The fellowship of the broken-hearted
{From Oct 2017, right after our first two miscarriages and Jeff’s dad’s sudden death. I was just sitting by the river praying and this came to mind so I’m revisiting this again. It continues to encourage my heart.}
What is wrong with me??
I leaned against the kitchen cabinet, trying to keep the sobs silent. The kids played, oblivious. Jeff worked outside. I just couldn’t stop crying. I tried to text a friend, but a few words in I quit.
Too much. Don’t even know where to begin.
Another deflating disappointment, another super confusing complication that leaves me bewildered, wondering where God is leading all this tangle of seemingly dead-end roads.
I came upstairs, figured I’d put the clean sheets on the bed. Do the next thing.
And there, beside my bed, was my answer. To what was wrong with me.
Except maybe it’s not wrong.
There, beside my bed, I saw the display. My pregnancy book. My miscarriage book. The Pro-Life book. There’s a book on how to provide marriage counseling to those in need. To the left is a book on preparing your daughter for sexual and emotional purity. There’s a photo of my grandma, who passed away this past year. Underneath them all is a phone-book sized biblical parenting book that accompanies a video study. You can’t see the Intercessory Prayer book but it’s there too.
Each book represents an aspect of my life that tears at my heart, that weighs on me, that causes me to cry out in prayer, that, at times, keeps me awake at night. Each aspect represents a part of this past year, something we’ve walked through, or are walking through.
You’re probably familiar with these aspects too, and more.
None of them are cerebral studies. I’m not gathering data for a business presentation.
Each represents, in some way, a broken heart.
Friday night, Jeff and I watched Joan of Arc. I had seen it before, but I was struck afresh by this brave & broken-hearted girl who united France and died a martyr, because she cared.
To care is to cry. To break.
A month ago I spoke to a gathering of pastor’s wives. Before the conference, I was in the midst of yet another emotional episode, and I lay with my face to the floor and asked God how this was going to work, speaking to these women, when I was such a wreck inside. I heard, in my heart:
“The fellowship of the broken-hearted.”
Yes. Of course. Each one of these women, because they shepherd others, they lead, they love, and they lay down their lives … every single one of them lives with a broken heart. To care is to cry. To break.
My friend Christine always says, “Breakthrough comes through a broken heart.”
Certainly much of my own sorrow probably comes from selfishness, but in this particular situation I can honestly say it came from caring. Jesus was a man acquainted with sorrows, and it only makes sense that as we come to know Him more, as we walk His way, we will care more. We will ache more. We will hurt more. There will be victories. There will be hallelujahs. There will be mountain tops and glorious days. But if Jesus wept over Jerusalem, won’t we weep over our nation? If Jesus wept when Lazarus died, knowing He would raise Him, won’t we weep over the sick and disease-ridden, the ones who die too soon, the victims of violence, both born and unborn?
Maybe tears aren’t a symptom something’s wrong.
Maybe they mean something’s right because we care about what’s wrong.
I came back downstairs, did the next thing. Made dinner. While we washed dishes after, Shane & Shane came on Spotify and I heard Job’s words:
Though You slay me, yet I will praise You
Though You take from me, I will bless Your name
Though you ruin me, still I will worship
… Jeff gently pulled me into his arms–he’s part of the Fellowship too. Each word brought out the broken places and the tears flowed freely, safely, onto his shoulder. At the end of the song, I wiped my mascara-smeared eyes on his black t-shirt and SMILED. The true, genuine, hope-filled smile of knowing my Redeemer lives. And just then, another song came on, and as only Providence would have it, Housefires sang out a scripture equally true:
All Your promises are yes and amen!
Yes! Even in the broken-heartedness, His promises are ALWAYS yes and amen. This is not the end.
I love the prayer from Every Moment Holy, A Liturgy For Those Who Weep Without Knowing Why. It ends simply: “Use our tears to baptize what You love.” Amen.
The LORD is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those whose spirits are crushed.
-Psalm 34:18
{Keep fighting, praying, caring. Have a great week dear friends. Thanks for reading.}
That prodigal’s dad
I’ve always read myself as the prodigal.
That story in Luke 15, we all know it. The prodigal son, though he was loved and provided for and had everything he needed, totally disrespects his father, takes off with his dad’s money, and lives in a way that breaks his dad’s heart.
I’ve always just read the story and seen the ways I do this. Little ways I run away, live for myself. And am reminded again and again that all repentance is, is coming home.
Of course I can see myself as the older son too. That pride that takes offense at the father’s lavish kindness on the undeserving younger son.
But I’ve never really considered what it was like to be the dad.
I guess I’ve always reserved that sacred role for God, and it is a picture of God. But it’s a picture of God to give us an example to follow ourselves.
Sit in the dad’s spot for a minute. What would you feel? You’ve given this boy everything. You’ve provided for him financially, you’ve taught him, you’ve loved him.
And in a sweeping moment of chilling disconnection, this son discounts all that, displays a complete lack of even recognition or respect, takes his dad’s money and his heart and runs off.
And here’s what I’ve never thought about before, yes it’s sad that the boy is off “squandering his property in reckless living” but my guess is what really broke the dad’s heart was that his behavior was completely contrary to everything the dad had taught him.
His behavior gave the middle-finger to the dad.
