waiting

My children crawl on me, fight over who sits by me.
I make room, as much room as I can, on my lap in in my arms.
Let the little children come. 

The first hymn begins.
I kiss a little forehead before I sing,
but then I find it difficult to sing.

They are on my mind:
The child-martyrs halfway across the world.

The church sings a hymn about a God mighty to save.

I wonder why God doesn't stop these things.
why His goodness is so hard to see,
why it seems like He is silent.

Like He's above all this. 

What would I do if it were me?
If my neck, or these necks were threatened?

I look inside for an answer.
It's not pretty, what I feel, what I fear:
Would I cower, and beg, and cling to life above everything else?
Would lies, shame, fear, rage, and hate overtake me?
I think... yes.
I am so weak, and I would be overcome. 
Unless... God.

Unless He's not above all this, but right in it,
like He said.
Unless He is truly Immanuel, God with us,
God who has traveled through death 
into new life,
for us.

What if faith is a gift,
and so is the courage to stand strong?
What if this world is crumbling,
and will continue to crumble,
until it is made new when His kingdom comes?
What if I can't hide from that or stop it,
but only wait,
wait,
for God to do what He said He will do?

What if faith comes by hearing, by His Word,
and what if that Word lives?
We who cling to it, we also shall live.

His Word is here, for us, 
Jesus, for us,
body and blood and Bible,
giving us life.

Life, right now, and life everlasting.
I breathe it in, 
and it fills me,
through my ears and into my heart.

My heart beats with a new strength,
the kind that won't run out,
because it doesn't come from me.

We wait, but we are not still in our waiting.
We speak and we give and we pray,
we grieve,
for those children, and our own.

We look straight on,
at the bloody mess, 
and we make pies, tie shoes, and keep living
and we pray and we wait.

We remember the cross,
the death that could not hold our Lord,
and as we dwell under the shadow of death,
we wait.

We cling to His Word,
and His Word clings to us,
and we wait.


And we wait.

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

Despised and scorned, they sojourned here;

But now, how glorious they appear!

Those martyrs stand a priestly band,

God’s throne forever near.

So oft, in troubled days gone by,

In anguish they would weep and sigh.

At home above the God of Love

For aye their tears shall dry.

They now enjoy their Sabbath rest,

The paschal banquet of the blest;

The Lamb, their Lord, at festal board

Himself is Host and Guest.

(LSB 656 v.2)

When he opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of those who had been slain for the word of God and for the witness they had borne. They cried out with a loud voice, “O Sovereign Lord, holy and true, how long before you will judge and avenge our blood on those who dwell on the earth?” Then they were each given a white robe and told to rest a little longer, until the number of their fellow servants and their brothers should be complete, who were to be killed as they themselves had been...

Then one of the elders addressed me, saying, “Who are these, clothed in white robes, and from where have they come?” I said to him, “Sir, you know.” And he said to me, “These are the ones coming out of the great tribulation. They have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.

“Therefore they are before the throne of God,
and serve him day and night in his temple;
and he who sits on the throne will shelter them with his presence.
They shall hunger no more, neither thirst anymore;
the sun shall not strike them,
nor any scorching heat.
For the Lamb in the midst of the throne will be their shepherd,
and he will guide them to springs of living water,
and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

(Rev. 6:9-11, 7:13-17)

Come Lord Jesus.

(Who out there is waiting with me?)

(Originally posted 8/2014 because of persecution in Iraq; resisted today with thoughts of Afghanistan.)

Dear Sin-Sick Soul

Dear sin-sick soul,

soul afraid,

soul staring wide-eyed at death, 
at sin exposed:

You there, with the knees sore and hands dirty from weeding, weeding, always weeding... are you discouraged, when the weeds keep coming back?

but I'm such a big helper!

Do you fear because of the strong ones, the ones that will not give up their roots? You pluck off the top and cover the rest, you smooth down the surface, but you know what is underneath. The roots, growing stronger, too strong for your hands or even your shovel. You fear the day when it breaks through the surface again, where everyone can see.

Stop it.

Just... stop.

You are not the gardener.

You are in the Gardener's care.

It is God who will finish this thing.

Those weeds that seek your destruction, that sin-sickness that threatens to devour you-- it is too much for you. But it is not too much for Him.

Safe in His grace, let His Word diagnose that ugliness, and fear it, fear it so that it will drive you to Him, to help and healing.

Lay down your tools and your crutches, and see the powerlessness of your own two hands.

Be still.

Wait on the Lord with open hands and infested heart.

