Sabbatical Reflections: Words on a Page #22 Depth of Sadness

Depth of Sadness

Down in the bedrock, 

far below the surface.

Streams of groundwater run and churn.

Filling the pores,

seeps into the cracks of my soul, 

The sadness flows deep and wide.  

Creeping and edging through.

Pressure pushes and pulls, 

This grief.  This pain.

Mostly quiet, even unknown.

Almost always unnoticed and unseen,

Rarely will it rise.

Today it threatens a flood.

Noah's springs of the deep roar and rumble.

The agony has reached it's tipping point.

Will it finally be heard?

Spill up and over.

Pour out and destroy.

Will the aquifer reach it's limit?

Will the confined boundaries be overcome?

Eruption of furry and flood.

Will the sadness win and have it's say?

Destroying all that is wicked on the surface.

Washing, finally.  Bringing justice!

Will the façade be toppled?

The earth be cleansed.

The floodgates finally opened wide.

O! These underground streams!  

The sorrow coursing through the foundations.

Living, growing and building all these years.

I hear you.  I see you.  I honour and listen. 

I welcome your voice.  

Pour forth, rise up, and make me whole.

Written September 2020

"Let your tears flow like a river...Pour out your heart like water in the presence of the Lord"

 (Lamentations 2:18,19)

"It is better to enter a house of mourning than a house of feasting, since death is the end of every man, and the living should take this to heart. Sorrow is better than laughter, for a sad countenance is good for the heart. The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning, but the heart of fools is in the house of pleasure."  

(Ecclesiastes 7:3)

Aquifer 

 

Strength and Wisdom from Sorrow

My daughter wrote a stunning piece of spoken word.  I would love for you to click on the link and listen to her reading it out...   The truth in these words blessed my heart in a profound way. I share it with you with deep joy.

Click here

Or...https://drive.google.com/file/d/16g6vYacHhssWLukJuJOcM3IUrg-TVUs8/view

The text of the spoken word: 

When you look into a woman’s face
What do you see?
Sorrow.
It’s always there - 
it’s what gives the waves to the ocean in her eyes,
The fire in the pit of her stomach,
The lines around her mouth,
and depth to her words. 

Have you ever sat at the feet of a truly fierce woman:
Wearing truths she taught you to know;
just waiting, for the next pearl of wisdom to fall from her lips.
They splash onto those around her like tears. 

Tears shed for the ruined and loved boy,
tears for the cherished and lost child,
tears for the battered and beautiful friend, 
And hot wet burning tears for her own failures in grace.

These precious pearls were made through 
the scratching of the sand of the world
That made wounds and scars on her heart.
That left their cutting mark, but were not felt in vain. 

The laughter in the eyes of a child should be cherished. 
Always.
for, the liquid sunlight dripping from their eyes will vanish in time.

But the laughter of a woman is stronger still. 
For she has seen the inside of the darkness
and chosen to turn her eyes back to the sun; 
Even when she does not believe in its existence.

The flower might close at night, but soon it will be morning
And with a choice of perseverance 
She will again lift her eyes. 

Sorrow is the hinge-pin, the centrepiece, of a woman's life.
It ties her to those around her with a triple woven tread. 
Its end is what grounds her, like an anchor in a storm.
She has seen this before. 
She knows: in time, a gleam will arise out of the bloodied mess of broken souls.

She stands
It’s a choice
She knows
And with love, She chooses to throw her heart back into the fray
In order to touch the child, seeing darkness for the first time,
The man waylaid and pushed to destruction,
The women abused night after night, 
The running family with bombs sounding still in their ears, 
And the quiet grief of a boy who has nothing left to give.

This is why we come to their feet.
This is why we trust them with our love.
Their eyes hold a well of sorrow and a smile of peace.
We know they can hold more, 
and still will choose to look up from the dark to the sun.

Don’t forget their sorrow,
don’t rush on into life without their hands
They have lived your future pain.

