the box

Hi God.

I need to start with an apology.

I’m sorry.

I didn’t realize I had put You in a box. Worse, I didn’t realize I had limited Infinite You to the confines of my finite mind. There was supposed to be a formula where I do A, B, and C and You were to respond with X, Y and Z.

Now my religion’s mugshot is in the obituary section of my wet paper theology, falling apart the tighter I cling to it.

At first I was pretty ticked at You for breaking the box. It seemed a little inconsiderate, considering Your reputation for compassion and understanding and all.

 

But now, I think I’m glad You’re not a conformist. It doesn’t make what happened right or okay. In fact, I’m still trying to figure out how we’re supposed to do this. But I know You have not lost Your focus on us.

Even so, Your unpredictability makes me respect You more. And You should know more than anyone how much that needed to happen.

It’s just like You to not fit into a scheme or a mindset or a denomination or even the walls of the church. I guess if I look at how Jesus lived here on earth, it follows suit.

No one knows for sure why or how You do the things You do.

I mean, You never show up on time – or at least not on anyone’s timetable. Heck, 1988 and May 21 came and went and here we still are, recalculating and reinterpreting Your hints. I know we’ll never crack the code this side of heaven. You’re a tough one to figure out, and I’m good with that.

This whole thing really is a leap of faith isn’t it? I fumble through the pockets of my soul, looking for the change within me to make sense. Ultimately I have to hurl myself over logic and reason and clear the inexplicable if I want to land at Your feet. And I do want that.

When I think about how I can look back at what was, feel the pain while doing it, and still feel hope – I literally experience vertigo. I mean I genuinely feel my stomach turn and my knees buckle while simultaneously feeling a surge of anticipation for what You have next for us.

Thanks for your patience – Your amazing grace. When I think on the irony of You putting in us this deep want to know answers to questions You know we won’t find now and won’t care about later, I have to smile with a half wince. Keep reminding me in merciful whispers the only question that really matters.

“But what about you?” Jesus asked. “Who do you say I am?” – Matthew 16:15

for pete's sake

“Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.” “Come,” he said.

Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!” (Luke 14:28-30)

I grew up under the teaching that God’s eyes are on me, and I always took that as some sort of threat. “Watch out...He’s watching. Be good.”

How different I see it now. He watches me alright. He chuckles at my humanness. His deep belly-laughs flood the Heavens when I find the joy He’s hidden in His creation. Hot tears roll down His cheeks each time He takes on my hurt.

Do you believe that He watches over you? Or do you feel like you are being thrown by the random waves of life? What is happening in your life that pulls you into the undertow and out to the deepest depths? What is it that has become bigger than your God?

Think about Peter and his moment on the water. We are taught at a young age that he sank when he was beckoned by Jesus. He failed in his Faith.

Or did he?

He did make it for a while. His Faith caused him to do the impossible, if only for a brave-hearted second. There was a flash in time when one man’s Faith did what no other human has done before or since. Faith overrode logic. Doubt. Humanity. Peter’s fixation on Jesus fought back the complexities of his flesh, and he lived as we are all meant to live.

I believe I can live in that moment. I believe you can too. There is a seed of Faith that God plants in each of us when we are born. Over time, that seed grows if we feed it with the right nutrients. Some of us dry out as we cross the vast wastelands, and so our Faith thirsts until it shrinks back within us and we forget it’s there.

What happens while we’re crossing life’s desert? Is it that our expectations of life get shattered? Do we think we are entitled to a better life here on earth? When we fall beneath the blows of life and our trust in God is shaken, we must have expected something different from life – from God Himself. But what if this is what is intended? What if life is meant to have pain to create a longing in us for something better? Something perfect?

C.S. Lewis penned it accurately when he wrote, “Has this world been so kind to you that you should leave with regret? There are better things ahead than any we leave behind.”

Slowly, I am learning to live within the eye of the storm. It is God’s eye in the storm, a calmness that pays no respect to the swirling madness that encircles me. Yes, I sink sometimes and have to drag myself back to the boat. I cannot escape my humanness. But each time, as I fix my gaze on Him, I go a little farther.

