Summer Writing 2 : When I think I Can’t

There are days … moments … seasons … when I think I can’t …

I can’t face one more day.

I can’t face the night.

I can’t face one more meltdown…

Not one more rage…

Not one more demand on my exhausted mind and body.

I can’t face one more feeling of isolation.

I can’t face one more season of loneliness.

I can’t face one more trial borne alone on my weary shoulders.

I can’t face one more …

Have you experienced this as well?

When everything inside of you is screaming that you simply can’t … ?

It is a feeling I know well.

This morning I woke feeling just as fatigued as when I went to bed the night before.

We are in break weeks, which I shared about here, Summer Writing and I make no apology for the overwhelmed, exhausted place I am in.  It goes with my journey.

I am human.  The road is challenging.  I am pouring out constantly.  Little is coming back in.  My cup is mostly empty.  My strength depleted.  It is hard to face the demands of another day.  Sometimes, I feel like I can’t.

I recognize these times in life as crossroads.  The road is definitely going a certain direction, but at various points, it splits and I must choose, which path I will go.

photo of pathway surrounded by fir trees

Photo by James Wheeler on Pexels.com

To the untrained eye, the paths look relatively the same.  But to the pilgrim who has journeyed this way before, there is more than meets the eye.  The one path is the way of righteousness.  It is the path that Christ Himself walked.  It is the path of trust and surrender.  It is the way of sacrifice.  It is the path that has little appeal to most who pass this way because it is not the easy way.

The second path is the way of self.  It is a much broader path than the other and considerably more alluring.  It appears as being a more level path but it gradually slopes downward, while the other rises above.  On this path, companions, such as Self-Pity and Self-Indulgence, run wild and free, ready to lead you further than you may want to go.

To the one who is familiar with the snares the enemy uses, there arises inside a warning cry not to follow that second path.  It looks harmless at onset, but many a pilgrim has gone that way, never to be seen again.  They become lost and they spend the remainder of their lives wandering aimlessly, never moving forward. Never rising above.  Some have taken that path only to recognize their mistake.  The journey back to the path of righteousness is often particularly arduous and difficult and rarely does a person make it without some scars.

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I stood in the quiet this morning, once again facing the crossroad that is particularly common on my journey.  The words ‘I can’t do this’ echoed in my thoughts and my foes, Resentfulness and Self-Pity, stood ready nearby to entice me down the path of self.

But as I stood there, I remembered all the times the Lord had been faithful as He led me on the paths of righteousness.  I remembered the battles hard-fought and won.  I thought of the incomprehensible peace that has been a part of my life because of following Him.

So when the whisper, “I can’t do this” came once more, I whispered back …

“You’re right.  I can’t.”

“But He can.”

 

The Lord is my shepherd,
I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside quiet waters.
He restores my soul;
He guides me in the [c]paths of righteousness
For His name’s sake.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil, for You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You have anointed my head with oil;
My cup overflows.
Surely goodness and lovingkindness will follow me all the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
Psalm 23

 

Summer Writing

Summer.

Thoughts of summer tend to inspire all kinds of images, memories, dreams, and plans.

Just this morning, while the rest of my family slumbered peacefully as I weeded flower beds outside, I was reminded of my own childhood summers.  I would often sleep in and when I finally stumbled down the stairs, the house would be quiet … my mother no where to be seen.  Yet, all I had to do was look out the back patio door and there I would usually find her, bent over, pulling weeds from the garden.  Back then I thought that the most terrible thing … working outside in the garden during those lazy early summer mornings.

Now, I see it differently.

I couldn’t wait to get outside this morning and even though I was quite weary and the temperatures already warm, I eagerly embraced the task of weeding my own flower beds.

Time has a way of adjusting our perspectives, doesn’t it?

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I’ve been thinking about perspectives quite a bit lately.  And writing.

Summer too.  Oh, and homeschooling.  Autism.  Family.  Relationships.  Personalities.

Children.  Hurt feelings.  Misunderstandings and feeling left out.  Faith.

The current culture.  The future.

So basically … life.

My oldest son, who is 18 and has severe autism, is currently on break from school.  There are those who are critical of this kind of honesty, but I can readily admit these are some of the most challenging days of the year for me personally.  When he is home, my radar is on 24/7 and it doesn’t take long for me to experience a certain level of burn-out as he begins to break down from the extended break in his routine.

It is a balancing act trying to keep him busy and productive without overstimulating him with too much activity, changes, and demands.  What an entire team of professionals do during a single day cannot be replicated by one weary mother who is balancing some extreme autistic behaviors, the needs of other children, and many diverse tasks and responsibilities.

During this burning-out phase, parts of my brain tend to slow or even shut down so that other parts can continue to function.  My thinking and overall reaction time slows, while my stress response actually quickens.  I sleep more but never feel rested.  I enter the familiar realm of survival.

It is what it is.

Typically in the days before I begin burning out, I write more.  I share little stories or the day’s events on social media.  I take more pictures.  It is a desperate attempt to reach out and connect because I am always afraid of getting lost in this world of survival.  I focus and share on the positives, wanting others to see and experience the smallest of steps of our journey.  Then suddenly, a switch flips and everything changes.

There is a hazy fog that fills me until I can only see the very next step ahead of me…

And sometimes not even that.

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This morning, I stepped outside into the quiet morning air with my coffee in one hand and my gardening gloves in the other.  I pushed the wheelbarrow over and then slowly, methodically began to weed my flower bed.  I would stop to sip my coffee and look around me before reaching back down for another invasive weed.  I contemplated both the beauty of the flowers and the quiet … and the One who created it all … and what all influences our perceptions.

When I was young, weeding a garden in the early morning hours when I could be sleeping, was unthinkable.  Now, it is a time to gather strength.  A time to be alone in the silence and talk with my Savior.  A time to listen to His instruction.

My perception of pulling weeds, and pretty much everything else, has changed over time.  The way I understand life and perceive it have altered considerably through life experiences, a deepening walk with God, a transforming worldview based on the truth of Scripture, trials, and the resulting maturity.

There is little that I see the same as when I was a child.

As it should be.

The difficulties of my youth, the things I cried into my pillow about, now seem less significant in the light of more recent heartaches.

Yet, to the naive child I was, those heartaches were deep and real.  I would never go back to that child and tell her that her tears were silly.  I would never tell her other people’s problems are more important than hers.  No, if I could go back, I would wipe her tears, teach her more about the Savior, walk with her through the heartaches, talk to her about making wise decisions, and then encourage her to see and reach out to the heartaches around her.

To the young woman who was so desperate to be loved that she hinged her entire identity on it, I would never dismiss her fears.  I would wrap my arms around her and direct her back to the One whose very love redeemed her and fills her life with more purpose and identity that she could possibly imagine.  I would encourage her to deepen and strengthen her walk with Christ before even considering dating or marriage.  I would caution her to seek Christ first and to make wise decisions.