Young women, those just tasting the start of truth,
Do not be afraid.
Every warrior has her story.
Yes, you too will have yours.
But a battered heart is not a broken life.
It is only a woman more ready to love
Well,
Wisely, and

Always. 

Link also here: https://drive.google.com/file/d/16g6vYacHhssWLukJuJOcM3IUrg-TVUs8/view
 or here  https://bit.ly/30nTbNj

Good Friday Struggle

I hate it.  I really do.  I absolutely hate the story of the cross.

Today is Good Friday.  Today is the day we celebrate a story that I absolutely hate.   What an oxymoron.

This story.  This true, true story--- it tears at my heart and pains me in ways I can't explain.

Each year, as the day approaches and I know the story will be read and retold, I can feel myself wanting to run away and hide.  Like a child, I want to cover my ears, stick my head under my pillow, and never hear the horrible story again.  I hate it.

This past Monday morning, I was stunned by my visceral response when I remembered this was Holy week.  No! I could feel the cringe in my body and soul.  No! I don't want to read that part of the story.  The very mention of the topic and I can feel the sorrow, the pain, the suffering, and the tears welling up.

We call this day "good".  And, with all my heart, I believe and I know it IS indeed good--- so very good.  But, also, I can barely stand it.

It feels like reliving trauma or painful memories of my past.  Why must we, Lord?! 

Friday morning---this morning---we all enter the sanctuary and take our comfy seats.  The pastor reads the story out of Mark.  The parishioner reads from the Gospel of John.  We sing some songs.  They tell the story and share the truth of that day.  All morning, I can barely stand it.  I want to weep.  I want to wail.  Everything in me wants to scream!  Why must I hear again what my best friend---the man I love with all my heart---went through!?  Honestly, hearing the trauma and suffering is almost too much.  Even as I type this... I barely have words.  The heaviness of heart feels profoundly weighty.

Forgive them, for they know not what they do.

These words haunt me today.  These words tag along at my back, touch my cheek, and whisper deep into my heart.  I know I don't have a clue what I do!  I don't even get it.  All my rebellion.  All my selfishness.  All my pride and self-loathing.  Forgive me, Lord, for I don't know what I do! 

I found myself in Romans 7 earlier this week, frustrated with myself and my faithlessness.  "I do not understand what I do.  For what I want to do, I do not do.  But, what I hate, I do." (Romans 7:15)

I know that He pronounced it finished on that day.  He said it was finished that Good, very good, Friday.

For this, I am utterly undone.  My soul feels gratitude beyond words.  It is finished.  All my rebellion.  Covered, finished.  All my selfishness.  Finished and payed for.  All my pride and self-loathing.  Carried, covered, payed for, and finished.  

Forgive me, Lord, for I don't know what I do!  

This story.  This horrible story is the very center and foundation of all I know and all I absolutely need.  The result of that trauma--- my friend's horrific death and painful sacrifice---is the source of all that is good and right in my life.  All of it.

So, yes, I loath it... I really do.   I am grieving today.

But, I know and I remember, it very, very good.

"Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith.  For the joy set before him, he endured the cross, scorning it's shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God"  (Hebrews 12:2)

To Know

photo source

Each and every day there are things I just don't understand.

I like to understand.  I like to know.  This morning, I was struck with the reality that I don't hold ambiguity very well.  Many of us don't.

I remember taking a personality test a few years back that proved that my ability to tolerate ambiguity was quite low... or underdeveloped.  I didn't really need a test to show this.  I know it well.  Each and every day.

Yesterday we had some hard and sad news.  The news included certain pain.  But, also much ambiguity.  ...as does most difficult news. 

If I am honest, in my line of work, we have hard and sad news quite regularly.  But, don't we all?  I mean, really!?  Don't we all.  Each and every day.

