Posted by: Kara Luker | January 31, 2019

A time to seek

To piggyback on my last post about failed expectations opening a door to a bigger purpose, I’d like to share a story from a week or two ago. My heart was still achy from facing this brand new year (and future years) without Cole. Because God has dropped so many game-changing words of comfort into my heart these past months, I came to Him one day expecting more of the same… a beautiful, empowered nugget that would calm the grief and let me get on with this new normal.

I knew the Lord was near and could feel His love, but no immediate word fell into my lap. No blanket of comfort to wrap up in. Instead, with my need uncovered and unsatisfied, a deep hunger and thirst arose – for more of Him, His truth, an understanding of what He wants to do in this place. A desire to seek Him until I was filled.

It was actually an answer to prayer; it just happened to be a different one. Rather than my prayer for comfort, it was one for direction – which of two places to commit my time. It became suddenly clear to my thirsty heart: The place I knew I’d get fresh water to drink.

matthew 5-6The need to be filled also led me to the Bible for nourishment. Not just for a few snacks, but several hearty meals worth. My screwed up sleep schedule, with a few pre-4:00 a.m. wake ups, served me the necessary time on a platter. As for church that Sunday, it wasn’t even a question if I would go. I hungered for it.

Little did I know that I would be surrounded by situations (beyond my own) that needed prayer and support; that the time spent getting nourished on truth would be more valuable than a word of comfort that day. But God knew. With great kindness, He prepared me. It’s like I was inviting Him into my cocoon to be cozy with me, but He was drawing me out of it to explore new territory with Him, using the wings that have been forming in the quiet places.

Somewhere in this process, my grief fell away again. I can’t say exactly when, which is different than most of the comfort I’ve received thus far. But isn’t that just like the Jesus of the Bible? He always met the needs of the people, whether it was food for the hungry, freedom for the bound or healing for the sick, but He rarely did it the same way twice. Probably because He doesn’t want us to rely on the thing He gives or the way He gives it, but on Him alone.

I am getting satisfied in His presence and wouldn’t trade it for anything. My heart is expanding beyond this little kingdom of self-focus…. Another answer to a prayer that I have been praying for years. Thank you, Lord, for who you are and the way you work. You never cease to amaze me.

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Posted by: Kara Luker | January 29, 2019

Failed expectations

While reading through Acts, I came across this story from chapter 3:

lame manOne day Peter and John were going up to the temple at the time of prayer—at three in the afternoon. Now a man who was lame from birth was being carried to the temple gate called Beautiful, where he was put every day to beg from those going into the temple courts. When he saw Peter and John about to enter, he asked them for money. Peter looked straight at him, as did John. Then Peter said, “Look at us!” So the man gave them his attention, expecting to get something from them.

Then Peter said, “Silver or gold I do not have, but what I do have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk.” Taking him by the right hand, he helped him up, and instantly the man’s feet and ankles became strong. He jumped to his feet and began to walk. Then he went with them into the temple courts, walking and jumping, and praising God.

I’ve read this story many times and even still sing a catchy song about it that I learned as a kid at Bible camp, but I’ve never before paused in the middle of it… breathed a moment of the thick air of failed expectation, when Peter had demanded the lame man’s attention, stoking his hopes for money before declaring that he had no money to give.

In another story, Lazarus was sick so his sisters sent for Jesus. They knew of His love and His power. If He could get there to pray for their brother, all would be well. But Jesus delayed and Lazarus died. Their expectations were crushed. “Lord, if only you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

Of course there is the story of Jesus’ own ministry that looked nothing like what God’s people were expecting from the Messiah. They were anticipating the restoration of their temporal kingdom, which He utterly failed to accomplish. And then there were His disciples whose expectations were based on Him living – not dying – to fulfill the purposes He came for.

