Refreshing Hearts One Sentence At A Time
These days a fitness trend is to run a marathon. From programs like “Couch to 5K” to television shows about the trend (see episode of The Office labeled “Fun Run” in which Michael organizes a fundraiser to help out Rabies. It’s funny. Trust me.). I’m not a runner. In fact, I usually joke about how my favorite hobby or pastime is to be as lazy as possible. Then I typically delete or erase that sentence and write the truth, which is that I spend my time reading, watching TV, going to movies, playing with my daughter, making homemade cards, dancing in the living room with my daughter, trying to clean the apartment, or helping with several programs at church. And after all of that, I like to be as lazy as possible.
Sometimes when a challenge presents itself I prefer to shy away from the thing, skirt around the issue, or type it into my phone’s To Do list with the blue dot instead of the urgent red dot. Eh, I’ll call about the leaning apartment building tomorrow. Ah, yeah, the laundry can wait until it is not raining outside. Yup, I definitely don’t need to get those pictures printed until another paycheck comes in. Notice none of those things were really a challenge, but what can I say. I’m lazy at heart. I hide it under obsessive compulsion. Ha.
So when a true challenge arises, the situation can kind of get out of control. Imagine if Procrastination clashes with Punctuality. One swings a left hook, the other falls to the ground and huffs, “Dude!” It’s kind of an uneven fight.
Each day brings new challenges, extraordinary plotlines, fresh ideas, unusual events, unique activities, and distinct possibilities. There are also the old narrators, ancient ruins, and stale bread with a bit of mold lying in the cupboard. The new and the old combine to create whimpering toddlers, deflated stroller tires, cotton ball clouds, dewdrops on the green grass, and stacks of bills on the table where last night’s dinner napkins still lay crumpled and crisp. Some days are easier than others. On some days, we have to do hard things.
“An ultramarathon (also called ultra distance) is any sporting event involving running and walking longer than the traditional marathon length of 42.195 kilometres (26.2188 mi)… There are two types of ultramarathon events: those that cover a specified distance, and events that take place during specified time (with the winner covering the most distance in that time). The most common distances are 50 kilometres (31.069 mi), 100 kilometres (62.137 mi), 50 miles (80.467 km) and 100 miles (160.934 km), although many races have other distances. The 100 kilometers is an official International Association of Athletics Federations (IAAF) world record event” (Wikipedia).
“Sixty one year-old Cliff Young became a household name in 1983 when he beat all of the starters and won the first Westfield Sydney to Melbourne Ultra Marathon. He wasn’t known before the race – but was certainly know after that” (www.ultralegends.com). At 61 years of age, the potato farmer joined in the ultramarathon which comprised of 566 miles and took him five days, 15 hours, and four minutes to run. One website says, “Now, around the time of the 1983 edition of this yearly race, your average world-class uber-android athlete could complete this course by running the equivalent 21.6 marathons back-to-back-to-back over the course of 7 days, with a daily regimen of sprinting for 17 hours straight, sleeping for 7, then getting back up and doing it again the next morning.” Cliff Young finished the race nine hours faster than any previous record holder. And he did it wearing overalls and rain boots.
“He arrived at the start with the feeling that the other runners were looking at him with disdain. He knew he had something to prove,” (ultralegends.com).
You see; we can do hard things.
When I was younger my parents rented a movie called, “The Unsinkable Molly Brown,” about a woman on board the Titanic who survived; and not only did she survive, but she helped others along the way. She is best known for her actions on the Titanic, but she was actually a woman who lived an extraordinary life. Margaret “Molly” Brown was born in 1867 in Missouri to Irish immigrants. Her parents encouraged a strong education for all people and allowed her stay in school until the ripe old age of 13. She began working in factories then followed a line of work to Leadville, Colorado, where she met her future husband, J.J. Brown. Many rainy days in the mines, years of hungrily scratching through the mud, and thoroughly researched hunts later, the two became millionaires after a gold discovery. With the help of this added wealth and status, Margaret participated in social reform projects, serving in soup kitchens, feeding the poor, and finding housing for children on the streets. “Margaret’s commitment to social reform grew, and in 1901 she attempted to win a seat in the state senate. This action defied the common maxim, touted by her own husband, which stated that a woman’s name should appear in the newspaper only three times: at her birth, upon her marriage and at her death” (http://www.mollybrown.org/learn/about-molly-brown/).
