The last year and half have been so painful and hard, the hardest of my life. I went through a bad break up, and I've had a really hard time moving on. One of the biggest obstacles for me has been the feeling that if I let myself move on, the years that I spent in that relationship will be wasted. I've felt that if I let the relationship not mean anything now, that it never meant anything, and I can't bear that thought. I want the man I was with to know that he mattered, and I want him to know that I mattered too.
I feel silly that this has been so difficult for me. The worst thing in my life is a break up, and there are thousands of people in the world that are dying in terrible ways and families being torn apart, and I'm sure they all want it to matter, too. There is so much suffering, and so much longing for our hurts to matter, and what do I really have to complain about? But there are days that the pain is almost debilitating.
Contemplating all of this pain, in my own life and in the world, has led to a question that's been burning in my heart: is life good? Is life good, or is it hard and ugly and just something to be endured a breath at a time? I asked my mom this the other day. She had a beautiful answer.
"Well, I think life was created to be good, and I think that there are still traces of that," she said. "But the world is fallen. There is a lot hardness and ugliness in life, and there is a lot of it that just has to be endured. There are some wounds and struggles that we'll carry for the rest of our lives. God is good though, and He won't let our scars go to waste. God works all things for the good of those who love Him, and He sees our pain. When we get to heaven, He will have turned them into something beautiful. He doesn't let our struggles go to waste."
Which is to say, it matters.
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
Thursday, November 27, 2014
There's Going To Be A Wedding
There is something exceedingly lovely about bridal shops. Not only
are
they full of the most beautiful gowns--the fulfillment of years of a
little girl's dreaming--but the very air seems full of hope and promise
and future. The day I went in, there was another bride finding her
gown. I could hear her and her friends laughing with excitement, and
gasping with delight as the bride appeared like a fairy tale princess.
I passed the fancy zippered bag across the counter to the woman on the other side. Both of us were avoiding each other's gaze, trying to pretend that this was only an everyday business transaction and that I wasn't handing over the symbol of my heart, of all my hopes and dreams, without even a second glance. I hoped the other bride and her friends wouldn't see me. There is an unexplainable shame, especially before other women, in a broken engagement. No matter the reason, the question hangs like a weight in your chest--what is wrong with me?
In the months since my engagement was broken, there have been countless moments of pain I never imagined, but perhaps none is as poignant as the day that I returned my wedding gown. My gown was so lovely--the loveliest of all. It was such a soft, delicate lace. The back was sheer and embroidered so that it resembled a butterfly's wings. It was simply ethereal. On the day I found it, it was the first gown that I put on that I longed for my fiance to see me in. I knew that he would love it, and I could just imagine the look on his face when he saw me. I couldn't wait for him to see me wearing it. I didn't want to take it off.
Then, suddenly, everything was over. I was standing in the shop, turning my gown back in. I would never wear it again. He would never see me in it. I didn't even get to show it to my mother. There was no wedding.
There have been many, many days of hopelessness. For me. For a lot of people. It often feels like there is nothing to look forward to, nothing worth living for. The future stretches out endless, empty. There is no one there.
My mom and dad have to remind me a lot to look again. I still can't see through the shadows to the other side, but I am clinging to the promises of the One I know is there. There is going to be a wedding.
"I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 'Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away."' He who was seated on the throne said, 'I am making everything new!' Then he said, 'Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.'" (Revelation 21:1-5)
He has promised to come for His bride, the church, and He will always keep His promises for He is trustworthy and true. He is preparing His bride (me and you, His beloved) to marry Him. He has paid the highest price for our bridal gown, His own blood. It will be the most beautiful gown, woven with gold and studded with jewels. How it will delight Him to see His bride prepared for the wedding! This is an engagement that won't be broken.
To all you brokenhearted, to you who cannot see your future, hold on. Hold on to His promises. There is going to be a wedding. The Bridegroom will come.
I passed the fancy zippered bag across the counter to the woman on the other side. Both of us were avoiding each other's gaze, trying to pretend that this was only an everyday business transaction and that I wasn't handing over the symbol of my heart, of all my hopes and dreams, without even a second glance. I hoped the other bride and her friends wouldn't see me. There is an unexplainable shame, especially before other women, in a broken engagement. No matter the reason, the question hangs like a weight in your chest--what is wrong with me?
