Live Beautifully

Years ago I found myself surrounded by darkness.  I knew Jesus, but I was not living victoriously.  I was surviving at best. I felt defeated and questioned whether or not I even trusted God.  I was angry at Him. My heart had been smashed to pieces, and I had so many questions.  After years of struggling with infertility, I had finally become pregnant only to lose that baby.  And when it happened again, it was just too much.  I was hopeless, and I felt all alone. I was sure I had done something incredibly wrong. But in the middle of that darkness and in the midst of my loss, I found something precious; I gained something irreplaceable. I discovered this precious truth that began to heal my broken heart.

God’s Word is alive.  It is working constantly.  It has power we can’t even begin to understand or explain.  It is the very breath of God blowing like fresh wind into our very dry lives.

The prophet Isaiah talks about “treasures of darkness, hidden riches of secret places.” (Isaiah 45:3) This love for God’s Word was my treasure buried in that dark season I walked through hand in hand with Jesus.  In my struggle to find the words to pray to God, afraid He would not be able to handle my long list of ‘why’s and ‘how long’s, I learned that He welcomes all questions, and there is pretty much nothing He can’t handle.  Slowly, and over time, Jesus healed my heart completely and gave me purpose and a passion for His Word, along with a strange new boldness to share the story He has written for my life.  All of the parts- the good parts, the messy parts, and the downright ugly parts that led me back to Him.

Since that time, God has blessed us with two beautiful children who share a birthday and occupy a good chunk of my heart.  The journey to parenthood was a difficult one, but it was in that long treacherous hike that I really got to know my Savior and began to understand what walking with Him really meant. A transformation took place, and it seemed like the better I saw Jesus, the better I saw myself. The rest of Isaiah 45:3 says this: “And I will give you treasures hidden in the darkness— secret riches. I will do this so you may know that I am the Lord, the God of Israel, the one who calls you by name.”

The whole point of the struggle, sometimes, is so that we may know that He is the God who calls us by name.

My journey with Jesus has looked very different depending on the season and depending on where He’s leading.  When I agreed to hand over my entire heart to Jesus, it meant that wherever He was going, I was going, too.  It meant that every part of my life was His.

I’ve walked with Jesus slowly, daily.

I’ve skipped along beside Him, beaming with joy and overflowing with gratitude.

I’ve crawled in the dust behind Him, desperate and dirty.

I’ve sprinted, trying to keep up.

I’ve run in the opposite direction, convinced I could hide from Him only to find that I couldn’t.

I’ve climbed mountains with Jesus that I didn’t think I could climb.

I’ve fallen flat on my face too many times to count.

I’ve sat in a boat full of holes caused by my shaky faith, wondering if I’d sink to the bottom.

I’ve watched from within the same boat as Jesus calmed the storm and flooded my soul with His peace.

I’ve asked questions. I’ve gotten it all wrong. I’ve messed up big.

I’ve spent precious time at His feet, wondering how He could love me this much.

No matter how my walk with Jesus looks, one thing remains the same.  He has never ever left me, and I trust He never will.  Trust is necessary for obedience.  You can’t have one without the other.  In fact, the word ‘obedience’ quite honestly makes me cringe.  It feels heavy, weighted, like punishment and condemnation are going to fall down on me as soon as I mess up.  Because I am going to mess up.  I am.

But following Jesus means there is no condemnation, because He took all of my sins upon Himself.  He already paid my debt on the cross and the curse of death and sin was forever reversed when Jesus rose from the grave three days later.  This is good news!  This means it is possible to live in victory, because Jesus already won the battle!  It means when I confess that I’ve mess up again, He is faithful to forgive me.  In Jesus, I have access to every eternal blessing, not because I have been obedient, but because He was. So obedience is just my response to His great love.  Obedience is a natural overflow of understanding how much Jesus loves me.

Obedience is my response to the gospel- the really, really good news.

Recently, I walked with Jesus through something I was convinced would turn out differently.  My version had a happy ending, not a painful one.   But obedience does not mean that everything will always turn out the way I expect.  Expectations get in the way.  They trip me up.  Expecting something in return for obedience means the motive of my heart is wrong.  I can trust Jesus, because He is trustworthy and obedience is what He calls me to.  Trusting is the faith part; obedience is putting that faith into action.  It’s walking even though I can’t see.  It’s continuing even when the path makes no sense and some days it just makes no sense. But each path He takes me down has purpose.  Every road leads to better knowing Him.

