Lighten our darkness, Lord.

In the name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit.

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, rejoice! Let your reason be known to all everyone. The Lord is at hand. 

But I can’t imagine that there is too much rejoicing going on today in our country or even throughout the world. Rather, there is great sorrow at the events that happened on Friday in Newton, Connecticut, or in 22 children and elderly who were knifed by a madman in China in the same week. Rejoicing just doesn’t seem to fit. More like sorrow and grief. 

The prophets words we just sung seem out of place: Comfort, comfort, ye my people, speak ye peace, thus saith our God. Tell her that her warfare is over.

Surely as John the Baptist sat in a madman’s prison – imprisoned because he preached the word of God – he wondered the same thing the whole world has been asking these last few days. The same question we asked on 9/11 and at Columbine and at Aurora, Colorado. The same question moms and dads ask as they pray for their little one in the NICU. Why, God?

For the rest of the sermon, by Pastor Mark Lovett, follow one of the links below.

Listen here.

Read the full text of the sermon here.

You will hear Christ preached. 

You will find rest for your soul.

Talking about the scary stuff

How do you handle the "scary stuff" in your home?

We've all had to answer that question this week, haven't we?
In our home, we are honest with our kids. Evil is horrible, and they have seen me cry over it. We have prayed together, and we have had many hard discussions.

That said, we also do not allow the news to color their minds with all kinds of scary images, and with the world's perspective. They do not know the shooter's name, but they do know about Victoria.

I'd rather them not know about any of this scary stuff, to be honest. But this life is full of it. We don't dare pretend that it isn't.  We call evil evil, and then we point them to Him who has overcome.

Sometimes we point with tears, and hands that shake, but still, we point.

And He comforts and upholds us, as He has promised.

From Russel D. Moore...

Too many of our Bible study and discipleship materials (whether for Baptist Vacation Bible School or Roman Catholic confirmation preparation or what have you) de-claw the Bible. They excise all the snakes and dragons and wildness. In so doing, they reduce the Bible to a set of ethical guidelines and a text on how gentle and kind Jesus is.

The problem is, our kids know there are monsters out there. God put that awareness in them. They're looking for a sheep-herding dragon-slayer, for the One who can put all the wild things under his feet. Until we can address, with gospel honesty, what scares our children—and ourselves—we can never get to the joyous wild rumpus of gospel freedom.

Read the entire article here

You may also enjoy Not for Sissies: On teaching violent love to children

How do you handle the "scary stuff" in your home?

I'd love to hear how you handle these things with your children.

Brain fog and a tired heart

I can’t decide what to feed the family for dinner, even though my freezer is full and my lists are in front of me. I just stare, overwhelmed with the task, and near tears.  Is another meal really necessary? I just want to go to bed.

I call this brain fog, and it comes during times of grief or depression.

I don’t want to be so vulnerable that a tragic event far away can destroy my ability to make a meal for my family. But I am. I am sad and I am tired.  My body, my heart is tired.  World-weary. Tired.

“I’m going to take a nap.  Does anyone want to join me?” I said, and my first baby did.  We are both too big for naps, but we are not too big to need to sit and just hold each other.

I lay with her under warm blankets, and we thank Jesus for our “warm, soft bed.” We are still counting those gifts we already have, though we are too lazy and tired to write them down this time.  I hold her and she holds me, and I marvel that she is so big that she can borrow my coat now.

I keep my eyes open as I caress her hair. I know the images that will come to mind as soon as I close them.  Her eyes begin to close.

Suddenly the door opens and my other daughter comes in, “I guess I do want to take a nap,” she says. She climbs in on the other side of me, and we lay tangled together. They breathe. And I think I could lay there forever just listening to the beautiful sound of their breathing.

They breathe, and I breathe.

 My eyes close by accident. I don’t mean to, but I picture the classroom full of dead babies. Big babies, like the ones in my arms, but dead.

I force my eyes open again.

I look at my younger daughter, my Aggie. She is asleep already. I see the light from the window behind her, creates darkness that lays like a blanket over her perfect profile.  Her mouth has no jokes, her face has no smile creases. She is still, perfectly still, except for her breath—that beautiful sound of her breath.

My mother heart wants to keep them here under blankets forever, keep them from such evil as we saw in Connecticut.  I want to keep them from grief, from tragedy, from death.

Yet my arms are impotent. My embrace is futile. I wither like grass.

I look at Aggie’s relaxed face, her crazy hair, her head. Her next MRI is this week.  I find it frustrating that the eyes of mother love and worry cannot perform a reliable brain scan. My scans reveal either what I want to see, or what I fear, and neither can be trusted. The scientific answer will settle the question, on Tuesday.

Evil is not just out there. Things crumble all around, even right here in this bed, in these bodies. 

How quickly I had forgotten. How powerfully I remember.

Surely all flesh is like grass.

Yet my babies, right now, are breathing life next to me at this moment. I listen, and though I fear, I give thanks to Him who made them. 

Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the Words of eternal life.

There is no understanding, no comprehending evil and protecting myself and those I love from it.

There is only Jesus--God with us and for us.  There is only the cross, the atonement, the resurrection. 

There are only His promises. 

There is hope and comfort, only in Jesus.

The grass withers and the flowers fall,

    but the word of our God endures forever.

Isaiah 40:8

(A prayer from Pastor Harrison. My thoughts added in italics.)

Friend of the little children, lighten the darkness of our hearts. 

Remember in mercy all who have been devastated by the shooting this week in Connecticut. To Your care we commend the injured and the mourning, the traumatized and the terrified.

Embrace and comfort children around the world who are afraid because they have seen the news. Comfort the mommy-hearts that ache and fear for their own babies. Hold close all of us whose eyes have again been opened to the power of evil and the fragility of this life.

Embrace and comfort each hurting family, O You who have known in Your own flesh what violence and hatred can do, and yet triumphed in love. Give them Your peace and a share in Your hope. Lord, in Your mercy, hear our prayer. Amen.

(prayer from http://wmltblog.org/2012/12/harrison-on-connecticut-pray-for-the-consolation-of-christ/)

-----------------

How are you holding up? 
Am I the only one with brain fog and excessive snuggle needs?

Sitting in sadness

My son came home with tears in his eyes today.

He had a note from his teacher. It was a "bad note," because he did something "really really naughty today. "(He and his friends made a mess with soap "explosions" in the bathroom.)
He was repentant, and terrified, he could hardly talk for the crying.

He sniffed, squeezed me again, and said, "I never thought I'd be a kid that had to go talk to the principal."
And all this time, his mother was acting quite odd. She wasn't mad. She just hugged him back, quietly and firmly.
She sat under him on the couch for as long as he needed, rubbing his back, and comforting him.
She lectured him a little, but her heart wasn't really in it. She was tender, affectionate. Her arms welcomed her little sinner, and she was happy to sit with him in sadness for as long as he needed.

She wasn't thinking of the note.
All she could think was, "my son came home from school today."

My heart and my thoughts are with those in Connecticut.

photo credit

Did you know there was a similar tragedy in China today, too? Read about it here.

Today, I am not this mother.
But like her, I live in this sad place.

How long, Lord?

Have mercy.
Tend to us.
Tend to them, those whose hearts break.

Jesus hold us close.
Without you, there is no hope.