These unfinished parts of stories look like failed expectations. Prayers gone sideways. Things that didn’t happen like they should. But each failed expectation was necessary. If it had been fulfilled (according to the limited understanding of men), the greater and far more lasting thing God wanted to do (according to His infinite wisdom) would have been left undone. The lame man would have received a few coins for a perishable meal in a broken body instead of a feast of healing and freedom. Mary and Martha would have seen Jesus’ power over sickness, when there was still hope to be had, but would have missed seeing His power over death, when all hope had been lost. God’s people would have rested in a restored earthly government instead of the revealing of a heavenly Kingdom for all people and all times. The disciples would have witnessed more of Jesus’ ministry instead of being empowered by the Holy Spirit to become His ministry and change the course of history… not to mention the minor detail of the forgiveness of sins for all who believe, which could only come by a perfect sacrifice: Jesus.

I’m guessing most of us are walking out some kind of failed expectation. An unanswered prayer. A deep disappointment. I knew Cole was struggling, but I fully expected that God was going to restore his hope and life. Here. While he was still on this earth. It didn’t happen that way.

But what if our stories are not yet finished? What if we are breathing in the thick air of the lame man when his request for money was denied before he was given healing… Outside the tomb of Lazarus for four hopeless days before he was raised from the dead… Watching Jesus die on the cross, along with all of our hopes, before His resurrection fulfilled every hope?

I’m still in that pause, holding in my hands this failed expectation; this loss of a son. I can’t see the rest of my story yet. But I am increasingly convinced that I have been given something greater and more lasting than what I prayed for; so much more significant than my imagination could have conceived to ask. Because that’s the way God works.

So my prayer is that we could set aside the pain and disappointments of our unfinished stories and “look to Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith” (Heb 12:2). Instead of self-pitying “Why’s?”, maybe we can ask what it is He wants to accomplish from this place.. what He wants to impart that is greater than what we were asking… how we can partner with Him in it. Because, in the hands of this redemptive Author, our stories of brokenness and sorrow can’t help but be transformed. I’m pretty sure they will all end with: “They went into the temple courts, walking and leaping and praising God.”

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Posted by: Kara Luker | January 16, 2019

Hope for the hopeless

If you are one of the people out there who feel like there is something terribly wrong with you or with your life; so horrifically disjointed that is seems unfixable and hopeless, please take heart. I have been there.

You are spot-on about something not being right. In fact, it is very, very wrong. It is called your sin nature. You were born into it. Because of Adam, we all were. But it’s not what we were made for and somewhere deep down, we know it. Despair sets in not simply because things are so bad, but because of this unspoken awareness that there is something better than what we are experiencing; an echo in our hearts of the “more” we were created for.

I’m guessing you’ve tried to fix what is wrong, attempting to ease the tension between these two realities. And I’m guessing you’ve failed. It may sound ludicrous, but you are in an enviable position because in your struggles, you have probably hit upon the crucial truth that precedes all freedom: You are broken and you cannot fix yourself.

A heartbreaking number of people who have come to this conclusion have found depression or suicide to be the only possible response. That only makes sense if we are the sole answer to our problem, which would indeed be a hopeless situation. But what if there is Someone who resides outside the mess of our sin nature; who is not affected by its gravity and has the ability to deliver us from it?

There is. His name is Jesus. And I am proof of His ability to save. I was broken beyond repair; a tangled mess of a human being. Discouraged and hopeless; covered in shame. Every attempt to get free got me more deeply stuck in the mire of my sin. In that wretched pit, longing for something better – or just an end to the misery – I finally saw that I could not fix myself. It was a truth that had to be realized so I could see my need, but freedom itself didn’t come until I cried out to Jesus to save me. In that moment, every one of my sins was forgiven and the door to freedom swung open.

I would have settled for the “freedom” of getting rid of my bad habits and tormented thinking, but I came to find out that true freedom doesn’t just remove things; it imparts something to us and makes us whole. It is found in the presence of Jesus who releases us from the gravity of lesser things by inviting us into relationship; into the “more” we were created for.