And because it is impossible to obey a God I do not trust, it is pretty important that I know Him.

Jesus is teaching me today about surrender.  It implies giving up after a struggle, a releasing of sorts.  The word surrender comes from the Anglo-French wordsusrendre.  The first part, sus or sous, means “an assistant,” like a sous chef.  The last part, render, has many meanings, but the one that caught my eye was this: “to represent by artistic or verbal means, as in painting.” Jesus is reminding me that I am not the artist, but the canvas.  The release of surrender involves accepting my role, and yielding to His authority. Obedience is surrender.

Before an artist can begin painting, a canvas must be prepared.  It has to be stretched really, really tight.  After the canvas is stretched on one side, it is fastened with staples to a wooden frame.  After the fastening comes more stretching. In fact, there is stretching and straining on all sides.  Then there is more fastening, because the artist needs to be sure that the canvas is firmly attached to that frame.  And after the canvas is stretched to its limit, the artist will sometimes take a hammer and pound those staples into the wood.

 

The gospel frames my thoughts, my perspective, my words, my actions.  The only frame I am fastened to is the good news of Jesus Christ.  It is why I follow Him.  It is why I trust Him.  It is why I believe His Word. And the goal of my life is to bring honor and glory to the Name of Jesus; it’s His goal for your life, too. And all of this makes obedience so much simpler. 

Surrender is handing over the brush to the Artist and allowing our lives to be stretched out, held tightly, and fastened to the frame of Jesus. 

Sometimes, it just feels like stretching. Sometimes, it can feel like there is no give.  Sometimes, the fastening is painful, the pounding unbearable.  But it is doing something. It is working toward a greater glory, a beautiful extension of the Creator Himself.  Believing that Jesus is worthy of praise and honor is one thing.  Allowing Him complete freedom to paint on the canvas of our lives is another thing entirely. Surrender means we allow Him to work even when the stretching hurts, even when the pounding of our flimsy, ordinary lives into that frame seems like it might never end.

It reminds me an awful lot of Jesus, stretched out in surrender, with nails through His hands and feet, fastened to the Cross of Salvation that now frames my entire being.

God knows that in or suffering, we get to know Him. We become like Him in the process and are prepared for the work of the Artist’s hand.  2 Corinthians 4:8-10 speaks of struggles, and I can’t help but think of stretched canvas.  “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.”

The most amazing miracle of grace is that God created a way for ordinary, imperfect lives like mine and yours to reflect and represent the life of Jesus.  That is how much He loves us!  And though this passage reveals hardships, questions, and pain, there is such richness woven throughout.

We are not crushed.

We are not in despair.

We are not abandoned.

We are not destroyed.

Living victoriously is living beautifully.  It’s allowing your life to be a place where the Artist can express Himself fully. Accept your role as the canvas and allow Him to create something beautiful with your life. Hand over the brush. Surrender to His loving hand. 

It will be worth it, because Jesus decided you were worth it.

For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.  2 Corinthians 4:17-18

Two Words Could Change A Life

Words kill, words give life; they’re either poison or fruit—you choose.  Proverbs 18:21 (The Message)

Words are powerful. They hold weight.  They can build up or crush to pieces. They can be careless or well-thought-out. Words come in sophisticated styles and comfortable ones.  They can be tender and they can be bone-chilling cold.  Words can empower and words can destroy.  They can unite or divide. Words make up the language we speak.  Words have the potential to connect us… across borders, across barriers, across oceans.

So many moments in life can be traced back to words.  The beginning of a thrilling yet challenging new chapter of life called marriage began for me with two: I do. And we’ve had many more to follow.  My favorites include: Love you.  Told you. Miss you. You’re right. (Unless of course I’m the one speaking.)

Healing in my heart after being shattered also started with two words: I’m here.

Hope is rekindled with these: I’m praying.

A season of waiting is often initiated by two very frustrating and confusing words: Not yet.

And then there are these that can snatch your breath and steal your joy: Too much. Not enough.

I think of all the words that have squeezed hot, salty tears out of joyful eyes; how words like I’m sorry become a bridge that can be crossed over.

When gratitude is difficult to express, these deliver that message gracefully: Thank you.

I remember the words that spilled out of me as a teenager when life spun out of control: I’m scared.

Or when I became a mom of two babies and found myself struggling to say: Please help.

