Our family experienced a loss yesterday. It was not a physical death, but the death of a relationship and all the beautiful things wrapped up in it. As sad as I was about this unexpected ending and as pained as I was to see the people I most love hurting so deeply, I didn’t feel the burdensome weight of despair. Maybe it’s because I’ve walked the road of loss before – one with a decided end and no apparent way forward – and I know the outcome. In God’s hands, every end proves to be the beginning of something far greater; a birthplace of hope and freedom. So on this good Friday, as we remember the death of Jesus, I wanted to share a blog post I wrote four years ago that feels relevant in light of this.
My mom said she really likes having the audio option, so this is for you mom!
This morning, a facebook memory popped up from 4 years ago: A picture of John, Chase, me and Cole at the lake by Grammie’s house in Jacksonville, Florida. Seeing Cole’s sweet face in the photo made mine light up, but Chase’s dropped with the weight of sadness. So I gathered him onto my lap and held him tight.
A little later, we sat together at the kitchen island reading the story of Good Friday. It is an uncomfortable story full of pain, loss, doubt and confusion. We hurt for what Jesus had to go through, but also for his mother, his friends, the disciples who didn’t yet understand what was to come; the dramatic turn that would make it all worth it. It was tempting to alleviate the discomfort by flipping the page to Easter but instead, we closed the book and paused to feel it.
We talked more about Cole. Chase looked up at me, a large, sacred tear suspended from his eye – the first, I think, that he has shed in his grief. I cried with him and for him, just like I imagine God did with and for those who also lost Jesus. We paused there too, in that raw connection of loss, letting the discomfort breathe as we held each other.
But then we talked about what the disciples didn’t realize. That Easter was on its way. Resurrection was around the corner. It would not change the fact of Jesus’ death, but it would utterly transform its meaning. This wretched cross to which Jesus was bound would now be an arrow that points to life; a new kind of life that is no longer susceptible to death. It is an invitation for us to hope in what we don’t yet see; to trust that whatever wretched cross we bear will in God’s hands become a blazing symbol of new life.
We have lost Cole. It is hard. But I fully believe that the same power that resurrected Jesus’ body from the grave and ushered Cole into the wholeness of eternal life can and will resurrect our understanding here on this earth. While the fact of Cole’s death won’t change, in God’s hands it will be filled with new life that transforms everything it touches, forging new beginnings where it looked like there was only an end.
It is okay to pause in our hurt. To fully feel our losses. To weep and to hold each other in our pain. But it’s also important to remember that it’s not the end of the story. Resurrection is around the corner, my friends. We have reason to hope!
Hello! I have a few weightier blog posts floating around in my head that I haven’t yet had the chance to write down but wanted to share something on the lighter side that delighted me this morning.
Do you remember the post I wrote in September about helping Chase become responsible for getting himself ready on time for his morning carpool? Well, it has been so good for both of us. Our mornings are peaceful. There is no more rushing or nagging. There is rarely frenzy or chaos. I let him know when it’s 7:00, the time our day officially starts, but after that he keeps his eye on the clock and is almost always ready on time. When he’s not, he willingly accepts the consequence of having to get ready before his treasured alone time the following morning (if he isn’t ready by the time my alarm goes off) or the following two mornings (if he isn’t ready by the time the carpool shows up, usually a few minutes later). He playfully calls this his “punishment,” but I always remind him, “It’s not punishment; it’s training!”
This morning was his first day back to school after a 10 day spring break. I assumed it would be a rough one for both of us. But when I came out of my room at 7:00 to start making his breakfast and tell him it was time to get ready, he leaped up, all dressed and full of joy, to tell me he had already gotten ready and packed his backpack. I was completely delighted but baffled about his reason for this choice. When I asked, he simply said, “I wanted to make you proud!”
This is a tiny little action that may seem insignificant in light of all the big needs in the world, but you guys, it warmed my heart so deeply and made me feel so loved. It has continued to make my day because the sweetness of it keeps wafting back into my mind. It showed me two things: That he knows what matters to me and that he is willing to sacrifice to bless me through that knowledge.
It couldn’t help but make me want to bless others in a similar way. My first thought was for God, my heavenly dad, because there’s nothing I want more than to make him proud. There is so much I’m learning about his heart and what matters to him and it delights me to think that despite all the big, hard things going on in the world, a tiny little bit of sacrificial love on my part could bless his socks off. My second thought was how much he loves his kids on this earth and how loving them well is something that is something that would warm his heart and make him feel deeply loved.
I’ll be keeping an eye out for opportunities and will keep you posted. I’d love to hear any stories you have of ways you’ve been blessed or have found opportunities to bless others!
When Chase was much younger, he had a subscription to a monthly activity box called a Koala Crate. The activity was often an art project, like a sun catcher for the kitchen window, or a fun game we got to make and then play. It was always an enjoyable way to fill time together. When he started going to school, his time and energy were filled up in other ways so we canceled our subscription and moved on.
In one of my recent meal kits, I found a coupon for a free box from the same company and figured it might be worth trying one of the older kid versions, namely the Tinker Crate, which is still creative but focuses on engineering. After running it by Chase who gave a tepid “sure,” I ordered the free activity box, as well as an additional one that looked particularly fun.