To the married woman in a broken relationship, longing for a baby of her own, I would never make light of her desire for motherhood or the brokenness she was experiencing.  I would sit beside her, wipe away her tears, pray with her, and encourage her to love the children that are already in her life.  Invest in them, trust the Lord for her own future, learn the process of contentment, make wise decisions, and above all else, look to Christ first in all things.

You see, hindsight makes me look at all the various difficult seasons in my life very differently.  Because of the journey I have been on and the countless ways I have see God work on my behalf over many years, I understand things differently now.  But, I had to walk through all the very real and very hard things to learn this about Him.  The child I was could never begin to understand what I know now … nor could the woman I was five years ago.

My perception has changed and therefore how I respond to life has changed.

“When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me.”
1 Corinthians 13:11

One time I was asked by a person in ministry, who was walking through a very hard season in life, how I handle it when people complain to me about things that seem trivial in comparison to my journey.  Does it bother me?  I thought for a moment and then answered honestly that it used to bother me.  When a young mother would complain about her baby waking in the night or how tired she was, my insides would scoff as I thought about the years of sleep deprivation I have experienced …

But then I grew up.

I matured in my faith and I began to recognize the purpose of my trials and the strength of my Savior.  He developed in me an empathy and deep compassion for people and more than anything, this has deepened into a desire to be an encouragement to others.

So now when a young mother mentions how tired she is and then apologizes as she realizes how weary I am, I try to be quick to reassure her.  Her fatigue is very real.  Just because I am weary from years and years of sleep deprivation, does not make her any less weary.  It doesn’t make her fatigue any less important.  I always try to validate her and then encourage her that it is simply part of the journey and the Lord who walks with her can be her source of strength on the most weary of days and nights.  I want her to look to Jesus in the difficult times, as well as, the good.

Why else has God brought me through all these years if not to point others to Him?

A young mother’s perception of the early days of motherhood will adjust and change over time.  The present season we are in is usually the hardest season because we are learning and growing just as our children are.

The same is true for our fellow believers who are walking through life, with difficulties big or small.  I don’t get to determine the size of someone’s struggle or trial … I do not know their life experiences nor the depth of their faith.  I do not know know how they perceive life and I cannot expect them to view their difficulty through the same perception I have.  I can only love them, point them to Jesus, speak the truth from Scriptures, challenge them to make wise decisions, and pray that their faith would grow as they walk through whatever season of difficulty they are facing.

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As I pulled the weeds from my garden this morning, I asked the Father to pull the weeds of sin from my own life and to continue to grow and strengthen me even as the hazy fog of survival mode threatens to overwhelm me.  All I could hear in the silence was to continue to look to Him in all things, practice contentment, make wise decisions, show myself some grace, and write … write what I have learned and trust to be true.

The truths that strengthen me during some of the most wearying days of the year.

So, I offer to you my summer writing … because of Him.

 

 

 

 

Set like Flint

“For the Lord God helps Me, therefore, I am not disgraced; Therefore, I have set My face like flint, and I know that I shall not be ashamed.”
Isaiah 50:7

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I can’t tell you how many years I have begged God to change certain circumstances in my life.  I don’t want to tell you how long I lamented those circumstances when they did not change and simply grew more difficult as years went by.  When seasons of heartache last upwards of 20 years and some 35 years and beyond, one grows weary.

By last fall, I found myself teetering on the edge of despair.

Overwhelmed by the isolation of the storms, weakened by the longevity, and discouraged by the lack of growth, help, intervention, and relationship.

Disquieted because of what seemed as silence from the heavens above in the ongoing midst of these trials.

My nature tends to be more quiet and reserved.  Life experience on top of my personal nature has caused me to become more observant and introspective as time goes by.  I understand that some people don’t like this about me.  I rarely respond as others seem to expect me to and frankly, I no longer even try to.  My soul runs deep but I am mostly gentle and simple at heart.  I am loyal until betrayed and intensely protective of those I love.  Contention, strife, game-playing, blame-shifting … these are all enemies of my soul.

I have been, unfortunately, the ultimate people-pleaser.

And this has gotten me into considerable trouble.

For much of my life, my identity was based on what I heard and perceived from others.

I gathered all the words and perceptions and I built my identity on them.

Not only that, but I carried them throughout my life.

A whole bunch of crap, tied up in a burlap bag, and strapped to my shoulders.

It was a life built on a shaky foundation.

A foundation that I knew God was systematically dismantling, but I admit that I was not fully aware that He was also in the process of rebuilding…

A new foundation grounded in truth and on Christ alone.

A foundation tested and tried because of the very trials I despised.

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Over the last number of years, my studies have often been directed towards certain portions of the Bible over and over.  Passages that the Lord knew I needed to grasp in order to change and grow within my circumstances.  For a long time, the writings of James and Paul consumed my studies as I sought to understand the purpose of trials and sufferings.  Instead of fighting against God in these storms, I needed to learn to walk through them in His strength and leading.

Then 1 Corinthians 13 became a focused part of my pondering and studies.  Learning to love others as Christ loves us is often spoken of loftily and easily.  The reality is that it is a brutal process of dying to self and learning to seek the good of others before my own.  This just does not come easily to any of us, no matter how much we like to pretend it does.

More recently, Hebrews 11 has been the focus and I have to admit, I have not always appreciated this part of my studies.  Specifically because these tremendous people of faith died, never getting a happy end to their story.

“All these died in faith, without receiving the promises,
but having seen them and welcomed them from a distance,
and having confessed that they were strangers and exiles on the earth.”
Hebrews 11:13

This bothered me, to be honest, because I wanted a guarantee that I would have a happy ending here on earth.

The beauty of what is commonly known as the ‘Faith’ chapter is that these warriors of the faith, lived and died (sometimes horribly), not seeing the purpose of their sufferings and trials, yet remaining solid and true until the very end.  Their reward was not known to them on this side of eternity.

This has become achingly beautiful to me over time.  Living a life of faith and complete dependence on God, without ever knowing relief nor the reason until eternity.  These are my heroes.  These are my examples.  These are the ones I turn to when I grow weary in this journey. These are the cloud of witnesses the writer of Hebrews tells us about:

“Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witness surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him, endured the cross, despising the shame, and has set down at the right hand of the throne of God.  For consider Him who has endured such hostility by sinners against Himself, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.”
Hebrews 12:1-3

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Last week, I experienced something that has led to all these rambling thoughts.  An out-of-the-blue, random, and somewhat public attack on my character.

I was startled and taken aback.

Imagine it like this … envision a woman walking along her life’s journey, neither perfect nor without sin, yet minding her own business and simply accomplishing the tasks before her, when suddenly … randomly … someone hiding behind some shrubbery, hurls a rock in her direction.  A rock written with words seemingly intent to inflict harm.

The rock itself doesn’t hurt badly because it was thrown at a distance but still, it stings a little.  She finds herself knocked a bit off balance by the surprise of the attack.  Stunned by the words written on it.

