Writings – Down Here Looking Up

On Birthdays, and Jesus, and Relationships

On my walk around the lake last night, I was thinking about the past year and talking to Jesus about it. I had no idea that this year would impact my life in the way it came to. Nor that my soul would find such rest, life, and hope in the midst of such brokenness, bitter waters, and black skies.

Friends, God brings such beauty from such ugliness. He gives life in place of death. He serves up a feast in the midst of the driest desert. But oftentimes, we cannot see it until we’ve walked much further down the road. And, sometimes, this doesn’t happen until eternity.

The best year of my life was the year I found saving faith in Jesus—the year Jesus truly captured my heart and life. But this year would be close to that one, in its own odd way. Whereas 2009 was pure, unbroken beauty, because I couldn’t see anything but Jesus; 2017 brought its own beauty, though it came crushed, hidden, and disguised in pain and tears.

Birthdays are the days I look back on the past year and reflect on all that filled up the previous several hundred days. Some years have been mostly bitter, some years have been mostly sweet. At first, this year looked like it would be all bitter, but the sweetness was just so wrapped up in the bitter as to not be able to taste it for a little while.

And when I step back from this year, this I know…Jesus is everything. And relationships are precious gifts.

Jesus

Jesus is everything because he created it all, holds it all, and it is all for him, through him, and because of him (Romans 11:36). Nothing in life even comes close to comparing to him. And nothing matters more than having a real relationship with him—where he is loved, treasured, and delighted in. Jesus is all.

This winter, when the stress and strain I had been experiencing turned into physical pain, I was confronted with the questions, “If you never had another good day in your life, would you still worship Jesus? If the pain doesn’t go away and you are never able to run again, sleep comfortably again, or simply breathe without it hurting, will Jesus still have your heart?”

He was enough for those months and he will be enough for every day after them.

And People

For most of us, if we could see our lives as a tapestry or mosaic made up of all the people who have been or are in our lives, we would likely see something so beautiful we would cry—and thank God. Relationships are such a gracious gift and one of the most precious things in all of life. It is in the context of relationships that we experience even more of Christ. Relationships with tangible human beings allow us to feel the love, affection, and kindness of Christ in ways we never would be able to if we were not in community with others.

For me, this year has been sprinkled with some very deep, grace-filled, gospel-focused, Jesus-centered relationships. Gratitude to God feels so small for the enormous blessing these people’s lives are. Such grace.

For sure, it was a year. But it was a year that was held in the sovereign hands of our Savior. He was enough and will always be enough. And being loved by him is everything.

Do the Next Thing

With the beginning of a new school year, so many pieces of the past year have flashed before my eyes, with their own questions trailing behind them. How is possible that an entire year has gone by just like that? After everything the past year contained—what deep grace is this to be in the grace-filled place I am today? Am I seeing tiny glimpses and bold swaths of God’s presence in this last year (Gen. 39:21)? Do I see how much of the previous year was covered in a love so vast, so deep that one day it will simply cover over all the pain, failings, and brokenness of these years (Rev. 21:4)?

Over the couple weeks off between semesters, I wrote a lot. Prayed a lot. Read a lot. Cried a lot. Dreamed a lot. Hoped a lot. Listened a lot. And was helped and encouraged a lot.

For several weeks before break began, I had great expectations of using the time away from school to write a half dozen blog posts. But that did not happen. Over the course of the two-week break, numerous topics found their way into my journal or a Word document. Sometimes, it was something someone said, a verse I read, something from one of the many books I’d been reading, or something I was wakened up to during the night. But I was not able to finish anything.

The words just were not there to bring even one thing to completion.

It is like seeing something but not being able to see it clear enough to adequately describe it.

So, instead there is this post about doing the next thing.

Be Faithful in Doing the Next Thing

Truly, there are days and years and seasons when that is all any of us can do. Or should do.

Trust God, listen to him, be with his people, and simply do the next thing.