I don’t know about you, but that would totally tick me off.
Anyways, to continue on, Margaret and J.J. loved to travel around the world, which brought them somewhat together, but the two quietly separated after 23 years of marriage. She continued to receive money from J.J., traveling and continuing in her “philanthropic endeavors,” which led her to board the Titanic in order to return home to visit a sickly grandson.
“Shortly before midnight on April 14th the Titanic struck ice. Margaret described her experience in the Newport Herald, ‘I stretched on the brass bed, at the side of which was a lamp. So completely absorbed in my reading I gave little thought to the crash that struck at my window overhead and threw me to the floor.’ After the crash, Margaret heard increasing confusion in the hall causing her to investigate further. ‘I again looked out and saw a man whose face was blanched, his eyes protruding, wearing the look of a haunted creature. He was gasping for breath and in an undertone he gasped, 'get your life saver'.’ After helping fellow passengers she was taken a hold of and with the words ‘you are going too’ was dropped four feet into the lowering lifeboat #6. Lifeboat #6 was equipped to hold 65 passengers. However, it pushed off from Titanic with 21 women, 2 men and a twelve-year-old boy on board. The women in the lifeboat rowed for hours. At 4:30 a.m. Margaret saw a flash of light. It was from the approaching ship Carpathia, which was the first to answer the distress call. After some difficulty, lifeboat #6 pulled up alongside of the Carpathia, and the occupants were pulled aboard one at a time.
Margaret, though sore, tired and cold, began to take action. Her knowledge of foreign languages enabled her to console survivors who spoke little English. She also rifled through the ship to find extra blankets and supplies to distribute to women who were sleeping in the dining room and corridors. Margaret realized that many women had lost everything -- husbands, children, clothes, money and valuables -- and needed to start a life in a new country. She rallied the first class passengers to donate money to help less fortunate passengers. Before the Carpathia reached New York $10,000 had been raised” (mollybrown.org).
You see, we can do hard things.
“Emma Edmonds was one of approximately 400 women who succeeded in enlisting in the army (either Union or Confederate) during the Civil War. Her uniqueness is that she not only succeeded in remaining in the army for several years, but was also eminently successful as a Union spy -- all while impersonating a man” (http://www.civilwarhome.com/edmondsbio.htm). Emma is one of the more fascinating ladies who, happening to be buried in the military section of Washington Cemetery, in Houston, Texas, caught my eye in middle school history class and will always garner my respect. An abusive father led her to run away from Canada to America, where she enlisted with the Union Army. “She cropped her hair, got a man's suit of clothing, took the name of Frank Thompson and tried to enlist. It took her four tries but finally she did in fact get sworn into the Union Army (at that time the physical consisted merely of asking the enlistee questions -- no medical examination). On April 25, 1861, Emma Edmonds alias Frank Thompson became a male nurse in the Second Volunteers of the United States Army” (civilwarhome.com). When Emma heard of a position in General McClellan’s division, she “studied all she could find on weapons, tactics, local geography and military personalities and when interviewed for the position, Private Thompson so impressed the staff that the position was his (hers)” (civilwarhome.com).
Playing this role as a part of her new life, she carried out eleven successful espionage infiltrations of the Confederate army. She darkened her skin with silver nitrate to play the part of a black man, Cuff; she acted the part of a fat Irish peddler woman named Bridget; she wandered into Louisville, Kentucky as a Southern gentleman named Charles. She worked as a nurse, she listened to gossip, unearthed valuable information about “Quaker guns” (look it up, it’s awesome), was injured while riding a horse during battle and still made it back to camp, and she unwittingly defected from the army because of a bout with malaria.
“After the war Emma wrote her memoirs titled ‘Nurse and Spy in the Union Army,’ which became a very popular book selling thousands of copies. Emma gave all of her profits from the book to the U.S. war relief fund. Once the book was completed Emma became homesick for her native Canada; when she returned there she found love. In 1867 Emma married Linus Seeyle and went back to the United States, initially to Cleveland, Ohio. The marriage was happy, and Emma raised three sons, one of whom enlisted in the army ‘just like Mama did’. While happy in her family life Emma continued to brood over being branded a deserter in the Civil War. With the encouragement of her friends she petitioned the War Department for a full review of her case. The case was debated and on March 28, 1884, the House of Representatives passed House Bill Number 5335 validating Mrs. Seeyle's case… On July 5, 1884, a special act of Congress granted Emma Edmonds alias Frank Thompson an honorable discharge from the army, plus a bonus and a veteran's pension of twelve dollars a month” (civilwarhome.com).
