Sacred Mundane: The Blog

I wanted another happy day. After such a hard month, we’d finally had such a sweet day out in the sunshine, getting dirty gathering debris, Dad and me and kids and neighbors all together. No one had to say anything about the sadness. We knew it was there, and we also knew that it was good to be in the sunshine and it was good to run a chainsaw and it was good to set things on fire and then sit in Adirondack chairs and rest our tired muscles in the warmth. Our conversation ran from heaven and hospice to Dodger baseball and diesel.

The sun shone directly on our faces.

No one was out looking for joy or satisfaction, necessarily. Stuff needed to be burned. It was Saturday and sunny and that’s what you do out here. I toted Ben on my hip and made lunch and stood there breathing the cold, clean winter air, thinking how odd it is to feel so much grief and so much joy all at once.

I think about my mom all the time. I miss her every day. Logically, this perplexes me. She declined for so long, I thought I’d be emotionally prepared to have her gone. It’d been years since she was able to call me on the phone. It’s probably been a decade since she was able to email me. So I don’t understand how the missing can be so overwhelming. I love receiving messages from people who have specific memories of her. I love reading the books that she dog-eared and underlined. I love her hand-writing. I miss her smell.

I guess that’s what it is. I know all the stuff about heaven. I’m grateful for all the reminders about where she is and the hope that we have. I believe it all, I do! I just miss her.

I’m guessing many of you understand this. The constant ache of missing.

And today God reminded me that the relief, the joy, the satisfaction doesn’t come by chasing after it. After that good and happy day I just wanted another good and happy day. And today as we started out working together, splitting wood, the circumstances weren’t the same and I could feel that disappointment well up just a bit in my soul.

How easily I can become embittered!

The clouds were stubborn and the littles were cold so I took them into the house, and began prepping dinner while occupying them. NOT what I wanted to be doing. I wanted sunshine, I wanted to be working in the fresh air. And then I remembered what God had said in Hawaii:

If you look for relief, you won’t find it. If you look for gratitude, you will.

I had been so tired then too. It had felt like an army crawl across the finish line of Easter, when we finally flew away to Maui and I’d anticipated it so much and that first day so many hard things happened I realized I could be in paradise and still be sad. And as I prayed I sensed God ask, “What are you looking for?”

I tried to answer honestly: Well, God, I’m looking for relief.

Just some relief. I’m not asking for ecstasy or luxury or anything excessive. Just relief. But immediately I knew, if I came there looking for relief for myself I wouldn’t find it. Babies still cry in Hawaii. Toddlers still throw tantrums and couples miscommunicate and the whole thing can go sideways rather quickly if I’m in it solely for my own relief.

But if I look for gratitude, I will find relief.

I did. It turned out to be a tremendous trip. Not perfect, but filled with thanks and yes … relief.

Standing there at the counter shredding chicken, I remembered. Gratitude.

And service. How many meals did my mom dish up? How many lunches did she pack? A billion. She served and served and served and served. And had the most contented, joyful spirit.

I shredded the cheese, put Ben down for a nap, read a book to Justice.

The sun started breaking, just a bit, through the clouds.

By mid-afternoon it was full-sun, take-off-your-coat, push-up-your-sleeves weather and Ben woke up happy and as I smelled his sweet baby breath and sat with Justice in the sun I thought, There it is. That joy. It did come. The by-product of thanks-giving and serving. Felt fully and simultaneously with grief.

Missing Mom and being so glad I get to raise her grandchildren and do life with Dad and be her one and only daughter, her DNA woven into every part of me.

Grateful.

I really thought I was ready. They asked if I’d be the Lead for Backstage Team working Heidi’s play, The Rockin’ Tale of Snow White. I had helped backstage once before and really enjoyed it, so I was happy to step up and lead the team.

The week before tech week, I ordered the poster-sized list of scene synopsis for the green room. I made sure the backstage box had the glow-tape for spiking the set. I laid out all my black clothes so I’d have enough clean outfits for the 7 straight days of rehearsals/shows I’d be working. I carefully drew out the scene placements that the director had sketched for me. I even flipped through the script enough to write down the one-line cues that would mark the end of each scene.

I thought I was prepared.

And then, of course, it came time for the show to start and there I stood with the curtain rope in my hand and had no idea what to do. Hilariously, the music started, the actors danced … and I stood there idiotically with the rope in my hand and the curtain still closed.

Of course everyone laughed but I’m sure they’re thinking, “You had one job…” Ha!

Ah yes, I needed a headset. Of course. Ok. So I got a headset, and now I had the show caller calling sound, light, and curtain cues into my left ear along with occasional questions and comments from the crew kids coming from their headsets, while my right ear listened for line cues from the actors.

Ok, so I gotta listen to one thing in one ear, the other thing in the other ear, my face is smothered in mask (I cannot figure out why a mask makes me feel like I can’t hear but it does!) and I realized fairly quickly that maybe it’s my over-40-ears, but from backstage I can’t hear many of the lines.

Ok, it’ll be fine. I turn to check my trusty cue-list taped to the wall and wait … I can’t see it. Because it’s pitch black backstage. No problem, I’ll use my phone light. Left my phone in my purse out in the audience.

I’m in full-blown I-have-no-idea-what-on-earth-I’m-doing mode by now. As the show went on, of course changes were made on the fly:

“Oh, can you strike the stump after the pig dance?”
“Oh, the fire goes on and off after each scene with the evil queen.”
“Oh, the snow needs to fall during the King & Queen scene.”