Three weeks ago, I received an email from Travelocity, asking me if I were ready to go back to Great Falls, MT, as it had been nearly a year since I had been there. And over the past couple months, Facebook has regurgitated quite a few memories and blog posts from my summer trips to Myanmar and the Dominican Republic. Another lifetime ago.

But I am not going back to the reservation in Montana this fall. Nor am I in another country.

No, I am going to school, while living in a small town in the Midwest.

Doing the next thing. With joy.

If someone had told me last summer what my life would look like this year, I never would have believed them. But I am deeply thankful to be here. There are not enough words to express how much I love my school and church and the people who make up both. Nor is there enough gratitude for the sisters, friends, pastors, instructors, and classmates who share life with me. God has been kind.

And I am realizing that doing the next thing can look a million different ways for a million different people.

It may mean showing up to work or it could be resigning from a job. It could be serving in the church or it could be taking a season off to just attend. It could be moving far away or staying in the same place. It could be continual doctor visits or unending tears in the midst of broken hearts, lives, or bodies. It could be laying under the stars or driving home at night. It could be singing worship songs to Jesus in the shower or pouring your heart out to him on a late evening run. It could be admitting your fragile faith and great unbelief to God. It could be sharing Jesus with your unsaved coworkers or encouraging a friend. It could be listening to the breaking hearts of people you hardly know or simply offering a greeting to someone who doesn’t look at all like you. It could be seeing a counselor or finding a mentor. Or it could be realizing that it is one’s time to pour into the soul work of others. It could be a time for more afternoon coffee dates or a time to stay home and read to your children. It could be any of these things or a hundred thousand other things.

Be Faithful in the Time Given

When Frodo mournfully told Gandalf that he wished all the mess with the ring had never happened to him, Gandalf spoke words to him that are also thoughtful for us, “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.”

To a follower of Jesus, deciding “what to do with the time that is given to us” should, above all else, be consumed with living lives that proclaim the glory and worth of Christ (Rom. 11:36; 1 Cor. 6:20; 10:31; Rev. 4:11; Jude 1:24-25). This also means deeply loving, knowing, and treasuring Jesus (Ps. 16:11; Luke 10:27a; Matt. 13:44; Phil. 3:7-8). And it should also mean that we love others out of the overflow of God’s great love to us and in us (Eph. 5:2; 15-16; Luke 10:27b). The million smaller things we do next should first have their source in our One Thing—Jesus (Luke 10:42).

His grace, strength, and love are enough for every next thing, every next step (2 Cor. 9:8). He is always enough. We are simply called to love him deeply, love others greatly, and be faithful in doing what he has called us to do.

Fall Into Jesus

Grief reminds us that life is broken and sorrow reminds us that we are not whole.

But we do not fall into despair. We fall into Jesus.

We grieve hard and long. We mourn deeply and cry long. We feel the loss as close as the skin stretched tight over bone.

Our faces are wet with something akin to rain and seas.

We remember and it cuts like a sword. We stare at dark ceilings and the years roll over our hearts like rivers in springtime.

But we do not stop at the ceiling. Instead, we pour out our hearts to our Father and Friend who is even closer than the ceiling and our own skin pulled tight.

Our hearts break. We hurt like we are going to die. And then we are afraid we will forever live like we are dying.

Yet, one day, we will realize that we are really dying to live. And because of Jesus we will live again.

We go through days and weeks and months that feel like all is dark, all is silence, all is loss.

We will doubt ourselves. We will doubt everything we ever did. And we will doubt the goodness of God himself.

Words will flow from our wounded hearts like November winds—pointed yet empty. We will hurt people because we hurt.

Our sorrows will burst out of their bandages at the strangest of times. The oddest of things will remind us that we are not healed. Not yet.

Not fully until Jesus comes back.

Sleep will haunt us or consume us. Music will choke our throats. More memories of something else. Something we wanted to forget.