You see, we can do hard things.
“By faith Abraham, when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going...
By faith Abraham, even though he was past age—and Sarah herself was barren—was enabled to become a father because he considered Him faithful who had made the promise...
By faith Moses’ parents hid him for three months after he was born, because they saw he was no ordinary child, and they were not afraid of the king’s edict...
By faith Moses, when he had grown up, refused to be known as the son of Pharaoh’s daughter...
By faith the people passed through the Red Sea as on dry land; but when the Egyptians tried to do so, they were drowned...
By faith the prostitute Rahab, because she welcomed the spies, was not killed with those who were disobedient...
All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them... God had planned something better for us so that only together with us would they be made perfect” (excerpts from Hebrews 11).
You see, we can do hard things.
It may mean leaving comfortable surroundings, pretending to be something we are not, hoping for more than we can see, loving the unlovable, cutting off hair and old ties, ignoring disparaging remarks, pushing boundaries, welcoming strangers, listening to the banter of neighbors, losing visible love, and running more than you could ever imagine, wearing what may appear to be the wrong equipment, rowing through the cold night, and running away at just the right time. Sometimes it is following the fire in your heart or the calm voice in the quiet. We make mistakes, we misstep, we falter; but our God is faithful. Sometimes we don’t see the promises entirely fulfilled when we are around, but God builds kingdoms one brick at a time.
In all these stories of triumph, victory, and success, significant factors are the conflict and antagonists which ignited the fires of these people. Would Emma have left home if her father was benevolent instead of maleficent? What if Margaret listened to her husband and all those men who said women shouldn’t make the news? What if Cliff didn’t have to herd sheep? Our challenges are what make us better. To be honest, I get totally tired of challenges. I get tired of the brick-laying. I want to feel that inner motivation, that euphoric bliss of palm fronds waving in the breeze against a blue-sky backdrop. But sometimes I look back and see that I wouldn’t have the experience and knowledge I have without those mistakes, wrong turns, broken ideas, and plot twists. I sure wouldn't have all the stories to go along with them. Emma didn’t gather her information all at once, but through conversations, making stew, and fleeing in the rain. Cliff kept running through meal times, nap times, and even when his crew fell ill. Margaret had to ignore the negative husband and continue helping the needy and poor. Hard things are accomplished slowly, with perseverance, gratitude, and moments at a time.
Overcome evil with good. Overcome exhaustion with prayer. Overcome poopy diapers, lost naptimes, empty pantries, grumpy neighbors, long lists, dwindling bank accounts, toppled plans, with faith and knowledge that God is at your side the whole time.
I saw a craft on Pinterest that inspired me, and some days I really need some inspiration and a reminder that God works through me even when I don’t know it. You can do hard things. I can do hard things. Click here for a little project on the days when you need to remember that you can do all things through Christ who strengthens you.
“Because God has said, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you,” we say with confidence, “The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid” (Hebrews 13:5b-6a).
Maybe you’re the hero, the underdog, the tired mom, the empty glass, the sinking ship, the abusive father, the faker, the fat Irish woman, the miner, the reticent spouse, the defector, the runner in rain boots, the spooked horse, the lost child, the missing spy, the fearful parent, the veteran or the nomad. God has put you in the story; what are you going to do with the role?
I’ve said it before, but I preface this post with the fact that I have difficulty writing about a subject until I feel as if I’ve gotten some kind of grip on the thing. But two nights ago after several ounces of shed tears I’m still no closer to understanding or encompassing this new front of adversity which lurks toward me in the shadows. So come with me, won’t you, for at least a few minutes anyway, and think through some challenging reflections which have been surveying me from across the bathroom mirror.
If you had to make a decision knowing full well the possible tragic outcomes, would you agree to take the journey?
The question is dramatic, to be sure, but so is my ridiculous story. If history serves me right, it seems like if something can go awry when I’m around, it can. Who was stepped on while marching across a football field, saxophone flying through the air, plunging to my elbows while a nearby giant Hispanic apologized? This girl. Who tripped down the band hall stairs, backpack and books sprawling, while a small audience clapped? This girl. Who drove across Texas, Colorado, and Wyoming and back in the two worst blizzards those states have ever seen? This girl. Who had a scratch, which bled out, leading to a careflight, an emergency C-Section, six doctors operating a white board and critical survey, and a blood transfusion to save her life during pregnancy? This girl.