There were words spoken to me that caused me to pack up my pen and pad and quit writing… for over a decade.  But it was also words- different ones- that encouraged me to return to it all these years later. Words stir something deep within us and cause us to act. Words can leave us paralyzed where we are or convince us to step out even if we’re scared. Jesus’ words caused quite a stir in His day, too.  He knew the power two words could have. His words were anything but empty; they were full of truth.

You’re forgiven, set a sinful woman free.

Follow me, turned fishermen into fishers of men.

Get up, caused a lame man to hold his mat as his testimony.

Come out, raised a dead man to life and invited him to walk out of a tomb.

Be still!  calmed the wind and the waves.

Have faith. Fear not. Take heart. These words bring peace to the doubters, like me.

Today I wrote a letter to Sheldon.  His picture hangs on the wall in the room where I write. He just turned twelve this week.  He lives in Kenya and he attends school at his local church and learns about Jesus through the Compassion International Child Sponsorship Program. Last year he wrote to tell me that he purchased a mattress and a sheep with the birthday money we sent. The year before, a cow. I’m wondering what it will be this year.

Sheldon loves soccer and volleyball.  His favorite food is “chapati,” which he calls pancakes.  (Pancakes are a big hit in our house, too.) Sheldon now owns a bible. He writes and tells me, “I know Jesus.” I share words with Sheldon that I need to hear, just like him.  Words straight from the heart of Jesus. You’re loved.  You’re precious.  You’re accepted.  You’re seen.

Sheldon always includes a scripture verse in each of his letters, so I do, too.  Once he wrote, “I hope we will be friends forever.” I wrote him back and shared Romans 8:29 with him, told him we were in the same family- God’s family- since we both knew Jesus.  I included a picture of Jake and Lilly, said they were like a brother and sister, too.  Explained that God’s family… it grows.  I showed him where his name is written right there in my bible.

And many months later, scrawled at the bottom of the page, I read two words:

Your son,

Sheldon

And those two words make my heart smile big, securing this: We’re family.

Your words can make a difference in the life of a child, too. 

All it takes is two: I’m in.

Sponsor a child and allow the words of that child to dramatically change your life.

CHANGE A LIFE TODAY.

When Silence is a Gift

From within the four walls of the waiting room, I hear it.  It’s loud.  Deafening, even.  I hear the silence, the sound of waiting.  My boy’s having surgery- just a minor out-patient, routine procedure- but it’s nerve-racking… this waiting and this silence. I look around and I see so many different stages of life represented, different cultures, different stories, different kinds of waiting.

Over and over again, I read about God’s silence and today I’m thinking about how His silence has played a role in my own faith walk, how I am responding to His silence even today. When I’m met with silence, I tend to feel rejected, like a failure who missed the mark… again.  So many times, fear bullies me and mocks me like some kind of cruel joke. But when I line up my life to the scripture that is God-breathed, I am refreshed and I breathe more freely. 

The weight of waiting diminishes and now, waiting seems like a precious gift instead.

One doctor emerges from the massive double doors.  He speaks in Spanish.  I can’t pick up too much, but I hear one phrase and it makes me want to cry.  “Mucho cancer.”  The doctor is gesturing; he’s trying to explain, pointing at his abdomen, and he keeps saying those words, again and again. I feel sick.  I don’t know these two men I’ve shared silence with; I have a feeling the patient is a woman.  Maybe she’s a mother or a sister or a daughter.  I’m not sure. Maybe she’s all of those things.

We wait some more.  Finally, Jake’s doctor walks down the hall and tells us he did great.  He’s in recovery, so we’ll wait some more. I am relieved, but my heart is still sinking for the family whose answer was so much different, so much more painful, and so much harder to swallow. And I think about how they are still waiting, too.  A new silence has crept over this family. 

When we arrived earlier, way before the sun was up, Jake noticed the statue right away.  I walked by it twice, once on the way in, a second time on the way to the elevator.  But up from the waiting area, he pointed out through the glass window.  “There, Mommy.  What’s that?”  And then I saw Him.  I leaned down and whispered low, "That's Jesus, buddy."  He grinned and chuckled, "Oh yeah," like it was so very ordinary that Jesus was here with us.

 

Jesus is standing in front of a woman and there, engraved in the stone I read, “Jesus, the Great Physician.”  The scripture etched beneath it is from Matthew- the same place I’ve been day after day after day. I’ve been getting to know this woman whose story has taught me about Jesus’ mercy.  I wonder if this is the same woman kneeling before Jesus.  This woman knows about waiting.  And she knows all about silence. And she knows all too well about needing the Great Physician.