She knew who threw the rock but still she looked around to see who was watching.

Would anyone come to her defense?

Had they seen the words?

Would they believe them?

She slowly reached down and picked up the rock and as she stood back up holding it, she looked directly at the thrower.

Yes, I see your words and I see you.  I see more than you realize.

And then, unsure how to respond, she turned away and continued walking because her journey doesn’t stop simply because someone else chooses to throw stones.

But she was still carrying that rock.

So what do you do with it?

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I have watched a considerable amount of stone-throwing in my lifetime.

Now, just to be clear, I am not talking about confronting a believer with the truth in Scriptures as a means of restoring them to righteousness.  That is speaking truth, even though it may come across as hurtful, for someone’s good.  It is not stone-throwing.  What I am referring to is the intentional (or sometimes even unintentional) use of words that harm or destroy a person’s character, testimony, or their emotional state.

So again I ask, what do you do if you are on the receiving end?

Well, perhaps you are like me.  I used to gather everything that was said or that I thought had been said, and I carried them across my shoulders.  Not only that, but I would look at them all the time … and I believed them.  Those rocks were my identity.   I chose those words over Christ.

Thank you Jesus for the cross and that I no longer have to carry that burden.  I still do sometimes because it is so familiar to me … but I am free to not do so.

Perhaps you are much more likely to respond quickly in anger, grabbing that stone before it can even touch the ground and hurling back towards the other person.

Matter of fact, there is a good chance you are able to grab a few extra stones lying around to send flying along as well.

Because they deserve it, of course.  

Maybe your anger doesn’t ignite that quickly but tends to simmer over time.  Eventually, the stones inspire a deep root of bitterness that seeps out through passive-aggressive, snide comments.

How dare they?  Don’t they realize how much I have done for them?  They owe me.  I’m the victim here.

Of course, sometimes we are too intimidated or maybe just unsure how to respond so we bottle it up inside until we explode onto some unfortunate, innocent soul who is completely in the dark.

Children, spouse, random grocery store clerk … 

All of these are common, instinctive responses and yet, none of them are right.

None are healthy.

None are righteous.

None follow the example of the Savior, who although completely innocent and pure (unlike you and me), stood silent before his accusers.  Nor does it follow the examples of the cloud of witnesses given to us in the book of Hebrews.

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I knelt alone, still holding that stone and reading those words.

Feeling a bit dejected and unsure …

But mostly I felt alone.

But yet, I wasn’t.  My Savior stood beside me.  The very one who set his face as flint as He stood unashamed before His accusers.  The very one who was the only innocent person to ever walk this earth and the only one without sin.

My Savior and my example.

He stood in the silence with me until I handed Him the stone and asked Him to show me what to do.  I know I am capable of any of the typical responses but I wanted His help.

Once in His hands, the truth became clear.

The words spoken of me were not true.

Neither were they my identity.

I began to understand anew the purpose of the trials, the trust that can arise from the deepest places of despair, the strength that grows from endurance, and the value of a solid new foundation grounded in the truth of a Savior.

“Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock. And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it.”
Matthew 7:24-27

 

You know,there is an interesting thing that can happen when you give an ugly stone that was intended to harm you to Jesus.   In my hands, that stone would only continue to be ugly and harmful, whether towards myself or others.  But in His hands, those words become meaningless and the ugliness of the rock transforms into a bright and shining pebble, which He carefully places to create beauty along my pathway.

Each stone serves as a reminder of who I am in Christ.

 

 

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How Can It Be A ‘Good Friday’?

“One day when Heaven Was filled with His praises,
One day when sin was As black as could be,
Jesus came forth To be born of a virgin,
Dwelt among men, my example is He!”

 

It is has been an almost unparalleled season of trial.

So much so that our beloved Easter season is upon us and I am completely unprepared.

I have nothing to give my children, true, but even more than that …

my heart hasn’t felt prepared.

I haven’t done the reading I typically do.

I haven’t thought about the days leading up to Christ death.

I simply have not prepared my heart as I tend to do during this season.

By yesterday, as I stumbled through the day on two hours of sleep, kept after my 18 year old son with autism who seems to have reengaged in behaviors from his younger years during this spring break, and did all the work a mother needs to do whether she is sleep-deprived or not, I felt crushed beneath the weight of the load.  I have felt this way for months but this week has felt too much.

I went to bed feeling somewhat defeated.

Such is the case when the trials of life are of the long-term variety and your journey tends to be one of isolation and loneliness.

Sometimes your body just begins to break down and your spirit groans within you.

Sometimes you just lay in your bed too weary to weep, too broken to speak, yet too overwhelmed to sleep.

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“…He withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, and He knelt down and began to pray, saying, “Father, if You are willing, remove this cup from Me, yet not My will, but Yours be done.” Now an angel from heaven appeared and strengthened Him. And being in agony He was praying very fervently; and His sweat became like drops of blood, falling down upon the ground.”  Luke 22:41-44

 

After a somewhat challenging night of sleep, I woke this morning and was immediately reminded that it was Good Friday.

The day we Christians observe the sacrifice and overwhelming love of our Savior.

When He, after a lonely night of agonizing prayer to God the Father, He submitted His will and prepared to lay down His life … for mine.

And yours.

How can this Friday possibly be considered ‘good’?

Propelling my exhausted body off the couch at the insistence of my dog who wanted to go outside, I began to make my way through the house, letting her out, making coffee, and trying to wake fully.

When I did, I saw the beauty of sunshine.

I saw green grass and yellow forsythias blooming.

I saw trees filled with the promise of spring as buds filled their branches.

I saw new life.

And I began to ponder this day in history.

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“One day they led Him up Calvary’s mountain,
One day they nailed Him to die on the tree;
Suffering anguish, despised and rejected:
Bearing our sins, my Redeemer is He!

 

Sometimes I wonder what Jesus was thinking as He stood before Pilate and Herod.  When He was struck and beaten, scorned and reviled, mocked and stripped?

How did He endure such torment and torture?

When He fell beneath the weight of the cross on the way to Golgotha, was Heaven on His mind?  Or was it the reason for his sacrifice?

The creation that He came to redeem.

When He laid down on the cross, holding still as the soldiers nailed him fast …

When they hoisted the cross into the air, jolting his already broken body …

As He struggled to breathe while listening to the crowd mock and jeer …

Feeling a separation from His Father for the first time …

And all the darkness rejoicing to see the One they hated suffer …

Was He thinking, “One day, a child is going to cry out for forgiveness and because of this day, I will be able to forgive her and call her my own.”?

“One day that child of Mine will face incredible heartache and grief and will want to give up but because of what I am enduring, I will be able to help her endure.”

“One day she will feel broken but because of my brokenness, she will be healed.”

“And one day I will bring her home with Me to heaven and I will wipe away all her tears because sin will no longer touch her life.”

