The Hope of the Incarnation

Many years ago when I was a child, there was a newspaper columnist named Bill Vaughn. One year he wrote a Christmas column about his little girl getting in his lap and wanting him to tell her a Christmas story. I don't remember the exact order they were suggested, but I know he started to tell her about a snowman. She stopped him and said, "No, not that one." So he launched into Santa Claus, and again she stopped him. He tried one more, when she said, "no. Tell me the story about Christmas." He ended his column with the opening words to Luke chapter 2, the gospel account of Jesus birth.

Each Christmas, the Kansas City Star newspaper reprints it because of it's popularity. Each year, I re-blog the Christmas essay I wrote many years ago. I hope reading it has become a tradition for everyone. This a time of anticipation of hope for many. For some it's a time of deep pain, but the Nativity can keep the tiny flame stoked and at some point, it will burst into a fire that warms the desperate heart. Here again, is my Christmas message for you.

The season has officially arrived. Time to bring out the holiday decorations collected over the years, along with new ones purchased at half price after Christmas last year—the special trappings that announce the season of celebration. Trees are trimmed, candles lit, carols sung, lists made, gifts purchased and wrapped, parties planned, church plays produced, turkeys roasted, and every tradition of every family is carefully observed for the sake of memories.

It would be tempting to write a critique about the increasing secularization of our “holy days” traditions. But the deepening layers of fluff that threaten to obscure Christ are a legitimate concern I’ll save for another essay. Truthfully, the whole season with its traditions can produce a warm feeling in me, a kind of rosy glow that makes me want to stuff cash into the red pots of bell ringers, hug strangers, and maybe even “teach the world to sing in perfect harmony.” That’s a good thing—or is it?

I’ve heard many Christmas sermons over the years, but none has enlightened nor disturbed me more than the words of an unsaved woman I knew some years ago. While helping decorate an AA hall for a holiday party, she made the off-handed remark, “I just love Christmas. You know, the baby Jesus thing and all that stuff. It gives me a warm feeling.”

I had forgotten that conversation until today. At the time, I didn’t think much about her comment, except that she needed to know baby Jesus grew up and died for her. Maybe I even said that, I really don’t remember. Now I find her words unsettling in a different way. She had expressed sentimental feelings that are uncomfortably close to what I, and probably other Christians feel.

Sentimentality isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but when it masquerades as spirituality, it satisfies merely at a surface level, distorting love and grace by diminishing them. The deep ocean of God’s love and grace becomes a wading pool. Instead of being immersed in His great love, we slosh around, accepting shallow spirituality and risk missing the awesome waves of His passion that can only be experienced when we venture out into waters over our heads.

The memory of that comment resurfaced today in the form of a question God posed to me: Do you understand the cost of the Incarnation?

Christians are (or should be) familiar with the basic theology of the Incarnation: Christ was born of the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary. God became fully human. We recite it in our creeds, we read it in the Bible, and hear it from the pulpit. We proclaim Christ’s divinity and humanity based on the doctrine of the Incarnation. But do we really understand the price the Son of God paid when He became the Son of Man?

I must confess, this morning during my prayer time, it occurred to me I did not. As I prayed, I wondered if indeed it was even possible in this life to fully comprehend the depth of sacrifice Jesus made when He stepped out of eternity and into time.

In The Great Divorce, C. S. Lewis wrote, “… the higher a thing is, the lower it can descend—man can sympathize with a horse but a horse cannot sympathize with a rat.” I believe it was also C. S. Lewis who observed that it is barely within the capacity of humans to understand how amazing an act of condescension it would be for a man to become a lower creature. It is one to thing to have a level of consciousness that enables one to sympathize with a lesser creature, such as a cat, it is entirely another to actually become one and experience all that cats experience, having left the lofty realm of humanness and all that entails.

We can only imagine the possibility, since no man has ever emptied himself of all his natural attributes, retaining only the knowledge that he is still in essence a man, and taken the likeness and consciousness of a lower creature—to be both that lower life form and man. Even though the chasm between man and cat is incredibly broad, the analogy falls short because humans and cats still share a common bond: they are both created beings. The analogy cannot begin to express the magnitude of the condescension of the Creator in becoming the creature.