His behavior was like a direct message–I reject everything you taught me, I care nothing for all that you’ve poured into me, and I will waste and count as worthless what you worked hard so hard to earn.
Wow. I mean I’ve never thought about how hurt the dad must’ve felt. Right? How angry. Wouldn’t you be?
It’s interesting, we don’t know how long the boy was gone. It sounds like it was a long time. Long enough to squander all his property (ie. lose everything) AND for a famine to arise, and for him to eventually end up so hungry he’s eating pig slop.
In other words, God was doing His thing, bringing this boy to the end of himself.
And all this time, the dad patiently waited at home. It must’ve taken everything in him to not go out and search, to not go out and beat some sense into the kid, to not go out and take matters into his own hands.
The dad stayed home and let God do his thing. We know it from our own life stories, don’t we? God has a way of bringing us prodigals home.
And what’s beautiful is that clearly the dad attended to his own heart, because after all that time (years?) he hasn’t let his heart go to anger or resentment, because when the boy finally does return the dad sees and has compassion, and as we all know he ran toward the boy, embraced him, kissed him, and threw him a party. And his words are so telling:
“It is fitting to celebrate and be glad, for [the boy] was dead and is alive; he was lost, and is found.”
The dad had the ability to recognize–during that time the prodigal was living that way, he was dead.
We don’t get mad at dead people.
There’s no use hashing it all out or berating him with a barrage of reminders at all he’d done wrong. The dad knew God had already done what needed to be done.
It had taken years, but the repentance was real so the dad simply says, “Welcome home, Son. I’m so glad you’re here.”
I’m so glad the dad didn’t take offense, didn’t sit in resentment all those years, or conversely–didn’t go out and drag the boy home. The dad knew that real change has to come from a changed heart and the boy had to decide for himself who he was going to be.
He had to walk home on his own two feet.
Now that I think of it I know so many faithful moms, dads, pastors, mentors, spouses, who watch with aching hearts while someone they love does just as the prodigal did. I’m overwhelmed with respect for those who truly walk this out so well. I know a number of you. 🙂
And I love God’s Word that is living and active and always gives us what we need for each day.
Our God, our Father, is so patient. His compassion for us is unfailing. {Thank you for reading.}
Love puts up
{From April 2013. Had to share in honor of Friday’s marriage conference!}
“Love … puts up.”
-1 Corinthians 13
I flipped open the laptop–there on the keyboard lay the photo.
I shook my head and smiled, a little surprised at the emotion welling up in my eyes. It’s been 12 years of passing that thing back and forth, sneaking it into unexpected places for the other to find. Both book lovers, we had perused the small used book store at the beach as newlyweds, sorting through dusty titles, searching for some hidden literary gem. I don’t remember what we bought, but when we got it home, tucked within the pages was this polaroid picture.
Now it’s been tucked into places more times than I can count. It’s spoken a thousand words. We’ve tucked it in at times to say, “I’m sorry.” At times it means, “Just thinking of you.” And at times it means so much more. But whenever I see this photo it’s like another stitch, like pulling that thread taut and tugging so slightly, so all the stitches tighten. This picture reminds me of all the stitches over the years and pulls them tighter together.
And now, you’re away. This afternoon you drove off, and Heidi waved her little arm until we couldn’t see you anymore, and I felt silly for feeling so sad. It’s only a week, after all. But suddenly I remembered yesterday, how I had sighed (the classic victim-SAHM sigh) as I sorted through your middle pile. How I eyed you accusingly when you shelled pistachios right after I’d cleaned the counters. How I only half-listened this morning when you shared your idea with me. (How could I forget how much courage it takes to speak dreams out loud?) I remembered how you let me eat your french fries today and how you met us for a picnic when I’m sure you had more pressing things to do. And I remembered how you worked all afternoon fixing the lawn mower, and surprised me with Peet’s coffee for my trip this weekend. Then I remembered how I gave you the stink eye when you ate the last of the caramel corn.
How I left today without even doing your laundry. And how you said no big deal and cheerfully dug through the dirty clothes to find enough socks to wash and take on your trip.
Why do I love so pathetically?
I stared off, sad for all the ways I haven’t loved you more. But then, this picture somehow centered me. It always does.
Because you put it there and it tells me, all over again, that love covers a multitude of sins.
It is us, in so many ways. The faux wood panelling is hideous, of course, and I love it. The artwork is off-centered, and not in an artistic way. The purple and red pillows are delightfully strange, but the faces are the best.
He is Just. So. Happy.
His hand is on her thigh, his tie is huge, and he’s just grinning from ear to ear.
She, well, she’s half-smiling, but really thinking of what to make for dinner.
I am this woman, except I have better hair.
She’s putting up with the picture-taking (and him?) even though she’d rather be checking some ridiculous item off her list.
He’s just happy with his hand on her leg. The End.
He puts up with her half-smile just as she puts up with his beam.
And that’s the beauty of it: Love puts up.
Because not all romance is wild passion all the time. Because I put up with your stuff and you put up with mine. And because even though this couple isn’t running barefoot down a beach, their love is compelling to me. Because that’s just it: Love puts up. Because at different times last week each of us wanted to pack up and quit this ministry life. And both times the other one of us simply put up. Listened. Waited. Stayed quiet. Prayed. And both times we came around.
