It is finished.

Christ did what He came to do.

Brutal, blood-stained cross.

Merciful Savior–loving all of His wayward sheep enough to offer Himself as a ransom.

But now it is Saturday and His followers are wandering and wondering. Dismayed and confused, filled with sorrowing.

Death and all of its darkness settling down over faith-filled hearts.

What is there to do but try to block out the stark images of His suffering and shame. What is there to do but wait. Try to remember all that He said. Try to recall all the glory of His power.

And why is it so hard to remember when the shadows are deepening?

Hard to remember that Sunday is coming.

They couldn’t feel that resurrection power humming against the stone.

Our waiting is not the same. We celebrate with great joy the rolling away of the rock, the defeat of death. We read the words they could not remember, and we tell the narrative again and again.

Christ is risen.

Oh, how it changes the end of the story!

But here we are in the middle. Waiting. Death and its shadows more real to us some days than truth, more real than the coming glory.

What is there to do but wait and remember all that He said.

What is there to do but recall the glory of His power.

And listen.

Can you hear it even in the darkness? In the waiting? In death’s extending shadows?

The sweet song of His enabling grace.

The quiet humming of His resurrection power.

He is risen, as He said.

It changes everything.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. 1 Peter 1:3

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?” John 11:25-26

Four years ago today.

It seems like both yesterday and 100 years ago.

Time moves me, minute by minute, away from those years of having her. Away from those awful days of losing her.

Time doesn’t erase the memories. I hold them safely inside of me and bring them out when I am thankful or sad or brave enough. I’m not one to remember events in detail but I do remember the truth and beauty of her life.

Marissa is always with me.

My daughter had surgery this week, and even though it was all new and frightening to her, because of pandemic restrictions she was mostly alone. Afterward, she recounted that while waiting for surgery, she imagined that Marissa came and sat with her. Gave her words of encouragement. Comforted and calmed her.

Seemed as real as her breathing in and out.

Imagination or a ministering spirit? I only know that she was beautifully at peace.

And I recognize the Author of peace and His ability to provide it to all His little children in whatever ways are best.

Time is one of those ministers.

God intends us to move on and we do. We couldn’t stand long under those first crashing waves of grief anyway.

We gradually move to calmer waters. Not to the absence of grief but to an easing of soul, to an eternal perspective. We still have our own journey to complete, our own path to walk. When the waves increase, we steady ourselves on the Rock. We shout yes and amen to all of His promises. We keep our eyes on that distant shore.

Because time keeps moving us away from last words, last touch, last sight. Time is fading the photos and the memories. Time keeps taking us to places and experiences without her in them.

Time just moves on relentlessly.

But it has become more friend than enemy. Because as we walk forward, we have the assurance that time is also moving us closer to home. Closer to the finish line. Closer to the place prepared for us.

Time just moves us closer to seeing her again.

Amen. It is so.

For all the promises of God find their Yes in him. That is why it is through him that we utter our Amen to God for his glory. 2 Corinthians 1:20

And the world is passing away along with its desires, but whoever does the will of God abides forever. 1 John 2:17

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance. Ecclesiastes 3:1-7

It is early morning here. Soon the sun will rise and bring with it all the noise of life, but for now it is dark and quiet.

I am sitting with a burden of sadness for some who are sorrowing, others who are fighting fierce battles. Heaviness pushes down, and the challenge to cast it on Jesus seems impossible just now. But the invitation is there, so I press up longingly.

Some days just have more shadow than light.

My grandson is fascinated with the sky, especially the moon. He looks for it each time we go outside, and I’ve been surprised at how often we can see it during the day. In all my years I had not noticed.

White crescent against blue sky.

I’ve only looked for it in the black of night, loving its glow and needing its light.

I guess our darkest nights are places where we can reflect the light of God most wondrously.

I wonder if saints in glory view each past affliction as a beautiful opportunity given to learn of Him and stretch out hands of faith to Him. To display His grace and glory. To exhibit peace that could not be explained or understood.

I imagine they see their earthly trials as glorious gifts to lay at the feet of Jesus.

It’s all part of faith to know His presence when we cannot see His light. To set our face toward eternity with courage and purpose when it feels like we are stumbling blindly.

It’s part of faith to believe in His promise, to follow wherever He leads, to wait patiently in our struggle and fear.

It’s part of faith to shine on in the night.

Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” John 8:12

In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven. Matthew 5:16

Sunrise is my favorite time of day.

No matter the circumstances in my life or the condition of my heart, the coming up of that sun brings with it a lifting of spirit. A glimpse of hope.

The colors can be stunning, but mostly it begins with just the softest pink rising above the trees.

To see dark sky slowly filling with light is a kind of joy, quiet and profound.