I felt like yesterday's news hung around my neck like a dark, wet blanket.  Heavy.  Hard to carry.  How many times did I pray... Lord, I am just sad. Father, I feel so very sad.  
All day long, questions filled my mind...  Why?  Why, Lord?  What are You up to, here?  What are You doing? What should I do?   

I want to know the answer.  I like to know.

This morning I had a lovely moment of fleeting light and a lift to the heaviness of the damp, sad news.  Psalm 90 reminded me,

"Lord, You have been our dwelling place from generation to generation.  Before You made the mountains and brought forth the earth, from everlasting to everlasting You are God"  (Psalm 90:1,2)

As these words were read, I could feel the lift and the peace swell deep within my heart.

He is.  And, He knows.

Stephanie, I know.  

Is that enough?  Today, yes, it is enough.   God isn't ambiguous.  He, Himself, is firm, certain, clear, and definite.  He has always been.  He will always be.  From always and for always...  and He knows.

You know, Lord.  

Solid One, my rock.  You are the place I live.  You are my home, my refuge, my hiding place. You are my dwelling place.   

A Friend's Lament...Tears as Intercession

When I heard the news, I immediately burst into tears!

Tragedy struck my friend's family last weekend and I could barely believe my eyes as I read.  NO!  I can't possibly be understanding this correctly... No, Lord... NO!

The stream of tears surprised me.  Tears, like I have said before, are not a norm for me... and yet, they came like a torrent.  I wept for my friend.  I wept for the loss of a brother.  I wept for the children. Very few words... only tears.

It was as if the Lord was allowing me to feel, just a small tiny bit, of what she and her kiddos must be feeling when they heard that their father was gone.  ...in an instant.  One car.   One moment.  And, his life here on earth was over.

The shock.  The trauma.  The confusion. The pain.  ...oh! the grief, Lord!

While, I know, we don't grieve like those without faith... (1 Thessalonians 4:13) We have a great and enduring hope!  I am certain, without any shadow, where this man who loved God is now living--- oh! the glory of the resurrection! 

BUT, while we don't grieve without hope; we do still grieve.  We must grieve.  We must lament. We turn our hearts and our tears into a Psalm to set before the Father's heart.   When I read the news, I wanted to wail, to rend my garments and put ash on my head.

Our hearts are made for eternity.  Death is a separation that cuts and bleeds and tears at our very God-made natures.  We know we are made for more... for always-togetherness.  Death feels like a harsh blow in the now.

For days now, I have been carrying this friend.  Night and day.  As if I am walking so very closely to these dear ones.  It is like I can hear their hearts, feel their cries.  I have been feeling deep and profound sadness for days.  "When one part of the body hurts, the whole of the body hurts."  (1 Corinthians 12:26)  I know I am not alone in this pain-carrying.  I see it on social media.  Others are affected by this loss of a friend, a brother, a mentor.  We grieve and we pray.  We worship and we try to lend a hand.  What else do we have?

I believe that God gifts us with this grief-intercession in order to bear the burden and lighten the load. Jesus Himself is the "light" yoke (Matthew 11:28)--- and we are His hands, feet, mouth, and His eyes as we cry.

Lord, may my tears to you be an offering---an intercession.  Would You count all our tears as we grieve and would You have mercy and hear our cry?  We know this world is not our home.  We put our trust in You alone.  We believe that You are the God of all comfort; that you, Jesus are a man of sorrows, well acquainted with suffering.  Oh! How this mamma and those children need You right now.  We ask, ...we know..., that you will come alongside and cover.  Just as their daddy once covered... would You be their shield and their rock; their strong tower in the midst of this time of trouble.  

~~To support and carry this family, please consider giving to their go-fund-me account. We can lend a hand and lighten the load, even if only slightly.

Songs of My Heart

photo source

Like a stream of consciousness, the memories come unbidden.

I was simply sitting down to blow dry my wet hair and then in my mind's eye, I am there...  nearly 20 years ago, but I am "seeing" it and feeling it, like it was yesterday.