In the months since my engagement was broken, there have been countless moments of pain I never imagined, but perhaps none is as poignant as the day that I returned my wedding gown. My gown was so lovely--the loveliest of all. It was such a soft, delicate lace. The back was sheer and embroidered so that it resembled a butterfly's wings. It was simply ethereal. On the day I found it, it was the first gown that I put on that I longed for my fiance to see me in. I knew that he would love it, and I could just imagine the look on his face when he saw me. I couldn't wait for him to see me wearing it. I didn't want to take it off.
Then, suddenly, everything was over. I was standing in the shop, turning my gown back in. I would never wear it again. He would never see me in it. I didn't even get to show it to my mother. There was no wedding.
There have been many, many days of hopelessness. For me. For a lot of people. It often feels like there is nothing to look forward to, nothing worth living for. The future stretches out endless, empty. There is no one there.
My mom and dad have to remind me a lot to look again. I still can't see through the shadows to the other side, but I am clinging to the promises of the One I know is there. There is going to be a wedding.
"I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 'Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away."' He who was seated on the throne said, 'I am making everything new!' Then he said, 'Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.'" (Revelation 21:1-5)
He has promised to come for His bride, the church, and He will always keep His promises for He is trustworthy and true. He is preparing His bride (me and you, His beloved) to marry Him. He has paid the highest price for our bridal gown, His own blood. It will be the most beautiful gown, woven with gold and studded with jewels. How it will delight Him to see His bride prepared for the wedding! This is an engagement that won't be broken.
To all you brokenhearted, to you who cannot see your future, hold on. Hold on to His promises. There is going to be a wedding. The Bridegroom will come.
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
The Answer is Himself
Sometimes your soul is so restless you wake up at three a.m. in anguish and can't go back to sleep.
Sometimes the weight in your chest is so heavy, you can't even find the small relief brought by tears.
"He was a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering." (Isaiah 53:3)
"The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit." (Psalm 34:18)
Sometimes the only comfort is knowing a God who suffered, who came down into this broken, disfigured world to be with His people and died so He could have a relationship with you. The only balm for a broken heart and a shattered world is a God who answers with Himself.
Sometimes the weight in your chest is so heavy, you can't even find the small relief brought by tears.
"He was a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering." (Isaiah 53:3)
"The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit." (Psalm 34:18)
Sometimes the only comfort is knowing a God who suffered, who came down into this broken, disfigured world to be with His people and died so He could have a relationship with you. The only balm for a broken heart and a shattered world is a God who answers with Himself.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
I Dreamed a Dream
I think one of the saddest songs I've ever heard is "I Dreamed a Dream" from Les Miserables. It is so beautiful, but it breaks my heart every time I hear it. There is one verse in particular that makes me want to cry. Fantine sings, "I dreamed a dream in times gone by, when hope was high and life worth living: I dreamed that love would never die! I dreamed that God would be forgiving!"
I always wish I could talk to her. I would tell her, "He does! Oh, He does forgive!" I believe that with all of my heart. I would be the first to tell anyone who doubted that He does. I would do everything I could to show them.
But I don't live it.
The past few months, I feel like I've been trying to make it on my own. I know in my head that I can never be good enough on my own, but I still try. It is one thing to tell others to turn their sin over to God and depend on Him; it is a completely different matter to turn my own sin over to Him.
The truth is, I don't want to rely on Him. I want to be good enough on my own. I feel like I can't give Him my sins, or let Him see them, because if I did, maybe He wouldn't love me. I also struggle with wondering if He even would forgive the sins I've committed after coming to Him. It is so clear to me that I have fallen short, but instead of driving me to Him, it just makes me try harder. I'm weighed down, and every time I fall, my burden gets heavier. Like Fantine, I have abandoned the dream that God forgives.
But, oh! Our God is mighty to save! What a Lover He is!
He gets down on His knees, takes my face in His hands and says, "Come to me, you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." (Mt. 11: 28-30) "Oh, Beloved, give it to me. Let me carry it. Rest yourself in me.
