Archives for 2019

They knew the Lord’s promises, but they were weary. They desired freedom, but their circumstances left them trapped. They were God’s beloved, yet they felt hopeless, neglected, forgotten. They had spent decades in exile.

Would the Lord fulfill His promise? Would He show up and deliver them? How long would they have to wait?

Seeing their pain and doubt, God sends Isaiah to speak words of comfort over His people:

“but those who trust in the Lord
will renew their strength;
they will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not become weary,
they will walk and not faint.”

Isaiah 40:31 

What a beautiful picture of God’s grace; His love reaching down from Heaven, encouraging human hearts that can’t see past their current situation. I can almost feel the breath of God on these words—a reassuring exhale from the Lord over the Israelites, filling them with hope:

I see you, my children. Let me be your strength as you wait. Trust me. I am coming. I will set all things right.

I don’t know about you, but I need these comforting words and reminders—a lot. I can know in my head that God is in control, but sometimes the overwhelming and harsh realities of life can make my heart forget.

I love my kids, but I am weary. I desire freedom and joy, but I often feel trapped in shame and disappointment. I know I am God’s beloved, but I feel lonely, overlooked, unappreciated.

How long, Lord, will I have to wait for my child to finally listen? When will you show up and relieve us from this pain, this financial stress, this overscheduled life we are leading? How long do I have to wait?

I see you, my child. Let me be your strength as you wait. Trust me. I am coming. I will set all things right.

It was His whisper to the Israelites, and it’s His whisper to us now. Advent is perhaps the most beautiful example of what it means to wait on the Lord—an intentional space in time when we honor the waiting and linger on God’s goodness, knowing that He always delivers on His promises in the most glorious and unexpected ways. It’s a time when we pause and celebrate the giver of the gift before the gift even comes.

Whatever you are waiting on today—an unanswered prayer, an answer, or even a moment of peace—take comfort in knowing that we serve a God who sees and cares. He knows the waiting is hard; He knows the anticipation isn’t always joyful, no matter how much tinsel we add or wrapping paper we use. Hear His whisper. Trust in His promises.

God is our hope because He is the gift giver, but He is also our comfort because He is Immanuel, God with us. We serve a trustworthy Father who reaches down from Heaven and promises to fill us with His power and His strength as we wait. And then He delivers. Every.single.time.

Let our weary hearts rejoice:

 He is coming. He will set all things right.

I don’t remember the date, or if it was even day or night. What I do remember is being in the shower and not knowing where the water began and my tears stopped. There was just a constant flow of water that, at the time, felt anything but cleansing. I was shattered and crying out to God desperately: Life had dropped on a bomb on us, and I was still reeling.

 

A routine ultrasound revealed that our third child, the child in my womb, had a birth defect and would face lifelong disabilities and a lifetime of unknowns. Nothing was certain or safe, and I was so scared and sad and confused. This was supposed to be a moment of joy – a blessing of new life and exciting beginnings — and yet there I stood, drenched in sorrow. I felt both devastated and ashamed for feeling devastated. I loved my baby. I did. And that’s why it hurt so bad. I wanted the world for her — but this was a world I knew nothing about.

 

And then they came. One right after another. Verse after verse falling over me and filling my mind so quickly that I couldn’t possibly recall them right now if I tried. They were Bible verses I never remember memorizing, yet there they were, covering me with grace and love and hope. It was a sacred moment of God’s presence I will never forget. As I stood there, soul and body bare, His loving and encouraging words gently washed away my fears, leaving peace and joy in their place.

 

Of course, that wasn’t the last time I felt fear or sorrow over my daughter’s journey. Just recently, I walked through a surgery with her, and the fears were just as real and as raw as they were 9 years ago. But what happened to me that day in the shower felt like a promise from God: His words – the Word — would be my comfort and my joy. They were what I needed to navigate this new world I knew nothing about. It’s not that they would erase the hard parts or even take them away; it’s that they would remind me of the goodness and victory that are mine. That are hers. That are all of ours. They are, in fact, our heritage.

 

“I have your decrees as a heritage forever;
indeed, they are the joy of my heart.”

Psalm 119:111

 

Throughout Psalm 119, we read about all the reasons we can delight in God’s Word. It keeps us from sin (verse 11). It gives us hope (verse 74). It lights our path (verse 105). In verse 111, however, the psalmist confidently states that the decrees of the Lord are our heritage. The Hebrew translation for “decrees” in this case is “testimonies.” This means God’s story is our story. His victory is our victory. It means the promises of His Word are not only true; they are our inheritance. We can claim them as ours, and when we live by them and stockpile them in our hearts, we can find joy. Yes, even in those moments when we are drowning in doubt and fear.

 

This doesn’t mean we won’t experience sadness. Joy doesn’t always replace pain. I find they can often be found together. But we do have an assurance that the well of God’s goodness never runs dry. If we, like the psalmist, claim God’s ways as our heritage, we too can be certain that His plans are good. That’s when the joy comes.