 So instead of being instantly delivered from my bad habits – my sin behavior, Jesus delivered me from my sin nature, birthing me into the hope-abundant, righteous nature of God. It was a miracle, but I was a newborn who would have to learn to crawl and walk and speak this new language of freedom. I was a child who would have to keep looking into my Heavenly Dad’s eyes to learn my identity as loved and valued – in a world that said otherwise – no matter how many times I fell and failed. In this safe, empowering place of learning and growing, I have been transformed from a taunting echo of something true to a wholehearted reality of it.

The life I now live is impossibly beautiful; governed primarily by peace, filled with hope, and sweetly dependent on Jesus to keep it that way. So many of the sins that plagued me have fallen away, having lost their grip to the stronger pull of love and freedom. The struggles that remain are helpful reminders that I can’t fix myself and opportunities to see more restoration, more hope and more beauty from His hands. All of this is true because I was broken and I couldn’t fix myself. 

So if you find yourself in that same place, take heart. The Lord knows exactly what you are facing and He is not daunted for a moment. He will absolutely do for you what He has done for me. Let this pit you are in be the birthplace of your freedom. You will never regret it.

img_3695I waited patiently for the Lord;
he turned to me and heard my cry.
He lifted me out of the slimy pit,
out of the mud and mire;
he set my feet on a rock
and gave me a firm place to stand.
He put a new song in my mouth,
a hymn of praise to our God.
Many will see and fear the Lord
and put their trust in him. Psalm 40:1-3

 

 

 

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Posted by: Kara Luker | January 14, 2019

Yielding to the process

I spent an afternoon with a pregnant friend last week. She is in her first trimester, queasy and tired with far less resilience on any given day than she is used to. Our conversation reminded me of a time during my first trimester with Chase. I had prayed for this baby; practically begged God for this gift to share with my new husband, John. There was so much joy in the knowledge that this new little life was being formed and would become part of our family.

At 9 weeks along, I didn’t have outward proof of my pregnancy like a round tummy or an ultrasound picture; only the memory of a positive pregnancy test, roller coaster emotions and debilitating fatigue. Company was coming for dinner that night. It was family; nothing fancy required. But I couldn’t. Just couldn’t. So I stood in the kitchen feeling overwhelmed, tears falling down my face, and said “I changed my mind. I don’t want to be pregnant anymore.” Of course it wasn’t that I didn’t want a baby anymore. It was that the process of getting the baby felt too hard and made me want escape.

235.JPGFortunately, God saw past the hormonal cries of a pregnant woman. He didn’t remove the gift just because the process of receiving it was hard. He knew that the coming blessing would be worth the discomfort of weakness and loss of control. How right He was. Chase has brought so much joy to this home that the difficulties it took to get him here (including complications and a near-loss) seem negligible.

It is a good thing to remember since I am once again finding difficulties in the process of receiving a gift. Last year, a hunger was stoked to live a life beyond my own kingdom and comfort. I began to earnestly pray for fruitfulness in God’s kingdom; for His glory to be poured out through my life – not just for myself, but for others. He is in the process of working this out, partly through the loss of a son. It’s not the rosy “pregnancy” I would have chosen, and the weakness and loss of control I’ve experienced has sometimes overwhelmed the anticipation of the good ahead. But I am so glad that God has compassionately disregarded any pleas for rescue. He knows that if I keep surrendering to the process – His process, I will find myself holding the resulting new life with the joy and wonder of a new mom.

Maybe you are experiencing something similar. You asked God to do something in your life and have nothing to show but rough circumstances and discouragement. This is definitely not the path you would have chosen to fulfill your prayers. Maybe it seems impossible that any good can come from what you’re going through. Or maybe you know it’s possible, but it’s just too hard a road to tread so you want escape. Press into Jesus. Trust His process. And rest in the knowledge that what has been conceived in the Spirit will bring forth new life. Because this amazing Creator will use even your pain and your struggles to answer the cries of your heart. So take courage. He will finish what He has begun. And you will marvel with joy at the tender treasure you find in your heart when He does.