I look hopelessly at my cue-list. Each scene is numbered. I haven’t the foggiest idea when the pig dances or when what queen is where. It occurs to me, again, that I am an idiot because of course when a play runs there is no one calling out, “Ok this is SCENE TWO, everybody! Got that?! Scene TWO.”

Thankfully, another mom was there, the Prop lead, who knew the story inside and out, and could help me along.

It worked out ok but I’ll tell you what, my anxiety was through the roof! Why?

Because I didn’t really know what was going on. I was always teetering on the brink of failure, never really understanding what was needed where. I felt anxious. Insecure.

And instantly I knew what I had failed to do:

I hadn’t actually read the Script.

In all my preparations, I had only focused on the list of things I was told to do. Sure, I had checked all the boxes.

But I didn’t know the Story.

And because I didn’t know the story, I didn’t really understand how to help. I didn’t understand how things fit together and what was needed when and how I could be ready to provide assistance best.

And in a mind-blowing (to me) revelation, I realized: This is what we feel like if we don’t read the Word of God.

We might go to church and get our bullet-point list: Five Ways to be a Better Spouse. Three ways to be free of anxiety. Etc, etc.

We take notes. We jot it all down. Great. But then we go home and stuff hits the fan and stuff happens that we totally didn’t plan for, and we don’t have a clue how it all fits together and suddenly I’m standing in the dark and there’s talking in one ear and other sounds in the other and I have a vague sense there’s a cue I’m supposed to catch somewhere but I have no idea what it is.

I’m an anxious mess.

Because while it’s fine to have a pastor pull out a few verses here and there, just like with the play, when we’re living life there is no booming announcement from heaven, “And now we’re going to be living out 2 Timothy THREE. Got that?! Second Timothy THREE. That’s the scene we’re at now.”

Anybody?

At least that’s my experience. It’s so tempting to only take in tidy sermons and five-minute devotionals, but if we don’t know the ARC of God’s STORY, we won’t really know what’s going on.

It is a STORY, right? The Bible is a story. It’s not only a list of commandments. It’s a story, and we’re part of it, and the story of Scripture is what MAKES SENSE of what we see in life. When I look around the world I can go, “Ah yes, that makes sense. This is all part of that big arc of God’s story. Man, it’s stressful now, but I remember that end scene that’s coming. It’s going to be good.”

When we don’t have a clear understanding of the ENTIRETY of Scripture, when we don’t know God’s Story, we are so much more prone to anxiety.

Knowing the Script gives me confidence. Gives me peace. I know how the story ends. It enables me to be WAY more helpful. When something unexpected happens, I can step in and help because I know how it’s supposed to go. I can help others who might forget a line or miss a set-change cue.

You know what else? I sure enjoy the play a whole lot more.

You better believe after that first awkward night I came home and read the Script. I’m still way behind everyone else, because I haven’t studied it. I have a very basic understanding of how it goes, but how much MORE equipped are the actors who have spent 10 weeks studying this thing, or the directors who have spent 10 months studying, preparing, and teaching the script.

You see where I’m going with this right?

I do not pretend to know all of God’s ways. He God. Me not. But after 23 times reading Scripture from cover to cover, plus doing innumerable Bible studies and teaching Scripture, I can testify that knowing the story of God gives us PEACE. I DON’T feel like I’m standing in the dark, hopelessly clueless, anxious and afraid. Sure, there will be twists and turns, there will be grief and difficult times, I’m even facing some right now. But knowing the story sure helps everything make a long more sense.

Even when it’s dark, we’ll know what to do.

{Thanks for reading.}

Enter by the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few.

Matthew 7:13-14

Everything about the Kingdom is upside down. This means that life under the rule of Christ requires a constant reshaping of our hearts and minds, how we reason, what we value, how we make decisions. He says the way to find life is to lose it. He says the way to be rich is to give. He says the best way to overcome evil is with good.

And that the hardest path leads to life.

J. Vernon McGree (1904-1988) writes that a simple way to remember this is that life is a funnel.

The wide way, the way that feels comfortable, easy, spacious, free … actually narrows into restrictions, slavery, death.

The narrow way, the way that looks uncomfortable, limited, hard, constricting … actually widens into joy, abundance, freedom.

We can see this play out in all sorts of ways:

Choose the “narrow” road of self-control, eating carefully, disciplining our bodies through exercise, getting sleep and drinking water — this seems the limited, hard, constricting way. It seems so much “freer” to eat what we want, get up when we want, drink what we want. But how much more freedom and energy and LIFE do we experience when we have health and vitality and mental stability? The narrow way widens into life.

Or choosing the “narrow” way of abstinence before marriage, of following God’s clear plan for sexuality. It seems restrictive, limited, “narrow-minded,” but in the end it brings LIFE and abundance and health. The opposite “freer” way only brings more and more sorrow and disfunction.

It’s true of any addiction. The “freedom” to engage in whatever it is whenever we want however we want only ends in slavery.

The wide way narrows until it’s so tight you are trapped.

The narrow way widens until you find yourself running free.

God is the only Master who makes life better and freer and bigger the longer we go His way.

Of course He doesn’t give us a timeframe. It may feel narrow and hard our whole lives, but by faith we believe it’ll be worth it in the end. Someday, we’ll reach the end of the funnel and find the way so wide we could never have imagined its glory:

No eyes has seen, no ear has heard, no heart has imagined, what God has prepared for those who love Him.

1 Corinthians 2:9

Seeking the narrow path along with you, friends,

Kari