It is the mystery of the Incarnation: God becoming one of His creatures, yet still being God in essence. What Jesus left behind when He condescended to the level of a dividing cell in Mary’s womb is what I have never fully appreciated, and I say that to my sorrow, because the sacrifice of Jesus on my behalf began long before the cross.

The entire seventeenth chapter of the Gospel of John records the last time Jesus prayed with His disciples before His crucifixion. Next to the anguished prayer in Gethsemane, it is probably the most passionate prayer ever uttered, and He prayed it not only for the small band of men gathered around Him, but also for us:

“And now, O Father, glorify Me together with Yourself, with the glory which I had with You before the world was… Father, I desire that they also whom You gave Me may also be with Me where I am, that they may behold My glory which You have given Me; for You loved Me before the foundation of the world (v. 5, 24).”

The inclusion of that request in His prayer reveals His desire that we understand the level from which He had descended to walk among humanity. He had willingly left the Father’s presence in a place of grandeur and glory beyond human imagining, and emptied Himself of the attributes that made Him God.

In Philippians 2:6-11, Paul attempts to describe the depth Jesus’ sacrifice through the Incarnation:

Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made Himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross! Therefore, God exalted Him to the highest place and gave Him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father.

He made Himself nothing. The All in All, the Alpha and Omega, the Almighty became a creature, a lowly servant, and willingly bore the cross—our cross, our sin, our shame. The question still reverberates: do I understand the cost of the Incarnation?

I will enjoy the Christmas season. I will probably overeat, spend a little too much, and observe all the traditions, sacred and silly. But there will be a silent prayer offered continually from my heart: that I would grow beyond sentimentality and press deeper into the heart of God where emotions are transformed and become holy.

Moses prayed to see God’s glory, and God granted his request, but only gave him a glimpse of his back. He covered Moses’ eyes with His hand as He passed telling him, “you cannot see My face; for no man shall see Me and live.” But Jesus is the face of God, and we are commanded to focus our attention on and our hope in Him. The hand of God no longer blocks our view, only our own hands cast up in fear, shame, or ignorance.

It may well be that before “the mortal is clothed with immortality,” my vision will be obscured for countless reasons. But His prayer will ultimately be answered. Until that day, like Paul, I will seek to grasp the width and length and depth and height of His love, to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge, the love that compelled the Incarnation, and to truly understand His incredible Christmas gift.

Joy in Grief

Christmas cannot go by without emotions.  Whether you are in a celebratory mood or depressed, Christmas is a holy day, one all those who are of the faith mark each year.  But since 2013, every Christmas has been a bit empty from the death of my mother just before the holiday. I miss her and I feel a sense of sadness when she is not present at our family gathering.  Every Christmas since her death has been marked by hidden tears.

But God has a message for those who grieve at Christmas. It’s discovered in a manger with a helpless baby of promise. The birth of Jesus was miraculous, yet undetected by everyone save some shepherds who were fearfully amazed at the sight of angels proclaiming his coming into the world. God chose to begin the plan of salvation in a humble way. Mary and Joseph barely understood that the baby they were now to care for was destined to be the Savior of all humanity; the King of kings and Lord of lords.  It was not yet revealed.

All human history is marked by the Incarnation, the hope of nations and the Light of the world.  What was hidden for centuries was made known that night two millennia ago: God made man in the birth of a child. All we really know about the Father was made known by Jesus. He said to the questioning disciples that he and the Father were one. If you knew him, you knew the Father and Jesus would live out his years on earth in miracles and preaching that the kingdom of God had come to those who believed. He was sent to serve, not be served, and serve he did. As the sacrifice for the sins of the world, the doors of heaven were thrown open and the invitation to enter in was made. All through the death and resurrection of Christ.

What has this to do with grief? Paul summed it up when he said we do not grieve as the world grieves. Christians have the hope of salvation through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. All who die in the faith are promised a life beyond our years on earth. Jesus birth, death and resurrection means every believer will see again all who have gone before. Those in the faith who we grieve are only absent in the body, they are not dead. And neither we will die. There is no death for those who believe, only resurrection to a new body clothed in righteousness.