After both arrived in the mail, I put them on our dining room table, also known as “the big table,” and let Chase know of their presence. His interest level was low so there they sat for a few days, unopened and pretty much unwanted. I sent along the catapult to a play date thinking it would be fun to do together. His friend was pretty positive about it but Chase, while impressed with his friend’s ability to create more power by tweaking the tension, was still fairly lackluster.
The other box, a domino machine, seemed to be calling my name so I set up shop at the big table and dumped the contents, deciding to build it whether or not Chase wanted to participate. As a quick aside, I am terrible at following instructions. Details, like which particular direction a thing should go, seem far beyond my mental capacity. I think Chase’s interest was piqued not only because the inside of the box was far more interesting than the outside, but also to intervene in my constant refrain of “oops.”
We spent the next 45 minutes building the cutest little machine you ever saw and had the best time doing it. Not only that, but the thing actually worked! After a stack of dominos were placed inside its compartment, it worked backwards, setting each one up in a straight line with the perfect distance between each one. With its googly eyes and smiling mouth, it even looked happy while doing it. Chase bonded immediately, named it Roger and slept with it on his bedside table. As a mom, the real value for me was the experience of being together while building, problem solving and laughing. A few days later, we put together the other part of the catapult box, which turned it into a game with points. It was way more fun than the catapult alone and gifted us with yet more time to laugh and play together.
What stuck out to me was the difference between facilitating an activity that he could do versus inviting him into an activity with me (and his friend) to build not only a functional machine but also relationship. There’s certainly nothing wrong with the former and there are many things that happen that way in our house, but we both got so much more joy from the latter. While Chase fully acknowledged this, he still has a lid on his enthusiasm for future boxes. But honestly, I can’t wait because it’s fun! And it’s together!
This got me thinking how much this is the way God works with us. He doesn’t just pile up activities or opportunities on a table at the far end of the house, saying we could or should do them. He sets up shop on the table and invites us over to see how much more interesting things are on the inside than what they appear to be on the outside. His enthusiasm draws us close (and, fortunately, He doesn’t have a single “oops” in His vocabulary). Without even realizing it, we are bringing Him joy by entering in. Good things are built as we work together, but even better than that is the relationship that is built in the process and the fun and laughter that it produces, not to mention the creativity and solutions that happen as we problem-solve together. Even when we aren’t excited about what’s to come, He can’t contain his own because He loves to be with us and can’t wait to invite us into all the good things He has in store.
We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life. Romans 6:4
When studying Romans 6 for my Bible study, I was trying to wrap my mind around the idea of baptism into Jesus’ death and grasp what that actually looks like. I was reminded of a blog post about metamorphosis that I read several years ago by Mitch Teemley, a favorite fellow blogger. I did a little research to verify this extraordinary truth and thought it couldn’t be a more apropos illustration for this concept.
Each fall, North American monarchs travel from their summer breeding grounds to overwintering locations up to an astonishing 3,000 miles away. Can you imagine being a caterpillar and looking at this future you have been called to, wondering how the heck you are ever going to accomplish this feat? Even the strongest, wisest, most remarkable caterpillar could never cover that distance, let alone soar above it.
This is exactly the same for our old man. We may read the Bible and see what God is calling us to be – saints in His Kingdom who live righteously and love selflessly – and feel absolutely defeated by our limitations. Maybe we think that if we try really, really hard, we might become better people than we are, but it seems like an impossibility to be the new creation He sees us as. There is no possible way that we could soar far into the sky when we have a human nature that pins us to the ground. But that is because we weren’t meant to improve our “old man” so that he can function better and aim higher. It will never be enough. The old man has to die and a new man has to be formed.
This is the very thing that happens to a caterpillar in a chrysalis. It’s not a process that causes wings to sprout from their chubby bodies. What happens is a complete death of the cells related to the caterpillar. Its tissues are digested into a soupy goo, never to be resurrected. BUT lying dormant in every caterpillar is a set of imaginal discs made up of a minute amount of cells. These dormant cells are activated upon the “death” of the caterpillar and it is from them that the butterfly forms a completely new body and nature.
Interestingly, this last stage of development during metamorphosis, when a butterfly enters into its adult state, is called “imago.” I can’t help but think of Imago Dei, latin for the image of God in which we were created, which was dormant when we were living in our “old man” and couldn’t be fully expressed until we died through baptism in Christ and were resurrected as a new creation.
The butterfly completes this transformation within the chrysalis, just as we complete it the moment we receive Jesus as our Lord. After this process takes place, the caterpillar’s old nature is dead and gone and cannot be revived. Even if a butterfly is on the ground instead of the air, injured, or feeling (or acting) like its old caterpillar self in any other way, it is still a butterfly. There is no going back. So too is our old sin nature dead and gone. This is a fact… one we are to “reconcile” as true whether or not it looks or feels true.
It’s important to note that there is no way around this death if we want to enter into the “likeness of His resurrection” and “walk in newness of life.” If a chrysalis is torn open even one day before this process is complete, the new life of the butterfly can’t come forth. So too, we can’t enter into resurrection life without identifying with Jesus’ death through faith in his finished work on the cross where we have been crucified with Him.