While in this season of launching my first child, there seems to be this movement in my mind... seemingly random memories coming like a wave.

Different things trigger the memories---a picture, a smell, a song, a comment.  This morning it was music.  As I often do,  I hit play on my "Worship" playlist.  I sat to begin a regular morning routine of makeup and hair.  Within only a few notes, the memory came rushing in...

link for song...  take a listen, if you can

The song begins with ..."It is our confession what we are weak... so very weak!" 

In a moment, I was taken back...  holding, rocking, clutching a baby girl.  We had taken this little one with us across the ocean into a backwater country.  Young and terrified, I stood over her crib, holding her tiny body while her fever screamed at my momma's heart, "Be afraid, be very afraid!"  

It is an intense fear that we feel as we hold our little ones and watch them writhe and struggle against sickness.  It is a deeply intense fear that we all feel when we are out of control... when we can't fix it, we can't make it okay.  

That night long ago, it was this song that I sung over her.  As I held her and prayed, the words seemed to flow out of my soul---a song, a prayer, a confession---

 "It is my confession, Lord, that I am weak---so very weak---but, You are strong!"

It's our confession, Lord that we are weak…So very weak, but You are strong

And though we've nothing, Lord…To lay at Your feet

We come to Your feet and say, "Help us along"

A broken heart and a contrite spirit, You have yet to deny

Your heart of mercy beats with love's strong current.

Let the river flow, God.  By Your Spirit now, Lord we cry

Let your mercies fall from heaven! Sweet mercies flow from heaven!

New mercies for today--Shower them down Lord, as we pray

How long did I rock her and sing this song over her that night?  It feels like I have been singing and rocking this over her for her entire life!

Today, as I writhe and struggle with the feelings of launching her.  As I watch her sadness, her pain, and as I feel my own...  As we truly roller-coaster-ride the ups and downs of this launch:  ...excitement, hope, anticipation, mixed with the high fever of grief, frustration and terror...

As her tears, and mine, scream at us, "Be afraid, be very afraid!",  I am in that selfsame place I was 18 years ago.  

I am holding her, rocking her with my heart, and I am praying these very same words... 

Help us along!  New mercies for today, Lord, shower them down as we pray!  

And, each time I sing this.  Each time I pray...  He holds and He rocks.  He stills.  In these moments, I know He sings over my soul.  Even when I can't hear it, I know He is singing...  He is always singing His song.  

Today, I choose to listen and lean in.  I let Him hold me and rock me.  Today, I say "yes" and hear His words--- Be strong and courageous.  Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go (Joshua 1:9)

Sorting and Slowly Saying Goodbye

She is sorting her room.  It's time.  In 12 short weeks, she will pack up and leave this home... beginning the launch into a new world.

Bravely, she has been sorting and purging her things.  Her clothes...  ah!! but, I remember her in that shirt, that dress, that sweater!  

This girl, my sweet girl.  The one who keeps everything... the girl who remembers gifts given to her from 10 years ago.
With courage, she sorts and she purges.

Her art... her crafts...her jewelry... her books...   ah!  I remember those art books and the years of painting with those brushes!   ah!  I remember her devouring that book series.  

Unlike some, we don't have the freedom (or the "illusion" of freedom) to assume we will be in this physical place forever... so she has to pack it all up.  It all needs to be put in a box or a bag... a few things to store for "memory" sake (can Grandma's attic even take any more of our things!?)  ...a few things to fill a dorm room.

Most of her things...  most---we will just give away.  The first load went today.  Dad drove it up to the local charity store and offered these things as a gift.  We lay it down and give it away.  It feels heavy as we carry the boxes of books and label them "free to a good home".  ...in a strange way, the books feel like they have life in them---tied so strongly to a lovely memory of her.  Her childhood in a pile stacked in a box.  ...memories of her snuggled up in bed, reading.

It's a strange journey we walk here on earth.  All of us.  We know, somewhere deep, that this earth is not our home.  We are not long for here.  We know this.  Scripture tells us that walking this sod is only a quick, whispering breath in the scheme of time and Reality.

"Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business, and make a profit.” You do not even know what will happen tomorrow! What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, “If the Lord is willing, we will live and do this or that.” (James 4:13-15)

Our lives are just a mist...  a mist that appears and then vanishes.  

So why does it hurt so much to let these things go?  Why does this pink sweater, this piece of art, that necklace, and these books... why do they tug at my mother's heart and hurt so much.  Why does the box of books feel so very heavy as I lay it down? 

I am pondering and sorting with her, I think.  I am sorting through memories.  Sorting through the truth of these last 18 years...  

I told her today that part of me wants to do it all over again!  She was such a joy to parent.  Like a good, familiar book that you want to snuggle up to read over and over again---I want to 'read' those years just one more time.  

But books are not always for keeping---they mold and gather dust.  The jewelry rusts.  The sweater will fray...  And, the sweater is not her. These things are not full of life.

And, ....and, my girl is not for holding-on-to.   I can't keep her.  She was never mine to begin with...  I must let go.  I must continue to release and surrender.  

Bravely, today I sort and purge with my girl.  I remember and rejoice.  I regret and rehearse.  With courage, I allow the very-now of sadness and grief to come.  I let go and lay down.  I hope and I pray. I trust and I press-in to the One who IS always.  

For, I, too, am launching into a new place...  

A Mother's Lament

photo source

I sent her off on a jet plane.

She is only going for a few weeks this time---a trial run, really.  Not the real launch.  Not yet.

In one big, true way I can see she is more than ready and it "feels right and good".  And, yet...
And, yet... wasn't it just last week that I was helping her eat, stand and learn to walk.  Wasn't it just yesterday that she was snuggled in or singing and swinging in my yard.

I keep saying it to friends, when they are kind enough to ask--- it feels like I am birthing again. It feels like labor.

Horrible, wonderful, productive, sickening, necessary and painful labor.  When you give birth to a baby, you know that this is "right and good" and you wait and watch in wonder.  It is "as it should be".  But, man---oh---man, does it hurt.  This has been my experience these past months as we ready our family to launch our first daughter.

As she walked away from us at the airport with bounce and confidence... I wanted to feel excitement and joy.  And, I did.  She is ready.  Mixed emotions swirl---joy, pride, peace.  But, what I feel most strongly is deep grief and sadness.  It is so hard to let go.  Tears came unbidden even in the very public airport.  They stream out, with little attention to the "appropriate" time-and-place.

Tears well up even as I type.  How do I do this with You, Lord?  How do I trust more and lean into You alone?  

When a woman gives birth her everything changes.  Scientifically we know that labor and delivery changes a mother's brain, her muscles, her hormones, her skin---it all changes.  Before I was pregnant, my hair was a light, bright blonde.  After birth, my hair quickly grew thicker and darker. All "young" toe-head blonde Stephanie was lost with this babe.

These babies.  These dear ones change everything.

And, now, I find myself in the same state.  Changing.  Watching, waiting, feeling the swirling anticipation and anxiety.  Eighteen years of my life with my heart, soul, and body turned toward her.  ...and now she walks away.  With beautiful, bounding energy, she prances away into the passport line.  It is as it should be.  Right and good.  And, it is deeply painful at the very same time.

I checked my phone yesterday way too many times; obsessed with wanting her "touch" via that whatsapp or messenger.

I close the door to her bedroom, so I don't have to look in to the empty as I pass by.

I struggle for the gumption to make our regular Saturday morning fun-breakfast; as if her not being with us makes it less than.       Ah... the pains of labor.

I read in Ann Voskamp's newest book, "I know a mother's labor and delivery never ends, and you have to keep remembering to breathe" and my soul shouts: Yes, Ann!  Yes! This is exactly what I have been saying these past months.  I will remember to breathe, Lord.  Breath You in---the giver of life, my hope, my strength and my joy.  