But God is with us…

We will hear unhelpful things, hurtful things, hateful things. Hurting people hurt people.

We will be broken yet greater and cut still deeper.

We will doubt love. We will question the effort 1 Corinthians 13 calls for. We will be tempted to never love again.

We will dump buckets of pieces of our broken hearts at Jesus’ feet and ask him why it hurts so much.

He will again remind us of how greatly and deeply he loved us then and how greatly and deeply he loves us still.

Gospel.

We will not fall into despair. Instead, again, we will fall into Jesus.

And in his broken hands, our broken hearts will realize that we will be okay.

Sea billows will roll over our souls, but because of Jesus, it will be well with our souls.

Maybe not fully today or tomorrow or even next year but One Day. On that day, all sorrow will be crushed under the feet of the One whose Presence is the very fullness of joy itself.

Beauty from ashes. Joy in place of sorrow. All comfort for all mourning.

We do not fall into despair. Instead, we fall into Jesus.

Safe.

Whole.

Dandelions

One can either see them as hideous, nuisance weeds or one can choose to see them as flowers the color of sun and hope. Either they are pepper shakers of seeds that will cause more problems in future years or they are vessels for a thousand wishes to be carried off in the wind.

During my couple weeks off between semesters, I was able to spend much time in prayer and reflection on the previous months. And either they can be viewed as a series of hard days or they can be viewed as the means God used to bring me to this very place. I will not say that I’ve always seen the past months and years as a blessing—far from it on many days. But through it all, I deeply believe that Jesus does all things well (Mark 7:37). Even the things that hurt. And sometimes especially the things that hurt.

My heart and soul are at peace that my time simply ran out. I have no other way to describe it except to say that the sand in the glass finished falling, the track ran out of blacktop, and ashes were all that remained of the fire. In some ways I burned out, in other ways God called me out. In both ways, he was speaking to me. Both were a gift even if they didn’t both look that way at the time.

Though I may not be done with the after effects of the past, it is with deep gratitude that I look back and see that Jesus has led me all this way, even when I couldn’t see him, feel him, or hear him. He is my salvation, and it is with joy that I draw from that well—the one with living water that will never run out (Isaiah 12:2; 55:1, John 7:37).

God was very kind and brought some precious people into my life to walk this journey with me. I have not gone alone. Their prayers, care, grace, and encouragement were the sweet gifts of a compassionate God. Because of these people, I know more of grace now than I ever did before this year. And to these people who embodied this grace of Jesus in ways I neither expected nor deserved—I am forever grateful.

Along with gratitude for the faithfulness of God in this past season, I look forward to this next year with joy. Joy does not erase all sorrows or heal all hurts, but there is a deeper joy in Jesus that goes far below the past and present circumstances of life (Psalm 16:11).

There is much joy at returning to school. Joy in learning more about Jesus to love him more. Joy in the rejoicing of being with family and friends. Joy in delighting in the little things—bugs dancing on the water, lilacs outside the window, owls crying in the trees at night. Joy in both old and new relationships. Joy in a church that feels like coming home every week. Joy in the full, precious, beautiful gospel. Joy in the majesty, grace, and sovereignty of our Savior King. So much joy.

In this next year of life, I long to more fully see the past grace that brought me to this place in the same light as the dandelions in the field behind my apartment. Beautiful. Immensely so.

The Day In Between

In between the day we remember Jesus dying a brutal death on the cross and the day he rose from the dead, we have this day of silence. It was a day of brokenness, deep sorrow, and heavy questions. Outwardly, it looked like the devil had won. Wrapped in soft linen, Jesus’ body was buried in a tomb. He had not taken himself off the cross, he had not called down an army of angels, and he had not even yelled insults from the rough tree. Instead, offering forgiveness to his killers, he simply placed his spirit in his Father’s hands and died.