Grief is to be expected in this world, yet it is mitigated by the promise of eternal life. Both my mother and my father are near just beyond my reach. But the real hope is that God is not beyond my reach. Jesus said what is impossible for us is possible for God and he condescended to us. He is present in us through the Holy Spirit and he confirms in our hearts that we have eternal life.

I may feel some grief at Christmas by the absence of my mother, but it’s overcome by the joy found in swaddling clothes lying in a manger, the Prince of Peace.

Holding On

It’s been a long time since I last posted an entry. It’s not because I have had nothing to write about. It’s because my bipolar disorder has me so firmly in its grip that I have been unable to write. I am at a loss for words to describe what I am going through right now, but much of it is due, I believe, to a medication fog. I am over medicated and it’s affecting me terribly. I can’t remember things within minutes of their occurrence. This and a considerable state of general confusion has affected my work performance drastically. I am now on a leave of absence to keep my job. And it’s not just work, my husband tells me I am the same way at home.

I cannot fully describe what it’s like to live with this disorder.  Imagine waking up each day and not knowing if you will be safe driving. Or not sure if you put mascara on both eyes. Wondering if people can tell if you are cracking apart on the inside while trying desperately not to crack apart on the outside. Feeling like people are staring at you because it shows and they are afraid of you or just don’t want you near them, and thinking they are talking behind your back because you are paranoid. Bipolar disorder is life sentence in the prison of a brain that functions all wrong. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.

I cried in the office of my boss today when she laid out all the things I wasn’t doing regarding my job duties. As she told me all the details of my behavior at work I was crushed. I have always worked hard at my job and in the past had excellent evaluations. Now I am totally incompetent and even insubordinate. She wasn’t being unkind about it, just direct so I would understand the seriousness of it. I got it. Now I am coming back around to the “Why Lord?’ I don’t understand. I don’t.

 I have been reading through the bible by reading one chapter a day from the Old Testament and one from the New Testament. I recently went through the book of Job. I can understand his angst. It’s always been a difficult book to understand. Why God permitted Satan to harm him is hard to take in. I’m not sure whether I will ever grasp it until I see him face to face, but I do understand one thing from it, that God is amazing and almighty and we are very small. There is no comparison. Job came to that realization in the end and came to a place of humility and peace.

 I am not there yet. I am not at peace. But God is amazing to me, he truly is, and there is comfort in Psalm 139 where it says he hems me in before and behind. I will find peace. Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but I will be at rest in Abba’s arms.

The Odds are Really Pretty Good

I’m sitting in my son’s kitchen in Washington state. I’m here this  week on vacation. No one else is around. Will took the dog for a walk and poor Matthew has an upset stomach. So I am just putzing around the house for the day. It’s okay. I’d rather be here at loose ends than at home. Here there is a backyard filled with wild flowers and vines of blackberries. Tall Douglas fir trees, and I do mean tall, that you can step out on the porch and admire. There are plenty of things to do this week and we have kind of mapped out a schedule of sorts. But what matters most is spending time with my son.

It’s finally hit me he’s never coming home. He has a life that does not include us. Home is a place visit if he can maybe once a year, but it isn’t “home” anymore. He’s made a life for himself and even though I know he loves us, we do not place very high in his list of priorities anymore. To say it’s okay is a little bit of a lie. He has always been such a high priority in my heart that to know I am no longer in that place in his hurts a little. And yet, I know this is how it works. I can only be on the periphery now. And that really is healthy. But my mother’s heart still stings when I think about it very long.

Lest this be a real downer blog, Matthew planned for our first two days to have meals with some of his friends. How many grown kids would do that? He wanted us to meet his friends. And two of them remarked they wanted to meet his parents because Matthew is so likeable they wanted to know what his parents were like. Talk about uplifting. Now I am worried whether or not I made a good impression!

Life is ever changing. Nothing is static. It can go from great to fantastic, from awful to worse, or bad to better. The odds are fifty/ fifty things will get better or worse. I used to be the Eeyore of Christians and I figured the odds were never in my favor. But what if things are just as likely to improve? I choose to try to look toward the Jesus side. You know, the one where he always wins. That’s how I am going to have to view my changing relationship with my adult son. I have  good chance our relationship will continue to grow, but just in a different way. An appropriate way. He no longer needs me as he did even five years ago. And I have to not need him to need me like that.  Mom, he can do it now, and so can you.