But of course it doesn’t stop with the death of the caterpillar – or our sin nature, but continues on into the “likeness of His resurrection.” God didn’t just smack some angel’s wings or a halo on our old body of sin, but we received a whole new nature; one that was made to live unto righteousness and reflect the image of God. It is His nature imparted to us through His Holy Spirit. It changes our starting point – who we now are, and from there it completely changes our ability – what we can now do.
So if you have received Jesus as your Lord, whether you feel like it or not, you are a new creation; one that was made to soar above the ground at heights and distances that once seemed impossible.
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. 2 Cor 5:17
p.s. If you are wondering why, if we have been so transformed, we still struggle with sin, I am going to try to cover that in another post soon.
Hi friends! Long time, no see! I am hoping to share some things soon that are being written on my heart, but in the meantime, I would like to share the testimony I gave at a women’s retreat last weekend. The recording is a little rough, but I’m so grateful my friend took it. My execution is a little rough too, but this is new, slightly scary territory for me so I’m just glad I got through it!
I am so grateful that Tricia asked me to give my testimony this weekend. I think it is such a beautiful thing to share our stories and encourage each other with what God has done for us. The theme verse for this weekend is one that’s very personal to me and has been worked into my heart over the past 30 years. “Do not conform to the pattern of this world but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what is God’s good, pleasing and perfect will.”
I was born into a Christian family to parents who were actively serving the Lord. I was the 2nd of 4 kids. My siblings seemed to want what was good and right, while I was strong willed and wanted what I wanted, which often wasn’t what was good or right. So very early on, I developed an identity as the black sheep of the family. Over time, I came to see myself not as a regular, loved kid who made some poor choices but as a bad kid who was unlovable. I believed that if my parents really knew what was in my heart, they wouldn’t – or couldn’t – love me. I also believed, despite the gospel message that was taught to me, that my lack of goodness disqualified me from God’s love.
On top of that, I fell so short of who I wanted to be or felt like I should be. I was shy and fearful when I wanted nothing more than to be outgoing and fearless. I wanted to connect with people but always felt like I was on the outside and like I didn’t belong. I didn’t like the way I looked. I didn’t like my personality. I was stubborn and selfish. I felt dumb as dirt. I had no discernible gifts. It seemed like God had given everyone around me all kinds of beautiful gifts to do life with and left me with a heap of leftovers that nobody else wanted. So not only did I have disdain for myself but I developed accusation and distrust against God because I believed He had withheld something good from me that was in His power to give.
Just like Eve in the garden, when the pattern of this world was established, I put my trust in what felt and looked true, rather than in what God said was true, and felt justified to take what He hadn’t given me. To bridge that gap, I started drinking very young. In that moment, I felt outgoing and fearless; the condemning voices were quieted and I felt like I belonged. But it was a momentary fix that almost always brought shame and a greater disconnect from my heart and led to a need for more self medicating.
When I was a sophomore in high school – not yet 15 – I showed up to a school dance stupid drunk. I lost my virginity in the back seat of the car after the dance to a guy who didn’t love me. I didn’t have a chance to process the loss, which felt devastating, before going to school the following Monday when I walked in and saw on my locker – in black permanent marker – the word “slut.” My friends quickly found me and told me that the guy’s girlfriend was trying to find me to beat me up. I was feisty and stubborn, but I was not a fist fighting kind of girl. I was terrified. And I was so full of shame as this massive moral failure was made incredibly public.
Do you know those moments in time that mark you? That etch something into your identity that feels permanent? This was one of those moments. I knew in my heart that I had crossed a line that wasn’t meant to be crossed and it was all my stupid, rebellious fault. But instead of acknowledging my pain to myself or anyone else, I built walls around my heart and said that I didn’t care one little bit. It was no big deal. But really, I believed that I was now not only disqualified from God’s love but also from His goodness. I honestly believed that there was no hope for me to have a loving husband and happy family.
You can imagine where my life went from there. It got dark. I drank hard. I smoked hard. I did any drugs I could get my hands on. I cut myself. I starved myself. I gave away my body as if it was loose change that meant nothing to me. I put myself in incredibly dangerous situations because what did it matter if I lived or died? When I was 18, I was abducted by three young men who had given me a line of cocaine in a club the night before. When I escaped, had been interviewed for the evening news and made it back to my apartment, my parents said, “this must have been the worst day of your life,” I responded, “not remotely.” And it wasn’t because I was living out the daily hell of believing my own “truth.”
A week later, I overdosed on heroin. When I briefly came to consciousness in the ambulance, one of the paramedics passionately shared how close I had come to dying. I had the gaul to say to these men who had saved my life and were continuing to save my life… “You aren’t helping!”… before passing out again and waking up in the hospital, alive, thanks to their expert care. It was such a picture of how I felt toward God who seemed like He was sitting on high, judging me instead of reaching down and pulling me out of the darkness. “You aren’t helping!,” my whole life screamed to this God who had given everything to save me and who was working powerfully in more ways than I could know to help me live.