Let’s stop and back up on that last one.
If you pause and pick up your least favorite moment in life thus far, plus your worst phobia, and then mix them together, how does that feel? Now blend in a paper cut. Slowly stir in some lemon juice. Yes. Your stomach kind of churns, right, and you feel a bit dubious and irrational? Yes.
These are just the frosting of the cake that was one of the most significant trials of my life. And this trial, this feeling, this experience, this memory, all involve people.
What am I trying to say?
The other night I was thinking about children, siblings, and how my little girl is three years old in five days. I want her to have sisters. Sure, whatever, yeah, I want her to have “siblings” because I don’t get to determine if there is a brother in the mix. I don’t want her to be alone. Does God want her to be alone? “Never will I leave you,” He says, “Never will I forsake you.”
As long as I can remember I just assumed I would have possibly three children. I had two sisters, my mom had two sisters, my grandmother had several more than that I think…. I knew a few “only” children, but could count them on one hand.
As a momma who has been blessed to know several groups of wonderful women, I know quite a few women who have had trouble getting pregnant, having children, or going through pregnancy. The topic was one I did not consider to be an issue, even when my middle sister had complications; I just thought the problems had to do with her thinness (that I am jealous of and therefore placed the blame). Turns out I have my own special idiosyncrasies to outwit. These quirks, a bleeding disorder and pre-eclampsia, are my own battle to fight. My husband confirms that he will fight with me, but let’s face it, the battle ground is my own flesh and blood.
I think I’m tiptoeing around what I’m trying to discuss. Charlie asked me what was wrong the other night and he eventually came to name the topic of “children,” as I lay there quiet, unable to form the right words.
“I’m scared of the future.”
“I’m scared of having a baby.”
“I’m scared for Madeleine.”
“I feel inadequate.”
“I don’t want to torture myself again.”
“If I died this place would be a complete disaster and I don’t want Madeleine to grow up in a pigsty.”
There are more feelings, thoughts, issues, and concerns than I can label in any few sentences. They are a myriad of hopes, fears, anxieties, shadowed thoughts, and anger. Above all the inner turmoil is a working, growing knowledge of God’s power, which often sheds light on the struggle and contains the clamor. An easy reference to the knowledge and wisdom that God is bigger than fear, than anxiety, shadowed thoughts, anger, and all hope, fiction or non, rests within my heart and iPhone. But a real factor is that I nearly died. The facts are that the doctors lectured me, the helicopter flew me, the doctor cut me open, the anesthesiologist held my hand, and my insides tremble to remember the blue sheet, the pain, oh the pain, and the very long, hard recovery.
At this point we pause. Can you relate? I hope your story is not scary rides in a helicopter through the black night, blurry faces, missing hours, or dim hallways, but I can share stories for so many who have faced an equivalent amount of distress, apprehension, loss, separation, agony, and heartache.
We are a broken people.
“Wonderful, merciful Savior
Precious Redeemer and Friend
Who would have thought that a Lamb
Could rescue the souls of men
Oh, you rescue the souls of men
Counselor, Comforter, Keeper
Spirit we long to embrace
You offer hope when our hearts have
Hopelessly lost the way
Oh, we hopelessly lost the way
You are the One that we praise
You are the One we adore
You give the healing and grace
Our hearts always hunger for
Oh, our hearts always hunger for
Almighty, infinite Father
Faithfully loving Your own
Here in our weakness You find us
Falling before Your throne
Oh, we're falling before Your throne.”
Wonderful, Merciful Savior by Phillips, Craig and Dean
As each day dawns my daughter is taller, my hands are a little more weathered, and some sort of invisible deadline approaches. He’s wearing a black suit, carrying Jack Sparrow’s compass and a dagger in his left breast pocket. And he whistles a tune very much like a nursery rhyme, but the song is nearly indiscernible. His lips turn up in a smirk, while his green eyes convey concern and revelation.
After experiencing the whole ordeal, I know much more about my health, hospital procedure, the limits of humans, and babies. I know how to take better care of myself, eat healthier, and am in a good exercise routine. My life is much different than before. The assumption can be made that if or when the situation presents itself I could handle the thing much better this time around; instead of letting it sweep me off my feet I could tell the situation to sit down, shut up, and let me cook dinner because we’re having broccoli tonight so just deal with that fact and set the table. But those thoughts come to me when I’m brave or have had a lot of caffeine. As I wash my hair in the shower, or gasp for breath during the cardio portion in the sand pit at the park, that’s when I remember the puffy feet, the ambling limp, and the hunger pains.