"God does forgive, dear heart. He overflows with love for you. He doesn't treat you as your sins deserve. As high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is His love for those who fear Him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed your transgressions from you. He loves you like a Father. He knows what you are, because He made you, and He still loves you. (Ps. 103:8-14)
"He loves you so much! To prove it, while you were still a sinner, I died for you! (Romans 5:8) Nothing in all creation can separate you from my love. (Romans 8:38-39) He doesn't count your sins against you. God made me to be sin for you, so that through me, you could be His righteousness. (2 Corinthians 5:19-21)
"Not only does He forgive you, He is faithful, and He purifies you. (1 John 1:9) My sacrifice was enough, once for all. I have made you perfect forever, as you are being made holy. I have made a way--draw near to God. There is nothing more that needs to be paid." (Hebrews 10)
It isn't a dream, Fantine. God has done everything to forgive us. Love did die, but He rose again, and will always be with us. Cling to that truth.
I always wish I could talk to her. I would tell her, "He does! Oh, He does forgive!" I believe that with all of my heart. I would be the first to tell anyone who doubted that He does. I would do everything I could to show them.
But I don't live it.
The past few months, I feel like I've been trying to make it on my own. I know in my head that I can never be good enough on my own, but I still try. It is one thing to tell others to turn their sin over to God and depend on Him; it is a completely different matter to turn my own sin over to Him.
The truth is, I don't want to rely on Him. I want to be good enough on my own. I feel like I can't give Him my sins, or let Him see them, because if I did, maybe He wouldn't love me. I also struggle with wondering if He even would forgive the sins I've committed after coming to Him. It is so clear to me that I have fallen short, but instead of driving me to Him, it just makes me try harder. I'm weighed down, and every time I fall, my burden gets heavier. Like Fantine, I have abandoned the dream that God forgives.
But, oh! Our God is mighty to save! What a Lover He is!
He gets down on His knees, takes my face in His hands and says, "Come to me, you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." (Mt. 11: 28-30) "Oh, Beloved, give it to me. Let me carry it. Rest yourself in me.
"God does forgive, dear heart. He overflows with love for you. He doesn't treat you as your sins deserve. As high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is His love for those who fear Him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed your transgressions from you. He loves you like a Father. He knows what you are, because He made you, and He still loves you. (Ps. 103:8-14)
"He loves you so much! To prove it, while you were still a sinner, I died for you! (Romans 5:8) Nothing in all creation can separate you from my love. (Romans 8:38-39) He doesn't count your sins against you. God made me to be sin for you, so that through me, you could be His righteousness. (2 Corinthians 5:19-21)
"Not only does He forgive you, He is faithful, and He purifies you. (1 John 1:9) My sacrifice was enough, once for all. I have made you perfect forever, as you are being made holy. I have made a way--draw near to God. There is nothing more that needs to be paid." (Hebrews 10)
It isn't a dream, Fantine. God has done everything to forgive us. Love did die, but He rose again, and will always be with us. Cling to that truth.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Touch
For devos on my dorm floor tonight, instead of a lesson, our RA is giving everyone a massage. "Six Minutes in Heaven" she is calling it. She just finished with me. It was wonderful. It was so relaxing and refreshing. While I was laying there and she was rubbing my back, it suddenly struck me how amazing physical touch is.
Physical touch is my primary love language. I love hugs. There have been times when I've been exhausted and ready to give up on my homework, and someone has come in my room and put her hand on my shoulder or given me a hug, and suddenly, I find I have energy to keep going. There is nothing that uplifts me more.
Even when I was little I loved being touched. There was nothing I loved more than having someone (usually my mom or my Aunt Wendy) "tickle my back." They would run their nails in circles on my back and up my neck and into my hair. I know why cats purr, and if I were able to, I'm sure that's what sound I would have made. It was truly like paradise to me.
I hear about premature babies that are so sick the doctors don't think they'll make it, but someone will come along and touch them and they get better. It blows me away, although I shouldn't be surprised. If physical touch brings life to me, why not to them?