When I was 19, I married a man who had his own hurts, insecurities and addictions that played right into mine. It was a volatile and destructive relationship but it lined up with what I believed about myself so it felt right in its own way. We moved to a small Hawaiian island to try to escape our chaos which of course didn’t work. There were hurts I experienced there that cut deeper than I thought possible, especially because I could hardly feel anything anymore. I felt tired, empty, hopeless and entirely disconnected from my heart and isolated from anyone and everyone who could speak truth into my life.
And then, on Valentine’s Day of 1995, while still living on Lanai, I found out I was pregnant. I know most women in my situation wouldn’t welcome this news but it was the greatest declaration of love I had ever known. I didn’t believe I had any value but I knew this baby did and for some reason I couldn’t grasp, God had entrusted him into my care so somehow, by association to this beautiful little life, I felt loved. Hope popped up like a jack-in-the-box. All that I learned growing up suddenly seemed like it actually applied to me; that for the first time the the gospel, this good news, reached out its hand to welcome me in. I had accepted Jesus into my heart when I was 4, but it was on that Valentine’s Day that I finally bowed my knee and called Him Lord.
I wanted nothing more than to step into life and to be able to love this baby well. But I was still a broken person with some deeply rooted and very skewed beliefs. The difference was that now I had a relationship with the living God who would lead me step by step into what He said was true and make me whole. Strength rose up through the Holy Spirit in those initial months to start making changes that would be good not only for the baby, but for us too. I started nurturing the body I had beaten down for so long. I insisted we moved back to California to be near family – and actually ended up living with family for a long while. It challenged my illusion of independence, but it was such a gift to begin to learn the beauty of community and interdependence. Eventually, I found the strength to get out of the marriage that was not a safe place to be.
So Cole Traveler was born and he was the light of my life. I finally had a purpose and an identity that was rooted in something good. But there was a new tension. I wanted to be the person God said I was. This righteous saint in His Kingdom. I tried to be that person to honor Him and show Him my gratitude but every attempt ended in failure, which was such a good thing, because it helped me see that it was not my job to transform myself. That was way above my paygrade. It was His job to do the transforming. My job was simply to yield to His truth at every turn. And I couldn’t even do that without His help.
There were so many struggles along the way and I had to become dependent on the Lord to lead me through. This is really where the renewing of my mind kicked into gear. I learned to lean into the Word and let it slowly change the way I thought and believed. I learned to share my heart with the Lord and listen to His voice and eventually to trust what He said above my own perceptions. I learned to share my struggles with trustworthy people and receive wise counsel. I learned to worship God not because I felt like it, but because He was worthy. My initial conversion felt dramatic, but the years that followed felt like a journey of a million baby steps of surrender.
Those surrenders were a holy exchange. It was about handing over my wants, expectations and fears so I could come into alignment with His, which is where freedom lies. But It felt like such a narrow road and with my incredibly strong will, it was often an all out wrestling match between my spirit that wanted to yield and my soul that didn’t. But every time I would finally yield my will, peace came and trust grew. Bit by bit, I started to see on the outside the transformation that had been happening on the inside.
There was one surrender that was bigger than any other. It was when Cole was about 9 and a legal situation arose that I wholly believed would not only put his well-being at risk, but would entirely undermine my relationship with him. I tried in every way possible to avert this reality, but was told by multiple experts that I had no recourse. I was backed up against a wall, terrified by the repercussions, so I took a long walk in the hills to wrestle down the fear and hash the situation out with the Lord. Through a torrent of tears, I told him that I felt like He was asking me to put my son on an altar and hold a knife to his chest. He spoke very clearly into my heart, “I am. Do you trust me?”
Everything I had been walking out was tested in that moment. Did I trust him with my most precious treasure… this irreplaceable gift He had given me? I wanted to hold tight and try to be Cole’s savior but I had already seen what came of my own way. From the depths of my heart came the answer. “Yes, I trust you.” In that moment, peace came. The peace that comes not from a certain outcome, but from Jesus. I was forever changed by that exchange before the rest of the story even unfolded. I left a few messages agreeing to the terms but never heard back. The court case evaporated as if it had never existed. I can guess at a natural reason for that but there is no one who could convince me that the Lord hadn’t spared my son with a ram in the thicket that day.
So Cole and I carried on and continued to grow in truth and relationship and navigate the inevitable hardships we faced that were complicated by a difficult relationship with Cole’s father. But it was through that very relationship that I learned the power of forgiveness and the joy of God’s kind of love that isn’t dependent on us – or anyone else – getting it right. Through it, the Lord taught me to recognize things like self-pity and bitterness that would shortchange the way He was using those circumstances for my good, for my freedom and for His glory. I won’t say I enjoyed the process, but wow, was I ever transformed by it.
My mind, which had been such a ruthless courtroom, increasingly became a place of peace as I learned to take each thought captive and hold it up to the grace and truth of Jesus. The numbness I had felt for so long began to wear off as the Lord reconnected me with my heart and I learned how to feel again – yes, the hurt I’d pushed down for so long – but also the joy and playfulness and even the passion God had given me for his purposes.
