Faith – Betty's Thoughts

Parent Hearts and Thoughts of God

As most of you know, I walk alongside parents whose sons and daughters are on long term mission trips – generally 9 or 11 months with a few 3 and 4 month trips thrown in. We refer to them as “World Racers”. If parents will embrace it, it can be an amazing journey for them as well as for their World Racer.

For many parents, especially our Gap Year parents, the holidays that occur during the trip are the first ones when their son or daughter has not been home. And it can be hard. Over the Christmas season, this year’s group of parents shared a lot about missing their Racer. But they also embraced, in a way that very few parent groups have, the joy and peace they felt because they knew their Racers were exactly where they were supposed to be.

While none of us will be perfect parents, I’ve always felt that being a parent gives me a glimpse into the heart of God.

(Note: This isn’t a theological treatise and I am aware that the analogies have shortcomings. But there are moments I hang onto that come from this reflection.)

It might be something that lets me know He understands. I believe He understands sending a son to pursue his calling and the way that makes the relationship different in some ways. For us it’s an absence of physical closeness. And while that’s not exactly the same with God and Jesus, I do believe there was a separation they had not experienced before. And I believe that God’s Father heart understands our hearts in those moments.

One of my children, as a toddler, showed me how easily I can wound the heart of a Father who labors in love to bestow good gifts. A lot of work had gone into a week-end project, making and building something special. And at the reveal the toddler’s first words were “it’s too high”. My joy at giving the gift deflated (just momentarily). But immediately I thought of all the ways I respond to God’s good gifts with a complaint that something isn’t just how I wanted it. And the glimpse into how my response affects a heart filled with the joy of giving good gifts changed something in me.

Another child, at a fairly young age (maybe 8 or 10) excitedly ran into the room declaring the desire for a tattoo. The delight in the idea, the exuberance of the request, was fun to see. Once they were young adults I had no problem with my children getting tattoos, it was clear that the answer for a pre-teen was going to be “no”. But even in saying no, my heart treasured the moment of them excitedly coming with their desire. I’ve always struggled with asking God for things just because they would delight me. Especially things I don’t “need”, they won’t change whether or not I love God, that are not lifechanging things. A child running in to share their heart’s desire (even though it had to be a no for the time being) is the goal I still haven’t reached. I aspire to be like that with my heavenly Father – running in to His presence with excitement and desire. But I’m not there yet.

I realized as my children moved into adulthood that there are gifts that only occur through time together. It’s not that I love one more than the other, but I recognize that whichever one I’m spending time with is going to get small treats – maybe dinner out, or I’ll learn about something they want that will make a great birthday gift, and so on. I’ll hear the day to day things that build relationship in a way that is hard to do if there is no time together. Likewise, time with my heavenly Father, where we have the time to walk and talk and be quiet together, builds something I don’t have if I go long spells without spending that time together.

And then, although Jesus never sinned, never made wrong decisions, I do believe God’s father heart breaks when his children do that. As parents, our hearts break at times for our sons and daughters – and if we can love that deeply, and hurt that deeply, I believe He can too. And so we are not alone in our tears. Not only does He understand our emotions related to our own children, but it’s a glimpse into how deeply He cares about me as His child.

I also believe He can help us to see our child’s path with new eyes – perhaps what initially disappoints a parent is recast as God doing something unexpected but wonderful. Or we glimpse God at work in the hard things.

When my children were younger, I used to take one day a month at our church’s retreat house. Praying, journaling, sometimes just resting. But one of the things I would often do is ask God to “tell me about my children”. As best I could I would listen and be open to seeing them through His eyes and not just my own.

And as I embrace my own place as his daughter, I am reminded of several times during a season of significant inner healing in my life. In my mind’s eye I would see myself crawling up into His lap and laying my head against His chest and letting Him hold me. It was my safe place during that time. In a parent’s arms.

As we contemplate – or maybe wrestle with – the decisions we make as parents, the failures we feel as parents, the joys we experience as parents, I believe we have the opportunity to join our heart together with God’s heart. I love what I see in those moments. So in this new year, I’m trying to look for the places where my mother’s heart allows me to connect more deeply with God’s father heart.

The Richness of Waiting

Many of you know that Advent is a season of the church year that I treasure. The roots of this come from my time in the Episcopal Church, in my 20s and 30s, and a rector who was insistent that we not celebrate too early. So we didn’t sing “Christmas” hymns and carols until Christmas. During Advent we sang Advent hymns – Come Thou Long Expected Jesus or O Come, O Come Emmanuel.

I’d grown up in a church where Advent pretty much consisted of a different family each week lighting the candles on the Advent wreath and reading a short liturgical script to accompany that. It wasn’t particularly meaningful to me. And it was nothing compared to the richness of learning the value of seasons that focus on waiting and yearning.

So my Advent wreath comes out each year, a collection of tall thick candles so I can light them daily and let them burn most of the day.

I’m now in a church I love, but we’re halfway through Advent and there has been no reference to it at all. And I’ll admit – I miss it.

I miss contemplating as a church family the privilege of walking with those who had waited 400 years for the appearance of the Messiah. Sharing a bit of their journey. Simeon and Anna – I love the stories of their joy when they met the One they had waited their whole lives for. (And I wrote some about this waiting in Waiting and Advent.)

Waiting – and the yearning that increases as we wait – is a good thing. It prepares our hearts. It creates a deeper gratitude when the gift is received. It is rich in and of itself, not just a “necessary evil” that eventually gets us where we want to be.

But Advent, for those of us in the 21st century, is a season that should remind us that we are also, in a very real sense, waiting for the coming of Jesus. Not a reminder that he came at Christmas. Not just an experiencing a bit of our ancestors’ journey. But the expectation that He is coming again – in glory and love and power and righteousness. To reconcile creation to Himself. To bring the Kingdom of Heaven to earth in a way that we haven’t seen before.