Night has ended and a new day begun.

Christmas is here again with all of its sparkle. When we walk in the evening, we see candles and colored lights shining in neighbors’ homes. We pass elaborate outdoor light displays when we drive around town. We come home to tree lights and firelight.

Why are we drawn to lights at Christmas?

Our Dayspring, our Sunrise, has visited us. He came as the prophets foretold. He emerged as the softest light in a world of utter darkness.

Not a sudden blazing radiance, but a faint glow of hope for us in our misery.

A fulfilling of gospel promise.

The beginning of salvation for those who believe.

The most glorious news in the most unexpected place.

A stable, a young virgin mother, birth of a baby boy.

The gentlest promise of redemption to come.

Reaching me through ages past.

Lifting me from my darkness, illuminating my path. Gracing every sorrow, leading me to a purpose beyond this short life.

Undeserved hope of redemption. Mercy.

And a joy like the filling of a night sky with light.

Because of the tender mercy of our God, with which the Sunrise from on high will visit us, to shine upon those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace. Luke 1:78

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death, a light has dawned. Isaiah 9:2

But for you who fear My name, the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its wings, and you will go out and leap like calves from the stall. Malachi 4:2

We have a praise service at our church before Thanksgiving–a blessed time of reflection. It is always a joy to hear grateful voices raised to God.

But it is the suffering ones whose praise rings loudest.

The grieving, the lonely, the ill. The disappointed and sorrowing. Those who have come through a severe storm or deep, dark waters.

That praise is a lovely song, a sweet aroma. That praise is a gift and a light.

A buoy for weary pilgrims to hold.

How can we doubt God’s work when we see His grace displayed so lavishly in failing humans? What a wonder is the Spirit’s real and individual dealing in the minds and hearts of those who suffer!

That kind of praise quenches our doubt with refreshing water. Renews our hope and strengthens our hands.

Ignites the flickering flame when our hearts are growing cold.

I remember the Thanksgiving of 2016. Marissa and I were living in Durham during her radiation treatment. We planned on leaving right after her appointment on Wednesday morning so we could make it home in time for the praise service at church that night. But her doctors planned another appointment, and we didn’t end up getting home until after 9.

We were exhausted–physically and mentally and spiritually. We had been invited to eat Thanksgiving dinner at my nephew’s house, but all we wanted was rest and home. I went to bed without one preparation for the next day. No turkey in the house. No pies. No side dishes chilling in the fridge. No plan but sleep.

But I slept well and woke early. I drove to the nearest grocery store to see if they had fresh turkeys. They did and that somehow spurred me on. I began to walk around the empty store and fill my cart with good things for my family to eat.

I remember that morning with such clarity. I don’t know that I have ever felt God’s presence so strongly as I did in the aisles of that store. As I filled the cart, He was filling my heart. He was renewing my song, reminding me of His faithfulness. He was strengthening me for the days ahead.

We had a quiet Thanksgiving that year. It was Marissa’s last one on this earth, but of course we didn’t know that then. The next few weeks would bring us into the last, terrifying battle.

But early on that Thanksgiving day and in all the days ahead, He provided everything I needed. He saw me in my weakness, and He answered my cry. He was with me in trouble.

He was teaching me right there in the grocery store to trust in Him.

He was drawing me to worship, enabling me to praise.

Bless the LORD, all you works of His, in all places of His dominion; Bless the LORD, O my soul! Psalm 103:22

For the LORD is good; His lovingkindness is everlasting and His faithfulness to all generations. Psalm 100:5

We give thanks to you, O God; we give thanks, for your name is near. We recount your wondrous deeds. Psalm 75:1

Ann is with Jesus.

Like a flickering, fading light she slipped away.

A grace-filled dying.

Her funeral was a treasure of faces and words and songs. A beautiful house of mourning.

A hope-filled sorrowing.

She is buried not far from Marissa. Not far from Nikki and Jean and others we know. A gathering place. And a reminder that we all live out only our appointed days.

On our last day, all that matters is what we have done with Jesus.

It’s funny how a cemetery puts it all in perspective. All the drama of this life softened by just a glimpse of eternity.

The powerful glory of the cross shining steadily into the corners of grief and uncertainty for those who believe.

I am understanding more and more its merciful light.

It has been the gentlest fall, breezy and warm with color filling the trees so slowly. I’m always startled by the beauty of dying leaves.

A favorite tree in my neighborhood has delighted my heart with its vibrancy. But yesterday we had a hard rain and today its leaves are gone, its branches dark and drear.

My eyes will have to adjust, find pleasure in other sights. Adapt to the change, the season, the loss.

But my heart remembers the beauty.