When Cole was 16, I married a man who loved the Lord, valued me and accepted Cole as his own. I got an amazing step-daughter out of the deal and we had another son together. There was such a sweetness to our blended family. I can’t imagine that anyone looking at our family would have any idea of the miracle it held: That the Lord had destroyed the lie I had believed that I was disqualified for His goodness. It’s still a miracle to me. It’s not that I got things right and became deserving but that I was finally in a place where I could let God do for me what He had always wanted to because He was the One who had qualified me.
A few months after high school, Cole went into the Navy to train to work on a sub. Letting go of having him as a buddy in my daily life was hard but I pressed in with the Lord and connected with Cole as often as I could. The next couple years were filled with a whole new level of surrender as Cole spent his free time riding very fast motorcycles, getting his arms plastered with tattoos and drinking a lot. During that time, he had to deal with the loss of two friends to motorcycle accidents and one to suicide. All I wanted to do was bring him home and help him heal from all he’d been through but the military doesn’t work that way. He had committed to 8 years of his life on their terms.
When he got his job assignment in Virginia, things got bleak for him. He was under poor leadership and was being worked to the bone and, like me, had established his own way of coping. He began having panic attacks, was struggling with depression and hadn’t gotten leave in a year and a half. After one particular text, I dove headlong into mama bear mode and intended to show up on his doorstep the next day, but the Holy Spirit helped me recognize that fear was leading the charge and I knew that it wasn’t God’s voice. So I spent the next morning in worship and prayer with a friend where the Lord’s presence was profound and I once again surrendered Cole’s well-being to the Lord.
Things didn’t get any better for a while but then I had a conversation with him that set my heart at ease. He wasn’t doing great but so much better. I breathed a big sigh of relief. We had made it through. Less than a month later, I was standing in front of my kitchen window doing dishes when I saw naval officers walking up my very long driveway toward my door. And I knew in that moment the news they brought. This amazing boy God had used to save my life had taken his own.
I had wanted the outcome to be different. I had expected the outcome to be different. I thought my trust would have a happy ending like it always did. But I had already learned that peace was in Jesus, not an outcome. There was so much I didn’t understand and there was a lot of pain I was going to have to face, but what I knew that day was that I would be okay. Not because I was brave or strong or up to the task. And not because I was in denial of how immense the loss was. But because the God I serve had shown Himself faithful in every single circumstance, no matter how impossible.
I was determined not to define the loss myself or draw conclusions based on my own understanding or feelings. I’d done that as a teenager with disastrous results. This required constant conversations with the Lord about how He saw my circumstances. I took each thought and emotion to Him and He kept meeting me with grace and truth, like manna for each day. It was not easy, but I have never felt so loved in all my life as I did during that time in the Lord’s tender care. He spoke to me in so many ways – through His Spirit, through worship music, through my community, through His Word – and held me close when there were no words to say. People told me I would hurt forever, and I knew that was the natural way of things, but I believed that God could and would heal my heart. Because He gives beauty for ashes; joy instead of mourning; praise instead of heaviness. I know this to be true.
It has been 5 1/2 years since Cole passed away and the Lord has continued to heal my heart and set me on His firm foundation and demonstrate His goodness and mercy to me. My life is full of more joy than I ever dreamed possible and most of the time, I do not hurt. What the enemy meant for evil – to destroy, defile and discourage me, God has used for good – not only mine, but those who have seen His work in my life. I believe when I stand before Him one day, I will understand all of it and I think I will marvel at His ways, but for now I will continue to trust Him and praise Him and let Him continue the transformation He has begun.
I don’t know what you are walking out right now. What circumstances you are up against or what beliefs are challenging your freedom. But I do know that you are not disqualified from receiving his love, his goodness and his forgiveness and there is nobody who can define your identity and your future but the lord. So I encourage you to lean into the Lord, to put his truth before your mind, to yield your will, and to let him transform you and bring you into the fullness of what he has for you.
It’s been a busy month so far and I haven’t had a chance to write a post, but I wrote this piece for my Bible study as we were going through Romans 5 and thought I would share it. Blessings, friends!
Audio version:
I always knew there was something deeply wrong with me. It wasn’t just a matter of bad choices or behavior but of something undeniably and irreparably broken at the very center of my being. It was a wrong that I could never make right. Of this I was certain. I wasn’t mistaken.
This sinful nature that I couldn’t escape, this suffocating weight of hopeless plight, was secured for me by Adam in the garden when pure and unbroken relationship was traded for the empty promise of a lying scoundrel for something better than Love. It is here that a stand was made, feet planted in an earth now condemned to death, to trust in the created that is but a vapor rather than the Creator who knows no end.
All who followed were born into sin, mankind sprouting from the root of Adam, every sin-imprinted cell tracing us back to this man who sealed our fate. There is nothing we can do to change it. No amount of good, no sacrifice, no way of getting everything just right. Death is our inheritance. We may blame Adam for his wrong that cursed humanity and tainted our future, as if we too hadn’t chosen in one moment or a million to trust in the empty promise of something better than Love.