By the same token though, there is nothing that drains me more than physical touch. I love working at VBS camps during the summer. I love the little kids. However, at the end of three hours of holding twelve little hands and snuggling twelve little bodies close whenever we sit down--three in my lap, two on my back and seven squeezing as close as they can--I am drained. I am so exhausted. There is nothing that empties me of every ounce of strength as much as pouring physical affection into someone else.
I was thinking about that tonight as my RA rubbed my back. She was pouring herself into me, rubbing away all the aches and tension, and she was going to do this for each of the 28 girls on our floor. I was being strengthened by it, but I wondered how tired she would be after massaging all of us.
Then I thought of Jesus. He almost always, if not every single time, healed people by touching them. He touched the eyes of the blind. He touched the ears of the deaf. He touched lepers. He touched so many people. The one I am most reminded of though, is the woman who had been bleeding for twelve years.
She had tried everything. She had seen so many doctors she'd lost count. She'd tried every remedy anyone could think of--some of them twice--but nothing helped. The worst part was the nature of her disease. She had a bleeding disorder, and under the Jewish law, that meant she was unclean. No one could touch her. This had lasted twelve years. No one had touched her for twelve years.
But there was this Teacher coming, this Jesus, and rumor had it that he healed people. He touched them, and they were made well. If only she might see him! If only she could get close enough. No one had to know, she just had to touch him.
She made her way through the crowd, all of them pressed tight and close against Jesus. Her uncleanness helped; no one wanted to touch her, so they would let her through. There were so many though, and Jesus was in a hurry! How was she ever going to catch him?! But it was her last chance, and she had to make it.
Finally, she caught a glimpse of him. With one last, desperate shove she made it to his side. Reaching out her hand, she touched his cloak.
She wasn't sure what she'd expected--she wasn't even sure what she'd felt--but she knew she'd been healed. She would slip away now. She dropped back.
But he had stopped. "Who touched me?" he asked.
"What do you mean who touched you?" his followers asked. "Everyone is touching you! How can you ask who touched you?"
"Someone touched me," he said. "I felt power go out of me."
His eyes fell on her, and she couldn't keep quiet. She fell at his feet. "I knew if I touched you, I'd be well," she said. "I've been sick for twelve years." She kept her head down. She was so ashamed. How could she meet his eyes?
He stooped, took her hands, and raised her to her feet. He put his rough, calloused hands on her head. It was the first time anyone had touched her for twelve years. "Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace," he said.
(This story can be found in Luke 8:42-48.)
What must it have been like, that first touch? After twelve years without one single person touching her, what was it like? I can't get my head around it. The comparisons I have are so much smaller. I was filled by a touch after going maybe a day. Maybe just a few hours. What was it like to her?
I don't know if I'll ever comprehend that, but I know it must've been amazing. Besides, it was Jesus. Can you imagine being touched by Jesus? I for one can't wait.
And so, tonight, after the lovely massage from my generous RA and having my heart filled with thoughts of the wonderful touch of my Jesus, I can only be thankful. Thankful for people who touch me, for hugs, for back-tickling, for simple gestures like a hand on my shoulder. I am thankful for the gift God gave us in physical touch.
Mostly I am thankful for a God who gave up everything, who poured himself out completely, who came down to our level, and who touches us.
(Insights into this passage came from Mark Moore, one of my professors.)
Physical touch is my primary love language. I love hugs. There have been times when I've been exhausted and ready to give up on my homework, and someone has come in my room and put her hand on my shoulder or given me a hug, and suddenly, I find I have energy to keep going. There is nothing that uplifts me more.
Even when I was little I loved being touched. There was nothing I loved more than having someone (usually my mom or my Aunt Wendy) "tickle my back." They would run their nails in circles on my back and up my neck and into my hair. I know why cats purr, and if I were able to, I'm sure that's what sound I would have made. It was truly like paradise to me.
I hear about premature babies that are so sick the doctors don't think they'll make it, but someone will come along and touch them and they get better. It blows me away, although I shouldn't be surprised. If physical touch brings life to me, why not to them?