Climbing Out Again

It’s been awhile since I last posted. I have been in a dark place for an extended period. There is no on/off switch for my depressive episodes, I just slowly slide down into a pit that is too deep to crawl out of. I rewrote that last sentence several times. I wanted to make certain it would clearly convey the reality I face, the reality all who suffer major depressive episodes face. I started to say I slowly slide down into a pit that seems to be too deep to crawl out of. The truth is there is no seems about it. The depths to which depression can pull a person is frightening, and once in that downward spiral, there is little the depressed person can do to get out of the pit.

The descent into depression began toward the end of last year and it deepened as the months passed. What is so insidious about the depression I experience is the slow decline. I don’t sleep well, so I blame my low mood on fatigue. Depression can cause insomnia so it’s self-perpetuating. But it became apparent that it was more than lack of sleep and then began the medication merry-go-round. I took time off work to try to find the right medications that would improve my mood and help me sleep.

Through it all, I have been in my bible and in prayer. Every morning I read a chapter from the old testament (up to Exodus), a Psalm, a chapter of Proverbs and a chapter in the new testament (up to Revelation). I will start all over again as I come to the end of each section. I am learning so much and much of what I have been reading has been feeding my downcast spirit. As medication attempts and failures have been going on, I have kept to my reading and morning time with the Lord. Sometimes my prayers haven’t been all that prayerful. They’ve been distracted, disjointed and sometimes mixed with tears. But I know I am heard, and ultimately that is the point: to be heard. And in being heard, to hear. I have heard the still small voice of God whisper to me and I have been given hope.

Though I have hope of getting well, I am looking back and see months of loss to depression, but he looks back and sees something different. The brokenness isn’t something to be ashamed of or dismayed about. God uses broken vessels to allow his grace and mercy to pour through to others who hurt. God has need of wounded healers in his kingdom. I know as this depression is easing up I will once again be in a position to help others who struggle with mental illness.

Throughout these past dark months, God has been at work in me. What looked like utter darkness at times were my own hands covering my eyes in despair. There was light all along. The Light of the world in every believer cannot be extinguished. I can hope this will be the last episode I will experience. I don’t really want to go through this again. But one thing I do know, the Lord is with me and will be with me regardless of where this life takes me, and that thought brings peace that passes all understanding. 

Keeping Hope

Déjà vu. That’s what it is. I feel like, no, I know I have been here before. Coming full circle, once again I am visiting depression, a dark place I would never wish on anyone. It’s been some time since I found myself in this place. I have been hiding it for some time now. Faking the smile while inside feeling like I am coming apart.  I don’t like being here, but at least know what to expect, if that makes any sense.

I didn’t arrive here overnight. It’s been a gradual decline and now it’s deeper than it has been for quite awhile. I haven’t been sleeping and I have reached a point of sheer exhaustion. Perhaps the depression is the outcome. I don’t know. Or the sleep disturbance is the result of the depression. All I know is now I have taken three week’s unpaid leave from work to try medications to see if I can find something that will help me sleep and help consistently. And then just maybe the depression will lift.

While I was still working, I still turned out of bed with the alarm set a half hour earlier than necessary to spend my early mornings in prayer and reading the bible. I will admit, my prayers often drifted with sleepiness and my comprehension of what I was reading wasn’t so great, but I went through the motions out of discipline, whether or not I felt I could. Sometimes in a fog I could only manage, “Bless them all.” But at times it was the best I could possibly do.

The alarm isn’t set now; there is no reason for it. But I am still starting my day with bible reading and prayer. It’s pretty much the same struggle until we find something that works. If I don’t keep up with doing this I fear losing hope of getting better, which happens in depression.

So what happens if I start sleeping and the depression lingers. I don’t know. I suppose a medication change, ECT maybe. I hope it will lift like the exhaustion. I just want to be well again. Depression is not a small thing. It affects all of you, body and emotions. It’s like having a heavy leaden ball and chain tied around your neck and trying to walk with it hung there. Forward progress is nigh impossible and standing in one place is painful from the sheer weight of it pulling on you. In other words, you hurt no matter what.