My heart stays quiet, hopeful, resting.

Knowing.

Yes, the knowing settles deep.

God will make it beautiful again.

As you do not know the path of the wind, or how the bones are formed in a mother’s womb, so you cannot understand the work of God, the Maker of all things. Ecclesiastes 11:5

He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man’s heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. Ecclesiastes 3:11

For Rissa on her birthday

You know how summer exits slowly here? Autumn is always a bit of a surprise.

A slight change in the air. A breeze.

Dark and cooler mornings, shorter days.

A scent of earth and dampness.

Thirty years ago you were born three weeks before your due date, as if you did not want to miss any of it.

And you have always loved fall.

Some nights when I am walking while the sky is darkening, I feel you very close to me. Memories flicker all around–joy and sorrow warring in my heart.

The raw ache of missing you is a companion of sorts, unwelcome but familiar. I form a necessary truce so that I can remember all the treasure of you.

Your exuberance, your joy. Your sarcasm and humor. Your beautiful smile. Your love of people, including the little ones. Your zest for adventure. Your gift of helping others. Your kindness and strength.

How grateful I am for you. How I cherish every part of you.

This has been the craziest year–one day when all the pages are turned and the book is closed, we will sit and talk about it. How many times I have longed for your cheerful perspective, your courage and faith.

How I have missed you.

Thirty years–a milestone birthday. Most of your friends will approach it with some soberness, a realization of how quickly time is passing. Perhaps they will renew goals and make some changes, move forward with purpose.

I would love to be celebrating with you–cake and presents and outings. To watch your life unfolding, to sit quietly and listen to your heart.

I would love to know you at thirty.

Instead I am comforted that you took every breath you were meant to take. You are right now fully known and fully loved. You are safe.

So on your birthday I am remembering the beautiful gift of you. The 26 years when I could touch you and talk with you and celebrate you.

And I am moving forward in faith, one step at a time, one day at a time. Opening my heart to the future, whatever it holds.

Falling back on the grace that held you and kept you and keeps you still.

Knowing that because of God and His promises, I will know you again. I will love you forever.

Happy birthday, my little Beanie girl.

She is the kind of person whose face lights up when she sees you. Joyful and vibrant. An encourager. Kind and cheerful. Experienced in life but young at heart.

I am always lifted up when I see her.

Her testimony is full of power and grace–how God called her from a dark place into His marvelous light. It’s a reminder of how God works, pulling and moving in a heart, calling and rescuing, healing and restoring.

Her story is filled with Jesus.

And now He is calling her home.

Terminal cancer. At such a stage where treatment will only bring suffering. So she has chosen to live out her days without fighting. With a surrendering heart and a cherishing of moments. With a gratefulness for even numbered breaths–each one a gift.

And a learning about the fullness of God in the tightest of places.

I’ve cried and if I’m honest, squirmed a little under God’s providence. My heart feels sore and weary of hard news.

I have no ability to explain the whys of suffering.

But I do know that eventually we all fall down. There is an end to this transient, vaporous life for every one of us.

Even Lazarus faced death a second time without rescue.

And I think of Marissa. Some would say gone too soon. Some would question the fairness of God.

But what would she speak to our sorrowing, our suffering? What truth would she speak into our fear?

I imagine that she wonders (marvels even!) at our dread of death and our hesitancy to leave this earth. I imagine that I can hear her, along with a crowd of witnesses gone before:

“Rest. You will not find rest in your talent or your story or your work. Rest is found in the finished work of your Savior. Rest in His promises and His person. He is able to keep you and perfect you and carry you. He cannot fail you and He will not let you go.

Rejoice. God has directed each step to this very place. There are no second causes, and God’s grace covers every regret. You are exactly where you are supposed to be. This is your appointed wilderness and your path to the promised land. Your name is written on His hand, and He will make your path straight.

Surrender. Let go of sadness and disappointment. Confusion and uncertainty. Cast every care on Him who long ago gave His life to relieve you of every burden. Let go of earthly riches and comforts. Relinquish longing and desire and goals. Open your hands and release it all. He is the way and the why.  He wants to be your treasure, your portion, your friend.

Trust. Take up your shield of faith but always remember–it is His shield of faithfulness that surrounds you. When there is no light at all, trust in the Father of light. He shines brighter as the surrounding landscape fades.

Take courage–this part of your journey will soon be over. Your sovereign Lord holds your life and your hand and your breaths. There are deep places yet to cross, but He is with you. He will not forsake you! He loves you with an everlasting, loyal love. You are God’s workmanship, His poem, and you are living out the lines written long ago. Every hard place in your story is a means to glorify Him!