You know, people either lecture or love. Sometimes I tell myself to buck up and deal, but sometimes I see that deadline walking around the apartment complex, picking up a stray piece of trash, and I close the curtain before he sees that I’m home. He’s not just there to discuss children, but also the stack of borrowed books on my bedside table, the laundry situation, the lady who digs through the dumpster, and if I’m going to live in this apartment complex in this town for much longer.
If you had to make a decision knowing full well the possible tragic outcomes, would you agree to take the journey?
What if that house you are about to purchase has termites? What if the car doesn’t start tomorrow? What if you fall down the stairs and no one is there to help? What if your employers no longer see the value in your work? What if all the politicians go crazy? What if the plans fall apart? What if that deadline knocks at the door and he calls out your name?
I want to say the answer is as easy as believing on the Lord Jesus Christ and you will be saved.
I want to say the Lord’s presence will go with you and give you rest.
I want to say that God will give you hope.
I want to say that you don’t need to let your heart be troubled.
And the utter, plain, astounding truth is this: these statements are all true. Even when I crumble, my Lord is near me all the time. The plans aren’t always simple, but I’m not alone, and I can’t let that deadline determine my faith.
“Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved—you and your household.”
“The LORD replied, ‘My Presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.’”
“Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.”
“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God.”
“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”
Sometimes when God saves us, he takes us home. Oftentimes he answers in a way we do not expect. Usually he will challenge us to grow our minds, hearts, and spirits closer to his presence. Always he is with us, to the end of the age.
So if you need to cling to that, feel free, because I do too.
“Well, a fake Jamaican took every last dime with that scam
It was worth it just to learn from slight-of-hand
Bad news comes, don't you worry even when it lands
Good news will work its way to all them plans
We both got fired on the exactly the same day
Well we'll float on,
Good news is on the way…
And we'll all float on alright
Already we'll all float on
Alright don't worry
Even if things end up a bit too heavy
We'll all float on alright.”
Float On by Modest Mouse
My creator didn’t put me in charge of my daughter’s sibling situation. He allowed me to be a part of Madeleine’s life. If he gifts me with the opportunity to love on another, then regardless of how that child happens to meander into my life, I hope I will have the courage to welcome her…or him…with all the life within me, regardless of how many hours we are allotted, and accept the challenges that arrive intertwined with the joy. But maybe there is more to the picture than I can see right now; and maybe I’m here with these eccentricities so I can love on others who may be walking similarly troubled pathways to share with them the good news of which I need to remind myself. Whether a child, friend, neighbor, stranger at the park, a stranger at the dumpster, or a soul who is stumbling under the heavy load, maybe we can share our stories and see whose experience cost the most money.
With shaking hands, weak arms, and possibly a little twinge of jealousy for those who seem to have it easier, we unlock the door. I guess that deadline isn’t so big after all. He’s just an apparition anyway.
My husband, daughter, a good friend, and I were eating dinner at the newest Chinese restaurant in town. There was the obligatory fortune cookie at the end of the meal, as we wiped the teriyaki sauce off our lips and broke into those delightful cardboard-esque treats. The friendly server handed my daughter her own cookie and I helped open the package. After cracking it open, I pulled out the paper strip to read what hers said. “Do not fear failure,” it said. The sentence actually made me pause, because I think that is something I definitely want to teach my Little M, and myself as well. I was going to keep it and maybe put it in her baby scrapbook, when she suddenly stuck it in her mouth and then spit it onto the floor. Oh well.
See, I’m at a point where there are a few branches coming up in my pathway, and there’s a quiet, unsettled, and apprehensive voice in the back of my mind who continually cautions, “Are you sure you want to do that?” Whether the choice is picking out which shirt to wear, buying a book, or asking my husband to take out the garbage, the voice is always there. She’s gotten quieter over the years, but sometimes starts to disturb the peace upstairs. And with the ideas of buying a house, changes in our family life, and furthering action on my passions, all beginning to stir into the pot, she’s really started to affect the amount of adrenaline pulsing through my veins at any given time.
“What if --,” she begins to say.
“Hush,” I reply.