We may dress things up to feel noble and good. We may pat ourselves on the back for doing better than another, but what good is a strong stroke in an endless sea without a shore? One may flail in fear and immediately inhale the briny water while another masters the waves with power and grace, yet their fate is the same. Sin declared that we didn’t need God. That we didn’t want His help. That we ourselves are saviors, spurning the only One who could save us. We couldn’t alway see how very helpless we were. But God did.
And it was there, where we flailed in our brokenness, damaged and unworthy, shame weighing us down like rocks on our ankles, or where we proudly paraded our strength and beauty as if we had done no wrong and could, by our own will or goodness, save ourselves that God, whose Love for us had never – not even for a moment – faltered, set His plan in motion to restore what we couldn’t and save us.
There was only ever one man who never traded His inheritance of Love for something less, something of His own design; the only One worthy of being saved from the condemnation of this world. It was this man, Jesus, the son of the living God, who was given as a willing and spotless sacrifice. There on the cross, where we spit on Him and mocked Him in the blindness of our need, the burning fire of the sin of all mankind pierced His hands and feet, its deserved condemnation pressing with suffocating force on His lungs. His untainted blood poured out, forgiveness seeping into the soil of the earth that held the root of our wrongs, as this Man, this second Adam, took a stand in obedience and trust, planting His feet in the Kingdom of God where a new root took hold.
For a moment in time, when all looked lost and hope was nowhere to be found, death was being conquered once and for all. Not only death, but the shadows of shame, the fear of separation, the despair of our state. The echoes of the garden that rang in Adam’s ears, that ring in all of our ears, of unshakeable peace and undeniable beauty, of unfailing hope and unbroken relationship, of life – true life, resounded throughout the earth as Jesus rose from the grave, proving Himself to be who He said He was and His promises to be true.
His mighty hand reached down into the sea of our shame and pride, where we strove without end to save ourselves, saying, “Take my hand and I will give you life! Not because you deserve it or because you have – or ever will – get things right, but because my sacrifice has restored the pure and unbroken relationship that was corrupted through Adam’s disobedience. Through me, peace is yours. Victory over sin and over the shadow of death is yours. It is a gift; a free gift. Take my hand and I will give you rest for your souls.
“Cease your striving and your struggle against a tide that will not abate and let Me graft you into this new root, an incorruptible root, born of undying hope and Love’s promise fulfilled. The depraved nature you could never elude will be replaced with Mine. Now you will be unable to escape righteousness. It will come from your very center and pervade who you are, every cell of your being declaring that you are no longer of Adam’s lineage, but Mine. No longer will you fear the waves that come in sets and crash overhead, threatening to destroy you, because they will only press you deeper into Me, causing overcoming hope to rise higher yet and my glory to be witnessed by all. So plant your feet in Me and receive the abundance of God, whose grace pours out freely through me, as you stand cleansed and whole in the soil of the Kingdom, for now and through all of eternity.”
After John wondered aloud last night about whether a bomb had exploded in our closet, I decided to finish unpacking from our Thanksgiving trip to Sacramento and sort through a collection of various items scattered on the floor. As I was putting away my UGG boots, my eyes landed on an old pair of walking shoes sitting atop my shoe rack. They were retired at least a year ago, far later than they should have been, and yet there they proudly sat as if they still possessed some level of usefulness.
The shoes look pretty rough from the top, but the real story is told when you flip them over. The tread is almost completely gone, leaving a slick surface incapable of providing a secure footing. The heels have collapsed or disintegrated (or both), allowing any rough surface to be keenly felt through the soft layer that remains, not to mention the sticks and pebbles that get easily lodged in the holes that go all the way through the sole. And yet I kept wearing these shoes despite months of John’s hearty encouragement to replace them. Not only that, but once I finally did, I somehow deemed them worthy of keeping.
I can think of a few reasons for these odd choices. The first is the comfort of familiarity. The shoes were worn in and had clearly worked for me – to some degree – for a long while. The second is having an outdated mindset that isn’t based in my current reality. While I now have the resources to replace things that are broken down or are not serving me well, that wasn’t always the case. The third (and the primary reason for keeping the old shoes) is the perceived need for a backup in case the new ones fail.
This whole ridiculous thing got me thinking about some old habits and mindsets that are proudly sitting in the closet of my heart, as if they still possess some shred of usefulness. The one that caught my eye was the well worn coping mechanism of self-reliance. I realize that our culture places a high value on this and it may look wearable from the top, but if you flip it over, you will see the absence of tread to provide a sure footing on the slippery surfaces of this world, collapsed surfaces that can’t protect the tender parts of our lives from the rough things we will walk through and deep holes that let sharp irritants through without resistance.
Self-reliance most certainly bears the comfort of familiarity to me and I guess you could say it “worked” to some degree for a long time, but it ultimately brought me nothing but striving, perfectionism, performance and addiction. It makes sense that I finally followed the encouragement to replace it with something new, namely dependence on a very loving God and a beautiful, growing interdependence with my community. Since then, I have found myself protected from the dangers of the roads I tread, walking in safety and in the peace that comes from trusting my “equipment.” Best decision ever! And yet, despite the vast resources now at my disposal, I still sometimes get stuck in the old mindset of my own meager, self-sufficient resources. This creates fear and the perceived need for a backup to the new way. Hence the coping mechanism sitting on the shelf… just in case. And because it’s there and I know it so well, I sometimes put it back on and feel fortified, as if this broken-down thing could give me what I need for any circumstance that comes my way.