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“It was now about the sixth hour, and darkness fell over the whole land until the ninth hour, because the sun was obscured; and the veil of the temple was torn in two.  And Jesus, crying out with a loud voice, said, “Father, into Your hands, I commit My Spirit.” Having said this, He breathed His last.”  Luke 23:44-46

 

Have you ever wondered what all transpired in the time after Jesus spoke those words and in the days following?

The immense grief and fear of His followers as they cared for his broken body and placed Him in a borrowed tomb?

The awed silence in Heaven as the angels waited and watched?

The laughter and wicked rejoicing from all the powers of darkness and hell?

Sometimes this is what life feels like to us too.

Times of grief … times of waiting … times of uncertainty … times of silence while the wicked rejoice and seemingly thrive.

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“One day the grave Could conceal Him no longer,
One day the stone rolled away from the door;
Then He arose, over death He had conquered;
Now is ascended, my Lord evermore!”

 

I like to ponder that moment in heaven when God the Father told the angels it was time.

After three days of silence while watching the masses of hell scream in victory, it was time for the true Victor to rise.

The earth shook and the massive stone was rolled away as Jesus Christ broke free from the cruel clutches of death and stood at the door of His tomb … no longer in His broken earthly body, but standing tall as the risen and holy Son of God.

The quiet of heaven must have broken forth with glorious song as the powers darkness and hell now watched in stunned silence.

And then days later, that same Jesus, who had come to this earth as a baby, lived, loved, and served before dying an agonizing death on the cross, rose into the heavens taking His rightful place beside His Father.

The Lamb.

The Sacrifice.

Our Redeemer.

The One who paid the penalty of sin and death so we don’t have to.

The One who defeated sin and stands before the Father making intercession for us.

The One who is well-acquainted with grief and who helps us bear our sorrows.

Because He lives, we can face tomorrow with confidence, peace, and joy, knowing we are secure in Him.

It is a Good Friday indeed.

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“One day the trumpet will sound for His coming,
One day the skies with His glory will shine;
Wonderful day, my beloved One bringing;
Glorious Savior, this Jesus is mine!

Living, He loved me; dying, He saved me;
Buried, He carried my sins far away;
Rising He justified freely forever:
One day He’s coming– O glorious day!”

  ~One Day written by J.Wilbur Chapman (1910)~

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~ A Girl, A Dress, and Jesus ~

My niece is getting married this summer and she has asked my 13 (soon to be 14) year old daughter, MB, to be her junior bridesmaid.  I am so excited this precious niece of mine is marrying such a wonderful man, but what makes it all even sweeter is having my daughter invited to be a part of the ceremony.

The wedding plans are being pulled together in a relatively short period of time and finding a dress for my daughter did not seem to be that difficult of a challenge, especially in comparison to finding a venue, the bride’s dress, or a caterer.  The fact that my niece lives a few hours away and is only able to visit home on occasional weekends, pushed the search for a bridesmaid dress lower and lower on the to-do list.

We finally found an open window with my niece (and Grandma) to visit our only local bridal store (local for us means a 45 minute drive) on a Sunday afternoon in the midst of an exceptionally busy weekend, which had left my ‘shopping-intolerant’ daughter already exhausted.

We met our consultant, ‘Cricket’ (Isn’t that the most fun name??), and began looking through the fairly small selection of junior bridesmaid dresses and picking out a few for MB to try on.  One, in particular, we were hoping would work because it was similar to what another attendant would be wearing and we knew it could be ordered in time in the color we needed.  Each dress was quickly dismissed by my daughter for simply not fitting her petite frame well or feeling very uncomfortable.

Except one.

Cricket brought a dress to the fitting room that I had eyed earlier but which had been dismissed because of its vibrant design. She suggested my daughter try it as she assured us that it could be ordered in the mint green color our bride desired.  MB tried it on, slowly opened the dressing room door, and there she stood with the first smile of the appointment!  She loved this dress and we loved it on her — it was absolutely perfect!

We were sure this was ‘the one.’

Then Cricket cautioned us not to get too excited because said she needed to make sure it could be ordered in time for the quickly approaching June wedding.  All of our hearts sank as she came back, shaking her head, and informing us that it was absolutely impossible to get this dress in time.  The soonest it would arrive in the needed mint green was a full month AFTER the wedding.  We were so disappointed and I watched my daughter wilt as she tried on more dresses, wanting to please everyone, but feeling dreadfully uncomfortable.  That unattainable dress was the only one she liked and felt comfortable in … the only one that was guaranteed to arrive in time was the one she hated most of all and felt the most uncomfortable in.

Finally, I called a halt.  I suggested that we stop for the day and that we would come back another day, just my daughter and I.  Our consultant agreed and told me to call and make an appointment with her … she insisted she would be able to find something.

I made an appointment for the following Saturday and tried not to think too much about it.  I saw the selection and knew we didn’t have a lot of options.  I checked local department stores, but none seemed to carry anything remotely appropriate for the wedding.  I kept praying about it and finally, Saturday morning, I asked the Lord to somehow provide a way for my daughter to get the dress she loved in the mint green color, despite the clear impossibilities, or if not that one, to provide another dress that she would love and be just as comfortable in.  I just wanted her to feel comfortable, beautiful, and wrapped in love for this very special day.  We all did.

We arrived a little before 4:00 for our appointment, only to learn that our appointment was actually scheduled for 4:30 and our consultant was working with a bride.  The lady at the front desk said that if we didn’t want to wait, other consultants were available and even though my time-efficiency instinct started to kick in, I felt deep inside that we needed to wait for Cricket.  So I told her we would wait and simply look around, which I did with a reluctant daughter in tow.  I finally drew out of her that she had convinced herself that she needed to get that one dress that we knew would arrive on time, even if she hated it for herself.

We only had to wait a few minutes before our consultant successfully sold her bride a lovely wedding dress and was ready for us.  We did decide to try that hated dress on once more in a bigger size, as well as, another one that I had found.  She started with the second dress and liked it but before we could celebrate, Cricket warned us that this dress probably wouldn’t arrive on time for the June wedding either.  So, with a heavy heart, I asked my daughter to try on the first dress … the hated one.

She tried it on and we helped zipper the back only to discover it was a size too big so Cricket decided to have her try on a smaller size  … a size six. As we waited for her to bring it to us, I watched with sadness as my daughter squirmed and itched and pulled at her dress.  I knew that the size six would not feel any more comfortable for her and that she was miserable in the dress.  But I also knew that given the time restraints, at the present time, it seemed our only option.

My heart cried out to the Lord to do something for her because I felt powerless.

Cricket brought her the dress in a size 6 and as my daughter was changing, she told me that she wanted to go grab another dress.  She said it was a really cute dress, it was actually in the mint green color we needed, and it was a size 6 … just like the dress my girl was trying on.

So she went to get it while I waited and hoped for a miracle.