Because real love is so different than it is on TV. So much better. Because even the “putting up” part is good. It’s the time walking together in the valleys.
It’s the spaces in between the milestones, where you just keep holding hands and holding on.
Kind of like this:
Love never gives up.
Love cares more for others than for self.
Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.
Love doesn’t strut,
Doesn’t have a swelled head,
Doesn’t force itself on others,
Isn’t always “me first,”
Doesn’t fly off the handle,
Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others,
Doesn’t revel when others grovel,
Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,
Puts up with anything,
Trusts God always,
Always looks for the best,
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end. (1 Corinthians 13:3-7 MSG)
Thanks for putting up with me, my love. I really am sorry about the laundry.
{Thanks, all, for reading.}
*Originally shared April 2013.
Because I don't want to be two trains …
{Originally posted June 2013}
This picture was taken 10 years ago today. (Um…. Could Jeff be any happier?!)
Neither of us cared much about a fancy wedding, so the flowers were fake, from Joann’s fabric, and the dress was borrowed from a friend. We married at my parents’ house–on a 95-degree day–and were surprised when we got to the cake-cutting part and discovered a three-tier wedding cake. Apparently someone made one for us because we had just planned on Costco sheet cakes. Surprise!
That’s kind of been the story of our life: Surprise!
We drove off into the distance, hootin’ and hollarin’ and thanking God we got to leave alone! We had waited for our wedding day to even kiss each other (Seriously.) All we really wanted was each other, so once the formalities ended we bolted for the honeymoon–17 days in Hawaii (!) thanks to my generous parents.
We had a blast. Everywhere we went people kept telling us to stop kissing. We did everything together, wondering why on earth people wanted to have “Girls’ night out” or “Guys night out.” Why would anyone want to be away from their spouse, ever??? We threw ourselves into the busy ministry life, ate ice cream together way too often and played card-games on the kitchen floor late at night, always dreaming big for our life ahead, together.
We were, in every way, ONE.
Shortly after our wedding, we attended a funeral together. I have no idea who died. A friend of a friend of a friend, perhaps? I don’t even remember why we were there. But the guy who died, whoever he was, was a big deal. Maybe in politics or something? I can’t remember. But he was a big deal, and she was a big deal, and a lot of people were there because they were a big deal.
And when it came time for the wife to speak, she talked about how they each had own life. He had his life and she had his, but that it was good, their marriage like that was good. She said,
“We were two trains running on parallel tracks.”
Everyone nodded and smiled, as if in agreement about the beauty of two trains running on parallel tracks.
After the funeral Jeff and I made our way to the car. Once inside, we looked at each other. Jeff’s spoke my thoughts:
“Babe, I don’t want to be two trains running on parallel tracks.”
Those simple words have haunted me ever since. At that point, it was easy to be one. We did everything together, just us, fun crazy stuff, making memories and laughing all the way:
We traveled to Israel, swam in the Dead Sea …
…and rode camels together, holding on for dear life.
And then we really held on for dear life, because after visiting some friends in Boston we …
…(SURPRISE!) had a baby!
And everything changed.
I remember this night, when Dutch was six months old. It was our first “night out” together, just us, at a wedding at Steve Ballmer’s house in Washington (Thanks, Jeremy & Mari). We had just moved in with my parents, left our jobs, and were finishing seminary. So many things had been stripped away. And that night we danced on the boat dock, laughed ourselves silly, and finally awoke from the fog of 2am feedings and dirty diapers. We adored our son but this was good … and the time together was that much sweeter, because we’d walked through some struggle, together.
And at Mom and Dad’s, I’m smiling here but didn’t smile much in those days. Despite my wonderful parents I was so down, so often. Hard, long days with a baby, and no car or phone and Jeff was gone a lot and we with no money and no job and no idea how on earth the future would work out. I smiled here, but so often I cried. But he held me fast and one day came home and said, “I bought you a little something. For $13, I bought www.karipatterson.com.” And my darkness found light, and my thoughts found words, and this little blog began and my soul found space to breathe.
And then, “Surprise!” Heidi came. And I had wept because what would happen? And we needed an income and health insurance and where would we live? And one by one God provided everything–the job, a temporary home, and–crazy miracle–the “coincidence” of double-coverage for a 2-week period: Right when she was born. And we laughed ourselves silly at His provision and then five days later I cried myself to sleep as the house that we were renting sold and it meant packing up these babies and moving (again!) and where would we go? And we sat that night at Carl’s Jr. (don’t ask me why) and ate french fries and wrote down on a napkin, “We trust God.” And we wrote the date and carried that napkin everywhere, just to remind us. That no matter what: We trust God.
And we walked that rocky shore, both kids in tow, and smiled at the future. He’d be in it.
And He did come through, again. Those generous Dombrows opened their home, and then the apartment, and then the “dream home.” And we moved in and life was perfect and we were living the dream. And Kimberly Stone took these family photos and it was the one strangely quiet time of our life–like the calm before the storm.
Then I wore the cap and gown, then he wore the cap and gown, and we donned our hoods and finally ended the long trudge through seminary–us both tired but glad we did it.
And then, things got crazy again. The Hole In Our Gospel turned our world upside down nothing looked the same and my dream life wasn’t dreamy anymore. But in that wild ride He changed us and gave us unity and strength, and we met up with World Vision and that trip up there, to Seattle–it was for the best thing for us. Reminding us we were one, together, not two trains but ONE.