“What about --,” she falters, her hands waving about in the air.
“We have already thought about that, and I don’t want to worry right now,” I answer, shaking my head.
“But what will people think?!” she asks, slapping her cheek, her eyes widening.
“I don’t have time for you right now, I need to figure out what’s for dinner,” I say, turning my back on her, and turning up the television.
“Fine,” she yells, stomping into the bedroom. “But I’ll be back in eight minutes to discuss this with you then!”
I’m someone who you can say errs on the side of caution. I’m clumsy enough, I’m self-conscious enough, I’ve had enough real-life-tv-sitcom moments to have learned a lesson or two.
1) Don’t talk about your waiter at the restaurant, especially when he could be standing right behind you as you insult his order-taking techniques.
2) Maybe don’t let two guys argue about you at midnight in front of an apartment complex? Go inside first.
3) Watch your steps in unfamiliar territory. And familiar territory.
Along with that cautionary, somewhat slow-moving persona you can imagine, add to it a certain obsessive compulsiveness and introversion that, if it weren’t for my lack of impeccable housekeeping skills, could easily become a light case of agoraphobia. Fortunately, I’m terrible at dusting and love to go outdoors for the fresh air. I do realize this post makes me seem a little bit crazy. Nonstandard. Anomalous. Peculiar.
And so it goes.
I was sitting at church the other day I saw a tiny spider on the floor by my feet. I thought, “I didn’t see that spider when I sat down or I wouldn’t have sat here.” Then that made me think about all the things I CANNOT see around me, like bitten-off fingernails or dust mites or skin flakes. Yeah. Gross. But then it also kind of made me think, you know, there’s really a lot more that all of us cannot see. There is a spiritual world around us we don’t usually notice. If we could actually see those life-sized spiders before they were next to us, some anger, frustrations, and trip-ups would just be so much easier to avoid.
Next, the thought came that, honestly, our dim eyes see so very little. We have our own insufficient perspectives, our own petty fears and emasculations. We accept feeble attempts and shaky knees, and to have any fear at all almost seems to fear everything. And that’s not how it’s supposed to be.
“You, dear children, are from God and have overcome them, because the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world… We know that we live in him and he in us, because he has given us of his Spirit. And we have seen and testify that the Father has sent his Son to be the Savior of the world. If anyone acknowledges that Jesus is the Son of God, God lives in him and he in God. And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him. In this way, love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment, because in this world we are like him. There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.”
1 John 4:4; 13-18
A quick search on BibleGateway brings up 83 verses for the search, “do not be afraid.” That’s crazy, those.
Sometimes, fearing creepy spiders is the easier reaction. Sometimes, when the bombs begin dropping around you, forgetting that you’ve won the battle seems more believable. When the mortar bursts and shrapnel scrapes across your heart, it’s easier to give in to the darkness. But we aren’t supposed to let the shadows win. The children of God have overcome, are complete, and we discard fear.
And failure, well, it seems that God cares about our acts, our hearts, and that we dwell in him; that we obey his commands, that we seek purity in him. I don’t touch on the category of “purity” very often; that might have something to do with my aversion to chores. But what seems to be the majority of what is considered success for a Christ-follower is to be joyful, loving, kind, gentle, and good. It doesn’t matter what kind of shelter you reside in, if you have three perfect children, or thousands of followers on Twitter. Although it would be rad to have a booth dedicated to my art at Comic Con. But no, that’s not really the goal. That’s not what keeps you going when the storm begins to whirl.
We seek God and his presence, seek our dreams, seek our desires. We test our desires against his Word and look for guidance. But when it comes to wisdom with finances, wondering when the spark plugs should be changed, replacing carpets, or recovering from surgery, and when we can get to the store to buy groceries….
I wish all of this wasn’t so hard. I wish that families stayed in the same places, rejection wasn’t an issue, and that we could more easily hold on to an eternal perspective. But our humanity gets in the way… our mold, our dust, and that gripping tightness in the chest. We walk, as with feet slugging through thick, deep mud. We can’t always see the sun. We have the promises that shield our faces and pull us up out of the mire, declaring a hope and a future, and that we will walk in high places with a shield and salvation.
“I took you from the ends of the earth,
from its farthest corners I called you.
I said, ‘You are my servant’;
I have chosen you and have not rejected you.