And then she returned,  carrying a lovely, mint green, flowing dress …

the VERY DRESS my daughter had tried on the week before and LOVED!

The very dress we were told could never arrive in time for our June wedding.

Right there in front of me.

I am sure my jaw hit the floor as I exclaimed to the consultant that it was the same dress … the one we wanted so badly from the week before.  She looked at it again and her eyes widened before getting all excited herself.   She shared with me that this particular dress had been driving her crazy all day because it had been hanging by itself in the wrong section and every time she walked by it, she noticed it but she never had time to put it away.  Because she saw it all day and because it bothered her all day, it came to mind as she was helping us.

She then said in a hushed, awe-filled voice, “I think it must have been set aside in the wrong place because this dress was meant for Mary Beth.  It was just waiting for her to get here.”

I smiled as I remembered my cry to the Lord that morning and simply said, “Oh, I know it was.”

My daughter, completely unaware of what was transpiring outside her door, slowly opened it and asked if I could zipper the back.  I refused and told her that we had another dress to try on first and moved aside so she could see the dress Cricket was holding … oh, her face was pure delight as she immediately recognized it!

The next time she opened the door, her face was glowing and her trademark smile was back in place.  Cricket told her she looked beautiful and she glowed even more.  Cricket gave the dress a going over and while it was a little too big, she felt sure it could easily be altered to fit MB’s petite frame.

This dress, the only dress my daughter loved and which had been absolutely unavailable to us just a week before, arrived at the bridal store in the days between our first and second appointments … in the very color we needed.  Then on Saturday, it was misplaced and set apart in a section that caught Cricket’s attention all day until the very moment when she was drawn to it for Mary Beth.  The right color … an easily alterable size … the perfect dress.

Usually these dresses have to be ordered but Cricket said that this dress was meant for Mary Beth so she sold it to us, right off the rack.  It was even on sale!

As we walked towards the counter, all of us smiling and in complete awe of what had just transpired, my niece sent me a text asking how the dress search was going. We all stopped in the middle of the store as I texted her the picture I had taken of my daughter wearing the beautiful dress with a delighted smile to match … it was such a wonderful moment of shared joy between all of us.

At 4:31, one minute after our scheduled appointment time, I walked out of the store with the perfect dress in one arm and my other arm wrapped around my sweet daughter.  As the doors fell shut behind us, I said softly into her ear, “Oh my darling, do you have any idea how much Jesus must love you?”

She simply gave her little giggle, smiled her most beautiful smile, and said “Yes, I think so.”

*

*

*

Life is hard.  Many of us fight incredibly battles every day and the journey can be wearisome.  I know there is often a temptation to doubt God, be disappointed in the continual hardships, and maybe even give in to despair.  But this is the beauty of a journey with Christ … even when the path is hard, He is caring and providing for us.  Maybe not always in the way we want or think we need … but He is always at work on our behalf.

He loves us so deeply, even if we aren’t always aware of it.

Sometimes it is a friend offering to bring a meal when she learns you are sick.

Sometimes it is a card in the mail or maybe a phone call.

Sometimes it is the lovely bloom of the first flowers of spring after a long, hard winter.

And sometimes, it is the perfect junior bridesmaid dress … in mint green.

 

The Faithfulness of God

The Faithfulness of God.

Such a deep well from which to draw, knowing full well I will barely touch the surface.

Yet, a drink from this well is not meant to quench our thirst but rather it should draw us to toss the bucket aside and jump fully into the limitless supply.

His faithfulness has no bounds.  His goodness has no limits.  His grace overflows.

Even in the hard seasons.

I will say, most especially in the hard seasons.

Those times when it seems that God is nowhere to be found.  When it seems that our prayers are not being heard and our tears have evaporated before they even touched the ground.  When we simply cannot see God anywhere and we feel isolated and broken.

In those times, when circumstances insinuate that God does not care and we do not know which way to turn, I believe we have a few choices.

We can give into despair and believe that God has forsaken us.

We can create our own path and justify what we want in order to convince ourselves and others that God only wants us to be happy and therefore we are free to do whatever it is we want to make our lives ‘easier.’

Or … we can diligently spend time with God our Father by consistently reading and meditating on His Word with the clear intention of getting to know Him instead of picking and choosing Scripture to fit what we want.  We can apply our time in prayer as we learn to discern the voice of our Shepherd.  Then we can make the daily choice to pick up our cross and follow Him and in this process, we begin to die to self, learn to be content in all things, and ultimately, choose to obey and follow His will … and not our own.

The first choice leads to defeat and a sad, empty life.

The second choice certainly may lead to temporary happiness as we elevate ourselves and indulge in all the riches of this world while still using all the right Christian words to sound holy.  The problem with this is that it is truly temporary and terribly short-sighted.  What makes me happy now, will lead to trouble later.

I can eat an entire 5 lb box of chocolate now because it makes me happy.

But there will be a cost to pay later.

The third choice may mean limited earthly happiness.  Choosing to follow the example of Christ and dying to self is hard and rarely does it mean getting what I think I need to be happy.  It means taking my eyes off of myself and my needs and it means opening myself to hardship and trial for the cause of Christ.  This is where His faithfulness becomes real and the depths of His love supplies every need.  This path of obedience requires a heart and eye for eternity, understanding the promise of God may not be given to us until we cross the threshold of eternity and kneel before our Creator.

Only one of these choices lead towards an eternal reward.

The Trials of Yesterdays

When I  used to think back to the days when my children were young, I always felt a sense of guilt and failure.  Those were hard years raising three little ones while walking through the many difficulties and challenges of autism, depression, isolation, marital discord, family trouble, and more.  My perception of the past altered my memories and distorted my current sense of identity.

I believed myself to be a terrible mother.  A failure.

A couple of weeks ago, I was searching for some important paperwork that I could not find anywhere and in fact, had not seen in years.  After searching through every place I could imagine,  I finally thought about those boxes in the attic.  Those boxes that have been dodged through every purging and organizing frenzy.  Those boxes that rarely get a passing glance from me as I carry various other items in and out of the attic space.  Those boxes, filled with pictures and various memories, that signified to me, my complete failure as a mother and person.

However, desperation to find the missing paperwork and a sense that God was calling me to face those boxes, led me to finally start carrying them down from the attic and begin the slow process of sorting, organizing, and looking at these memories of the past.

Initially, I was overwhelmed with sadness.  My perception of the past has been so colored with certain memories I have held tightly onto that I simply could not see the reality.  But the Lord, with the utmost gentleness and care, began a healing process in the deepest places of this mother’s heart.  In almost all of the pictures of my children, I found smiles.  There are pictures of my oldest looking sober and somewhat vacant as the autism stole more and more of him away but for the most part, the pictures showed children happy and content.  My younger children would look over my shoulder as I worked through the pictures and would share happy memories with me.  As I continued I found picture after picture drawn by my children that read ‘I love you Mommy!’  Pictures that I had saved but didn’t remember saving.  I began to realize that my children do not remember how hard those years were.  Their memories were never distorted or broken as mine have been.  As a result, they have never viewed me as I have viewed me.  My children have never thought of me as a failure.  I am the only one who believed that.