By the same token though, there is nothing that drains me more than physical touch. I love working at VBS camps during the summer. I love the little kids. However, at the end of three hours of holding twelve little hands and snuggling twelve little bodies close whenever we sit down--three in my lap, two on my back and seven squeezing as close as they can--I am drained. I am so exhausted. There is nothing that empties me of every ounce of strength as much as pouring physical affection into someone else.
I was thinking about that tonight as my RA rubbed my back. She was pouring herself into me, rubbing away all the aches and tension, and she was going to do this for each of the 28 girls on our floor. I was being strengthened by it, but I wondered how tired she would be after massaging all of us.
Then I thought of Jesus. He almost always, if not every single time, healed people by touching them. He touched the eyes of the blind. He touched the ears of the deaf. He touched lepers. He touched so many people. The one I am most reminded of though, is the woman who had been bleeding for twelve years.
She had tried everything. She had seen so many doctors she'd lost count. She'd tried every remedy anyone could think of--some of them twice--but nothing helped. The worst part was the nature of her disease. She had a bleeding disorder, and under the Jewish law, that meant she was unclean. No one could touch her. This had lasted twelve years. No one had touched her for twelve years.
But there was this Teacher coming, this Jesus, and rumor had it that he healed people. He touched them, and they were made well. If only she might see him! If only she could get close enough. No one had to know, she just had to touch him.
She made her way through the crowd, all of them pressed tight and close against Jesus. Her uncleanness helped; no one wanted to touch her, so they would let her through. There were so many though, and Jesus was in a hurry! How was she ever going to catch him?! But it was her last chance, and she had to make it.
Finally, she caught a glimpse of him. With one last, desperate shove she made it to his side. Reaching out her hand, she touched his cloak.
She wasn't sure what she'd expected--she wasn't even sure what she'd felt--but she knew she'd been healed. She would slip away now. She dropped back.
But he had stopped. "Who touched me?" he asked.
"What do you mean who touched you?" his followers asked. "Everyone is touching you! How can you ask who touched you?"
"Someone touched me," he said. "I felt power go out of me."
His eyes fell on her, and she couldn't keep quiet. She fell at his feet. "I knew if I touched you, I'd be well," she said. "I've been sick for twelve years." She kept her head down. She was so ashamed. How could she meet his eyes?
He stooped, took her hands, and raised her to her feet. He put his rough, calloused hands on her head. It was the first time anyone had touched her for twelve years. "Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace," he said.
(This story can be found in Luke 8:42-48.)
What must it have been like, that first touch? After twelve years without one single person touching her, what was it like? I can't get my head around it. The comparisons I have are so much smaller. I was filled by a touch after going maybe a day. Maybe just a few hours. What was it like to her?
I don't know if I'll ever comprehend that, but I know it must've been amazing. Besides, it was Jesus. Can you imagine being touched by Jesus? I for one can't wait.
And so, tonight, after the lovely massage from my generous RA and having my heart filled with thoughts of the wonderful touch of my Jesus, I can only be thankful. Thankful for people who touch me, for hugs, for back-tickling, for simple gestures like a hand on my shoulder. I am thankful for the gift God gave us in physical touch.
Mostly I am thankful for a God who gave up everything, who poured himself out completely, who came down to our level, and who touches us.
(Insights into this passage came from Mark Moore, one of my professors.)
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Dry and Weary Land
Sometimes God amazes me. Ok, most of the time He does. Today was one of those times.
It started out like a regular day. I went to my seven o'clock class here at Ozark, came back to my room and got my lunch and books together and was out front of my dorm at 8:40 waiting for my ride.
My ride is yet another of God's gifts to me, and today was the first time I was going with this particular girl. My first class at Southern had been canceled, but I wanted to show her the building where I'll normally need to be dropped off, so I just had her drop me off there.
After getting out of the car and watching her drive away, I debated with myself over whether to go to the building where my next class would be, or to just go sit in this one for a bit. Without even making up my mind, I went into the building and sat down. I opened my backpack and saw my Bible. "I really should do homework," I thought, but I hadn't been having much of a quiet time lately, and this was a good chance. I sat at a table in the stairway and opened it up. Everyone else was coming in for class, but I was out of the way and absorbed in my reading, and I hardly noticed them going by.