Psalm 61:1-4 says, “Hear my cry, O God; listen to my prayer. From the ends of the earth I call to you, when my heart is faint. Lead me to rock that is higher than I; for you are my refuge, a strong tower against the enemy. Let me abide in your tent forever, find refuge under the shelter of your wings.” The Lord will keep me. The Lord will lead me to where I need to be. He is my refuge. I will wait upon him and in him I will trust. To whom else can I go? I know where my hope lies and it’s in the Lord, my Savior. 

Wrestling With God

I have been through much in my walk with God. He has led me to places I would have never gone left on my own. I have had mountain top experiences where I never wanted to come down, and fearful, difficult walks through valleys that seemed endless. In all, He has been with me, though at times I have certainly doubted.

Throughout my faith journey, I have had “Jacob times” and “Jonah times.” Every Christian goes through these experiences, some more than others, depending on the condition of their heart. Some of us are just more strong-willed than others. Jacob and Jonah were both such men. The story of their lives as recorded in Scripture gives us hope that God is graceful in dealing with our restless, willfully wandering hearts.

Jacob was a self-made man. If the song had been written then, he would have been singing, “I did it my way.” Given the choice, he was willing to connive and manipulate to get his way. Yet, he is considered a man of great faith and God’s favor rested on him. His descendents referred to God as the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Whatever his faults, Jacob knew God and worshipped Him. More importantly, God knew and loved Jacob.

Jacob’s knowledge of and reverence for God was frequently punctuated with his self-directed ways. He wanted God, but he wanted Him on his own terms. It took a crisis to bring Jacob to a place of surrender, but not without a fight. Genesis 32 records the story of Jacob wrestling with an angel of God-some believe it was the Lord himself. He was in essence wrestling with God over his future. This struggle we go through is our “Jacob time.” Wanting God’s will, blessing, and presence, but fearful of the future, of where He is leading, the consequences that may follow.

In the struggle, Jacob would not surrender and finally the angel touched him in a way that left him with a limp. In the end, Jacob received God’s blessing, but the limp remained—a reminder of God’s ultimate authority over our lives—and Jacob was transformed and given a new name that reflected his true status before God.

Jonah was also strong-willed, as well as fearful and angry. While he reverenced God, he was unwilling to surrender to God’s will because he didn’t want the certain outcome of obeying. Unlike Jacob, he did not wrestle with God, rather, he ran from Him. Turbulent circumstances and three days in the belly of a whale brought him to the place of surrender. Even then, it was not with complete willingness. Yet, God loved him too. Scripture does not record Jonah’s ultimate transformation, but I cannot help but believe he was changed by his obedience to God, seeing things from His perspective.

Jacob and Jonah fought God each in their own way, but in the end, were transformed through the experience by surrender. I, too, seem to bounce between the two, sometimes experiencing both simultaneously. Jacob was left with a limp, a reminder of his struggle. Anyone who has wrestled with God is limping in some fashion. Jonah had to learn to accept God’s will and understand the intentions of God’s heart, His mercy and grace.

I don’t pretend to understand why God permits Jacob and Jonah times, but I believe it is because we were fashioned for intimate relationship with Him. We are born with the heart of Adam, and through these times, slowly but surely, our hearts are being transformed into the heart of Jesus, who was willing to do all His Father’s will. For some of us, it takes more wrestling and running than others, but the promise is we will all get there together as we bear one another in fellowship through the church.

Love, grace, and prayer are what we offer to those who are going through those times. And as each of us emerges from our struggles, we know God more intimately and have more compassion to extend to others in the faith community, and to those who have yet to come to faith. The Jacob and Jonah times are not in vain, they are a part of the journey of faith, the fire we must all pass through to reach the promise that calls us upward. By God’s grace, we will all arrive.

Paid in Full

Today is Maundy Thursday. The day Christians remember the last supper of Jesus and his disciples. His anguished prayers in the garden of Gethsemane, the kiss of his betrayer and the beginning of the horrors that followed. It was the beginning of the end of his redemptive mission on earth. 