This woman is a mother whose little girl is not only sick, but possessed by Satan and suffering terribly. She is desperate.  She probably wishes she could take her daughter’s place. But then, one day Jesus comes to her town, and she wastes no time asking for a miracle. But Jesus does not utter a word. If you’ve been there, desperate at the feet of Jesus stunned by His silence, take heart: the story does not end there. If God is silent, it is for our greater good and His greater glory.

This morning I read a different version of the same story- the New Living Version- and I saw it with fresh eyes: “Jesus gave her no reply.” Matthew 15:24 (emphasis added)

Could this holy silence be a treasured gift, given with the end in mind?

I noticed it first here in Matthew 15, but Genesis 15 holds another instance of God gifting His children with sacred silence. This time it’s Abram. He believes God will bless him with descendants as numerous as the stars, because after all, He’s promised.  But Abram, much like me, wants to be sure. 

Because sometimes the gap between believing and knowing is a cavernous, silent hole.

Abram asks God such an honest question: “How can I know?”  How many times has that one left my lips? And on its heels, another usually follows, “When will I know?” So God tells Abram to prepare an offering.  He is about to cut covenant with His chosen child.  But curiously, verse 11 leaves traces of that dreaded silence I’ve come to know.  After following God’s instructions to a tee, nothing happens.

“Then the birds of prey came down on the carcasses, but Abram drove them away.” Genesis 15:11

Vultures indicate that the sacrifice is not immediately consumed, as before. In fact, it isn’t until darkness falls that Abram hears God’s response and it is from within a very deep sleep.  Then six long verses later, God Himself, represented by the smoking firepot and the burning torch, walks between the animal pieces that Abram prepared, finalizing His covenant, His precious promise.

Jesus was silent after hearing His good friend, Lazarus, was ill.  Instead of going to Bethany immediately, John 11:6 explains that Jesus stayed right where He was.  It confuses me, because the verse that precedes that one tells of Jesus’ great love for Lazarus’ sisters, Mary and Martha. 

This makes me wonder if the waiting, the silence, the no reply, was in fact a labor of love.

Jesus waited two days… He waited until Lazarus breathed his last breath, and then He showed up.  But God received immense glory when out of the tomb Lazarus walked, dressed in his grave clothes, for the crowd to see.  You see, His response was right on time.

There is perhaps an even more fascinating account of God’s silence, and this one is so hard to wrap my head around.  This one is found in John 19.  Jesus stands accused.  He’s been beaten… no, flogged. Brutally whipped over and over again, and then beaten some more.  Spit on. He’s been dressed in a crown of thorns and a purple robe, so they can mock Him. Before Pilate, Jesus offers silence.

“Jesus gave him no answer.” John 19:9

Another gift- the precursor to salvation that involved even more silence… the silence from the Father that made Jesus cry out from the cross where He hung, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” In every one of these instances of God’s silence, during the stone cold waiting, in the empty gaps full of wishing we knew; in the wondering where on earth God is, an answer eventually comes.  Because He is faithful.

The woman with the sick daughter eventually heard Jesus say, “Woman, you have great faith!” And her daughter was healed at that very moment.

Abram saw God walk through the flames and sign His covenant forever.

Mary, Martha, and the entire crowd of mourners heard Jesus say, “Lazarus, come out!” And he did!

And my salvation is secured, because Jesus uttered these precious words given to Him by the Father as He paid the ultimate price for me to be called His child: “It is finished.”

And after three long days of nothing but a deep heaviness as those who loved Him mourned this unfathomable loss, Jesus conquered sin and death forever when He rose from that very grave.

The answer always follows the silence and each soul is better off because of the answer that eventually comes and God’s glory shines brighter through it.  So when you sense God’s silence, an answer delayed, or when the waiting gets really challenging and the gap grows wider by the day, remember He is faithful.  He knows how the story ends. And it ends in victory if you are His.

Let Jesus write your story… the beautiful beginning where you realize you belong to Him, the precious pauses that are gifts of love, and all the parts in between that bring glory to His Great Name.

For the revelation awaits an appointed time; it speaks of the end and will not prove false.
Though it linger, wait for it; it will certainly come and will not delay. Habakkuk 2:3