I finished my chapter and debated with myself over whether to sit there for awhile, or to go ahead and move to the other building. For some reason, I just kept sitting there. I started working on some memory work for one of my Ozark classes.
The classes let out and people were rushing by again. I didn't look up, but kept writing out my memory work. Then, suddenly, a girl stepped out of the flood surging up the stairs.
"I noticed you reading your Bible when I came in..." she said. "I really needed that. It was such a blessing...I'm sorry!" She started to cry. "It's just been really hard. I feel like I'm the only Christian here. All the people I'm around are so worldly. I was talking to my mom...it's been so hard. But seeing you...God knew I needed to see Him. Thank you."
I was speechless. I asked her name and told her I would pray for her, and that I hoped to see her again. She left to go to her next class.
It really opened my eyes to how very blessed I am. I live in a Christian community. I am so used to experiencing God daily that I have taken Him for granted. What a wake-up call!
It reminded me of Psalm 42.
Father,
I am blown away that You would use me. I am so used to seeing You, I don't notice any more. I haven't made You my first priority. Yet, because of Your great love, You put me in just the right place so that You could touch this girl. Glory to Your name! You came to her when she needed You, and even more, You let me see You through it, loud and clear, when I wasn't even paying attention! Thank You.
Please continue to be with this girl. Come to her as she is yearning for You. Send your people to surround her, Lord. God, I also pray that I would remember this lesson. Awake in me the thirst that she has for You.
Amen.
It started out like a regular day. I went to my seven o'clock class here at Ozark, came back to my room and got my lunch and books together and was out front of my dorm at 8:40 waiting for my ride.
My ride is yet another of God's gifts to me, and today was the first time I was going with this particular girl. My first class at Southern had been canceled, but I wanted to show her the building where I'll normally need to be dropped off, so I just had her drop me off there.
After getting out of the car and watching her drive away, I debated with myself over whether to go to the building where my next class would be, or to just go sit in this one for a bit. Without even making up my mind, I went into the building and sat down. I opened my backpack and saw my Bible. "I really should do homework," I thought, but I hadn't been having much of a quiet time lately, and this was a good chance. I sat at a table in the stairway and opened it up. Everyone else was coming in for class, but I was out of the way and absorbed in my reading, and I hardly noticed them going by.
I finished my chapter and debated with myself over whether to sit there for awhile, or to go ahead and move to the other building. For some reason, I just kept sitting there. I started working on some memory work for one of my Ozark classes.
The classes let out and people were rushing by again. I didn't look up, but kept writing out my memory work. Then, suddenly, a girl stepped out of the flood surging up the stairs.
"I noticed you reading your Bible when I came in..." she said. "I really needed that. It was such a blessing...I'm sorry!" She started to cry. "It's just been really hard. I feel like I'm the only Christian here. All the people I'm around are so worldly. I was talking to my mom...it's been so hard. But seeing you...God knew I needed to see Him. Thank you."
I was speechless. I asked her name and told her I would pray for her, and that I hoped to see her again. She left to go to her next class.
It really opened my eyes to how very blessed I am. I live in a Christian community. I am so used to experiencing God daily that I have taken Him for granted. What a wake-up call!
It reminded me of Psalm 42.
"As the deer pants for streams of water,
so my soul pants for You, O God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.
'Where is your God?'"
(Psalm 42:1-3)
Father,
I am blown away that You would use me. I am so used to seeing You, I don't notice any more. I haven't made You my first priority. Yet, because of Your great love, You put me in just the right place so that You could touch this girl. Glory to Your name! You came to her when she needed You, and even more, You let me see You through it, loud and clear, when I wasn't even paying attention! Thank You.
Please continue to be with this girl. Come to her as she is yearning for You. Send your people to surround her, Lord. God, I also pray that I would remember this lesson. Awake in me the thirst that she has for You.
Amen.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Giver of Good Gifts
Yesterday, my family and some friends spent the day at breathtaking Lake Garda. It was just about a perfect day. We took a bus up to the lake, and after driving through many beautiful Italian villages, we finally arrived.