Tonight we had a communion service at my church. It was a solemn service. Subdued and rightly so. In remembering what Jesus was going through that last night with his disciples, it's not a time of joyful fanfare. His soul was in turmoil as he broke the bread and shared the cup at that last Passover meal. Indeed, as he agonized in prayer at the garden, he was bereft of the support of his closest companions who could not even stay awake for him. And Peter, who would rashly draw his sword and cut off a servant's ear when the soldiers came, would just as quickly deny knowing him three times before the night was over. All the disciples would be scattered in fear, except for John, who remained at crucifixion.

At our church service we were each given a small piece of paper and instructed to spend a quiet moment reflecting and to write down a sin or sins we were dealing with. There was a wooden cross at the front of the church sanctuary. One by one, we went forward, pinned our sins onto the cross and received communion, the physical manifestation of God's grace in holy sacrament. 

 I did not partake of the bread and juice right there, I took them back to my pew, which is my way of doing it if I am able. Communion is not something I take lightly. It's the presence of God in a tangible way. When I take communion, I know God has spoken to me, that my sins are forgiven. If I truly am settled and  not rushed through the process, I can feel him sitting next to me, just as I did tonight. When I got back to my pew, I bowed my head and began to weep. All I could think was, "You died for me." In the darkened sanctuary, in the stillness with the gentle music, I met once again with my Redeemer. I partook of the communion with him, and I knew I was forgiven. 

There really are no words able to express how great the love God has for us. We are unable to comprehend the depth, the height, the length and breadth of his vast and endless love and grace. Paul told the Ephesians he prayed they would be able to do just that. I need that prayer. We all do. 

In Isaiah 53, the suffering servant is Jesus. and the prophecy graphically depicted his sufferings. "He was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed." (verse 5)  I have been reading that chapter daily for the past month and will read it for the last time tomorrow on Good Friday. I have personalized it and maybe that is why I was so moved tonight at the service. I don't know. But this I do know, Christ came, he lived among us, did miracles and taught with authority. He was crucified for the sins of the world, descended into hell and on the third day rose again from the dead. He's paid it all. No more is required. Let that enter your hearts and minds as you consider the overarching love of God. Nothing can ever separate you from him now.

And by His Stripes We Are Healed

In this Lenten season, my pastor has been preaching a series of how we are healed by the specific wounds of the suffering Christ. So far she has covered our wounded self image and negative thoughts, taking on the weight of the world, and relational brokenness. The scriptural base for the sermons is Isaiah 53.

After the very first sermon I felt a desire to read the Isaiah chapter daily. I am already going through the New Testament one chapter a day along with one Psalm. I just added it  to my morning routine, but it has been anything but routine. I find it a difficult read some mornings. Isaiah painted a very graphic prophecy of Jesus' suffering on the cross at our expense, at my expense. I cannot help but take it personally, as I feel it ought to be. Yes, it does say people, but I am a member of humanity for which he suffered in order to secure my salvation, our salvation.

As I read, I keep finding myself emphasizing the words "his wounds", "his bruises", "he was oppressed", "he was afflicted", "he was despised", "he was rejected." And instead of just reading through to better understand the sermons, I am being pulled into a place of deep awareness of how much the Father laid on our Lord because of my transgressions. In this place I have felt an emotional response; a feeling of how  high a price was paid. Two verses stand out: (5a) But he was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole..." (10) "Yet it was the will of the Lord to crush him with pain."

Crushed. The word is so heavy-handed, and it tears at my  heart to know God the Father had to do that to a willing Son in order to pay the just penalty for sin. "It was the will of the Lord to crush him with pain." I cannot read that verse some mornings without tears. How terrible his suffering must have been. I cannot begin to imagine.

It would overwhelm me if God did not include a verse to bring hope. (11) "After he has suffered, he  will see the light of life and be satisfied; by his knowledge my righteous servant will justify  many, and he will bear their iniquities." Jesus was not left to suffer endlessly on the cross. It was declared finished after a period of time had passed. He was not left to the rotted state of a mortal body in the  tomb. He saw the light of life on the third day when he was resurrected from the dead. He bore our iniquities, he who knew no sin, suffering the ultimate price on our behalf. He is righteous, and now that righteousness has been endued in us. We have been justified. No longer are we outcasts. We have been drawn into the presence of God our creator and  there we no longer have to cringe and crawl. We can stand confident of our acceptance.