“Whenever a woman is in labor she has pain, because her hour has come; but when she gives birth to the child, she no longer remembers the anguish because of the joy that a child has been born into the world.” John 16:21

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Posted by: Kara Luker | January 8, 2019

The best is yet to come

I have a handful of half-written blog posts from the holidays that didn’t get finished amidst the flurry of people, festivities, sickness and an out-of-school kindergartener. I’m not even sure where to start, but I would love to offer up a very belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. I pray that your holidays were covered by the grace of the God who is here with us, who holds our very future in His tender hands.

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The last word the Lord gave me when I was missing Cole comforted me so deeply that it didn’t feel like I would ever be sad again. Over the next few weeks, there were plenty of tears but they emanated from an awareness of God’s love for me and for Cole, and an overwhelming gratitude for His undeserved kindness. For the first time ever, I experienced a felt understanding of the significance of Christmas.

This grace extended all the way through the end of the year. And then I woke up on New Year’s morning with an achy heart and a fresh set of tears. To be without Cole at Christmas wasn’t particularly new or as hard to swallow as I thought, but to look upon a new year – and future – without the hope of seeing him here truly hurt. Sad tears have been flowing again, which of course is okay. It’s to be expected. Grief is a process and healing doesn’t usually happen all at once. But what is also to be expected is that the Lord is going to meet me here. He always does. As I have time again to get quiet and press into Him, He will not only comfort me again (and again) over Cole’s loss, but also over the damage that was done these past weeks through some very complicated and hurtful relationships we are tied to. It was a reminder that the enemy is not going to stop harassing us in other ways just because we’ve gotten such a big dose in one area. His intention is to take us down by any means possible, no matter how low down and dirty.

So I am back to the basics. I will humble myself. I will worship. I will thank God for who He is, what He has done and what He is yet to do. I will yield my will and my expectations. I will seek His truth, which is bigger than what I see or feel. I will listen to what He wants to speak and receive what He wants to give. And I will trust in this faithful God who has never failed me. Ever. I will give him this fresh year, my untold future, and let Him do what He does best: Create and redeem. Let my story be one that He writes. One of beauty, power and redemption. Friends, no matter what we face, He is enough. In Christ, the best is always yet to come.

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Posted by: Kara Luker | December 9, 2018

Trust does that

As Chase was working on photo ornaments of the kids with me, he noticed my falling tears and asked what was wrong. When I explained that I miss Cole, he responded with a very childlike “Still???” His innocence drew a smile, but when the reality of my hurt registered in that precious heart, he hopped off his chair and ran over to me, holding me tightly, patting my back and saying repeatedly, “It’s going to be okay.” The comfort that little boy brought was palpable. As was that of the Holy Spirit who, once again, spoke into my hurt and longing.

Are you familiar with the study done ages ago with children and marshmallows – one now or two later? If I’d been part of that study, I would have thought, “What kind of stupid question is that?” I mean, clearly, you get your grubby hands on that one marshmallow and shove it in your mouth before the question has even died on their lips.

I’ve always been an instant gratification kind of girl. If there was money in my pocket, I’d spend it on the cheap, immediate (and usually edible) thing – very unlike my two-marshmallow brother who diligently saved for meaningful, lasting things like a surfboard, instruments and a car. If I felt fidgety with a job, I quit within the week. If there was pain, I would numb it ASAP rather than tackling the arduous task of dealing with it because, my goodness, who has the patience for that?

Puppy

A more recent example was the time my unfulfilled desire for another child expressed itself in the “need” for a dog that resulted in the purchase – that selfsame day – of the first cute puppy I saw on Craigslist (of unknown breed from people who didn’t speak a word of English and wouldn’t let me near the mama dog), much to the bewilderment of my double-marshmallow husband. It was certainly the most adorable of my impulsive choices and allowed me once again that unique experience of gratification and regret in the same moment.

But I’ve been changing, bit by bit over the years, because trust does that. It brings rest to the restless parts of us that can’t be still. It calms the fear that our needs won’t be met or that our wants will go unfulfilled. It recognizes that there is an abundance of all that we’ve ever yearned for. But it can’t be accessed through the impulsive ways we’ve grasped at with our grubby hands, which only serve to tickle a deep itch, taint our gratification with regret and withhold what is most meaningful and lasting. It is through trust in this One who created our hearts and knows how and when each need and want will be truly satisfied that we learn to wait… in perfect peace… with the expectation that we will be given gifts of perfect time and design that impart the fulfillment we seek. And we are also satisfied in the waiting, when we align ourselves with Him in trust, because His very presence calms and fills us.

