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 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 by: Kara Luker | November 14, 2018

Freedom from torment

I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the LORD In the land of the living. Psalm 27:13

There were a couple triggers this past week that knocked things out of perspective for me. Instead of walking on the water with Jesus, which I’ve experienced in countless miraculous moments since losing Cole, I could feel myself begin to sink and knew without a doubt that I could plummet into the dark depths if something didn’t shift.

It wasn’t sadness which, if felt and acknowledged, can be comforted and healed by Jesus’ touch; it was torment which, if yielded to, brings only more of the same. It rose up through the quiet of my soul, an initially distant but quickly approaching terror that echoed in my ears like the shrieking eels of The Princess Bride. The accusation it bore was this: That I am not okay and could never be okay; that there is no solid ground beneath my feet.

It’s no wonder that my energy fled, along with my joy. These are not light accusations to be carrying. When I stopped to examine the doubts, rather than letting them echo inside, it was clear that they were coming from a source whose sole purpose is to steal, kill and destroy. Not exactly a friend with my best at heart. So I held them up against the promises of One who has loved me relentlessly and gained my trust; whose words have proven true over decades of relationship. As you may have guessed, the accusations showed themselves to be twisted truths or outright falsehoods and relief came. If it didn’t completely silence the voices, it helped me to ignore them like you would the taunts of an insecure bully.

The next morning, I had the inspired idea of calling my mom to talk things through. She was able to speak and pray so much truth that by the time we hung up, the torment was all but gone. But it wasn’t until later in the day that the whole thing broke and I knew I was walking on the solid ground of Jesus again. What rose up in my spirit was this: Even this (Cole’s death) becomes good in God’s hands. My whole being – and the Bible – testified to the powerful truth of this statement and crushed the lie of something I’d read last week; the foundation on which the accusations stood… that only evil can be seen in death. It bears repeating that I don’t think Cole’s suicide was God’s plan or has any goodness in itself. But all things, when put in the hands of our mighty God, become tools of restoration and glory, and a reason to rejoice.

Wouldn’t you know that my perspective snapped right back to the place of hope where it belongs – on my beloved Jesus; His great love for me and Cole; the ultimate price he paid so that sin, death and accusation have no more say in the lives of His children; His ability to transform even the worst into something of beauty and purpose. I was so filled with gladness and gratitude that my feet nearly lifted above the water (if that’s possible!). It’s no wonder that my energy returned and torment fled, taking with it every doubt and every accusation. Not only that, but I walked away from this spiritual battle less daunted by so many other evil things happening in this world – spoils of war that I get to keep.

I know this isn’t over. It’s a trial so big that there is no solid ground in the natural as far as the eye can see. I am having to learn the skill of walking on water by faith in the promises of Jesus or I will sink. It’s a steep learning curve. But what a privilege to be invited to trust like this. And what beautiful, miraculous things must lie ahead for those who accept the invitation.

walking on water

I would like to leave you with a few questions…

  • What doubts and accusations are causing you torment?
  • Have you examined them against the Word of God?
  • Have you asked for someone to speak truth and pray with you?
  • Have you asked the Lord to show you what foundation the accusations are standing on so the whole structure can collapse instead of fighting them off one by one?

And Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.”  He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat and walked on the water and came to Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid, and beginning to sink he cried out, “Lord, save me.” Jesus immediately reached out his hand and took hold of him, saying to him, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?” And when they got into the boat, the wind ceased. And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.” Matthew 14:28-33

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Posted by: Kara Luker | November 7, 2018

True perspective

I was listening to a worship song on my walk today. It says over and over “to worship you I live;” words that washed over me with my true purpose on this earth and one that can be fulfilled today and every day of my life, no matter where it leads. About 10 minutes in, the male singer with the heavenly voice takes over and eventually, in perfect harmony, lands on the words “we lift you higher.” What a powerful reminder that was to me today.

It is easy to put our troubles beneath a microscope, observing them keenly through a magnified perspective while keeping our other eye closed to the immense provision that surrounds us. It’s not that our problems are small. Believe me, I know this. We live in a fallen world with evil on the loose and we are facing some huge and daunting things. But the love and power of God is so great; so immense, that it dwarfs them all. There is nothing that can retain its “too big” status when set next to Him and all that He has provided for us.

So we can lift our heads today and open the eyes of our hearts as we survey all He has given; as we shift our focus from our struggles to Him. We can lift Him higher by worshipping Him, declaring that He is bigger and stronger than all we are facing. As we do, we will see our troubles in true perspective – no match for this God we serve.

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Posted by: Kara Luker | October 31, 2018

& Chosen

Chosen.jpegJust as I finished writing my last post, the whole flood of my pain and tears was soaked up in an instant. It was almost as if the day’s sorrow had accomplished its purpose, cleansing the ground and watering the seeds. I walked the rest of that day on the miracle of dry ground with a peaceful heart. I don’t totally understand it, but there always seems to be healing in writing – and sharing. So thank you for being a significant part of my healing by lending your heart to listen and encourage. Seriously, thank you.

You may have noticed the “&” that follows “brave” on my necklace. That’s because the charm was made out of a Ugandan coin that was separated into two parts, meant to be worn together. The second part says “Chosen.” Brave & Chosen. I have been focused on being brave, facing this trial as best as I can with a raw trust born of the Spirit. But after my post, I started to think about being chosen. Not just as a daughter adopted into God’s family where I am loved and have access to all that is His, but also chosen to carry His image in such a time as this.

Don’t get me wrong. It was not God’s heart for my son to take his life. That has the enemy’s fingerprints all over it. But when anything is put into God’s hands, no matter how ugly and wretched and painful, it is transformed into something of beauty and purpose. So I do feel chosen for this particular cross; not just to survive it, but to see His kingdom come and His will be done through it.

Because maybe it’s not just about me trusting God for the bravery required, but Him trusting me to represent His heart in this dark place, where many are suffering and in need of comfort. At the moment, I feel like I’m wandering down a dark street with a little flashlight, but maybe that small light will draw others toward it. And maybe, as we join together in the light of His love and His ability to make us whole, dawn will break and we will find ourselves walking in the miracle of bright sun with joyful hearts.

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Posted by: Kara Luker | October 29, 2018

Brave

Be strong and courageous; do not be afraid or terrified of them, for it is the LORD your God who goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you. Deuteronomy 31:6

Brave.jpegAfter Cole died, my cousin gave me a necklace that says “brave.” I wear it often to remind myself that whether I feel like it or not, I am. Some days I do feel brave, battling my way past the demons of despair; planting my flag in my inherited land of hope. And then there are days like today when the tears won’t stop flowing; when my heart aches to be able to see my son again – not someday in heaven, but here and now. But that is no less brave. As someone who avoided pain at all costs, burying it in addictions and false comforts, these tears represent courage. I am feeling my pain; facing it. They also represent trust because I couldn’t face the pain if I didn’t know that God is holding me tightly as I cry; if I didn’t believe that He won’t abandon me here… but that with each offering of trust, He will comfort me and heal my broken heart. And when these tears dry up, I know He’s going to take my hand and help me back up and we are going to walk together into the good and beautiful future He’s prepared for me. Maybe being brave simply means that we invite Him into the hard places and let Him lead us out.

Take Courage with Kristene DiMarco

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