To Jesus’ followers, it probably looked like everything had come to a close. For Peter, it was likely a day of deep anguish and shame. For the other disciples, it surely carried much grief and loss. The acrid tastes of extreme emptiness, inconsolable sorrow, and unending questions would have been nearly too much to bear. Simply put, it was a hard day.

In pondering that day of in-between, two things stand out:

From the ashes, beauty will rise

In the aftermath of Good Friday, it looked like all was lost. Hopeless. Death was still king. Could anything good come from so much bad?

But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead. (1 Cor. 15:20a)

From the ashes of death and loss, Jesus broke in. In the strength of the undefeated King he truly is, he smashed Death into the ground. From the horribleness of Friday, hope rose with the Son of God.

Even when our situations in life tell us that nothing good could come from the wreckage, we are not without hope. We may be crushed, but we are not in despair. We may be dying to live, but because of Jesus, live we will. We may be broken beyond recognition, but we are not destroyed. We may be utterly forsaken, but we are never alone. In great sorrow, but still rejoicing (2 Cor. 4:8-18; 6:4-10).

Having nothing, yet possessing everything. (2 Cor. 6:10)

Because of Jesus, we have everything. These trials and the smoldering ashes they leave behind are working in us an “eternal weight of glory” (2 Cor. 4:17). One day, we won’t even think of mentioning the great suffering and sorrow we experienced down here, because it will seem so very, very small and weightless compared to the greatness of being with Jesus.

Everything is held in sovereign hands

There is a great assurance to be had in knowing that nothing will fall into our lives that has not already been sifted through the sovereign, gracious hands of God. No sickness, no pain, no loss, no death, no nothing has ever taken God by surprise. And nothing ever will.

Even when that day before Jesus rose looked hopeless, God still had it.

Death did not have a hold on Jesus, because God was always in control. He is the one who calms storms, commands seas to give up their dead and raises the dead, tells the number of the stars, knows every hair on our heads, counts every tear on our faces, and brings forth the seasons in his time (Mark 4:39-41, Rev. 20:13, John 11, Ps. 147:4, Luke 12:7, Ps. 56:8, Job 38). This is our God.

I form light and create darkness, I make well-being and create calamity, I am the Lord, who does all these things. (Isaiah 45:7)

Whatever the LORD pleases, he does, in heaven and on earth, in the seas and all deeps. (Psalm 135:6)

In his sovereignty, God saw the days and times of our lives long before we ever took our first breaths, dreamed our first dreams, and cried our first tears. How precious it is to know that the very hands that were nailed to a tree for each one of our sins are the very same hands that created us from dust and will sustain us until we are with Jesus forever.

Even on that middle day, when things looked hopeless, God was still reigning. Jesus would rise. Death did not win. And even in our middle days (or years), when things appear hopeless to us, God is still reigning. Sovereign hands of infinite kindness hold each of our moments and will safely bring us home to Jesus.

The Lord will rescue me from every evil deed and bring me safely into his heavenly kingdom. To him be the glory forever and ever. Amen. (2 Tim. 4:18)

The Greatest Grief

A year ago, my family gathered for a quiet graveside service to remember the life of my grandpa. The wind was strong, the harmonicas were beautiful, the memories were precious, and the time together was all of that and then some. It was too early for flowers to poke up in the earth, too cold for buds to pop out on the wet trees, too soon for life to completely cover emptiness.

We grieved together, prayed together, and continued to live life together. In some ways, grief was a kind friend in pointing our eyes to Christ, the one who smashed death when he died on the cross. The one life that mattered most died like all of us will someday. But the one grave that mattered most of all turned up empty three days later. This one empty tomb gives hope that all graves will burst open with shouts of praise to the death-conquering One.

In all of life, we grieve. We grieve for losses large and small—relationships, jobs, health, a life we never had, and thousands of other things that break our hearts. We mourn over loss of physical life. We cry when dust returns to dust, when death drops our beloved friends and family members into the open hands of the Savior who died for them and us. We grieve as people who loved well and lost hard. We lament the loss of life cut off too soon. Simply put, we cry a lot and often in the course of a simple life.