As I worked through the memories of the past, the Lord began to change my perception of those years.  Oh, most definitely, if I could only go back, there is much I would do differently.  I would hold them more.  I would teach them better.  I would do almost everything differently for my son with autism.  But, the Lord began to help me see that even during those trying times, He was working.  Even when I thought He had abandoned me and my children, He was behind the scenes and faithfully filling in the gaps that were being missed.

In the last box of pictures, I found a photo that someone took of me and my children.  I have no memory of who took the picture or why it was taken but when I uncovered it, tears filled my eyes as my soul swelled with thankfulness.  The photo was taken in the nursery of the church we were attending at the time.  I am kneeling on the floor holding a felt board I had bought in an effort to teach my non-verbal, highly visual autistic son Bible stories.  All three of my very young children are across from me in various stages of busyness … and I remembered.

I remembered that there was no place for my incredibly busy autistic son in the other Sunday School classes and no nursery for my younger ones.  So every Sunday, I would prepare a lesson and try to teach them myself.  After Sunday School, we would go upstairs for the service where I sat every single Sunday back in the cry-room with my children because my oldest couldn’t handle sitting out in the service.

Most would not be aware of this, but that picture was taken as I was in the process of emotionally and mentally crashing beneath an unbearable load.  This is a season of life that I’ve always looked back on with sorrow.  I would have told you that I ruined my children.

Yet now, when I look at that picture and others with my children, I see the amazing faithfulness of a loving God who preserved both me and my children through some soul-crushing circumstances.

Where the enemy sought to destroy, God protected.

When I had given up, God refused to let us go.

When I ran from Him, God followed and brought me back.

When others deserted me and even spoke against me, God never left my side.

When I couldn’t see the next step ahead of me, God gave me the courage and just enough strength to take the next single step. And then the next.  And the next.

When I was weak, God taught me faithfulness and credited it to me as righteousness.

You see, the faithfulness of God is not dependent on us getting everything just right.  He does not call us to do life perfectly but He does call each of us to die to ourselves, pick up our crosses, and be obedient to the calling He has given us.

When I look back now, I see the hand of God working through all those fiery trials and challenges.

I can trace His rainbow through my tears.

I can see that He was in control.

And my heart is thankful.

His Faithfulness Today

This morning, as I finish writing these thoughts and try to bring this to a thoughtful conclusion, I am weary.  My almost 18 year old son with autism woke in the night with a sense of agitation.  I have been walking this journey a long time and often, the days (and nights) are still filled with difficulty.  But even when the way is rocky, I continue to learn  a complete dependence on the steady, never-changing faithfulness of God.

Hebrews 11 provides us with so many examples of those who have gone on before and how they lived a life of steady faith and reliance on God with the understanding that they might not see His promises fulfilled until eternity.  They trusted in the faithfulness of God and their own testimonies of faith that developed through their trials should be a resounding battle cry to us to never give up and to never take the easy way.

I have seen the fruit of God’s working in my children in these most recent years.  While my younger two children asked Jesus into their hearts when they were younger, just last year I watched God do a work in my oldest and I was able to finally lead him to Jesus.  A long-awaited answer to a prayer that was silently and tearfully given for years.  I am watching this same young man continue to struggle through the strong challenges of his autism yet, I am also watching him learn and grow in new ways.  My younger children have developed a heart of compassion and a hunger for truth.  They enjoy being involved with our church and are appreciative of Biblical teaching.  Just in these last couple of weeks, both have individually told me that they are so glad I am their Mom.  They live a life of simple appreciation for all things.  They regularly practice contentment. They teach me daily even as I endeavor to teach them.

I am humbled to be their mother.

As I write these words and ponder these thoughts, I can only lift my eyes to the One who has consistently loved, protected, and led us through all of these years … and offer a song of thanksgiving to our Faithful God.

He is so faithful.

This my song through endless ages, Jesus led me all the way.

He lowers us to raise us
So we can sing His praises
Whatever is His way all is well

He makes us rich and poor
That we might trust Him more
Whatever is His way all is well

All my changes come from Him He who never changes
I’m held firm in the grasp of the Rock of all the ages

All is well with my soul
He is God in control
I know not all His plans
But I know I’m in His hands

*Photo credit to my son, Andrew Shenk
**I have alluded to a number of songs in this post including:
All the way my Savior leads me by Fanny Crosby
All is Well
 by Robin Mark
Oh Love that will not let me go by George Matheson

 

More lessons from the Garden …

The last time I wrote, I shared the hymn, ‘In the Garden’, as I lightly touched on a current season of life where I seem mostly alone with my Heavenly Father.  If you like, you can read it here – Lessons in the Garden.

I’ve decided that I am going to continue lightly touching on various lessons I am reluctantly embracing as I sojourn on this portion of the journey.  It is a difficult journey at present, but I find this makes the lessons I am learning even more poignant and valuable.

An ongoing lesson of late has been —

 Finding courage TO change and finding freedom IN change.

When I married, 22 years ago, I moved into a picturesque, yet unfinished, log cabin that my husband had started to build prior to meeting me.  It sat atop of a small mountain at the end of a mile long, rugged dirt lane.  It was a small cabin, set into that mountainside, and designed for the life he intended to live alone.  Instead, he ended up marrying me.  Even so, it was definitely his house and even though we lived there from 1996 to November of 2007, it never truly seemed as though I belonged.  These were hard years in many ways and my overall growth became stunted.  I lived in fear and I generally lacked the courage, conviction, and ability one needs to grow and mature.  Then my babies began to arrive, autism hit like a non-stop hurricane, and the isolation, loneliness, lack of sleep, and constant demands almost completely destroyed my sanity.

After a few years of praying  and timidly advocating for a move to a different home that would be more suitable for my growing family — especially considering the added demands and needs the diagnosis of autism brought — the Lord finally opened the door to the house we have now.

Oh, it is a problem house for sure.  It seems to be falling apart around me and currently I have at least two destroyed ceilings that I don’t think will ever get fixed.  It is an old farm house that had been added onto over the years and the last update was likely in the 1960’s which means, the counter tops are orange, all the walls were ‘updated’ with paneling (and then covered with all different colors of paint), and the ceilings were dropped and covered in cardboard-like tiles (most of which are ruined and sagging).

But I love it.  I love the four beautiful acres that my home sits on and the breath-taking view that surrounds it.  I love that I can see the road and even though I often still feel a sense of isolation due to some life circumstances, I can at least look outside and see life happening.  People can actually ‘just stop by for a minute’ without subjecting their vehicle to the beating of that old dirt lane and I am just minutes from family and the nearby town.

This is the home that I have raised my children in for the last 11 years and this is the home that allows me just enough safety to grow into a new place of Christ-centered identity and emerging freedom.

