When Life Goes On

Tomorrow my dad would have been 60 years old. Since he's not here to celebrate with us anymore, my family joins together to honor him by feasting and memorializing our relationship with Dad. We do what he would have loved to have done: we make donuts and spend the evening together, talking and eating. We share the memories that anchor us together. 

 Wonderful times on the beach...Dad's favorite place to be.

Dad loved to just chill when he went on vacation, but he worked harder than anyone else I know. Nothing was left unattended because Dad made sure it was taken care of immediately. Despite his driven, type-A personality, he was an example of patience and graciousness and selflessness. 

Our firstborn came 10 days earlier than anticipated, and Dad being Dad came over to our house and did laundry, vacuumed, and cleaned up the kitchen before Aaron and I got home. He was not only present at Madeline's birth, he ministered in a way that would help me out. 

Because of her age, Maddie was the one that was able to connect with Dad the most. They'd gather eggs from the chickens and pick peaches off the trees at my parents' house. We'd take walks together around the subdivision and she'd always get excited when she saw Granddad's red truck, which meant he was close. She still talks about her granddad, eagerly awaiting the day she'll see him again.

 Dad holding Maddie...

 Holding Landon...

 Holding Corbin...

 Some of my best memories with Dad were all the camping trips we took as a family (with the Scotts and McAllisters). Dad was in his element, laughing and attending a campfire, and enjoying the outdoors.  We were able to take a "camping" cabin trip with the kids once before he departed. It was a special memory for all of us.

 For my 30th birthday, my parents surprised us all with an overnight stay at Elfindale Manor. My parents continually blessed us with their generosity. As an extravagant wedding gift, my dad built us our first home--all his labor and time a gift to us.

As nearly three years has passed since Dad has departed this world for the Eternal One, it's getting harder to remember certain things. I can't readily hear his laugh like I used to or feel his hug. But, I recall the way He made me feel (accepted, important, valuable). 

I remember how he used to say "Well...I think I'll hit it." (usually going to bed at 8:00 in the evening).

I remember how he'd slap his knee with laughter over a particular episode of Monk or a scene in Good Neighbor Sam.

I remember sitting in my parents' hottub with my siblings, watching Dad sneak chocolate chip cookies through the kitchen windows (he wasn't supposed to eat chocolate b/c it gave him a headache).

I remember taking walks with him at the track, Mom and I trying to keep up with him.

I remember how he'd check on me while I was in college, making sure my car ran properly and helping me if I was having trouble.

I remember the notes he'd write me from childhood all the way through college. 

I remember Dad reading Bible stories to us as kids. I remember Dad praying with me to receive Jesus when I was 7. I remember being baptized by my dad at Manchester Heights Baptist Church. I remember sitting on the front pew, taking "sermon notes" while my dad preached. 

I remember him walking me down the aisle and officiating my wedding, reminding me through all the chaos that I was in charge, "It's your wedding." When I started to feel nervous about details, he'd remind me that all that mattered was that Aaron and I were there. "As long as you two are there, I will make sure you get married." 

I remember how he'd love on Mom while she was cooking dinner, kissing her and dipping her at times. How he'd help with chores around the house--nothing was too "low" for him to do.

Dad never lorded over us, never demanded, never tried to control us or our lives. 

Unconsciously, he challenged me to be disciplined, to live a life with purpose and meaning. To serve, rather than be served, to find a mate who could be your best friend, to love the Lord without ceasing, to study His Word, to be there when you're needed. 

He may not celebrate birthdays anymore, but most definitely, Dad's life goes on. He is celebrating in Heaven, joyfully whole and complete in Him who redeems us from this broken world. And one day, we're going to have an incredible reunion! 

I Thessalonians 4

13 But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. 14 For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep. 15 For this we declare to you by a word from the Lord,[d] that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will not precede those who have fallen asleep. 16 For the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command, with the voice of an archangel, and with the sound of the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first.17 Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we will always be with the Lord.18 Therefore encourage one another with these words.

When Life Feels Awash...

...and you're swept over with waves of unrelenting force, one by one...

• the kids get sequestered to their rooms because you can't take one. more. sibling. spat.
• the child who doesn't follow the 100 boundary lines you already established decides to break something (or a couple somethings)...and somehow you are the one who gets yelled at. 
• your hormones are so topsy-turvy you are crying for hours over what? 
• your brain floats in such a distracted fog you can't grade, or write, or hardly put two coherent words together. 
• you don't feel motivated to do much of anything, but still feel the guilt and pressure of your defective type-A personality.
• you look at all the money going out for healthcare and wonder, is it enough? Is it even helping? Is it just draining us?
• You can't seem to accomplish anything but sub-par referee status for your kids. They don't like you...and quite honestly, you're not your biggest fan right now either. 