Breathe.  Just breathe.

"As long as I have life within me, the breath of God is in my nostrils."  Job 27:3

Watch and wait.
As with labor and delivery, good things are coming in the midst of the pain.
God things are around the corner.

A Lion's Tears

It was the tears on the face of the lion that made my heart stir. The descriptive picture of his face and his tears instantly brought tears to my own eyes. My chest ached a little as I listened to the story. And, in that moment I learned something. Nothing new. I just learned it again. ...maybe in a new way.

We just finished reading The Magician's Nephew by C.S. Lewis together as a family. It has been such a sweet journey for me to listen, with my children, to my husband's rich voice read these classic books out-loud.

It isn't my first time reading the Chronicles of Narnia... and it won't be my last. So rich. So full of lessons of truth and love.

Today, in our reading, the boy "Digory" speaks with Aslan, the lion, about his dying mother. With tears, this young boy, pleads that Aslan would heal his mother and asks that she would be well. This boy weeps as he intercedes for his mother, pleading with the great lion (who in these marvelous books can do pretty much anything!).

As the boy weeps and pleads, his head is bowed before the lion. And, then ...he looks up. As he raises his head, he sees something that surprises him. And, it surprises the reader. Aslan is crying with him. Aslan is grieving with Digory in that moment. Deep grief. The connection between this little "Son of Adam-boy" and Aslan is deep and lasting.

It is those tears that help Digory move forward in his grief later in the book. It is the compassionate face of Aslan that make all things right in Digory's heart... despite the circumstances in which he finds himself.

My heart was stirred. My welling tears were real. And, my chest ached just a bit today as we read.

After feeling the difficulty of my illness last week. After witnessing devastating darkness on the night streets of Bangkok. After walking along side many hurting people last week... hearing many difficult stories and witnessing real, deep, painful tears ...

...I wrote in my journal: "How, Father, do we know Your rest and Your safety in the middle of this sin-stained, woe-ful, dark world? Where are You, Lord? When will You make it better?"

Today, I raise my head and only have to glance at His face. And, I know what I see there. His big, full, heart-wrenching tears join mine. His face says it all. He knows. He sees. He hurts.

...with me.

More than me.

And, this picture of my Father's face... This picture of His Son, my brother Jesus' face.. The image of the grieving Holy Spirit... They help me to know that I am connected to something much bigger, much more real and more eternal.

I am far from, very far from, alone in my grief.

And, my head raises and my soul is comforted by my Lion's tears.

Rain and Sunshine

The sky, in this land I am living, is always moving and changing. Beautifully blue this morning, it is now raining. Raining hard. ... and I know that at any moment it could change.

As I watched the rain today I was reminded of a verse... where is that one? I can't remember where in the Word, but I know it says that God allows the sun and the rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous... or something like that. Rain and Sun. Both allowed. Both fall on those who worship Him and on those who do not.

I have had a hard time reconciling the rain and sunshine this week. The deep hardships of dear friends, the wars, the floods, and the sickness of the world are a confusing scene when the backdrop is my lovely children picking the apples on my garden's apple tree. How do the two live so intimately together? How can I be so sad, and the world be so ugly AND beautiful all at the same time?

I wash dishes and smile as I hear the playing of piano. My eight year old is creating and making the most beautiful music... and then moments later, only moments later, I am reminded of the sadness, the loss, the grief and I begin to cry. Tears and smiles. Rain and Sun. How are they to live together? Where is the harmony?

But, there is harmony, isn't there? I feel it. I sense it. And, I know it resides in a forever, ever Present, all-knowing, good and loving Father. My deep-within-gut seems to know something of peace that my heart is struggling with.

... finding myself annoyed at my emotional ups and downs, my fragile heart, my tenderness... and yet my gut feels that it is right. The ups and downs are reality. Life is both beautiful and ugly. ...together. Complex.