While I will always live trying to keep the ocean at my feet, my life is not about getting to the shore. It is about the walk there. Oh, I will get there – but only through the window of eternity. Each time I put one foot in front of the other, I’m giving my endurance a chance to grow. And that endurance is what will get us to the shore. 

it is well

When peace like a river, attendeth my way, When sorrows like sea billows roll; Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, It is well, it is well, with my soul.

It is well, with my soul,
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!

 

My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!
For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
If Jordan above me shall roll,
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life,
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.
But Lord, ’tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,
The sky, not the grave, is our goal;
Oh, trump of the angel! Oh, voice of the Lord! Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul.
And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight, The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,

Even so, it is well with my soul. 

Penned by Horatio Gates Spafford. 

rejoice!

On this Easter, we thank God for the resurrection power that raised Christ from the dead. He became the perfect sacrifice so that we can know for sure the hope of eternal life. It is this life that has already been given to Ryan, and we can celebrate Christ’s victory – and therefore Ryan’s victory – over death.

We can only imagine what heaven is like when the resurrection is celebrated there. So exciting that Ryan and all our family and friends who are there are celebrating face to face, around the throne, with the Savior.

Hallelujah! What a Father! What a Savior!

Here are the words to an old hymn we grew up with:

I serve a risen Savior; He’s in the world today.
I know that He is living, whatever men may say.
I see His hand of mercy, I hear His voice of cheer,

And just the time I need Him He’s always near.

Chorus:
He lives! He lives! Christ Jesus lives today!
He walks with me and talks with me along life’s narrow way. He lives! He lives! Salvation to impart!
You ask me how I know He lives? He lives within my heart.

In all the world around me I see His loving care,
And though my heart grows weary I never will despair. I know that He is leading, thro’ all the stormy blast; The day of His appearing will come at last.

Rejoice, rejoice, O Christian! Lift up your voice and sing Eternal hallelujahs to Jesus Christ, the King!
The Hope of all who seek Him, the Help of all who find, None other is so loving, so good and kind.

Chorus:
He lives! He lives! Christ Jesus lives today!
He walks with me and talks with me along life’s narrow way. He lives! He lives! Salvation to impart!
You ask me how I know He lives? He lives within my heart. 

Composer: Alfred Henry Ackley

spit in the wind

Note: This is a filed entry Chad wrote some months ago, but never published. Publishing it now, with his permission. Quick update from Chad on his health: “I am doing great, still working through some residual things related to the transplant but I have regained all my weight/strength and beyond. Feel in better shape now than I did when I was 25.” - Janelle

Ecclesiastes isn’t an easy read. A king looks back on his conquests and muses the significance of all his work. The wisest of kings splits the difference between Heaven and earth with razor edged Truth. He deduces that life is no more than “spitting into the wind.”

I have to tell you, as if maybe you didn’t already know, that I concur. Something happened inside me when Ryan died that I thought would revert back at some point, but it didn’t. Color bled off the pages of life. As many times as I’ve seen a globe, I now saw a flat earth. I still can’t label the feeling – grief, depression, detachment. But I didn’t think much of it because I knew the stages and figured it slid nicely somewhere into one of those slots.

But it’s not a phase. Yes, wounds heal and memories soften.

But I think maybe, that perspective is how God means for us to see life here. What I mean is, this place has become our everything. And I don’t think it was ever meant to be. It doesn’t mean we shouldn’t embrace the rich moments with family and friends. But I think it does mean to keep an eternal perspective so eternity is the backdrop to everything we do.

I never saw life from this perspective until that night. Who knows if I would have ever ‘got it’? Those that do get it without having to go through something like this – well, they have incredible insight. And I admire them.

There will be a day when I’ll look back on this time of my life and read these pages. Will they trigger foreign emotions and perspectives that got lost somewhere while I was spitting into the wind? I hope not. I don’t want to lose what I feel now, or maybe, what I don’t feel. I guess it IS detachment. That IS the label.

I’m detached from this place. It doesn’t have a hold on me. It’s one thing to not fear death. It’s a whole other animal to not fear living after disrobing the falsehoods in our lives. It’s an awesome, terrifying realization that my eyes and heart are so fixated on the other side of Heaven that this life is exposed for what it is – a teaser. A preamble.