And to put it ever-so-bluntly, sometimes drowning altogether doesn't seem like such a bad option. 

You start to wonder if what you do makes a difference? A good difference? If it's enough to outweigh the damage you do? The resources you take? 

Sometimes there aren't fantastic solutions; sometimes we are just stuck in the funk of what's imperfect. Our society doesn't embrace that idea very well; we deny our fallen state and declare "we can do anything we want to." But, we need to acknowledge that we can't fix everything, and honestly, God doesn't fix everything either (He will one day). For now, we function in a dysfunctional world. There aren't perfect answers to every problem, nor can we eradicate everything that is broken.

As much as the "good guy" does, there will always be evil. In fact, it will get worse, as time catches up to the end. (2 Tim. 3:12-14). 

The temptation to cynicism allures us into a fatalistic complacency. Despite the growing heat of battle, we are still called to fight. And when the fight rages within us, we rally ourselves and we need to be humble enough to ask others to help fight with/for us ("Encourage one another daily [...] so that none of you may be hardened by sin's deceitfulness" Heb. 3:13).

My husband is reading through Psalms right now, and read Psalm 130 this morning. Leaving it up on my screen, he encouraged me, "You should read Psalm 130 this morning." 

I did...and again, I am amazed at how David's feelings so often mirror my own. Yesterday, I felt alone in a pit, overcome with the disease of my spirit, desperate for someone to reach down and say, "He hears. He cares. He forgives. He will speak. Keep moving forward." 

And a man who died thousands of years ago reassured my heart: He hears, He forgives. Therefore, wait, hope, and rest in His unfailing love.

I'm thankful for how true community reaches out into the darkness and shines a light, how sisters-in-Christ pray and support and give us a glimpse of the Father's love. 

So, if you feel like the darkness is winning, remember that dawn does come. It always does: it may take longer for some than others, but He who called us is faithful and He will not abandon us (I Thes. 5:24).


(photo credit: stmarkedmond.org) 

Psalm 130

A song of ascents.

1 Out of the depths I cry to you, Lord;
2     Lord, hear my voice.
Let your ears be attentive
    to my cry for mercy.

3 If you, Lord, kept a record of sins,
    Lord, who could stand?
4 But with you there is forgiveness,
    so that we can, with reverence, serve you.

5 I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits,
    and in his word I put my hope.
6 I wait for the Lord
    more than watchmen wait for the morning,
    more than watchmen wait for the morning.

7 Israel, put your hope in the Lord,
    for with the Lord is unfailing love
    and with him is full redemption.
8 He himself will redeem Israel
    from all their sins.

That Which Keeps Us Going

HOPE

“We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.” ~ Hebrews 6:19

Being raised as a pastor’s kid in Southern Baptist churches, I learned early on the beauty of acronyms. We must choose to hold on despite the lurking fear. We must hope past the pain. Hope past the fatigue. Hope past the subjective feelings I'm experiencing. 

 I came up with these:

Heights
Open
Past
Emotions

…or…

Healing
Occurs (w/)
Perspective
Eternal.

What comes to your mind?

Christian hope isn’t just a flimsy wish: as such--there’s no precipitation in the forecast, but I hope it rains anyway. There’s little confidence of it happening, but we throw out our cosmic hope, like blowing out a birthday candle and expecting little in return. No, indeed that isn't our definition of hope. As believers in Almighty God, our hope is solid.

The hope that God gives us and the hope that Peter calls us to isn’t one of fragile whims (I Peter 1:3-6). It’s a sure thing. What God says He’ll do, He’ll do. His assurances, His deep love, His promises restore perspective and grace us with hope.

·         He promises to never leave or forsake us (Deut. 31:6).

·         His will always love us (Romans 8:38-39).

·         He is faithful to forgive (1 John 1:9).

·         He will work out all things for good, to those who love Him (Romans 8:28).

·         He cares about what is going on. (I Peter 5:7).

·         He promises we’ll live forever if we believe in Him (John 11:25-26).

·         He will meet all our needs (Phil. 4:19).

·         He will always be truthful with us (Titus 1:2).

·         He gives us rest (Matt. 11:28-29).

·         He gifts us with peace (John 14:27).

2 Corinthians 1:20 (ESV)

^“20 For all the promises of God find their Yes in him. That is why it is through him that we utter our Amen to God for his glory.”