I am seeing the absolute absurdity of holding onto this mechanism, the old mindset that produced it and the fear that drives it. It just doesn’t make sense in light of what I know now; of what I have experienced of love and provision and abundance. So I’m thinking that, by the grace of God, I am going to throw it in the trash bin next to yesterday’s scraps and yesteryear’s shoes to head to the landfill where it belongs. Is there something sitting on the shelf of your heart that might be worth throwing away too?
Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Romans 12:2
Sometimes my dog, Sunny, gets in a bind. It usually has to do with the thing she loves more than anything in the world: Her frisbee. Maybe she’s dropped it in the pool and it’s floating beyond her grasp. Maybe I’ve thrown it into a tree where a branch holds it high above her reach. Her response is always the same. She frantically tries to retrieve it while incessantly barking, her eyes fixed on the object of her desire. This is when I ask the only question in our arsenal of commands; one that was born of necessity….. “Help?”
When I first began using that word, she would continue her futile attempts, barking even louder in response to my attention so I could understand the full extent of her distress. But now when she hears it, her eyes move from her problem to me. “Yes, I do want help,” she seems to say as she stops barking and becomes still. She waits for me to do what she can’t. And I do. Every single time.
I’ve noticed how much we – all of mankind, really – can be like Sunny in our panicked moments when something that holds value to us is out of our reach; when we feel stuck and see no way to resolve the problem or alleviate our fear and stress. How easy it is for us to make a lot of noise to express the full extent of our distress and repeatedly attempt to solve our problem in a way that hasn’t worked; that will never work.
Problems are actually a gift that way. When our illusion of control is challenged enough for us to see that we don’t have the solution, we are forced to reckon with our weakness and inability. Will we turn our eyes to the Master who is always there beside us asking “Help?” or will we continue to strive in futility, our eyes fixed on the object of our desire? It is a question, not a command, and it is entirely up to us.
If we do choose to turn our attention to Him, we will find peace before there has yet been a solution. Maybe not the first time around. Like with Sunny, trust takes time to build. But as we practice saying “Yes, I do want help” or “Yes, I need help,” we will come to see His provision. It may not always look like what we thought, but it will be there. Every single time. And it will forever change the way we see and operate.
We will become people who, when faced with trials, will look immediately to God to handle what we can’t because we have seen time and time again that He is able. We will lay down our struggles and become still, waiting on His solution because His reach is far higher and better than ours. We will develop compassion for others whom we might otherwise have judged for their weakness, offering undeserved kindness, because we ourselves have experienced the humble, miraculous joy of receiving help in our time of need. We will be people who will no longer be mastered by fear because our true Master has captured our vision and trust.
When we bought our home four years ago, I launched whole-heartedly into gardening. It wasn’t something I’d ever done before so I was pretty clueless about which plants would work best in the soil, lighting and space that we had. What was even harder for me was being able to envision what would look the most beautiful in the different areas of our yard. So I bought a bit of every flowering thing, planting it before adding some more and then some more, resulting in a bit of an overcrowded floral circus. The whole process was a joy, but it definitely had the flair of an amateur gardener.
Over the course of time, that has changed a little. While still an amateur, I’m increasingly drawn to the idea of self-restraint, valuing the impact of fewer colors or types of plants over the impulse to include every pretty thing I see at the nursery. Maybe, at least in part, it’s been from observing well-designed gardens that draw me in. They all seem to carry a sense of balance, beauty and purpose, established not only by the elements the designer (or gardener) chose to include, but by what they chose to leave out. Some of these gardens take my breath away by the striking play of shape and texture or the nuanced shades of a color that would have been lost with less intentional restraint.
Recently, I was looking out at my favorite part of our whole property (one for which I can take no credit): A simple green hedge of privet and boxwood that sits beyond the pool, in front of a white fence and neighboring trees (plus a few power lines to keep it real), and something struck me. Were I to have been given the freedom to design me, I would have included something beautiful from every aisle to establish an impressive persona that used every square inch of real estate… with the flair of a true amateur who always thinks more is better. God chose instead a design of simplicity that would serve the purpose of revealing His own beauty; one with balance and harmony that I, as His creation, would have the privilege of reflecting.
I often resented Him for this design but can see now that He wanted my life to be a resting place for the eyes of a people who have been daily assaulted by the self-glorying “more” of the world. He was very intentional about what He included in me, and very intentional about what He left out. It may not always look beautiful or complete to me, maybe because some elements are still in the process of growing in or because I’ve compared myself to others and felt lacking, but He made me and He called it good. And He’s the best of the best so who am I to argue? He also made you and called it good. So let’s rest in His design and let our lives grow into the fullness of it.
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. Psalm 139:13-14
After taking a beginner pickleball class through my city with a friend, I was hooked. It was social and active and outdoorsy and didn’t require too much athleticism or coordination to jump in, which was very fortunate for us. And yet there were infinite ways to improve, keeping us coming back for more, not to mention the wonderful community of other pickleball addicts – oops – players.