It is a house that is evolving and changing even as I mature and change and it is becoming a home that more reflects the woman I am … not the woman I once tried to project myself to be.

So what does that mean currently?  Well, it means my home is not perfect nor beautifully staged — neither am I.  It currently is in a state of flux and in desperate need of repair — just as I am.  It means it is in a season of transition, as also am I.

The majority of the downstairs features a relatively open floor plan in the style of a typical old house with numerous add-ons over the years.  One room flows into another and then another until you reach the large, sunken living room.  The only exception to this flow of rooms is the one just off the kitchen — it has always been designated as the dining room.  The dining room has always been my most favorite room in the entire house.  It gives off cozy vibes and is generally the warmest room during the cold winter months when the rest of the house is freezing from the winds blowing through the drafty windows.  It is a peaceful spot as it seems its own sanctuary set apart from the other rooms and it is the room that beckons me to enter most often.  I have long desired to change it from a dining room into more of a library/office and create my own little space — a designated spot of my own to work out of or retreat into as needed.

I would share my desire of making this change from time to time but I always faced considerable resistance.  It is sufficient to say, I have more than one person in this house who strongly resists any sort of change.  There are more than enough battles to fight in any given day that I simply never had it in me to fight this one.  So for years I’ve been telling myself that I would create the space I’ve longed for … “someday.”

They say ‘Necessity is the the mother of invention’ and that may be so, but I believe desperation tends to be the mother of change.

Desperation has driven me to a place where I need to take action.  Positive, moving forward action.

So a couple of weeks ago when I began to feel the nudge over and over to switch two rooms around and set the dining room up in a different area of the house so I could create the space I’ve longed for within my favorite room, I understood that I needed to heed the promptings from above.

“Someday” is now.

God provided the courage I needed to initiate a change within my home that was not warmly welcomed by some in the household.  In the process, I had to allow Him to make a change in the way that I think and perceive.  I had to accept and affirm that:

1- My time, work, and many varied responsibilities have value even if no one validates them, and
2- My needs and the things I long for are important to God, even if no one else sees.

With this new courage and change of perspective that the Lord is graciously building in me, I am in the slow process of transitioning spaces and creating an environment within my home that will reflect who God is transforming me to be.

And in this state of transition and change, I am discovering a sense of freedom even in the midst of what has been a dark season.

The freedom to simply be who I am.

 

 

Near to the Heart of God

I watched through bleary eyes as a severely damaged taxi cab pulled up to the gas station, just a few pumps down from me.  Living where I do, it is rather unusual to see a taxi cab at the local pumps, let alone one that looked like the rear of it had lost a fight to a telephone pole.  I was even more puzzled to see that, as the driver stepped out, she left the vehicle running and the car door standing wide open.  This triggered my curiosity, which would explain why I paid attention as she walked around to the kiosk and prepaid $14 for pump 4.  After that, however, my thoughts quickly dropped back into a fog of fatigue as I continued the relatively mindless task of filling the gas tank.

At least until I heard that same woman suddenly break out into a raging tirade filled with explicitly foul language.

That woke my brain up rather quickly.

I listened in stunned surprise as she yelled obscenities and struggled to figure out who she was screaming at and what she was screaming about.  But since she kept repeating the same few phrases over and over during her harangue and would sometimes stumble over her words before getting back on track, I began to realize it wasn’t actually directed towards any one specific person … and given the overall nature of her words, I could only guess it was a somewhat practiced litany of words that had something to do with certain hot topic issues in our culture.

As soon as she finished pumping her $14 worth of gas, she ran around her still-running vehicle, jumped in through the still-opened door, and quickly drove away … leaving all of us who remained at the pumps completely confused in the wake of her unexplainable barrage of hostile verbal vomit.

Perhaps because the weeks prior to this had been so tumultuous, I found myself shaken by the depth of her anger and how she chose to share it.

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Through these last weeks, I  have pondered and continued to develop the idea of living a life marked with quiet joy, such as I wrote about here -> A Quiet Joy

A life I see as being grounded in contentment, cemented in faith, and balanced with hope.  A life that does does not invite fear (or anger) to the party and firmly rejects its unwanted advances.  A life that does not absorb the anger and anxieties of the world clamoring around her and a life that remains fixed on the Savior.

Absolutely easier said than done.

Especially since life involves … people.

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I walked out to my clothesline with a basket filled with wet, heavy clothes and a heart that seemed just as heavy.  The weekend before had been absolutely one of the most difficult in recent memory and my heart was still overwhelmed with the intense anxiety and resulting anger that my autistic son exhibited.  He is typically a very sweet guy but when certain buttons get pushed and his ‘fear tornado’ gets fired up, things change dramatically. The mental exhaustion from those battles was still very palpable as I hadn’t had time to process and recover before jumping into the busyness of a new week.

Current news reports were weighing heavily on my mind as well and my own fear began to rise as I watched a culture rage and continue to disintegrate before me.

So that morning, when another child of mine grew frustrated and randomly threw their teenage angst against me, I was in a weak moment and caught completely off guard.  I understood that they were simply projecting their fears and anxieties onto me and that it wasn’t really personal and yet, it certainly came across as an attack.

I was left feeling completely shaken and unsure, as my mind rehearsed the number of times I have been the recipient of another person’s angry response to something in their life.

The wet clothes in the basket seemed even heavier as I slowly made my way through the dew-dampened grass to my clotheslines … at least, until the words from an aged hymn suddenly rose to the surface from the hidden recesses of my mind.

 

 “There is a place of quiet rest,
near to the heart of God,
a place where sin cannot molest,
near to the heart of God.

O Jesus, blest Redeemer,
sent from the heart of God,
hold us, who wait before thee,
near to the heart of God.”

 

The words of this timeless hymn, Near to the Heart of God, were penned by American theologian and Presbyterian minister, Cleland Boyd McAfee.  He wrote it in 1903 after the tragic deaths of his two young nieces caused by diphtheria …

And in this moment, while still feeling the dampness of the morning dew wet upon my feet and the weight of the laundry basket in my arms, my soul grew calm and my emotions quieted as the words written through his journey with heartbreak reminded me of where I fit, where I belong, and how I can live my life in a world gone awry.

Near to the heart of God.

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There is strength and peace to be found on this journey when we stay near the heart of God.  Perspectives change from those of self-focused fear and anger and shift more towards outward-focused love for others in a manner that exemplifies the love of Christ.  I can be on the receiving end of another person’s angst and anger, and yet, it does not have to affect me.  I can learn to respond in love and kindness as the eyes of my heart remain focused exclusively on the Savior.  I can learn to set appropriate boundaries and not absorb the anger of another, nor cater to any anger of my own.

This is the life I choose to live.

A life that remains near the heart of God.