On arriving, we ate a snack and then found a quiet stretch of beach to swim at. I alternately swam, looked at beautiful rocks, and lay in the sun and read. After awhile, we were all hungry and the beach was starting to get busier, so we all went in search of food.
We found it at a little pizzeria on the edge of the lake. We all ate, and watched the little birds, and soaked in the breeze off the lake. The four younger boys had decided that they wanted to sit at their own table, so the older of my two brothers and my sister and I were graduated to the adult table. Accordingly, I had a vague idea of the plans the adults were making.
The younger boys on the other hand, didn't have any idea. As we left and began walking, they kept asking, "Where are we going now? What are we doing now?"
None of the adults would tell them, but kept saying "Wait and see!"
Finally, as my youngest brother asked yet again, "What are we doing?" my mom said, "Just trust us. Trust that your Papa, just like your heavenly Father, delights in doing things that please you."
A few minutes later we got on a boat and sailed a few towns down, and then, our dad bought us all ice cream.
What my mom had said though, really stuck with me. Quite honestly, it thrilled my soul. I mean, it was literally like something leapt inside of me--a deep, deep joy. I've been given so many gifts lately. Some so great I can't even speak of them, some as small as little everyday sorts of things, have filled this last year to the brim. Really, they've filled my whole life to the brim.
And yet...and yet, there have been hard things too. Hard losses in my life, hard losses in the last year, and many hard lessons learned. But I know that those things are gifts too. Some of them don't look like gifts now, and I, with my small eyes and small heart and small mind can't understand how they could be anything but hard and ugly. Some of them, however, have become beautiful in spite of the pain. "Didn't that happen perfectly, at just the perfect time?" I ask, in awe at so many of these things, and I know they are gifts too.
Jesus once said, "Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!" (Matthew 7:9-11)
Thank you, Father, for every gift You give. Thank You for the ones that are full of joy and make my spirit dance, and thank You for the ones that make me cry and ache and wonder what is going on. Thank You that You are good, and thank You that You have made me Your own so that I can call You Father. Thank you, Father. Amen.
On arriving, we ate a snack and then found a quiet stretch of beach to swim at. I alternately swam, looked at beautiful rocks, and lay in the sun and read. After awhile, we were all hungry and the beach was starting to get busier, so we all went in search of food.
We found it at a little pizzeria on the edge of the lake. We all ate, and watched the little birds, and soaked in the breeze off the lake. The four younger boys had decided that they wanted to sit at their own table, so the older of my two brothers and my sister and I were graduated to the adult table. Accordingly, I had a vague idea of the plans the adults were making.
The younger boys on the other hand, didn't have any idea. As we left and began walking, they kept asking, "Where are we going now? What are we doing now?"
None of the adults would tell them, but kept saying "Wait and see!"
Finally, as my youngest brother asked yet again, "What are we doing?" my mom said, "Just trust us. Trust that your Papa, just like your heavenly Father, delights in doing things that please you."
A few minutes later we got on a boat and sailed a few towns down, and then, our dad bought us all ice cream.
What my mom had said though, really stuck with me. Quite honestly, it thrilled my soul. I mean, it was literally like something leapt inside of me--a deep, deep joy. I've been given so many gifts lately. Some so great I can't even speak of them, some as small as little everyday sorts of things, have filled this last year to the brim. Really, they've filled my whole life to the brim.
And yet...and yet, there have been hard things too. Hard losses in my life, hard losses in the last year, and many hard lessons learned. But I know that those things are gifts too. Some of them don't look like gifts now, and I, with my small eyes and small heart and small mind can't understand how they could be anything but hard and ugly. Some of them, however, have become beautiful in spite of the pain. "Didn't that happen perfectly, at just the perfect time?" I ask, in awe at so many of these things, and I know they are gifts too.
Jesus once said, "Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!" (Matthew 7:9-11)
Thank you, Father, for every gift You give. Thank You for the ones that are full of joy and make my spirit dance, and thank You for the ones that make me cry and ache and wonder what is going on. Thank You that You are good, and thank You that You have made me Your own so that I can call You Father. Thank you, Father. Amen.
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