If you have time in your schedule, or rather, make time in your schedule to prayerfully read Isaiah 53 daily between now and Easter. Get up ten minutes earlier if you have to or go to bed a little earlier and spend that time with the Lord reading. Expect the Lord to show up as you seek him in your reading of  the word. He's been waiting patiently for you. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

When God Doesn't Heal

I have an app on my smartphone that feeds me all kinds of news, not just headlines. It includes editorials from a variety of newspapers across the nation. One that caught my eye recently was written by a woman entitled “When God Did Not Heal Me.” That resonated with me and I clicked the link to read it. I have to say, I could relate to much of what she wrote.

As most of my readers know, I live with mental illness that has been crippling at times. I have been on the brink of an abyss that has threatened to swallow me but have managed to crawl back away from each time. I cannot count the number of prayers I have said asking to be healed. God still heals people today. It didn’t end with Jesus when he walked this earth. If he can heal cancer, Bipolar Disorder is not too difficult. Since I still have it, my prayers have either gone unanswered or have been answered with a no. Either way, God has not healed me.

I admit to having gone through a whole gamut of emotional responses. Sorrow, anger, hopelessness and worst of all, losing faith in God’s goodness toward me. All of which causes the added burden of shame that as a Christian I would feel that way. After all, shouldn’t I just accept it as God’s will and be at peace, even joyful in the midst of it? Paul was in far worse situations and took it all in stride. I should be able to do the same.  Have I? Have I at least made some progress?

A year ago I had just suffered a complete mental breakdown. I was left unable to work and function to the point of having to take a leave of absence for five months. In the first few months I was a mess and consulted a lawyer to discuss disability because it appeared I was going to be unable to hold down a job. And during that time, I felt estranged from God. I couldn’t understand why this was happening to me. Why I had struggled off and on with suicidal thoughts for years and then became psychotic. At times when I prayed I felt like a faithless lover speaking lies.

Slowly, I regained sanity and strength and I am fully back to as normal as I think what normal is supposed to look like. Yet, when I am in a place of relative stability, I always have the fear in the back of my mind of the other shoe dropping. How can I live with God not healing me?

Romans 8, a remarkable read, teaches that all things work together for good for those who are called in Christ Jesus. Though I find it a bitter pill to swallow at times, the truth of it is I have a deeper compassion for those who wrestle with the same question of why God does not always heal. Sometimes when I want to cut that verse out of my bible and throw it away, I remember that. All the bad, all the tragic and the failure, even the sin (yes, even that can be used) has a purpose in God’s plan for me.  I don’t have to understand in order for God to use me. Like Peter said to Jesus after he taught a particularly difficult lesson to the crowds and many left, and Jesus asked if the disciples were going to leave as well, “To whom else would we go?” I don’t understand why God doesn’t heal me, but I can’t leave him. Where else would I go? He alone is my salvation and my strength. My Rock and my Redeemer.

God isn’t afraid of my vacillating emotions. He isn’t taken by surprise when I feel some fear or question him. And as time goes by, I find myself less inclined to doubt his goodness toward me in spite of “No” answers to prayers. Romans 8 also says nothing can separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus. My mental illness cannot cause me to fall away from grace. It’s grace that keeps me in spite of it. My future is secure. I may still struggle in this life, but nothing can snatch me from the hand of God, not even myself.

Growing Tame

A little over a month ago we brought home a feral kitten, about six months old. She had been trapped as part of a spay/neuter and release program. As she was recovering from surgery the folks at the agency thought they'd try keeping  her inside to see if she could adjust to being around people. She took to the litter box but didn't allow a lot of contact, yet seemed to be adjusting. I found out about her while doing an internet search search for a kitten to adopt to give our dog a companion.

When we went to meet  her she really didn't show much of herself. They caught her and put her in the cat carrier for us pretty much sight unseen. She growled and hissed at Zed, our dog, who we had taken along to meet her as well. Not exactly a positive start. But we thought we'd give her a try. We were given four weeks to see if we would be able to make it work.