Being a task-driven, achievement-driven, overly-responsible, guilt-prone firstborn, I often tackle my spiritual relationship as I do every other aspect of my life: with duty. But last year, God renewed my understanding of a particular verse. I’d read Isaiah 30:15 before that study, but this time my exposure to it stuck at a different angle in my heart. We don’t acquire our salvation through striving and duty; it’s through repenting and returning and then resting in Him that God covers us. And my strength doesn’t come in fixing, doing, achieving, and beating myself up to be better. My power to overcome flows from a quiet trust in the Lord. I merely need to rest in faith before Him, listening to His voice…not all the others.

In Jesus Calling, Sarah Young proposes our Savior and Lover saying something along these lines:
                        “Many people turn away from Me when they are exhausted. They associate Me
                        with duty and diligence, so they try to hide from My Presence when they need
                        a break from work. How this saddens Me!” (Young, July 21)

 Our hope can only generate from outside ourselves; otherwise, we are hopeless creatures destined for a life of destruction and an eternity of separation from all hope and joy. But, in Him, overflows ALL hope and joy and peace. Regardless of what shadows fall across your spirit today, know that He will fill us, carry us, and renew us by the power of His loving Spirit. Glorious Hope!

The Unfabricated Emotional Calling of Every Christian

Joy, that type of indescribable, strong-willed happiness which doesn't burn out. Joy doesn't falter with circumstances, rest with contingencies or depend on other people. Joy comes from the Creator and Keeper of joy. But the beauty bursts forth when we understand and accept that He doesn't want to hold it for himself. God isn't selfish. He longs to pour it out and over and in us, His created.

This being the third week of Advent, and joy being a touchy subject for me, it only makes sense that I would read and research and listen to what He puts before me.
Hope, I get. Perspective, isn't it? Understanding, isn't it? Great anticipation.
Peace, yes. I know it. I feel it. I can hold it and rest in it.
Love. Don't always acknowledge and feel it like I should, but I am trying to absorb it.

But joy?
That little three-letter word has felt elusive to me. Like a vapor you can't see or touch or ever hold onto.
People don't readily see it in my life. I'm too serious. Too angry too often. Too sensitive about being understood. Too passionate about things that really don't matter. Too judgmental of myself and my life and too quick to disappointment.
And joy? Isn't that something fragile? Something gifted to you that you fumble with but always eventually drop because who can really protect it?

And then I watched this video and Ann, sweet sister, reminds me that joy isn't something you clasp, for it is a flame--a bright powerful light--but it needs oxygen. And we must hold our hands open and not clasp them in anger.

Anger, the antithesis of joy.  But she says the antithesis of joy is disbelief, a cynicism, a snide, sarcastic and pessimistic response. And my heart aches because I keep hearing that idea. And I'm pricked. I fall into that trench.

Is my heart shadowed by anger, God? I already know the answer and yet I am incapable of cleaning house myself. I don't possess the agent abrasive enough to scour the scum. Immediately, my fix-it mode vamps up and says, "we can figure this out though." But I can't; I know I'm incapable.

Joy comes from the Father, but we help cultivate it when we worship. And worship comes from a secure place of peace, understanding my place with Him and knowing His deep love.  That deep love and security floods over the muck of anger, washing it away.

So really, we can't isolate the blessings of Advent.
They are the intertwined fingers of grace. This peace comes from hope that comes from love that gives us excessive joy.  OH, how I long for that!

When my joy feels squelched, I ask him to unclench my hands and help me back to the place of purity. What do I think I need? What do I really need? My hands start to feel the rough tree of the cross and am I getting it little by little. Again, I need to hear it.
 I love you, do you understand? I love you. Do you see? 

And nerves set in and I feel jittery and cold and helpless, shivering here on this couch. Will I ever get it, Lord? Why is my skin so thick and unwilling to absorb this? Why can't I just soak in your love and warmth? I don't deserve it. So I say. So you say too, but you give it anyway. And I've received. I've opened. But have I taken this gift out of the box. Do I wear it as a garment? I am naked and cold without it. I am bare when I refuse to accept that which I don't deserve but desperately need. I am so dependent on His love. So utterly dependent.

Lord, hear this desperate cry. I want to hold onto you. Help me to understand that clinging to you means letting go of all else and unclasping my hands and reaching upward with not only Hope for the future, but Joy in this moment because your Love is more than sufficient for me then, for me now. In this moment. When I am weak.
And Peace, Joy, Hope, Love--this beautiful braid of His grace come down to us, living within us, helping us step forward on this foreign soil till we make it Home.