But as much as life breaks us when death snatches our believing friends away, there is a greater grief than this.

In the course of the past couple weeks, two people who made an impact on my life died. Both people hardened by the pain of life and steeped in bitterness and seclusion. Broken people who desperately needed Jesus. God knows their final moments, but from all appearances, both of them died without believing, trusting in, and clinging to Jesus.

And that is the greatest grief. These are deaths to grieve deeply over. These are deaths that break our hearts in hard ways. But these are also deaths that should drive us into the arms of Jesus, with hearts overflowing in gratitude that he loved us first, commanded our spiritually dead corpses to breathe, and saved us from living a life and dying a death without him.

Because I cannot imagine a life without Jesus, it is a great pain to think of people having lived their entire lives cut off from the one who is what life is all about. It moves me to tears to think about people spending every waking moment and every sleeping breath not realizing that they are missing out on something immensely precious. And it should break our hearts that people we know and people we don’t are living and dying without a love so strong, so rich, so beautiful.

We grieve often and we grieve a lot. And well we should. Along with Jesus at Lazarus’ tomb, we should be outraged at death. We should let death upset us. We should be indignant that the sickness of sin sucks the God-given breath of life right out of our friends and acquaintances.

And we should be brokenhearted that there is an answer to death but so many souls die without knowing that this answer has a name—Jesus.

This is the greatest grief.

Bittersweet: God is Working in Our Pain for Our Benefit

sunset decorah

Over the span of four days, I slowly read the story of Jesus and Lazarus in John 11. This story is heavy on emotion and relationship and life in and after death. But the thing that really got my attention this week was Jesus’ statement to his disciples: “Lazarus has died, and for your sake I am glad that I was not there, so that you may believe” (v. 14-15).

This verse used to make me cringe, as it seemed nearly heartless. After Jesus purposely chose to wait two more days so Lazarus would be good and dead, he follows that action by saying this?

On our own, we do not see this as a helpful sentence from Jesus. Many times, our broken, sad hearts think that what would be the most beneficial for us would be for Jesus to take our advice and fix things—exactly as we tell him would be best for us. We don’t necessarily care about the big picture when we are so consumed with just trying to make the pain stop. And oftentimes we think that Jesus must not see or care.

And we miss glory. Our tear-glazed eyes cannot see beyond our own lashes. We don’t always see and value that God is working in our lives to bring glory to himself (v. 4). Nor do we always understand why he often uses the trials in our lives to bring more glory to his name.

But not only does God allow and use pain and loss to bring glory to his Son, he also allows and uses pain and loss for our benefit—ultimately, our belief in him (v. 15, 26). Jesus places great value on belief, faith, and trust in himself and he will do whatever it takes to strengthen our belief in him (Mark 9:23-24, John 14:1, John 20:29).

Jesus is not a heartless or powerless God. On the contrary, in his great love and care of his followers, he pours into our lives the very things we need to deepen our trust in him. The heart-wrenching pain, sorrow, or suffering we experience were never meant to be an end in themselves. This “momentary affliction” (2 Cor. 4:17) is meant to drive us into the arms of the one who has loved us with an everlasting, faithful love (Jer. 31:3); and in this great love, ordained for us the very days, times, and seasons of our lives (Eph. 4:1, Ps. 31:15, Ps. 139:16). Our hearts and lives are safe with him.

Even when we cannot yet see what he is doing in our lives, Jesus is working for his glory and our faith in him. The suffering, loss, and deaths we experience are not wasted, nor are they the result of an unkind or weak God. Rather, our very lives are held in the hands that were wounded for us, to bring us to God.
(Is. 53:5, 1 Pet. 3:18).

As with everything he does, for his glory and our belief in him, Jesus does all things well (Mark 7:37).