And we started pursuing a simpler life. We moved to our dumpy rental on Hazelhurst Lane, picked berries and quit keeping up with the Jones’s, whoever they were.
And then this year we took another flying leap of faith, planting RENEW Church, welcoming our housemate, and moving (our 13th time in 10 years!). And it was hard and good and I was writing e-books and working on the real book, and speaking and traveling and life was just so full. And you planned the special trip, just us, to the Church-Planting conference, and when we arrived at the airport at midnight and we’d missed the hotel shuttle so — surprise! — they sent us a limo instead. We sat in the green light in the back of the limo, reminded again we don’t want to be two trains.
But honestly … it’s hard.
We’ve jam-packed a lot into ten years–13 moves, 8 combined years of seminary, 4 different church ministry jobs, church-planting, two kids, blogging, book-writing, speaking, traveling … we sat down just a few days ago, a bit of painful reflection as we realize:
It’s all too easy to be two trains, running on parallel tracks.
Life is so full and we serve and love and answer the phone and meet the needs and run the errands and fix whatever’s broken this time on the house. And if there is one nugget of truth we’ve gleaned from these ten years it’s this:
It’s a lot easier to just be two trains than it is to truly be one.
It’s easier to just be partners. Have a business relationship. Serve each other and raise the kids and get the job done, but marriage isn’t a picture of a business partnership —
It’s a picture of crazy romance and unparalleled love. The love of the Son for His bride, the church.
And so together, today, we’re committing afresh to that love. To turn again to one another. To pursue one another, not just getting stuff done. To laugh more and do a little bit less.
We’re committing to a shorter list of things to do and a longer list of things we’re grateful for.
So, dear reader, thanks for letting me share this–a short history of our 10-year journey of marriage. I am a most imperfect wife loving a most imperfect husband, and we commit afresh today to this thing called marriage–a picture of Jesus’ extravagant love for us.
Perhaps you may commit afresh today too?
And now, would you bless me? Would you share with us the best Marriage Advice you have received? Either from your own experience or that someone has shared with you? We’d LOVE to read your thoughts as we celebrate our anniversary this weekend. THANK YOU SO MUCH for reading! And Happy Anniversary, my Love!
What keeps us from Kindness
I have had experiences where it felt like sadness would swallow me whole. I know you probably have too, I know I’m not unique in this. Experiences of sadness and grief that felt insurmountable. Some of these were during miscarriages, some during my own personal failures, some during the death of each of my parents.
But I’ve never experienced anger that I thought might swallow me whole. That’s a praise, I recognize it’s amazing to live 44 years and never have had to face that kind of anger. But recently, God chose in His sovereignty to allow me to experience this feeling. It wasn’t pretty. 🙂
Coming out on the other side, God has been so gracious, so I wanted to share a few of things He showed me and the process he took me through, in case you ever feel like this too.
1. Forgive: First, in an almost-audible voice God forcefully said, You HAVE to forgive. That is, burn the IOU. Release the debt. Through a process with God, I did that. And this isn’t a one-time thing (Matt 18:21-22). Usually it’s over and over and over. For me, it helps to actually write out what wrong has been done, like an IOU, and then burn it, symbolizing that I am releasing that debt.
2. Grieve: Just because something is forgiven doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, and it certainly doesn’t mean that the loss isn’t still real and painful. Along with the person who was wronged, we went through a process of grieving what had been lost. We chose to do this as a small ceremony together (like a funeral) and it greatly helped our hearts.
3. Identify God’s legit goodness: I say legit just because this isn’t a fakey fakey religious thing where we pretend that terrible things are actually good. For us, this meant honestly identifying some extremely difficult and painful things and also seeing that God was actively working for the good and even in this situation. It was so helpful to talk through how truly gracious God had been and thank Him specifically for His blessings.
4. Pray blessing over the person who hurt you. Only after we truly recognize God’s goodness toward us can be honestly pray blessing over someone who hurt us. Scripture clearly commands us to do this.
5. Release hate. Though all these steps were good, one Sunday I sat in my chair in church, waiting to take communion because I realized there still was something deeply off in my heart. The message was on Kindness. I had released anger, I had forgiven, I had gone through this process, I had even prayed for this person, but that morning I had read Luke 6:35. “But love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return, and your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High, for he is kind to the ungrateful and the evil.”
Kindness. God is kind to the ungrateful and the evil. I realized that while I had forgiven, grieved, and prayed for this person, I still felt absolutely incapable of being kind to this person. Kindness is active. It’s outward. Bowing my head I told God I could not be kind to this person, there was something still in my heart that was blocking this fruit of the spirit. I asked Him, what is it?
I heard it clearly: Hate.
Yikes. No bueno. I knew that was it, and also that if I let it stay, it would kill me, body and spirit. Like letting a deadly cancer stay, it would spread. It would destroy me. We’ve all seen people who clearly have let hate make its home in their hearts. We don’t want that.
But strangely enough, I had to admit I did kind of want it. I remembered the scene from Count of Monte Cristo where Mercedes begs Edmond to let go of his dark plans of revenge. He responds, “If ever you loved me, don’t rob me of my hate. It’s all I have.”