Wait- and remember who you are.

Who- by grace- you are.

You are a child of God, weak and loved.

You are covered in the perfect forgiveness of Jesus.

Your sins have been answered for with His own blood,

blood that gets down to the deepest roots, destroying evil and growing new life.

Your sin-sickness, your terminal illness is no match for Him.

Jesus came precisely for this: to seek and save the lost-

to seek and save YOU.

It is God who will finish this thing.

And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you 

will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.

Phillipians 1:6

---
Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that the family of believers throughout the world is undergoing the same kind of sufferings.

And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast. To him be the power for ever and ever. Amen.

(1 Peter 5)

originally published 5/2014

Fall (ing)

I’m not used to the tiny cars any more.  I feel vulnerable as we drive on the expressway.  There is a boy, barely 16, jammin’ on his steering wheel, going 80 on our left; an old man drives his truck slowly to our right.  So many variables, cruising down the expressway; if just one gets out of order it’s twisted metal and mangled bodies. I pray, as I often do at high speeds, for angels to guard our way, for protection that I don’t deserve, that He hasn’t promised.

He hasn’t promised protection, not in the way I’d like Him to. He hasn’t promised to navigate us through this broken place and not let it touch us; we will break, too.  

My eyes are drawn to the fire-red trees against the October blue sky, bursting bright with glory for a moment.   Then, brake lights flash red and we slow quickly.  Black smoke billows up ahead.  It does not look good.  Folks heading to the football game to tailgate, happy campers, semi drivers just doing their job: we are now in line for a funeral, it seems.  Traffic slows to a stop; it seems fitting, if a life has stopped.  But we didn’t sign up for this in our travels today, and each one copes in his own way. Some turn up the music, check their phones, hide their faces. One girl fingers the rosary beads that swing from her rearview mirror.  One taps the steering wheel impatiently; one gets out of his car repeatedly, too restless to sit and wait, perhaps trying to avoid the reality in which he sits.

45 minutes later we pass the skeleton of a burned out car- wait, no, it’s a minivan, black and gray and completely torched. Oh God, no. Were there babies in there? I will not think of burnt children; I look at the trees instead.  We are back to high speeds. He giveth and He taketh away, but still today for us He giveth. And I receiveth, with fear and trembling.  We will break too, but not right now, and when we will do we will break only to be put back aright by His hands.

Well He knows what best to grant me;
All the longing hopes that haunt me,
Joy and sorrow, have their day.
I shall doubt His wisdom never,--
As God wills, so be it ever,--
I to Him commit my way.

TLH 425

let me tell you about my fears.

Stand where you are, and look around- be honest about how it feels to stand there.

Honesty is tough; we prefer to look strong and courageous.  We like to hide those crying-in-the-bathroom moments from the world, or write them off as “hormones,” or “tiredness.”

How does it feel to stand here, today? Let me tell you my fears.

I fear for the kids: Will they grow cold or slip through the cracks while the “urgent” little jobs presses out the important big jobs? Will someone snatch them away while I’m paying for groceries at Aldi?  Will the criminal who smashes cars in our parking lot try to smash them someday?

I fear my own demons taking over-  the checklist demons or craving demons or the body-hatred demons.  I can feel the ugliness in my self ‘love,’ how it turns me  inward and causes self destruction and I cannot free myself from this sinful condition.

I fear that the money will dry up and the school will not last. I fear the little sins between people will fester and cause an incurable infection.  I fear my husband will preach faithfully but to no avail, that hearts and ears will close and so will my beloved church.

I fear my husband being eaten alive by his vocation, and all the family with him.  I fear cynicism will win; that we will both turn bitter and burned-out.  I fear our hearts will grow cold for God’s people, for all people, or for God himself.  I fear that we will not finish well.

Reasonable fears. Legitimate worries.

And yet God tells me to do the irrational; the unreasonable; He says, “Do not fear.”  

What a ridiculous thing to tell me. He might as well tell me to walk on my hands! I just don’t have it in me!  

It’s not by a force of my will that I can overcome this fear.  I can’t contort myself into inner peace.

 But just like faith, courage is a gift that flows from His fountain. I can go to Him with my thirst. I can take and drink.

Drinking in His Word, I find it gives the very thing it demands of me.

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.  (Joshua 1:6-9)

Today: Let me tell you my confidence. God is with us. It is enough.

-----------

This post was inspired by a wonderful service at Historic Trinity Lutheran in Downtown Detroit this morning.  Thank you, Pastor Andrzejewski, and thank you, St. Peter’s school kids, for providing the soul-food that spoke directly to my weary heart today. God is good.