“But as for me, the nearness of God is my good; I have made the Lord God my refuge, that I may tell of all Your works.”
Psalm 73:28

 

 

Near to the Heart of God

1 There is a place of quiet rest,
near to the heart of God,
a place where sin cannot molest,
near to the heart of God.

Refrain:
O Jesus, blest Redeemer,
sent from the heart of God,
hold us, who wait before thee,
near to the heart of God.

2 There is a place of comfort sweet,
near to the heart of God,
a place where we our Savior meet,
near to the heart of God. [Refrain]

3 There is a place of full release,
near to the heart of God,
a place where all is joy and peace,
near to the heart of God. [Refrain]

Hymn written by Cleland Boyd McAfee

A Quiet Joy

In that moment, something seemed to beckon me, drawing me towards that old piano of my youth.  It has moved with me from home to home and yet, it has sat for a number of years, untouched and alone.  A collector of dust and a mantle for pictures … nothing more.

Yet somehow, almost without conscious thought, I walked over to it, where it sat hidden in the shadows of a darkened room.  I clicked on the lamp, pulled out the bench, picked up an old church hymnal from years gone by and carefully set it open in front of me.  Slowly, I reached to lift the lid, noticing as I did, that the piano was due for a good dusting.  I was surprised to see how yellowed the keys had become since I last played and how many of those keys were indented and stuck.

I tentatively laid my fingers onto the keys and played a few notes, wondering if I could even remember how to play.  The harsh sound of an aged piano that is beyond the scope of being tuned clanged hard to my ear and my fingers had clearly lost the dexterity of their youth, and yet, I soon found myself lost in the melody of years gone by.

 

piano

 

I learned to play the piano when I was a child, following in the footsteps of my older sister, wishing to do anything that she did.  Once she stopped playing and moved on with her life, the piano that had originally been purchased for her use, became mine.  I was never a very diligent piano pupil nor did I have much talent, but playing the piano soon became the expression of the thoughts and emotions I held deeply inside.

When I was still quite young, I was asked (or rather, told) to play accompaniment for our small church’s congregational singing during our weekly Wednesday evening service.  For some reason, the memory of that phone call to my Mother and the list of hymns I needed to learn are still deeply embedded into my mind.  I did not want to play in front of all those people, but I don’t remember being given the chance to say no.  This was the first step of several years playing the piano within the walls of my childhood church.

I mostly blundered my way through those years of playing and looking back now, I wonder why I never figured out a way to gracefully step out of that lime-light.  There were a number of younger girls coming along behind me who were far more talented and quite eager to take my place.  I felt inferior to them and to the other talented pianists in our church and kept trying to change my playing style to match the way they played, but I could never boast their talent and I certainly couldn’t fake their skill.

At home, however, nestled in the living room of my parents’ home, away from watching eyes and high expectations, I found sweet release and freedom whenever I sat at my piano.

Only at my piano could I cope with the grief and brokenness my family was walking through, the isolation and difficulties of life at school, and not being able to find my place  of belonging within the church.  Life felt very confusing and only at my piano could I make sense of the chaos.

It was the only place I felt peace … a sense of connection with the One who often seemed most distant.

 

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The concept of joy is one I have long pondered and puzzled over.  As the years have worn on and I have found myself stretched between varying extremes, often fighting the grief I often know and feeling guilty that I can’t seem to show an expressive, outward joy.  Isn’t a Christian supposed to exuberant and joyous in their faith?

That morning a few weeks ago when I first felt the nudge to play the piano again, I had been pondering this very thing, yet asking questions I never thought to ask before. I wondered if one could possibly feel joy and sorrow at the same time?  Could I experience joy without it appearing as overt happiness?  Could joy simply manifest itself as a sense of contentment in the middle of difficulty?  Feeling the sadness yet trusting the Lord?

Does joy look any one particular way?

Must it be an effusive display of emotion?

Or could it possibly be quiet and subtle?

Like a faint rainbow arching across the sky as the rain droplets and sunlight meet …

Could joy shine out through my eyes, even when they are filled with tears?

I asked my pastor for his thoughts and his response was that “Joy is a contentment of the soul” and reminded me that this is rooted in accepting what God has given us, even when it is hard and doesn’t make sense.  Paul refers to his experience with this in the book of Philippians …

 “Not that I speak from want, for I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am. I know how to get along with humble means, and I also know how to live in prosperity; in any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of being filled and going hungry, both of having abundance and suffering need. I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.”
Philippians 4:11-13

Joy certainly may manifest as an effusive display of emotion in some people, but mostly, I wonder if it should be a disciplined sense of contentment in the midst of every season of life because one knows and fully accepts the goodness and the character of God?

Joy is like a rainbow in the soul.  A constant reminder of the promises of God.

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I had intended to neatly wrap up this post here but then this morning happened…

I pulled into the church parking lot, very much looking forward to the service.  The last few days have been very rough and because I had anticipated that I would need a break by this point, I had already asked a friend to sit in the back with Ty during the service.  As I had shared in an earlier post, my other children are away with their Dad and my family this weekend, so it has just been me and my oldest son for the past few days.  You can read about that here, if you like -> Someday …

My son has been unexpectedly very anxious about his siblings being away and between that and the illness he has been battling, the days have been difficult.  I thought today would be the easy day and I have been hanging onto it as a lifeline.  Unfortunately, as soon as we pulled into the church parking lot, my son began to display significant signs of agitation.  It only took me a few seconds to realize what was wrong and once I did, I knew I was about to lose the battle.  He evidently thought he would find his siblings and my vehicle at church and when he realized they weren’t there, his anger and anxiety surged upwards again.

The tears silently poured down my cheeks as I pulled back out of the parking lot for the drive back home.  How often have I done this over the years?  Been to church and left again without seeing a single person, making a single connection?  How often have I left in tears feeling completely unseen? The sense of disappointment and grief was overwhelming as this journey of isolation struck an even heavier chord.

My tears flowed before the Lord as He ministered to my soul on that long ride home.

Once home, I went upstairs and changed back into my old, comfy everyday clothes.  I stopped in the bathroom long enough to remove the remainder of my tear-ruined make-up and then came downstairs to sit before my piano again … feeling every bit of beaten-down and broken as it looked.  The yellowed, stuck keys that struck harshly resonated with the confusion and disappointment I felt.

Yet, as I opened my old hymnal and touched the keys, the gentle songs of adoration for my Savior flowed almost effortlessly.  Sure the keys stuck, the tone was dreadful, and I made plenty of mistakes, but the music still poured out of my soul through my fingertips as it did as a teenager, confused and lost in her way.

But now I know the Truth of the words that my soul sings.

God is forever good and holy.

I can learn to be content even when I am lonely.

I can learn to be content even when I don’t understand.

I can learn to be content even when tears fill my eyes.

This is where my joy lies.

Not a showy display that attracts attention or praise.

Nor an attempt to be like someone else.

But rather a joy that shines as a faint rainbow through the mists of life.

A joy that rests in the Savior for all things.

A quiet joy.