What is it about hate that feels like something valuable to hold onto? I had never before understood that dark desire to keep it, but now I did.
Thankfully, I also knew the enemy wants nothing more than to get us to hold onto our hate, thinking we need it somehow, that it’s the fuel we need for life.
Like with Luke Skywalker, the dark Emporer Palpatine eggs us on, encouraging us to use our hate to help others. He basically says, “Let hate be your fuel.”
But Luke refuses. He refuses to let hate turn him to the dark side. He recognizes that hate will destroy his true mission.
As it will ours. Our true mission is to destroy the works of the evil one (1 John 3:8). And he wants to sow discord. He wants to take mere mistakes, mishaps, and foolish choices and make them irredeemable. He wants to keep us trapped in hate, anger, malice, and unforgiveness because that is what separates us from God.
Scripture could not be more clear: “If anyone says, “I love God,” and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen” (1 John 4:20).
I also knew that although I did now truly WANT to be free from it, I couldn’t will it away. I couldn’t remove it myself. It was impossible on my own. Only God could take it. With tears and snot running down my face I asked him to please take it away.
And He did. 🙂
The truth is, people make mistakes, they’re often careless. I make mistakes. I’m often careless. It is inevitable that we’re hurt, angered, betrayed. CS Lewis beautifully reminded us that, “To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken.” So our options are refuse to love (and lock away our hearts in dark coffins) OR learn to process the pain that love inevitably brings.
I opt for the latter. If you do too then we must become adept at this process and learn to let God lead us through it, if we’re going to make it through this life loving others without letting hate destroy our souls.
God has been so kind to us. The truth is, we hurt and betray him in word, thought, and action often. Jesus died for people who betrayed him.
Kindness, forgiveness, and grace are the waters of the gospel and we want them washed over us we must wash them over others as well. Amen? Thanks for reading.
Because none of us can buy what we want most of all…
“Throwing a party?” The cashier asked. I blinked hard. “Oh, my daughter’s turning … 16.” My voice cracked on the last word and I looked down into my purse, pretending to look for something.
She filled the bag full, the glittery Happy birthday sign, the balloons and streamers and crepe paper balls, the golden 16 cake-topper. The perfectly-worded birthday card.
But as I’d walked the aisles and filled my arms with celebratory items the aching reality kept running through my mind, “I can’t buy what I want most for her.”
I sat in the car and couldn’t stop crying.
Earlier that week I had asked her who she wanted to have lunch with on her birthday and she said Oma.
My heart busted straight open.
Life has its ups and downs and that week had been a down. I guess disappointment is the word we use to describe when life’s circumstances aren’t what we had hoped they’d be.
Sixteen wasn’t looking the way she thought it would.
And why was this hitting me so particularly hard? Harder than her. Because those of us who’ve lived a few decades more have so many more memories associated with those feelings of disappointment. Though not cynical or jaded, there is still a deep recognition that that pain of disappointment will happen more times than you can possibly know, dear girl. And though I hated to say it, I had texted my friend:
I’m really struggling with feeling like her “welcome to womanhood” is a huge dose of pain and can I just be honest and say that feels sadly symbolic?
She feels a sting, but I feel gutted.
We love and get hurt. We love and they die. We birth humans and our bodies literally give themselves over, up, deplete in ways in order to give life.
We decrease that they may increase.
It’s so good and so gospel but sometimes hurts so much.
And I see this depth in my daughter that is beautiful and captivating and everything I ever hoped she’d be. But with depth comes pain too. Sometimes I feel like she’s had more than her share of sorrow.
And then my mind trails to a dear friend, with a dear daughter, who certainly has had more than her share of sorrow. We had just sat over her dining room table and ached together. I know for a fact there are things she wishes she could buy for her daughter who has physically suffered more than most of us could ever dream of.
We can’t buy new hearts, literally or figuratively.
But I hear His voice, that whisper, and He says, “Behold, I make all things new.”
And with shaking hands, I sit at Starbucks and turn the well-worn pages of my Bible to that chapter. The same one we read at Oma’s burial.
No death, no mourning, no crying, no pain.
I glance up just as a boy walks in, his face badly disfigured. Badly. My breath catches.
I bet sometimes he aches for new things too.
New things you can’t buy.
And I find myself grateful for God’s little gift of perspective. Am I the only one who aches for all things new? I think not. None of us can buy what we want most of all.
Perfect peace. The deepest soul rest that says, God’s got it. Renewed hearts, minds, bodies, souls.
Can I be grateful for the glimpses of grace and glory we get this side of heaven without demanding the fullness before the time?
Will I wait for the truly Happy Ending? With patience. With endurance. With joy.
I’ll try. {Thanks for reading.}
What Buoys Me
This picture captures it — joy. It was a hot July day, we took the boys down river to the rope swing. It’s deep there, you can’t see the bottom, so we cinched up the boys’ life-jackets and went for it.
At first Ben clung to us, but Heidi let him in on the secret: “Ben, you have a life-jacket on, even if you stop paddling, you can’t sink.”
He considered. He tried it. His face LIT up as he shouted with joy, “I can’t sink!”
—
Joy. Right now Jeff is preaching a series called Branches: Full of Christ’s Life. He’s going through the fruit of the Spirit, and today was on joy.