This is the reminder the Holy Spirit gave me after Chase comforted me that day. I have learned to trust and I have learned to wait, not just in general but specifically regarding Cole. So I can once again step into the same patient anticipation I experienced when Cole left for the Navy. It might be a little longer until I see him this time, but it will satisfy my heart so completely that the wait will seem insignificant. And, lucky for me, God imparts impossible grace in the waiting – like the incomprehensible peace that descended on me that day and changed the whole atmosphere of my heart. Because trust can’t help but swing the door wide open to the Giver of every good and perfect gift.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. James 1:17

But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. Romans 8:25

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Posted by: Kara Luker | December 4, 2018

The lie of self-destruction

I had just stepped into my bathroom to brush my teeth, thinking of nothing in particular, when a thought came tearing into my head like a flaming meteor and seared its truth on my mind: Cole’s suicide had nothing to do with me. It’s not that I didn’t have failures as a mom. I had plenty. His dad and the Navy had plenty too. But others have experienced far worse and lived. And his death wasn’t because of the difficulties he was facing, as hard as they were. Many have faced far worse and lived. He committed suicide because he believed a lie.

All self-destructive thoughts and actions, from the seemingly trivial to the horrifically significant, can be traced back to a lie. The one I believed was that there was an inherent unworthiness in me; that my very identity was damaged, thus rendering me unfixable. While I never directly attempted to take my life, I lived for years in murderous contempt of it, feeling like it would be no loss if I were erased from the earth.

gavelMy thought life was a courtroom with an unforgiving judge who held a growing stack of evidence against me, using even the smallest failures to shame and devalue me. The message was increasingly strong: “You don’t belong here.” But it didn’t stop there. It stated with persuasive authority, citing tangible proof, that everyone around me did; that they all possessed the value I lacked. It was so freaking convincing. So instead of recognizing it as the strategy of a predator separating his prey from the herd in order to devour it, I came to trust it as truth and isolate myself from any voice bearing a different message.

It is no wonder that self-destruction followed. I starved my body for days at a time, cut myself with knives and used every substance I could get my hands on to separate me from this loathsome person – myself. When I awoke after overdosing on heroin, I didn’t feel joy that I was alive. It was almost a disappointment that I had to rally the weary soul inhabiting my 18 year old frame to live another day.

While I don’t know exactly what lie Cole was up against, I know it must have felt something like that… That he – or maybe just his circumstances – were unfixable. I don’t judge him for it. How could I? But what breaks my heart is that I know his life could have been transformed, just like mine. Because there is no “unfixable” in the Kingdom of God, no “impossible,” no “unworthy,” no “too screwed up” or “too far gone.” That is absolute truth based on the word of the living God and can dissolve the fiercest lie.

If Cole had allowed the light of this truth to shine on his beliefs, self-destruction would not have been an option – no matter how difficult the hardship. His mind would no longer host a courtroom of condemning voices and a guilty verdict, but resound with the echoes of the Highest Court declaring him innocent for now and always, loosed from the weight of his failures and the desperation of his circumstances. That’s why Jesus came and why he died; to bear the penalty of our sin and shame so that every single one of us could be delivered from self-destruction and alienation into love and belonging. No one lies outside of this. No one.

So, if you are struggling with any unkindness toward yourself, please know that your problem is not your flaws, your failures, your sins or your circumstances. Your problem is that you have believed a lie. But there is such good news. Your value and your identity are fixed in His righteousness; untouched by anything you’ve ever thought or done. God’s love for you is unchangeable, no matter how carelessly or hatefully you’ve regarded Him. So bring it all into the light. Let the Lord speak His truth over your life. Let the lies fall away. Be transformed into a vessel of grace and compassion toward yourself and others as you are filled with the abundance of His life and love.

Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God’s will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect. Romans 12:2

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full. John 10:10

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Posted by: Kara Luker | November 29, 2018

Walking into love

walking shoes

Walking is the part of my day I would call communion. Not the bread and wine kind, but “the sharing or exchanging of intimate thoughts and feelings.” As I set off in a quiet rhythm, my lungs draw deep breaths of the fresh air all around and my senses quicken to perceive the beauty of creation that envelops me – the textures beneath my feet, the earthy fragrances that greet me, the penetrating warmth of the sun on my skin. My heart rises in worship before I’ve even left my driveway, unable to resist the holy space that opens up before me, drawing me into the bright, welcoming presence of God.

My thoughts start to tumble out in this safe space, exposing themselves to the light of day. The tension between what is and what should be raises its voice, wanting truth more than answers to its endless questions. And my heart: this is where it pours itself out freely. Wanting to be known and to be loved; wanting to know and to love. When my soul has spent itself, I walk side by side with my Creator in the quiet, my steps falling into rhythm with His, my ears attentive to anything He might want to say. It is what I live for. His words, His heart – shared with me.

It was into this quiet, a day after writing about my magical walk with Cole, that He spoke. He reminded me of how deeply I was moved when my much-loved son wanted to join in my activity for the sole reason of being with me. So often, I chose him. But that day, he chose me. I paused to remember again, letting the sweetness rise. With my heart all soft and open, the Lord went on to say that He understands that tenderness all too well. It is exactly what He has felt the times I’ve sought Him out just to be with Him. The experiences He has shared with me are as precious to Him as the ones I’ve shared with Cole are to me; guarded in His heart like priceless, irreplaceable treasures.

What He opened up from there made me come undone. He spoke into my heart as a parent because it’s the kind of love I can grasp; the most unfiltered love I’ve experienced. It is raw and real. It is passionate and relentless. It is costly. But most of all, it’s relational. There were many hardships I experienced as a mom during Cole’s life and there was great pain in his death, but I would chose it all again for the sake of knowing and loving that boy. With that tangible reality in hand, the Lord said, “THAT is how I love you. Not in a neat, tidy Sunday school way, but with a burning passion that thinks nothing of your imperfections and failures and doesn’t count the cost of sacrifice. I just want relationship with you and would experience every hardship over again – even death – to know and love you.” You guys, it broke me. Tears poured out of my insides that had melted to liquid. And I continue to be undone. Not only is He my Father, but I am His daughter.

I have blogged about this passage before, but can’t help but include it again here because it is exactly what I experienced that day on the trail. This is a conversation from Tattoos on the Heart between the author who is a loving, down-to-earth priest in a rough part of town and a recently-released-from-prison gang member he had known since his childhood.

At three o’clock in the morning, the phone rings. It’s Cesar. He says what every homie says when they call in the middle of the night, “Did I wake you?”

I always think, “Why no, I was just waiting and hoping that you’d call.”

Cesar is sober, and it’s urgent that he talk to me.

I gotta ask you a question. You know how I’ve always seen you as my father – ever since I was a little kid? Well, I hafta ask you a question.

Now Cesar pauses, and the gravity of it all makes his voice waver and crumble, “Have I… been… your son?”

“Oh, hell yeah,” I say.

“Whew,” Cesar exhales, “I thought so.”

Now his voice becomes enmeshed in a cadence of gentle sobbing. “Then… I will be… your son. And you… will be my father. And nothing will separate us, right?”

“That’s right.”

In this early morning call, Cesar did not discover that he had a father. He discovered that he is a son worth having. The voice broke through the clouds of his terror and the crippling mess of his own history, and he felt himself beloved. God, wonderfully pleased in him, is where God wanted Cesar to reside.

My prayer today is for each of us to have an ever-deepening revelation of that very trusth: Not only that we have a loving Father, “but that we are kids worth having. That the voice would break through the clouds of our terror and the crippling mess of our own history, and we would find ourselves beloved.”

p.s. I do realize any love I had for Cole is just a tiny little drop compared to the love God has for me.