Pickleball videos started pushing out the dog videos and garden photos that typically fill my instagram feed. I began to accrue paraphernalia, like tennis skirts and practice nets, and my week seemed to revolve around many different friend groups that also enjoyed the sport, sometimes dictating both a morning and evening session so as not to be excluded from the fun. To complete the community aspect, several women in our neighborhood established a weekly pickleball playdate on my neighbor’s court, a highlight of our week, complete with a good workout and more laughter than we knew what to do with. Sheer heaven, if you ask me!
It’s not that I got so great at it. But I had ridiculous fun and I did improve. I also learned (probably from all those instagram videos) that there are certain shots that are crucial to understand and eventually master. Maybe the most significant of these is the reset, a dropshot that neutralizes the ball when your opponent has the advantage. It requires restraint because the tendency is to defensively whack a ball that’s coming fast at you, giving your opponent the chance to continue the onslaught before you are ready. Instead, you learn to remove the pace from the ball, softening and shortening the hit, removing their ability to “attack” you with the next ball and giving you time to get into a better position… at which point you can launch an attack of your own. It is a beautiful thing to watch.
It’s kind of funny that pickleball illustrated this principal for me before forcing me into a real-life application. I think it’s fair to say that it was a bit much to ask my body to go from never having held a paddle to wielding one nonstop for 6 months. Even so, the tightness that developed in my right shoulder didn’t stop me for a moment. I wouldn’t be taken out that easily! When it began to morph into pain, I felt incredibly mature for passing on a few of the many opportunities presenting themselves. Well done, me! Except not so much, because what followed was a compressed nerve that radiated pain down my shoulder and arm, numbed my fingers and dramatically interrupted my life.
Pickleball wasn’t even an option. I mean, I was struggling to have grace for my daily life and family. Pain is kind of consuming like that. To my great relief, one day it seemed like I was turning a corner and I figured I’d be good to go in a few more days. Phew! But the day that followed was wretched. The pain was worse than ever and, despite every attempt to alleviate it, no relief came. Thoughts kept flying hard at me like the balls of an attack on the court. The discouragement of it getting worse; the fear it would never get better. The images of my x-rays conveying a likelihood of many more such scenarios. Growing up in a home where my dad’s back issues and chronic pain told a story I didn’t want to live. It all felt so terrifying and hopeless.
It would have been natural to return the ball just the way it came by continuing this mental conversation of fear, self-pity and discouragement. The problem is that it would fly back at me just as hard, if not harder, when I was still in a weak place. I was in no position to gain any ground. I needed a reset; a neutralizing factor that would buy me time and position me to prepare for an attack of my own.
The best way I know to do this is through rest. I don’t mean laziness or inactivity, but a restrained and very strategic choice to take pace off the enemy’s onslaught and remove his advantage by pausing in the presence of God. It is a response to pressure rather than a reaction to it and one of the only places I know where the defensive struggles of this world can be neutralized in order to create opportunities for the offensive truth of the Kingdom.
So I laid down in my bedroom with my face on the cold wood floor as hard, ugly tears came. With raw honesty, I poured out my struggles to the Lord. Eventually my tears quieted and so did my heart. I was entering a place of rest; this was sacred ground and I knew it. Without the urgent voices pressing in, the quiet voice of the Lord started to rise up. It became clear to me that while I had no control over my physical pain, I was under no obligation to take on discouragement or defeat. So I laid them on His altar, both then and when they tried to return. A calmness came over me; an inexplicable peace in the midst of the storm. It became clear which path of treatment I was supposed to take. It was one we had ruled out but which I now knew would be good, not only for the current pain but as a preventative measure for future issues.
I rose from that floor at peace. The pain remained but it no longer overwhelmed me. I was not backed up against a corner trying to defend myself, but on the solid ground of God’s victorious Spirit, standing in ready position right where I belonged… or, rather, sitting in ready position because the first thing I did after that was to post a blog about grace. Well, it was about flossingand grace. It certainly wasn’t a hard-hitting treatise on either topic, but sharing the gospel that day, in any form, felt like a glorious, empowered counter attack. It was a beautiful thing to experience.
One thing that stood out to me was that the urgency this crisis created enabled me to address some long-standing problems that were otherwise easy to ignore, which definitely puts it in the ‘blessing in disguise’ category. And, really, anything that creates a trajectory toward truth is a blessing, no matter how many ugly cries it takes to get us there.
One last note is that entering rest is a simple concept, but like that darn pickleball “reset,” I will not pretend that it is easy. And while this one happened quickly for me, that’s not always the case. I’ve had months or years of struggle over certain things to get to that place of rest where I stop defensively entertaining my struggles and move into the offensive truth of the Kingdom, but the upside is that every single time God has walked me through, it has been like a practice drill that makes each subsequent time easier and, oftentimes, quicker… and the benefits more tangible. I can’t help but think of this verse from Isaiah: “This is what the Sovereign LORD, the Holy One of Israel, says: ‘Only in returning to me and resting in me will you be saved. In quietness and confidence is your strength.'” Yes and amen. Play on, my friends.
where waves grow sweet 