What is joy? I’ve often heard it touted, “It’s not the same as happiness! You can be joyful without being happy.” Ok, but I also take issue with the idea that somehow joy is so far “down in my heart” that virtually no one can detect it! Can you be joyful without any trace of happiness?
I appreciate Dallas Willard’s definition, that joy is a “pervading sense of well-being in your soul,” but I also would argue, couldn’t that be the definition of peace? Is joy really no different than peace?
I’d argue joy is in fact its own thing. Peace can be completely inward, but joy has a sense of outwardness to it.
And further, we are commanded to REJOICE. We aren’t told to “peace” we are told to rejoice.
It’s outward. It should be observable in some sense, at least detectable. Yes?
Tim Keller described joy as “a spiritual buoyancy that comes when we are rejoicing in God.” He goes on, “This Joy, this buoyancy, does not mean we are impervious to suffering, it means we are unsinkable. We are constantly getting wet, we are constantly being pushed down. However, we do not stay down. We don’t sink.”
We don’t sink.
Yes. THAT is how I experience joy. It isn’t that I’m constantly above the waters, it isn’t one long spiritual high, but it is buoyancy. We do walk through the valley of the shadow of death. We suffer. We get disappointed. We have days we’re just tired, we’re irritable, we’re frustrated by the ways our world isn’t working as it should.
But we’re buoyant.
As I sat there in church this morning I reflected on what it is the buoys me during dark seasons. I thought of the days walking with my parents into death, I thought of the days of miscarriages, lost friendships, church difficulties, marriage difficulties, parenting difficulties. I thought through, specifically, what is it that has buoyed me most?
Of course first of all is gratitude, a habit of gratitude is what most contributes to joy. But in terms of TRUTHS. These are the truths. These are the life-jackets that consistently bring me back a buoyed joy, time and time again. These aren’t hypothetical, not something I read in a book somewhere. They are truly what buoys me:
- Everything is being used for my good. No exceptions. This is life-changing. Romans 8:28 tells God is working all things for my good. 1 Cor. 4:17 says my affliction is working for me, preparing a glory for me. James 1:2-3 says I can rejoice in trials because they are producing in me good things. I can see suffering as hand-weights making me stronger and better.
- God sees all. When the biblical writers talk about suffering injustice, they always bring it back to knowing God is our master and HE doles out eternal reward. No matter what I can rest in the fact that God sees all, He is who I serve.
- Everything doesn’t depend on me. While yes, I am responsible for my actions and I want to honor God in my actions, this whole thing doesn’t depend on me. God is so gracious, He will accomplish His work through imperfect people who fumble on the regular. Example: Whole Bible.
Friends, I truly believe that joy is the secret to the victorious Christian life. For the JOY set before Him Jesus endured, conquering sin and death to give us new life! We have LIFE. He has conquered sin and the grave. We have the power of the Spirit. We have HOPE. We of all people have reason to be the most joyful.
We can’t sink. {Thanks for reading.}
How to have wide joy
I paused, considering, then answered:
“Sure, I think going fishing sounds great and I’d love to go with you. We can do that after dinner, once we get our stuff put away.”
The child let out a little sigh,
“No, that’s ok. I don’t want to go fishing later. I only want to go right now.”
I smiled. I know that attitude. It’s the same I often sport, the same one a different child had donned just moments ago when she sighed about the dinner menu. She had hoped for bean burritos, not chicken legs.
Downcast face. *sigh*
I smiled, and told them I had a secret to share with them. A secret that would serve them well all their days if they’d remember it. They leaned in a little, a bit skeptical, but willing to listen.
I held my hands up in front of me, palms closed together like a prayer posture, then separated them about 4 inches apart.
“See this sliver here, between my hands. This narrow space between my palms represents all the things that are exactly as we want them to be. This is getting to fish at precisely the moment we have the urge, this is the meal we most want, this is the game I want to play, the plans I want to keep, the way I want it to go. This represents the circumstances I must have in order to be happy.
When I have high preferences, picky tastes, particular wants, I narrow down this slice of life with which I can be happy. My joy becomes very narrow. Every time I narrow in on what I want, I exclude more and more of life that I’ll be eligible to enjoy. Pretty soon, there isn’t much left. That’s narrow joy.
They were listening. Then I slowly widened my hands, out, out, out, until my arms were stretched wide, as far as I could reach, palms no longer facing inward, but stretched out, like a giant embrace of life. I smiled into their faces.
THIS is what happens when we let go of our high preferences, our picky tastes, our particular wants. This is what happens when we say, “Well, this isn’t my favorite food, but I’m so glad I get to eat. It’ll do just fine.” When we say, “Well, I’d love to this activity now, but I’m grateful I’ll get to do it at all.” When we say, “That’s not the way I’d like it done, but I’m grateful we get to do it together, and it’s better than being alone.”
This is what happens when we decide that no matter what way it happens, we’ll be grateful. We’ll make do. This makes all of life eligible as a source of joy. This means circumstances can vary widely without depleting our joy. This is WIDE JOY.
They understood. And so did I. And we munched our meal with gladness, and fished ’til past bedtime, and we will continue to pursue wide joy with all our hearts.