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Posted by: Kara Luker | November 26, 2018

God of all comfort

After a late-afternoon Sunday swim at a friend’s pool, John, Chase and I pulled into our driveway and tumbled out of the car, happy and relaxed. Before going inside to pilfer some leftovers, the trees in front of our house caught my attention. Once thriving, the branches seemed to be thinning and the leaves browning. I mentioned it to John with a blend of sadness and complaint. Judging by his reaction, I’d already shared this observation – more than once, no doubt. As he graciously dashed off to grab the hose, I stood in front of the trees and started to cry. I didn’t know why it felt like such a big deal. The best I figured was that as renters, we aren’t going to spend the money to replace anything that dies so, like the drought-withered trees in our backyard, that’s just the end of a beautiful space. Which is a bummer, although probably not worthy of tears.

The next morning on a call with my mom, I brought up the trees and I started to cry all over again, harder this time. I said, “I just have this sense of loss that I can’t explain.” She has such compassion for the hurting, no matter how trivial the cause, and gently shared the truth from 2 Corinthians that she just happened to be mediating on: that the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort comforts us in our troubles. We talked at length about His heart for us and the comfort that pours out of it and she prayed for me. It was balm to my soul.

A few hours later, Naval officers showed up at my door to tell me that Cole had shot himself in the middle of the night, between my first and second set of tears. I still marvel at the mercy of the conversation that morning; that my mom and I both had in the forefront of our minds, ahead of the most painful trial we would ever face, the truth that God cares so deeply and wants to comfort us. And He has. In compassion, He has poured more love and grace during this time than I would ever have thought possible. The deeper the pain has gone, the greater the comfort has grown to meet it.

My soundtrack the preceding week consisted of exactly one song that I felt compelled to listen to over and over again, but had no idea why: The Hurt and the Healer by Mercy Me. Once again, I see nothing but kindness in the Lord letting my heart be saturated with comfort before I even needed it. And believe me, I have listened to it a great many times since then, letting my spirit rise with the truth that this great Healer won’t abandon me in my hurt. He is ever waiting with arms open wide to catch me, comfort me and breathe my heart back to life.

The verse from 2 Corinthians continues, “so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.” My mom’s ability to move with compassion in the lives of others came from the collision of her hurt with God’s healing. And I am trusting that a similar compassion – one that I’ve longed for – is being birthed in me as God’s glory meets my own suffering. My prayer is that His comfort would fill me so completely that it would pour through the cracks and over the top onto others who are hurting too. That, together, our fear would break, our hearts would awaken, our tears would fade and we would find His glory… even here.

The Hurt and the Healer

Why?
The question that is never far away
But healing doesn’t come from the explained
Jesus please don’t let this go in vain
You’re all I have
All that remains
So here I am
What’s left of me
Where glory meets my suffering

I’m alive
Even though a part of me has died
You take my heart and breathe it back to life
I’ll fall into Your arms open wide
When the hurt and the healer collide

Breathe
Sometimes I feel it’s all that I can do
Pain so deep that I can hardly move
Just keep my eyes completely fixed on You
Lord take hold and pull me through
So here I am
What’s left of me
Where glory meets my suffering

I’m alive
Even though a part of me has died
You take my heart and breathe it back to life
I’ll fall into Your arms open wide
When the hurt and the healer collide

It’s the moment when humanity
Is overcome by majesty
When grace is ushered in for good
And all our scars are understood
When mercy takes its rightful place
And all these questions fade away
When out of the weakness we must bow
And hear You say it’s over now

I’m alive
Even though a part of me has died
You take my heart and breathe it back to life
I’ll fall into Your arms open wide
When the hurt and the healer collide
Jesus come and break my fear
Awake my heart and take my tears
Find Your glory even here

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Posted in A journey of grief, Life in Christ, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Posted by: Kara Luker | November 21, 2018

Until we meet again

On my walk this very beautiful morning, I was reflecting on another one several years ago, possibly my favorite among thousands. It was during a time I lived as a single mom with my parents in Costa Mesa. During the week, I only had time for a few spins around the block during my lunch break at work, so on the weekend I often indulged in a long, rambling walk to the beach on the “river” trail down the street from our house. It was nine miles roundtrip and thoroughly satisfied my body and mind. Cole, probably 10 or 11 at the time, generally preferred to spend his Saturday mornings relaxing at home, though sometimes I would find him walking down the road to greet me upon my return and join me for the remaining distance home… always a delight to my heart.