Is this how it is for Him to watch, to live among us, to walk with us? Is this what Father feels everyday, all day. Smiles and tears. Laughter and weeping. Sunshine and Rain.

I don't know. But it is what I am feeling today... watching the wild sky and wondering what will come next... the smile or the tears. Will the sunshine shine brilliantly or will the clouds let loose and pour out with force...
"He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous" (Matthew 5:45)

Equilibrium

"I can't think of anything worth saying... but I know I owe you my life" (Aaron Shust)

My equilibrium is off. Not physically, but spiritually and emotionally. I am out-of-sorts and unbalanced. I feel unstable and maybe a bit confused. I am tired and cranky. And, my thoughts are random and distracted.

"Dazed and confused. Calloused and bruised. My spirit is left wanting something more.." (Aaron Shust writes in his "Give Me Words to Speak") And, he sings words that seem to connect to my heart.

What words do I have?

I just read a quote by Blaise Pascal and a light bulb went off for me, "All human evil comes from a single cause, man's inability to sit still in a room. All men's miseries derive from not being able to sit in a quiet room alone."

I think I need to sit still. I need the muddied waters of my soul, my mind, and my heart to settle down. I need to think. I need to feel. I think I just need to sit still.

Last night I had the opportunity to sit quietly in a room... alone. And, I just didn't take it. I turned on a movie and added to the noise, the imbalance, to the chaos that is my heart.

Why do I run from it? Why don't I take those sweet stolen moments the Father gives to me, those quiet moments... that I know will set me right, or in the least begin the process of "righting" my balance.

In part, I think I am trying to run from the pain, from the sadness that still lingers in my heart from this week's difficult and sad news. I think, in part, the outside noise drowns out the chaotic flow of thoughts and questions raging in my heart right now. ... this is easier, right?--- to live in the noise and the business of life, ignoring the presence of overwhelming questions and unanswerable issues of life.

But I know better. I really do. I know that I need to sit still and just think. I need to feel those hard feelings. I need to ask those difficult questions of my Father. I need to quiet down and let silence, solitude, and His Presence do a work that noise and activity will never accomplish.

...to set my equilibrium right. For, I am a bit off today.

"Give me words to speak, don't let my spirit sleep. Cuz I can't think of anything worth saying... but I know I owe you my life."

It often cheers my heart to think that since the Lord made me he can put me right, and keep me so to the end.
- Charles Spurgeon

Even if He doesn't

Even if He doesn't.

This is what my brothers, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego said to their king Nebuchadnezzar. The king asks them, with a sneer you can read in his words, "What god will be able to rescue you from my hand?"

And theses bold brothers answer Him, "If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and he will rescue us from your hand, O king. But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up." (Daniel 3)

Our God is able! If we get sick, our God is able! If we get lost, our God is able! If we get stuck, our God is able!

Our God is able to cure any cancer and heal all disease... My God is able to dispel depression and fix any marriage. My God is able to bring any soul to salvation and rescue any man from a lion's den! My God is able to rescue me from any king, any furnace, or any hand. This I know as sure as I know anything.

They told the king God was able. And then they pause and say... But even if He doesn't

Even if He doesn't... He is still worthy of all my praise. He is still worthy of all my worship. He is still good. And, He is still in control. He is the Creator of the Heaven and the Earth. He sits on His throne and His faithfulness endures forever.

My God is able. Simply put... He can. And often, He does! But, sometimes He doesn't. And even if He doesn't, I will still worship Him.

Even if He didn't.

Flood of Tears

Tears finally came today. ...and they rushed out of my soul like a flood. Tears don't come easily to me--- not that I don't feel sad often enough to cry... I do, of course; but, I have never been very good at crying. So, when tears DO come, they flow like a torrent. Today I had a tsunami of tears. From my gut, from deep within, I wept.

I wept with my friend, who must sit up nights and watch her little one in a hospital bed, begging for our Father to heal. I wept with my friend, wondering what she must have felt as she stood before the gun... knowing she was next in line for death. I wept.