So do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”
We cling to this, brushing off the falling ashes, walking through the thunder, and seeking shelter. If our God is with us, we do not fail. When God completes us, we are closer to his heart; and we cannot be in any better place.
It’s very likely that along the way we will be idiotic, silly, and forgetful. We will literally fall, twist our ankles, club ourselves in the head with the car door because the carport is rusted and there’s a waterfall right outside the passenger side... we will cry out when our children refuse to obey, and hoard chocolate bars in a hidden cupboard. We will fail to maintain perfection on this earth, to be on time, to budget correctly, and to find the good in others. And what do we do then?
“The poor and needy search for water, but there is none; their tongues are parched with thirst. But I the Lord will answer them; I, the God of Israel, will not forsake them. I will make rivers flow on barren heights, and springs within the valleys. I will turn the desert into pools of water, and the parched ground into springs. I will put in the desert the cedar and the acacia, the myrtle and the olive. I will set pines in the wasteland, the fir and the cypress together, so that people may see and know, may consider and understand, that the hand of the Lord has done this, that the Holy One of Israel has created it.”
“I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth.”
We have to stick with Him, because he’s got this. We have to trust him to forgive our inner failures, we have to give up our stubbornness, and we have to choose to leave behind My Way Of Doing It. And he will work out the kinks, even if it hurts a little, even if we thought they were okay to have around.
There are many ways to tell a story, and there are many types of stories to be told. Legend and autobiography, tragedy, comedy, and the popular hero tale are an industry that encompass literature, art, film, and our children’s toy shelves. In the hero plot, the protagonist must face a challenge or series of obstacles in order to change his destiny. The hero usually starts off as a character forced into making a decision. Then the stakes are raised. Quite often there is a great loss for the hero; Spider Man was only Peter Parker until his Uncle Ben was killed; Batman watched his parents suffer and die at the hands of a thief; Elizabeth Bennet didn’t give a rip for Darcy until her sister ran off; Katniss took her sister’s place in a battle to the death. Even Jesus, in a real-life example, had to allow his work to be completed: “Jesus commanded Peter, ‘Put your sword away! Shall I not drink the cup the Father has given me?’”
So what do we expect?
Personally I do not consider myself a hero. I was proud of myself for being able to do 35 girlie pushups the other day; I got one basket away from being caught up on the laundry. Hoo haa. This is not really exciting. But my story, and your story, are important. You are your own protagonist. What is your challenge, your series of obstacles?
What will you lose?
And can you overcome?
The reward is much greater when the loss has a noble purpose.
On this blue planet we are drifting closer to eternity every moment, so don’t let the moments go to waste.
“In You, O Lord, I have taken refuge;
Let me never be ashamed;
In Your righteousness deliver me.
Incline Your ear to me, rescue me quickly;
Be to me a rock of strength,
A stronghold to save me.
For You are my rock and my fortress;
For Your name’s sake You will lead me and guide me…
For You are my strength.
Into Your hand I commit my spirit;
You have ransomed me, O Lord, God of truth...
I trust in the Lord.
I will rejoice and be glad in Your lovingkindness,
Because You have seen my affliction;
You have known the troubles of my soul,
And You have not given me over into the hand of the enemy;
You have set my feet in a large place.”
I battle with myself over a lot of shortcomings. I contemplate contentment and consider the falling stars and I see my incapacity to react in the right way so often. My toddler gets so frustrated at the littlest upset when she attempts to try something -- linking together toy trains, putting on her shoes, eating broccoli with her fork; she screams, her face turns red, she sometimes throws her fork or knocks over the project at hand. And am I like that? When I don’t get my way, when my schedule is disrupted, when I feel like I’m failing? Sometimes yes.
But we don’t look back. We don’t throw ourselves onto our beds and give up. Not today, anyway. Into his hands we commit; we commit to letting ourselves be molded, letting our stories be shaped, letting our pathways be wrought as they may. Maybe the pathway is financial success or new houses or shiny cars or full cupboards or smiling hugs from friends. Maybe there is loss or upset expectations, but we don’t fear it, and we kick the spiders out of the way. Maybe this is read in a small room or on a small screen, but He has set your feet in a large place. It’s wide open, soft green grasses, with large, leafy trees in the distance; small yellow flowers flutter around your feet in the soft breeze, while two birds soar overhead, the sunshine beaming down on your shoulders. You are chosen; you are strong; you are in the hands of a very capable Author.
But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead. (1 Corinthians 1:9)
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