It’s the forward to my life’s book. The real story doesn’t even start here.

But what does that mean for me now then? How then do I live right now, next week, next year? That’s still a tough question to answer, and I’d be a fool to pretend to know. 

lastly

There’s that feeling that birds get every fall when they know it’s time to head South. I think I’m feeling that same kind of thing, only rather than it being the fall, I am believing for the spring season in my life. This blog has never been easy, but it’s been healing for me in many ways. Thank you for encouraging me as I’ve been working this out.

Now though, I need to start looking forward.

I hope you’ve been able to take something away as you’ve watched me process this time in my life. Even though your situation is different, there are universal themes that we all contend with together as we pass through our time here on earth.

What have I learned so far?

For starters, being honest with myself comes before seeking God in earnest. If I’m not raw before Him, I’m stunting who I can become in Him.

Second, Faith is blind to circumstances. I either have it or I don’t. There are no degrees. If I claimed before to have it, then it doesn’t matter what I’m faced with in this life. If I were to abandon Faith through this, I never had it to begin with.

Third, knowing God does not equate to understanding Him or His ways. Seemingly random events in life do not lessen God’s power. Power is greatest when it is restrained to allow free will. And a forced love is no love at all.

I live with a heightened sensitivity to the fragility of life and how each day is to be cherished, because none of us know when life as we know it will end. We need to honor it, spend it and share it – that’s why we were given it.

This is the day I’ve dreaded for awhile, when I walk into the rest of my life. From the beginning I’ve feared that getting healthy again meant accepting the harsh reality that I now live with. I think the harshness will soften, but I know the sting of this experience will live with me until my final day here. It is my burden for God to carry.

Ryan, I am not a worthy recipient of such a priceless gift. Jesus, I say the same to you. To you both, I pledge to live a life that honors you. Thank you. I love you with all that I am.

“The last and final word is this: Fear God. Do what He tells you”. Ecclesiastes 12:13

to God a psalm

I’m feeling banged up today God. I don’t suppose I’ll ever be free and clear of this kind of a day. I can either give up and just lay down in defeat, or I can pick myself up off the floor. More accurately, You can do it.

Sometimes, all I can do is let my soul bleed and trust on good faith You see me from Heaven.

I feel like people are watching, waiting for the final seconds to tick down until I just blow up. And then other times, I don’t think anyone’s watching at all and I don’t care if they are. This is one of those other times. This is between You and me.

I’m not writing this for anyone else but You God. I need You to hear me today.

I am not angry. That’s a big deal for me to say and mean it.
I am not lost in self-pity. I know others have witnessed incredible pain just as I have. I am not over. I have a purpose to live out. I half say this in a whisper of hope.

But I am tired, and I need You to see into me. I need You to pick me up. I just need You.
I don’t know why we have to live in such a broken place. And now, void of color it would seem.

There is only one thing I can do, and that’s reach out to You. I will not give up on You. You did not give up on me. Tell me we’re in this together.

Demonstrate Your love for me in unmistakable ways. I will be waiting and watching.

Selah. 

39

It’s been said before, yet for some reason it never gets old. Especially when we find that it’s been written on the hearts of humankind over a couple thousand years ago. The lamenting is universal. The revelation, inevitable. The hope, eternal.

This is how we avoid the pitfall of normal. This is how we live on the Faith’s razor edge. We return to these words and cling to them with a wild determination. We cannot ever afford to move away from this mantra in our heads or hearts. And so I submit these excerpts of Psalm 39. Nuff said.

3 The more I thought about it,
the hotter I got,
igniting a fire of words:
4 “Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be. Remind me that my days are numbered—

how fleeting my life is.
5 You have made my life no longer than the width of my hand. My entire lifetime is just a moment to you;
at best, each of us is but a breath.”
6 We are merely moving shadows,
and all our busy rushing ends in nothing.
We heap up wealth,
not knowing who will spend it.
7 And so, Lord, where do I put my hope?
My only hope is in you.
......

12 Hear my prayer, O Lord! Listen to my cries for help! Don’t ignore my tears.
For I am your guest—

a traveler passing through,
as my ancestors were before me. ......