But this one day, I was only a mile or two into my trek when he called to tell me he was coming to meet me. I backtracked until I found my boy approaching barefoot on the pavement, where I gave a quick shrug and smiled at his unconventionality. Despite the unforgiving surface on his tender feet, he seemed so happy to be there with me. My lungs breathed in the sweet satisfaction of having the person I loved best in all the world join me in what I most loved to do, en route to where I most loved to be. I exhaled all that goodness and, together, we turned toward the ocean and trekked on.

river trail

What we talked about as the miles passed, I have no idea. But talk, we did. And laugh. And walk and walk until the waves could be seen in the distance with the sun dancing a happy jig on their surface. And though I knew we should turn around to spare Cole’s feet, it just couldn’t be done. We were being beckoned; adventure called; the intimacy of friendship was at hand.

Finally, the river bed became full of the waves coming to greet us and the trail became grainy with sand until there was no trail at all; only a thick ivory carpet beneath our feet. The reflection of light on the water was now as bright as heaven’s glory and the sound of the waves surrendering themselves to the shore as beautiful as an angels’ choir. We had arrived.

This was where I would normally sit on the stone jetty, letting my mind rest and my senses take over, before having to turn away from bliss and start my long walk home. But not this day. It couldn’t be done. With Cole’s naked feet, there was no turning back to that hard, pitted pavement now. Besides, our adventure was not fully realized; our energies not fully spent. There was nothing to do but accept the gracious invitation of the welcoming shoreline before us.

jetty

So continue on, we did. Running up the small sandy bluffs as they collapsed beneath our weight. Dipping our feet, mine now bare like his, into the cold, sparkling water that teased its way up onto the shore. Watching kites maneuver through the breeze in the clear skies above. We were way too far away from home to walk back now; what a freedom! All we could do was to surrender to the moment; this shared experience as friends… and walk on.

After many miles, we arrived at the pier. Our energies were finally spent; our adventure nearly complete. With no money between us and no way home, we dialed my brother, hoping he could provide the ride our weary legs yearned for. He answered – thankfully – and was just wrapping up lunch with my brother-in-law. But, yes, he said with a kind laugh at our predicament, he would be happy to pick up our penniless, satisfied souls and drive us home. And so he did. We got home, put up our feet and tucked away the sweet memory.

For 22 years, Cole and I got to share a path, unforgettably wonderful in so many ways, but the ground beneath his feet often felt unforgiving to his sensitive soul. He had tread too far to turn around and retrace his steps home, but unlike our walk that day, he also felt too much uncertainty to continue on. He thought he had reached his final destination, not realizing that his adventure hadn’t been fully realized.

I’ve also come too far to turn around. It’s been a journey of miles upon miles, but there are many more to go, for which I’m grateful and excited. Because I’m being beckoned; adventure is calling; the intimacy of friendship with Jesus – and so many others – is at hand. My energies aren’t yet spent. There is only one way to go and it’s forward… to the delights and glories ahead.

On the day that my adventure is over, my purpose is fully satisfied and I reach my final destination, Cole will once again run up the path to meet me. We will pick up where we left off, talking and laughing and exploring like we did that one magical day on the shore. But in the meantime, my dear Cole, please know that it was my greatest pleasure to be your mom and your friend. Not a day passes that I don’t thank God from the depths of my heart for the gift that you were – and are – to me. I can’t wait until just the right time; that sweet day I get to see your smiling face again.

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Posted in A journey of grief, Life in Christ, My Boy, Cola Pop, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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