The pelican (photo taken in the Narthex at Historic Trinity)

The symbolism of the mother pelican feeding her little baby pelicans is rooted in an ancient legend which preceded Christianity. The legend was that in time of famine, the mother pelican wounded herself, striking her breast with the beak to feed her young with her blood to prevent starvation. Another version of the legend was that the mother fed her dying young with her blood to revive them from death, but in turn lost her own life.  Given this tradition, one can easily see why the early Christians adapted it to symbolize our Lord, Jesus Christ.

(read more about the pelican)

Like what tender tales tell of the Pelican

Bathe me, Jesus Lord, in what Thy Bosom ran
Blood that but one drop of has the powr to win
All the world forgiveness of its world of sin.

---------

“I want to ignore the smoky unknown; it is counter-intuitive to let the anxieties rise up to the surface.

But we must let them rise up, so that we can release them into His hands. Speak the fear out loud, so that He can give words of truth. Don’t run away from those places where it seems your faith is small. Run into them, look around, be honest about how it feels as you stand there. And know we have a God who can handle it.”  (Emily P. Freeman)

Good girls and fear (Grace Book Club Chapter 1)

So, is this book for "good girls" who want to learn to be an even better good girl?

Not at all.
It's for women like these.
Women like me.

Do you identify with any of these feelings?

Motherhood and letting go

My children are not mine. They are on loan to me by God. I get to care for them today, and nothing after today has been promised to me. Worse yet, I have no right to complain about this. I am not entitled to them, or anyone else I love for that matter. They are mine to love, and someday, to let go.

This weekend, I remember one very difficult letting-go.
I remember when we said goodbye, and how we didn't really know what kind of goodbye we were saying.

Would Aggie be coming home with us? The same Aggie we took? A helped Aggie? A brain-damaged Aggie? Would we come back with good news and hope, or devastating news and last resorts?

They took our smiling child to that room where the real work would begin. I could have counted that moment as my workout for the day: the wrestling I did inside myself in order to let her go. There was a part of me that wanted to grab the gurney, pull her away from those people with needles and drills, and keep her safe with me. No you may not do those awful things to my baby! But she was not safe with me either, and so I let her go. (Weak and Loved A Mother-Daughter Love Story)

When I think of that moment of "letting" them take her to surgery, it reminds me also of that day I "let" my husband get on a plane and go to war.  (As if I had any choices in these matters.)

These are the moments when I see that I do not possess the people I love, that I do not get to demand another day with them.

To a lesser extent, this is the same thing that I feel whenever they go out from under the umbrella of my (supposed) protection:

Summer camp.
Play dates.
Sickness that won't go away.
Visits to Grandma and grandpa's.
Kindergarten.
 
These letting-gos are practice. They force our eyes open, and we see our smallness, the world's dangers, and the gulf between here and eternity.  They move us to fear, and to prayer.

God, take good care of my baby.

How do you deal with times of letting-go, little or big?

To the one who feels like she's the only one:

Dear sister in the pew beside me;

Dear sister with the weight on your heart;

You said you are “fine,” and your eyes try to smile but I can see in your quick looking-away that you are not fine. Nobody here would understand, you think. Nobody here has real problems. They all love God and love each other and here I am with this oozing wound that they can’t see, and I can’t let them see because they wouldn’t understand.

Dear sister, you are not alone sitting there with your bleeding heart.

You are not the only one

Whose hands are bloody, whose heart is stained and broken;

Whose heart has erupted violent hatred against God and others;

Whose breath has been taken away by grief or betrayal;

Who screams questions at the God who died for you.

You are not the only one who cries on the inside while trying to keep the smile on the outside.

Writing & Fear Part 3: My Garden Grows Words.

Don't miss the first two parts of this series on Writing & Fear 
10 Reasons I Pause Before I Publish
 When I began to hide

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

Why do I write when it is risky? Why risk being misunderstood or simply wrong, here in this very public place? 

I write because I am learning who I am, how God made me. I am a writer.  
My entire life makes more sense now that I say it out loud, now that I mean it:

I am a writer.

The ability to write is one of the things that God is growing in my garden.  I try to share with you those flowers that God is growing in me and around me. This is part of my vocation as a wife and mother and friend. It is part of my vocation in the church and in the world.

There are plenty of weeds in my garden, to be shure. [sic] There are plenty of ugly things, and I have bad days, when I sit down at the computer and vomit through my fingers. I try not to pass that on.  Even so, the hard things and the nasty feelings may lead me to learn or receive something from God, and from the receiving comes the writing; the good kind, the kind that makes you laugh or encourages you.