{Thanks for reading. Originally shared 7/15/2017, now these Littles are Bigs and I’m teaching these lessons to a new set of Littles 😉 }
“I know how to live on almost nothing or with everything. I have learned the secret of living in every situation, whether it is with a full stomach or empty, with plenty or little.”
Philippians 4:12
How to be an Available Person
Wow, it’s almost noon already. I saw the other person heart my message so I added another log to the fire, put Dutch’s clean laundry on the stairs, and headed to the kitchen to heat up leftover tortilla soup for lunch.
The morning’s conversations still floated through my head. Of course I wondered some if I said some things right, wished I’d maybe added this or that, but for the most part I had a clear sense of time well-spent. Yeah, it was the better part of two hours. But people were counseled, Scripture was shared, prayers were prayed, confusion was cleared, hope was (I think) instilled, and faith was (I hope) fanned just a bit into flame.
I didn’t have a lot to show for it, visibly, but it was a worthwhile investment.
As I shared here, I’ve been praying about what this next season would hold. Though my schedule opened up quite a bit, I was hesitant to automatically add anything else in, sensing the need to just wait. Rest, pray, consider, be.
And today it became so clear: I guess my job in this season is simply to be an Available Person.
I was on a trip this past year that took an interesting turn. I had no official job or role on the trip, and I sensed, even as I prepared to go, that my role was to be an unofficial come-alongside-person.
In short, I wanted to Be Available. I wanted to be available to pray, to listen, to counsel, to help.
And the only real way to be that is NOT to be too much of anything else.
Those who are in full-time official positions of work or leadership have an important role to fill. They are able to be in certain circles and decision-making situations, and that’s awesome. We need them! And sometimes I’m in those roles, as a speaker or what not. But the people in those roles can’t always be an Available Person. They’re busy. They’re official. They’re not there to pray with you or notice if you’re sad. They’re not there to run an errand for you or text you Scripture when you’re struggling.
During this trip, I found nearly every hour of every day filled with relational needs of some capacity or another. I came home tired but also so very grateful and with a sense of satisfaction.
I did my job. I was an Available Person.
These days I am realizing that Available Person is what I’m called to be. For my kids first and foremost (between teens and tikes there are almost constant conversations and teachable moments taking place all day long!). But also for others. And I know I’m not alone. Even today several messages have been from a couple other friends who are Available People, constantly available to so many for counsel, encouragement, prayer, practical help. They are available to care for other children, counsel, pray, provide meals, care for aging parents, listen to their own children, run errands.
My dear friend Anne is my first and foremost Available Person. For 12 years she has just constantly been available to me — to text, to pray, to listen, to bring me meals. Right after Mom died, when I was sick with Covid and couldn’t get out of bed and also trying to care for a baby, she came over and folded all my laundry. Yes, this is friendship, but it’s more than that:
It’s availability. It reminds me of Prov. 27:10, “Better is a neighbor who is near than a brother who is far away.”
Why would a close-by person be better?
They’re available.
The other day I was listening to a man who was wishing he could help others more, and therefore was trying to think of a way to start a ministry to help. That might be totally awesome (and I’ll encourage him if he does!) but I also was saying, Just be an Available Person.
Often the greatest ministry isn’t an official ministry at all.
It is the ministry of being an Available Person who lets the life, love, and truth of God flow through their lives.
One of Heidi’s go-to lovely people is her vocal teacher. Yes, she has an official role in Heidi’s life that we pay her to do, but her influence outside vocal coaching has proven to be even more valuable. Her role in Heidi’s life as an Available Person is what has truly proven life-changing for Heidi.
If we do have an official job, let us always be aware that our unofficial influence may prove of far greater value than whatever the official role is we play in someone’s life.
Go geek with me for a minute and consider that that’s really what the Desert Fathers were. They were godly men and women who left the business of society in order to seek God and … Be Available. People would trek out to the desert in order to seek their wisdom and counsel, in order to be helped.
Please hear me, I’m not trying to say I’m a desert father … but do you see the idea?
Any of us who are truly connected to Jesus can serve as an Available Person.
In fact, you probably already are.
I write this not by way of telling anyone what you should be doing, but more by way of hopefully encouraging you — If you are seeking God, connected to God, abiding in God, and you are not sure exactly what your role is, ask God to simply help you be an Available Person to others.
Be ready with God’s Word on your heart, be prayed up each morning, try to keep plenty of margin in your schedule so that there is the space to be available for others. Check in on people, be pro-active in asking what’s going. Bring prayer into every conversation. Seek, if possible, to truly see and understand what others are feeling.
Do we do this perfectly? Never. I know I say the wrong thing, mis-step often, make messes as I go. But can God do beautiful things with Available People when they simply offer themselves for others?
Absolutely.
When the mess feels disproportionate to the mistake…
How did I go from Cloud 9 to a sobbing mess in less than 15 minutes?
I spent Saturday with a lovely group of Harbor Network ladies at Aldersgate retreat center, learning about Rest & Renewal, how our habits (all habits not just “spiritual” disciplines) connect us to or distance us from God. It was so good to worship, sit under the Word, spend quality time with some of my closest friends, walk in the sunshine, and just have the space to consider my soul. Hence the Cloud 9.