When we got home and  released her, she immediately went into hiding. While we tried to coax her out from under the bed or out of the basement she'd warily only venture out for food and use the litter box and then run for cover not letting us near her. This went on for pretty much the first week. But gradually she began to become a little less fearful. I would stay in the room with her while she ate and gradually move closer to her  until I was sitting next to her so she would associate me with food, something positive. Soon she began coming into the same room and began rubbing against our legs. Fast forward, now she sits next to me and sleeps on the bed. Still doesn't care all that much for Zed, but she's getting there.

I find a parallel between humans and our fallen state before coming to Christ, at least for me. You could say I was feral. I was living apart from the One who could provide for me and striving to make it through life by my own means. I literally lived wildly. Not everyone shares the same background as me, but all are living on their own terms until they turn to God. Paul made it clear in his writings that all have sinned and fallen short. All have need of salvation through Jesus.

In my fallen state I had a distorted understanding of the Lord. I saw an angry, vindictive God and I wanted no part of him. But he pursued me like the hound of heaven and I ran as fast as I could fearful of what would happen if I were caught. Looking back, I am amazed at the misguided view I had, but judgmental Christians I had encountered had only left me believing God wanted me to burn. Why on earth would I want to come to him? Like my cat, I hid as best I could. But God, knew how to reach me and drew me gradually by the Holy Spirit. I had been raised in a Christian home and as I grew increasingly desperate in my life of addiction, thoughts of a chance of returning to a God of my youth began entering my mind. I am utterly convinced those thoughts were planted by the Holy Spirit. They did not come from me. But by the grace of God those thoughts took root and the day came when I turned back to that concept of God and returned to the fold. I became "tame."

I find spiritual lessons in everyday things if I am open to the Holy Spirit. My kitten is now a part of our household and this lesson serves to remind me of how far the Lord has brought me. The even better news is he isn't finished with me. He's never finished with any of his children. He is busy working wonders in our beings up to the time we are called home. We have been tamed. Oh, there are always times when we don't willingly sit on the lap of our Father. But as I said, he is not finished. The Holy Spirit is working in us to bring our entire beings into willing submission. In that place we find perfect rest.

Abba, Father. Daddy, help us to grow more tame.

One More Lesson Learned

In my first post of the new year I wrote about my lost blog and how frustrated I was. I also said I had prayed about it and no answer had come. I finally accepted the situation and was at peace about it and was moving on when the continued help I was getting from someone at a help forum associated with Blogspot suggested something I had not tried. As you can see, I have regained access to my blog of eight years!

It is another reinforcement of how God sometimes delays answers to prayers. He does sometimes say no, but there are times when a yes is not immediate. When Lazarus, the brother of Mary and Martha fell desperately ill, Jesus delayed going to him. He delayed long enough that Lazarus died. The gospel account of what happened is an object lesson of a delayed yes to prayer because even though there is no written record of prayers being offered for Lazarus by those nearest him, I think it's reasonable to think he was prayed for and with earnestness. It must have seen like a no when Lazarus died.  Yet Jesus indicated it was for the glory of  God that he had delayed. As the familiar story goes, Jesus commanded Lazarus to come forth and he was raised from the dead. Prayers were answered with a yes.

My blog prayer hardly compares to the resurrection of Lazarus, but the lesson is the same. I decided God said no to my old blog so I determined to start over. It was a delayed response and I believe it was to show me something about myself. I was impatient and finally threw in the towel, but it wasn't a fatalistic response. I accepted it and was prepared to start over. That eye opener helped mitigate the guilty feelings over my impatience and frustration.

God isn't surprised by our negative reactions to circumstances that sometimes occur in our lives. But like the son in the bible who first said no to his father's request then changed his mind and followed through, it's our final obedience that matters. As we mature we respond with immediate obedience in some situations, but it is a lifelong lesson as opportunities crop up to help us learn the obedience of Christ.

I am grateful God is not through with me. I hate it when I stumble. But God  reminds me I am still his child and even lovable in his opinion in spite of it. And that is comforting for me. It should be a comfort for everyone who sometimes find waiting for answers to prayer not always easy. God's not through with you either.