 

And for our mama hearts, here’s the best part: The promises of the Lord can be our children’s heritage as well. Every time we intentionally pour God’s Word into them, we can provide them with a source of joy they will find nowhere else. It is a practice that is tricky in the day-to-day craziness of life, but it is a practice that could be transformative, not only for their tender little hearts, but perhaps even for their grown-up hearts years down the road. God’s Word is not only our heritage; it can be our legacy.

The more I experience the power and comfort of God’s Word in my life, the more I want to share it with my children. Since the first day my youngest daughter noticed her physical differences, we started saying Psalm 139:14 together:

“I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.”

 

During her most recent surgery, when she was struggling through her recovery, we recited Philippians 4:13 over and over again:

“I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.”

 

I’ll admit, there are so many other times I have fallen short in this area. My prayer is that our gracious God will store the few verses I have shared with my daughters in their hearts for the days when they need them most.

 

Constant joy is by no means a given when you are a Christian, but I do believe we have constant access to it. Every moment I put myself and my kids in front of the Word is time well spent, even when I don’t feel like one syllable is sticking. When my mind wanders off or my inconsistent attempts at family devotions end in fights and frustration, I rest in the knowledge that God is pouring into a well somewhere deep within our souls and that joy will rise up at just the right time.

As I sit here and think about Easter, my mind and heart want to think about hope and light and empty tombs and glory—all the best parts of the Easter story. Jesus being raised from the dead isn’t just good news. It is the best news. Add a few chocolate peanut butter eggs to it all and, well, it just doesn’t get any better.

But then there’s the rest of the story. The days leading up to it. Days that involved betrayal and injustice; hatred and anguish; suffering and darkness. And blood… so much blood. That part catches me a little. Singing hymns of praise that celebrate blood feels a little weird, doesn’t it? No one wants to think about blood, let alone sing in church about it.

Why is that? Why do we run away from the hard parts of the story? Why does our human nature want us to skip over the gore and blood, the ugly shadows of pain and death? I suspect it’s the same reason we often numb ourselves from our own pain and suffering. It’s why strong coffee and red wine and crap TV and online shopping become our go-to agents of joy. They make us forget the betrayals, the injustice, the pain, the secret shadows of shame and darkness that linger in the hidden places of our hearts.

We don’t usually want to admit it out loud, but I think many of us identify more with the suffering of Jesus than His victory. We see ourselves in the beaten-up man, mocked and shamed, the world lugging Him down a bumpy road while everything and everyone else around Him goes on like nothing is glaringly wrong. It’s infuriating, really, how unfair life can be and how unaffected other people can be by it. We all ignore suffering… His suffering, our suffering, their suffering. It’s just too hard and exhausting to think about.

Instead, we add sugar and shots of espresso and same-day delivery so that life feels easier, the waiting is shorter, and joy comes faster. We skip past the hurt and dress it up in breakfast casseroles and coordinating outfits and white baskets overflowing with candy.

But here’s the thing that Holy Week teaches us if we lean in close enough to see it in its entirety: The hard parts might actually be the most important and hopeful parts of the story. The pain and suffering show us that God isn’t absent or irrelevant or oblivious to our hurt. He isn’t a far-off, judgmental light in the sky who stands by like something isn’t glaringly wrong. He is a come-to-earth, dragged-through-the-dirt, dripping-in-sweat-and-death kind of Savior that crawled the road to victory in utter agony.

That part we want to skip? That part about the blood? It’s the part that reminds us that He knows our pain and sees our pain and has been through our pain and is willing to come alongside us and carry us through it. He chose to experience it so that you and I would never have to experience it alone.

What would happen if we paused long enough to notice the hard parts of the story—His suffering, our suffering, their suffering? What if we stopped pretending like nothing is glaringly wrong and started to see the pain for what it is and then decided to face it dead on, trusting that God can turn ugly things like betrayal and wounds into new life? What if we came alongside others who are hurting, offering pieces of ourselves so that they wouldn’t have to go at it alone?

What if we looked more like Jesus on those days leading up to the tomb, suffering and trusting and carrying His pain, our pain, their pain so we can all experience victory together? Maybe that’s the part we should be focusing on after all.

Why is there pain at all? I don’t know the answer to that. I just know that suffering is part of everyone’s story, even God’s story. I also know that the hardest parts of the Easter story show us something about the hardest parts of our story: The blood and the pain are not the end, but we also can’t ignore them if we want to experience the fullness of the victory.

Easter shows us that beautiful things like empathy and compassion are often born out of grief and loss. It shows us that new life doesn’t come without bloodshed, and that victory rarely comes without the threat of defeat. We may bear scars and battle wounds, but ignoring them won’t make them go away. Dressing them up and hiding them at home or in church was never God’s plan.

He sees the hurt and the pain. He knows all about our suffering, their suffering. He’s walked the hard road, and He knows the way to victory. He paved the way to victory. We just need to be willing to follow Him there.

“And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.”

1 Peter 5:10 

“And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death– even death on a cross!”

Philippians 2:8

“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”

John 3:16