Come! Come to the place prepared for you, the place where you are fully known and loved. Come with gladness and joy and a heart filled with expectation. Come washed and clean in the blood of Christ. Come sit at the feet of your Savior and brother and King.

This paradise is filled with the glory of the Lamb! With safety and warmth and a depth of joy, all sorrow ended.

Don’t be afraid to turn the page. The story just gets more beautiful as you go on.”

But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.” C. S. Lewis

But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; for He has prepared a city for them. Hebrews 11:16

Hot summer days remind me of my childhood.

Freshly cut grass and popsicles and bare feet. The sweet smell of my daddy’s roses. Corn on the cob, raspberries, and drippy peaches. The treasure of freedom under miles of sky.

Every day a gift and hours of empty to fill with wonder.

I don’t remember being bothered by heat or bugs or worry.

Just a breathing, slow and easy.

My grandson is 16 months old, and his world is opening. Filling up with words and experiences and learning. We gather objects on our walks together–leaves and sticks and wild flowers, and he holds them in his little hands with joy.

His moments filled with delightful discovery.

He doesn’t know to be afraid of cars or bees or deep water.

Sometimes I want to be a child again.

I’ve been thinking about simplicity of faith. How sometimes we “know” too much to really believe. Experience and emotion become so noisy they drown out trust.

The only knowing that really helps is the knowing of God.

And trusting Him like a child.

Unafraid with open hands. Saying “Show me!” and believing that it will be good and right.  Believing that He is bigger and stronger than all the real we have known.

Bigger than our brokenness and the heart-trembling fear of what might be.

He gives more than mere sustaining grace. More than just the ability to hold on to the end.

He gives good gifts. The softening of our hearts and the renewing of our minds. The strengthening of our souls. The hope-filled expectation of our future.

Wonder at the beauty we see all around us.

A deep and easy breathing with drops of mercy falling all around.

And the capacity to appreciate the simple things we hold in our hands.

With faith. Like a child.

And calling to him a child, he put him in the midst of them and said, “Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Matthew 18:2-4

Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it. Mark 10:15

And without faith it is impossible to please him, for whoever would draw near to God must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who seek him. Hebrews 11:6

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I don’t know what to say, and I certainly don’t know what to do about all the turmoil in our country.

So much anger. Travesty and injustice.

An uncovering of the evil in human hearts.

A sadness at the wickedness in mine.

So many voices clamoring. Enough opinions to fill the sky.

Pandemic or politics or current events–you can find someone to say what you want to say, what you want to believe.

And you can find someone to make you doubt what you thought was true.

We all have bias because of our circle of influence. No one is exactly right.

So I can’t believe everything someone else thinks. I can’t believe everything I think.

The heart is more deceitful than all else and is desperately sick; Who can understand it? Jeremiah 17:9

Is anyone else just tired of all the words?

How are we to navigate the distortion of facts? How are we to find truth?

This is what God’s wisdom looks like: Pure, peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere. (James 3:17)

He is our truth, our light. His words are alive and powerful, eternal and right. It is only as we align ourselves with Him that we can walk a straight path, a path of truth.

So I keep turning my face to the hope of the gospel, the good news that changes us and changes our future. I love the core of it, the truth of it. God looked down on our evil, straying hearts. Hearts that continually pushed Him away, running and turning and seeking anything but Him. He looked down on disobedience and faulty thinking and rebellion. He looked down on murder and deceitfulness and sin of every kind.

And He loved us. Every one of us. Enough to send His only Son to pay for it all.

Let that be the beginning of turning your heart and face toward Him.

Let that pierce your deepest gloom.

He says, Come.

Come with your weariness. Come with your thirst. Come with your sin and brokenness. Come with your struggle.

Bring your bias and your evil heart and just come.

Come and find rest.

Some day He will rule with strength and kindness. Some day every knee will bow to Him. Someday peace will flow like a river.

How I long for it more and more.

Until then, He will continue to do a work in me. He will teach me and stretch me and grow me. He will use all this earthly chaos to make me more like His Son.

This trouble is His intended, refining fire.

And what does He want of me? The world’s problems are not mine to solve. He doesn’t expect me to have all the answers. In my sphere, He wants me to be just. In my story, He expects me to love kindness. In my life, I can walk humbly with Him.

He has told you, O man, what is good; And what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God? Micah 6:8

I can seek Him and His truth. I can fear and obey and follow after righteousness. I can strive to love Him with my soul and strength and might.

And as I learn to love Him, I understand a little more about the truest, best kind of love.

As I learn to love Him, He teaches me what it means to love my neighbor as myself.

“Teacher, which is the great commandment in the Law?” And He said to him, “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the great and foremost commandment. The second is like it, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments depend the whole Law and the Prophets.” Matthew 22:36-40