Out of the dirt grows a flower. I pick the flower and I put it in a vase and I pass it along to you. I hope you enjoy the flower.  I hope you know who grew it in me and thank Him for it, too. I hope you can ignore the grammar mistakes and the dirt. I hope I am presenting you with a flower and not just a weed that I have grown to like. I can’t always tell.

It’s not the same gift everyone else has, and some people don’t understand it at all.

I might whine that somebody isn’t taking the time to appreciate my flower- picking, and neglect to notice that he is consumed by the use of his own gifts, in fixing computers or caring for souls or taking out the trash. But then I remember that other people have their own gardens to tend. Perhaps this particular flower wasn’t meant for him (or her.)

I pick my flowers and I wonder why in the world other people do other things. Why spend your day worrying about engine efficiency? Why spend hours learning html code? Why, when there are flowers to gather, when there is grace to enjoy?

But those people have different things growing in them, and that is God’s work, too. And I will learn that, when my computer breaks, when I need a different kind of gardener. And I will be amazed at the strange and useful gifts in the person who has come to my rescue. And I will thank God.

I love when the kids pick wild flowers from the yard and bring them in to me. They give me a gift, that cost them nothing other than the time to pick it, and they are thanked for it. And rightly so: they noticed the beauty around them, they gathered it, and they couldn't help to share it with me.

I try to do that same thing here in this cyber place. 

I notice, I gather, and I use words to pass the grace along.

You are living your own day, running through your list, tending your own garden.  Your garden is filled with your own weeds and gifts and worries. I imagine you, when you come here, stopping for just a minute, taking a breath, and allowing my words into your day.  What a privilege that is for me, to be with you in your work or in your rest. I hope my words are a slowing down and a pointing up and a passing on of blessings.

Why do I write?  

I write because the flowers grow, 

because the grace showers down on me 

and I am compelled to gather it up in words.

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

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Tell me, friend, what is God growing in your garden?  I'd love to hear from you!

This is what I need. Just this.

Hear how Paul prays for us:

I  do not cease to give thanks for you,  

remembering you in my prayers,  

that  the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory,  

may give you the Spirit of wisdom and of revelation in the knowledge of him,

 having the eyes of your hearts enlightened, 

that you may know what is  the hope to which he has called you, 

what are  the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints,  

and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power toward us who believe, 

according to the working of  his great might that he worked in Christ  

when he raised him from the dead

 and  seated him at his right hand  in the heavenly places, 

far above  all rule and authority and power and dominion, 

and above every name that is named, 

not only in  this age but also in the one to come.  

And  he put all things under his feet and gave him as  head over all things to the church,  

which is his body, 

 the fullness of him who fills all in all. (Ephesians 1:15-23)

This is what you and I need. 

We need “the Spirit of wisdom and revelation” so that we “may know him better.” 

We need the eyes of our hearts opened and enlightened to better know

 and understand “the hope to which he has called” us, 

that is, “the riches of His glorious inheritance”

 and “his incomparably great power for us how believe.” 

This power, which can raise us 

from whatever spiritual lethargy we are caught up in, 

is just like the “working of his mighty strength, 

which he exerted in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand.”

This is what we need. 

We do not need some mystical experience that might give us power of sorts. 

We do not need some tragic experience to jolt us awake, 

although God could use that if he wished. 

What we need are the facts, just the facts, emblazoned on our hearts and minds. 

We need to clearly see where we would be headed apart from Christ 

and where we will be headed with him at the lead.

Gospel motivation by Robert J Koester p 130

photos taken by me at Camp Lakeview

I Opened my Heart, and Then I Winced: On disconnecting from technology, beings still, fear, and love

There’s something about the sun when it is warm, but not too warm, that stills my body. A blanket on the grass, and a gentle breeze, and suddenly I have forgotten all the work undone.

The warm sun quiets my busyness.

The breeze blows away my constant restless doing of things.

The summer air soothes me, teaches me to just BE.

I lean back in the arms of God’s creation, and I rest.

Not long after I wrote that last post on setting aside technology, I tried it.

I walked away from the computer, and I left my phone behind. I grabbed an old sheet, and I walked with the children down to the pond. I had no agenda. We were not going to get anything done. No weeding, no teaching, no deliberate exercising.

I spread out the blanket, and I sat.

I sat,

with open hands and open eyes and an open lap.