It was a long day however. I’d been up late the night before, left home early, and now it was late. My GPS took me on an unfamiliar route home, via backroads. As I maneuvered through winding roads, I came upon a small town called Aumsville, and my phone indicated I’d be turning soon, but I couldn’t see clearly where that turn would be. Distracted by trying to see where the turn was, I missed the fact that it’d gone quickly from a 55mph to a 35mph and then almost immediately to a 25mph. So as I came into the town, looking for my turn, I was still trying to decelerate when the dreaded red lights began to flash behind me and I realized I was still going 35 in a 25. Shoot.
I pulled, here came the officer, my heart is racing (anybody’s heart NOT race when they’re pulled over?), and I say I know I was going 35 in a 25 I’m so sorry.
“Actually I clocked you at 38.”
Ok well great. :/ I give him my license and pull up my phone app to show my insurance, and wouldn’t you know it all the stress starts. My app won’t open, it says my password is wrong, then when I finally get it it says my ID cards are expired even though we auto-pay our insurance, so that’s impossible, turns out the app just hasn’t uploaded my new cards, and now I’m fumbling and frustrated and my heart’s racing more. He was calm and said he could look up my insurance on his computer, so he took my license and said he’d be right back.
Oh phew. It’s fine. Yes, it’s a ticket, but it’s ok. He returned.
“Um, I can see that you do have insurance, but your license is SUSPENDED.”
What?! And then in a moment I realize what must have happened and I’m panicking and I beg him to let me explain.
Back in January, I had come to a right hand turn and not come to a complete stop and one of those traffic cameras took a picture and sent me a ticket. Ok fine. I filled out the paperwork, sent in a check, and forgot about it. Well somehow during the next couples months it did not clear or I didn’t do the paperwork right or something, and I was in the middle of everything with my dad, and not even thinking about it, so I get a notice in early March that I failed to pay or appear in court. I’m like What?! So I go online, and use the online portal and pay with a credit card so that I can get a receipt, it all goes through. Done. But apparently NOT because I got a notice March 26th, just as my dad is in his final days, that if no action is taken that my license will be suspended in May. What?! So I contact DMV and they say to contact City of Tigard, so I finally get them and they say that yes, everything has been paid, and yes, they can clear it with DMV, no problem, and they send DMV the form and they email me a confirmation of it, and they assure me that everything is taken care of and I’m all clear.
Until Saturday when the Aumsville cop is telling me my license has been suspended all this time!
And I’m sure I’m over-reacting, but I’m SO frustrated because I tried everything, and how on earth am I supposed to get this cleared up, and it’s late and I’m exhausted and I know that driving with a suspended license is like A BIG DEAL and now the officer is telling me I’m going to have to in person to Tigard again, in person to DMV again, and then back in person and appear in court in Aumsville to have this cleared.
And now I’m crying. Because I’m just so frustrated.
Because yes, I didn’t come to a full stop at a right turn. Yes, I was going 35 (ok, 38) in a 25. But this is a MESS.
The extent of this MESS feels disproportionate to my mistake.
I know I’m not faultless but this really isn’t my FAULT.
But I still have to fix it.
It isn’t my fault but I still have to fix it.
And then I see.
The officer is gracious. He sets my court date out into December so I have time to get it all sorted out. He doesn’t give me a speeding ticket because I think he can tell I’m on the verge of a melt down. He hands me the yellow slip and I can’t even look at it I fold it over in frustration and shame and shove it in my purse.
And cry all the way home.
And I can’t even figure out why I’m crying so hard. All of a sudden I miss Mom more than I could ever convey, like I feel like my heart will break in half I miss her so much. And all of a sudden the whole world is too heavy and it all makes me mad but then I realize what is happening.
I know a little bit of how they feel.
They. The ones I’m praying for. The ones who are facing painful situations and feel like, Why do I have to fix messes that aren’t my fault?
Why is this MESS so disproportionate to the mistake?
Ok Lord, I see.
Sometimes, when life feels sweet and easy, it is hard to put ourselves in others shoes. Sometimes our prayers aren’t super powerful because our hearts haven’t been affected with an understanding of how others feel.
That’s not to say that we need to walk through every situation in order to pray for it. But it is to say that if we want to be people who intercede effectively, if we want to pray with power for those we love, God might in His mercy allow us to experience situations where we feel what they feel, even on a tiny level, so that we can pray with compassion.
Jesus didn’t face every situation we faced, but he was tempted in every way that we are, which makes Him perfectly able to sympathize and intercede for us.
For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who was tempted in every way that we are, yet was without sin. Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.(Hebrews 4:15-16)
And so this situation was humbling, but I needed it. I don’t like confessing my traffic violations, admitting I cried all the way home, and looking like an idiot in front of a police officer.
But I am truly grateful that God gave me perspective that helped me feel what some of the people I love are feeling, even if on a tiny scale. The frustration, the powerlessness, the exhaustion.
And though it IS frustrating, it is true that we often will need to fix things that aren’t our fault. We clean up messes we didn’t make.
That’s the gospel. Jesus fixing the mess of the universe, by His blood.
So first this morning I started making phone calls. Thankfully, just a few phone calls and emails got everything clear. My license is re-instated (yay!) and I don’t have to appear in court in person.
What looked like it would take a long time was quickly and easily resolved.
Also true on a larger scale: What looks impossible can be quickly resolved by God.
God fixes stuff. That’s what He does.
Praying.