never seen Jesus shrink in fear.  He had faced down the Pharisees and teachers of the law.  He spoke with an authority that shocked and amazed people.  He had no fear of wind and storm or the demonic living in graveyards.

How could He, the Son of God, be afraid?

Yet, that is how it appears, at least in the movie.  Already Jesus seems to feel the weight of sin-soaked humanity, blood-thick sweat revealing His battles to do the will of God.  Satan appears, offering Him an easier way, a way out of the suffering that Jesus knows is ahead of Him.

I’ve heard people say they’ve never seen the movie, can’t stand to watch the graphic display of the life nearly beaten out of Jesus, the blood and gore of it.  The movie’s R-rating is well deserved.

While my body physically reacts to the movie every single time, I need to watch it, need to be reminded.  I need to get a picture of how much God loved me that He would allow His Son to pay such a high price.  I can only do it once a year, but once a year I must.

During Lent, aren’t we supposed to reflect on Jesus’ 40 days in the wilderness while fasting and praying before His public ministry begins. Aren’t we to be reminded of His suffering for us?  Aren’t we to consider the great cost of our salvation?

So we give up caffeinated drinks, certain activities, and Snicker’s bars.  Yeah, we’re really suffering here.

As I reflect on the nightly news, Christians around the world being martyred and persecuted, I wonder if I can even identify with real suffering?  I am not acquainted with true persecution.

What will happen when I am?  What will my response be when questioned “Are you a Christian?” with a gun pointed at my face or a blade ready to sever my head from my body?

In the movie, after the garden prayer, the scene changes.  Jesus stands resolute, his gaze fixed upon the cross that will come.  His crushing blow to the head of the serpent demonstrates a triumphant act of courage and determination.

The Son of God, the Darling of Heaven, the very Word who was in the beginning becomes a Savior. Our Savior. My Savior.

He was beaten.  He was bruised.  He was wounded.  He was mocked.  He was humiliated.  He was forsaken.  He bore my horrible sin.  He did it for me.

What I can do right here and right now is consider Him and live my life in the power of the Holy Spirit, a life that will reflect my Savior.  In His suffering.  In His death.  In His resurrection.  In His glory!

Isaiah 53 from The Message

Who believes what we’ve heard and seen?
    Who would have thought God’s saving power would look like this?

The servant grew up before God—a scrawny seedling,
    a scrubby plant in a parched field.
There was nothing attractive about him,
    nothing to cause us to take a second look.
He was looked down on and passed over,
    a man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand.
One look at him and people turned away. 

We looked down on him, thought he was scum.

But the fact is, it was our pains he carried—

    our disfigurements, all the things wrong with us.
We thought he brought it on himself,
    that God was punishing him for his own failures.
But it was our sins that did that to him,
    that ripped and tore and crushed him—our sins!
He took the punishment, and that made us whole.
    Through his bruises we get healed.
We’re all like sheep who’ve wandered off and gotten lost.
    We’ve all done our own thing, gone our own way.
And God has piled all our sins, everything we’ve done wrong,
    on him, on him.

He was beaten, he was tortured,
    but he didn’t say a word.
Like a lamb taken to be slaughtered
    and like a sheep being sheared,
    he took it all in silence.
Justice miscarried, and he was led off—
    and did anyone really know what was happening?
He died without a thought for his own welfare,
    beaten bloody for the sins of my people.
They buried him with the wicked,
    threw him in a grave with a rich man,
Even though he’d never hurt a soul
    or said one word that wasn’t true.

Still, it’s what God had in mind all along,
    to crush him with pain.
The plan was that he give himself as an offering for sin
    so that he’d see life come from it—life, life, and more life.
    And God’s plan will deeply prosper through him.

Out of that terrible travail of soul,
    he’ll see that it’s worth it and be glad he did it.
Through what he experienced, my righteous one, my servant,
    will make many “righteous ones,”
    as he himself carries the burden of their sins.
Therefore I’ll reward him extravagantly—
    the best of everything, the highest honors—
Because he looked death in the face and didn’t flinch,
    because he embraced the company of the lowest.
He took on his own shoulders the sin of the many,
    he took up the cause of all the black sheep.

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Share your thoughts here friends.

Or simply press “Like” if you want to let me know you are journeying with me.

This week’s musing

Feb4

Truth is revealed to me, even when my skull is thick.

“ I cried unto God with my voice, even unto God with my voice; and he gave ear unto me.”  Psalm 77:1

I read the whole of Psalm 77 and think how Asaph, the author, expressed similar feelings and asked the same questions I have asked.  Perhaps that puts me in good company, the company of mankind.

Do we all question the goodness of God when our lives seem very hard?  I’ve done my share of asking only to be met with a hushed quiet that I now recognize as loving concern rather than silent neglect.

After this last season of Sweet William’s health issues, I am trying not to question so much but rather to fall upon grace and pray, “The will of the Lord be done.”  It is the prayer that never fails.

“Thy kingdom come.  Thy will be done,” Jesus prayed and gave us the example.  It does bring me more peace, just to rest it all in His hands rather than flail like a fretful child.  Trying to figure it all out is exhausting.

I’m still learning along this journey, not having reached perfection yet.  I have a long way to go.

Yesterday morning as I was finishing my Bible study lesson for the day, I wrote in the margin of the book these words,

“I’ve gotten to know Him [God] in great victories, but even more I think in great trials.”

 I almost gasped at the revelation of it as I wrote the words.  They are truth I know in my head but suddenly they seemed to take root in my heart.

Is it possible, probable that hard places reveal Jesus the most?  Paul’s words ring in my ears:

That I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings, being made conformable unto his death;

I do want to know Him, my God, my Father, my Savior, my Lord.  If it takes the hard roads, the rough seas, the jagged edges of life, to know Him most and know Him best, then I pray those sweet words, “The will of the Lord be done.”

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Counting on His grace

Jan8

More sickness.  More surgeries.  More hospital stays.  So begins 2012.

I have so many wonders, so many unanswered questions.  I place one foot in front of the other and take the next step.  I cannot see what is beyond this minute.  So I do what is necessary right now.

I read the Bible and hope for a “word” from the Lord.  I search my favorite Bible for those underlined or highlighted Scriptures that have helped sustain me before.

My eyes fall upon Psalm 46.

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.  [You, O God, have been so before]  Therefore we will not fear [I confess that sometimes I am afraid of what is ahead] though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.  [It feels just like this]

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells.  God is within her, she will not fall [does that mean me, Father?]; God will help her at break of day . . . [Can I hold onto this promise?]

The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.”

And so I learn that trusting is all there is.  That it is an ongoing lesson.  Some days it is easy.  Some days it is not.

And I learn that giving thanks reminds me of God’s goodness when the clouds gather.

I count my blessings.  I look for the graces that fall all around me.

  • A beautiful full moon early this morning
  • Faithful little Buddy, our Maltese, who sticks by my wherever I go
  • Prayers going up for us from family, friends, and even people I don’t know
  • Offers to help and being able to call for it when I need it
  • Praise music on the CD player that invites me to join in the song
  • Health professionals who do their job diligently and with kindness
  • Sweet William’s sweetness in spite of his pain
  • The familiar things around me that bring comfort
  • The little black Honda that gets me where I need to go
  • The necklace I wear constantly that reads “by grace alone” and witnesses to eyes that see

I count graces because I must.   It is where I stand (Romans 5:2).

I count graces because it gives me strength (Hebrews 13:9).

I count graces because the Father has lavished it upon me (Ephesians 1:7).

Grace.  Amazing.  How sweet the sound.