The children buzzed around, playing with sticks, showing me this and that. I listened to every word, I responded with enthusiasm and eye contact. When they wanted to sit by me, I pulled them closer with welcoming hands. Some of them did sit, for a moment or two, soaking up their available mommy and her affection. One boy laid his head on me until he noticed a stick that needed to be thrown into the water. He ran off.

A few minutes later, his sister took his spot.

Aggie sang quietly, and laid her head on my lap. She’s one of the big kids, so she does not get my lap to herself very often. I stroked her hair because I know she loves it when I do that.  

Do you see it? Do you notice the scar on her head right there?

I wear a matching scar on my heart.



I sat there in the warm sun, far away from my jobs and my busyness, and my fingers played in her hair. I could “see” the empty spot in her brain where the tumor used to be. My heart winced, reminded of the great risk that comes with loving this child, every child. 


My heart winced and drew back, afraid of pain and loss. 
But the sun and the breeze and the grace of God soothed even my heart, even this heart with this scar. 


A tight heart braced for loss and for pain is a closed heart.  
Open hearts receive and love. And open hearts get hurt.


Father, How could I ever love another if I did not know Your great love for me?  Conquer the fear in me, and teach me to stay open to love, despite the risk.  
In the name of Jesus, who poured out his blood and His heart for me,
Amen

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

How about you?
Do you feel the temptation to keep your heart closed for fear of pain and loss?
Do you keep yourself busy and distracted with technology or something else to avoid this whole issue?

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

Have you read our story yet?
Weak and Loved: A Mother-Daughter Love Story by Emily Cook
 Now available on Amazon.com $9.99 
kindle $4.99 
epub $4.99 
Aggie had a brain tumor that disrupted her young life; her mother’s sin and selfishness disrupted her best attempts to care for her. Written from the perspective of a mother who suffers with her child, Weak and Loved allows readers to experience the struggles of faith and encouragement of God. Readers will enter the difficult, earthy, and sometimes humorous world of a sick child, and be pleased to find the beauty of God's love in Christ even there.

Writing & Fear Part 2: I'm "shure" she meant nothing by it.

(When I started to hide..)

I remember climbing a tree with a pen in my mouth. Then I would find a comfortable branch, and I’d feel the breeze, and the quiet moment made me sigh and pause and reflect. I couldn’t reflect without writing. The journals filled.

I was in elementary school and writing the insides of heart in a small book with a gold lock and a tiny key. I was terrified that I would lose that little key.

Writing & Fear Part One: 10 reasons I pause before I publish

I can tell by her emails to me that she’s a writer at heart.  I asked her to write for me. She was shocked, honored, and afraid. She protested:  “I’d be so exposed. Someone might find me out.”

I know that fear.

It is pretty scary out here on display. 

But tell me, friend, what exactly are you afraid of?

stepping out in the sunshine despite the threat of rain

Today, the sun is out. The fog of depression has been nowhere near for weeks now. I am energetic, motivated, passionate. I am taking on new commitments, and I am excited for each one of them.

Yet a small anxiety lurks in the back of my mind: what if it happens? What if IT comes back?

I won’t be able to handle this schedule if that happens—not even half of it.

I step back and think about this fear of mine. Things could always happen- A child might get sick. I might get the stomach flu. These things might make me have to cancel my commitments. That’s life. No big deal.

Why is the threat of depression so much scarier? Yet, it is.

The mere threat of depression: it is almost enough to make me timid.

I don’t trust myself, my health. How dare I commit?

Things might change, and I might let you down.

You might not understand.

(I might not even be strong enough to give you the chance.)

I might…. disappoint. (insert horrified gasp)

I can’t kill the fear, but I can let it drive me to prayer and vigilance.

I will watch for symptoms.

I will take care of my body.

I will try to call out for help when I need it, before it is too late.

Today, my mind and my body are strong, and I am upheld by the grace of God. The sun is out! And while the sun shines, I will work. He helps me step forward in faith, relying on His provision, and walk in the works Has placed in front of me, today.

If I am to walk, I must cling to His hand.

Don’t let me get overwhelmed.

Don’t let the pit come back.

Don’t let me crash.

Hold me up, hold me close!

His hand grabs mine, and it is strong and steady.

I am not the glue that holds the world together. He is.

And today, He has given me work to do.

Here we go. 

Steady, now.

(For more on this topic, see Depression)

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Does anyone care about this blog's layout?
I'd love opinions if you have them.
I switched things up because it was feeling a little "busy" to me.
Did you notice?

Coming soon: more thoughts on slackers!