As I thought of this friend, dead now and in a white robe before Our Father's throne, I remembered what it says about those martyred for their faith. As I wept, my heart recalled:

"I saw under the altar the souls of those who had been slain because of the word of God and the testimony they had maintained. They called out in a loud voice, "How long, Sovereign Lord, holy and true, until you judge the inhabitants of the earth and avenge our blood?" Then each of them was given a white robe, and they were told to wait a little longer, until the number of their fellow servants and brothers who were to be killed as they had been was completed." (Revelation 6)

And as I wept, I prayed. I prayed, "Avenge her blood, Lord!" "Avenge her!" my soul cried out to God. How do I put in words what my soul prayed this morning. ... The vengeance, or justice, that I was asking for was none other than the salvation of a nation. I was asking God to avenge her blood by doing that which her murderers hated so much... bring Your kingdom to that land, Father!! Pour out Your spirit and bring many to faith. Rip the nation from their hands, from the hands of darkness, and give the people Your light! My gut was calling out for justice and I believe the heart of my Father heard my cry.

Avenger her blood, O kind, just and merciful Father. May Your kingdom come in that land. Would You pour down and rip away that land from the enemy. Tear the people away from a lie and bring Your truth! Do this Father, I pray!!

Wait a little longer... he says. Just a little longer, He tells His people.

And now I walk through this day asking the Lord how I can live rightly. How do I live my life in a worthy manner, a life worthy of the calling for which she died? So that... I might, by His grace, sit up late at night watching a loved one sick in a hospital bed. Or, so that... I may face a gun and trust in Him alone.

The tears came and now, I feel an urgency in my soul to live my life with Him as my all, my only, and my hope.

Really, Lord?

Really? "Really, Lord?"... my soul sighed as I heard the third piece of devastating and difficult news today.

No tears have come. Not yet. Just a deep sadness sits in my gut. And a rumbling of emotion making its way up to the brink of overflow. My eyes begin to fill, my heart hurts ... And, then... well, then it is time to make lunch. Or, laundry to be done. Right?

Really, Lord? My heart says to my Father today. Not angry. Confused, yes. Overwhelmed, I guess. Frustrated? ... okay, maybe angry, too. I don't know.

But, certainly sad. I am sad. And, I want these "notices" of suffering to stop. Enough already!!

Was it enough to have my teenage friend struggle with a serious long term illness? Was it enough to hear about my little 6 year old friend diagnosed with leukemia?? Was it enough to hear about the baby that was born and didn't live through the night? No, now it was a martyr. A friend. CNN has a list and her name is on it. But, she isn't just a name to be sad over... sad enough as it is. She was my friend. She slept in my house and ate my scrambled eggs.

It is hard to understand how to grieve rightly. ...or what to feel. ...or what to say. ...or what can you do? ...

And, then to see God's hand amidst the pain makes it even more confusing. Yes, Father, already I have seen the provisions, the faithfulness, Your presence... and from my heart moments of worship have welled up from my deep. Already I can point to answers of prayer. But, why the pain, Father? It is hard to worship You and at the same time watch the pain and suffering. To see the pain and suffering right along side the provision is hard for my mind. It feels too complex. I don't know whether to be angry and confused with You, Father, or to worship and thank You... both are readily available.

So, I guess I will do both. As Job did... I will worship and I will question. I will raise my hands in praise and thanksgiving. I will place my hand over my mouth and I will cry in frustration.

For I know that You know where every lightening bolt will go, you know where the water will flow and you tell it when to start and stop... You know every day of our lives.

You know my teen friend, my 6 year old friend, my young mother-friend, and my martyred friend. You know them by name. You saw them rise out of bed and You have gone before them and are behind them. I know this all too well ..and I am sad, Lord. I don't get it. I am frustrated and yet, strangely led to worship, as well. I have seen, already, the provision... Your faithfulness, Your strength, and Your peace.