I didn’t grow up realizing that was part of Advent. (Actually, I grew up in a church that never mentioned the second coming of Jesus!) And I still don’t think I’ve fully embraced it. But the hope of that future day, and the desire for it to come, has begun to put down deeper roots in my spirit. The weariness of the world stirs the desire for the day to come when there will be an end to war and pain and death.

The incarnation has always resonated deeply with me – the reality that Jesus would come into our messy world. Scratch and Dent Jesus and Jesus and Poverty and Dwelling Among Us talk about that. The God who is “down here” and not just “up there”. And it’s a richness I tap into during Advent.

This year, however, I’m trying to tap into the desire for when He comes again. And I think I’m learning to wait on that in ways that build desire and yearning. Come Lord Jesus.

Boundaries, Grace, Speaking Truth and Healing

Relationships, friendships (close or just acquaintances), committees, small groups and any other combination of people can be messy and sometimes painful.. These combinations can be hard to establish and even harder to maintain. I’ve seen that clearly, time and time again.

Our stories are unique combinations of high points and low points. We accomplish, live through, celebrate and grieve so many different things. Our personalities, and our giftedness, predispose us to appear a certain way to others and to ourselves – with all the good points and bad points, making certain connections naturally easier or harder. Our experiences and the things that have wounded us make us more sensitive or less sensitive to someone else’s story – and therefore can open up areas where we inadvertently cause pain or react in pain to others.

It is not an easy thing to navigate through this and form relationships that are healthy and godly. Relationships that last in healthy ways or that end – and some do need to end – in healthy ways.

It’s not as if there is only one thing to focus on and an easy formula to follow. Setting boundaries is important. So is extending grace. Speaking about things that hurt you is important. So is recognizing that you may need to help people understand. Continuing to heal from your own wounds and trauma is essential in learning how to do these things. Learning to listen to the nudge of the Holy Spirit in any given exchange cannot be underestimated.

For the last few years, I’ve grieved that the ability to have conversations – especially as brothers and sisters in Christ – seems to have eroded. There are regularly accusations delivered with harshness and an unwillingness (often for all involved) to really listen in an effort to try and understand, or to believe the best about each other, or even to “agree to disagree”. Conversations are replaced by dialogs where instead of listening we are mentally forming our next point which will provide the defense for our position. Someone’s comments are attributed to maliciousness or serve as a reason to walk away, rather than as a way to have an encounter that helps both parties grow in understanding of the other one, often learning new ways to care for each other in the process.

But here’s another wrinkle that is buried in the details of how a conversation goes. There is truth and standing for truth and justice matters. Agreeing to disagree is hard, and maybe not always appropriate, when you see a great need, a great injustice, or a situation that feels life-threatening to you.

So how do we speak the truth in love? And on the flip side, how do we listen in a loving way.

Jesus perfectly modeled grace and truth. He also balanced His pursuit of people with His willingness to honor their choices and let them walk away. But it doesn’t come easily to us.

Much of the time it is complicated. Some people may be horrified to learn that they hurt someone and will use the situation to grow in wisdom and discernment. Others may be so insensitive to another’s pain, and so entrenched in their beliefs or their own need to be right, that a conversation makes no difference. Two people might agree that something is wrong (or right) but not agree on whether there is only one way to address the issue – and be unwilling to really listen to another possibility or to sense that your hearts actually want the same thing.

Those with a background of being hurt, whose story of healing has required them to learn to draw boundaries, may or may not be able to have a conversation – when the possibility of being hurt again is real. Those who are passionate about an issue and have educated themselves about it may have no patience for others who don’t bring the same research and thought. And so instead of conversations, you have situations where someone doesn’t pass your “litmus test” and you shut them down. And distance becomes entrenched. And assumptions about “people like that” form deeper roots.

Even the extending of grace – a part of believing the best about someone and often a part of “agreeing to disagree” – can cause problems. Done begrudgingly, it can create resentment. It can also get sloppy when it’s not true grace. It can excuse bad behavior, it can allow abuse to continue, it can avoid hard conversations for the wrong reasons. Learning to self-advocate, to appropriately speak up for oneself, to be honest about things is important. So is learning to say “you cannot treat me this way”. But I also believe there is more grace available to us, and through us, than we often access.

A pastor once worked hard to convince me that “being truthful” was more Christ-like than “being nice”. It was hard for me to grasp. But it was a game changer once I did.

So – how do we navigate this? I am someone who, by nature, doesn’t get angry often. That may sound “nice” but it’s not always healthy. There are things we should be angry about. I do know how to get sad though. So my ways of navigating this may be tipped toward my personality.

Here are some thoughts.

Learn to recognize the nudge and voice of the Holy Spirit. As a starting point, that’s essential. What is right in one situation may not be what is right in the next. What we can handle on a bad day may be different from what we can handle when we aren’t in stress overload. The details of navigating this are influenced by a myriad of factors, many of which seem to change daily.

Recognize that hurts and misunderstandings are part of doing life together. I believe being in community is worth this risk. I also believe the enemy will try to use these things to get a foothold in your life. And I believe that pursuing healing for ourselves is essential to navigating them well.

Be prepared to be rebuffed, misunderstood or accused of things you did not do. Accept that you may get hurt. Do the right thing anyway but seek the Lord about what that is. Stay where you are called to be. Press through. Remember Jesus who for the joy set before Him endured the cross. At times, you may need to speak up for yourself and set boundaries. Other times you may need to lay down your desire to set the record straight – or do it in a way that requires gentleness when you just want to insist. I believe we can learn to be better at these conversations, but that’s not a guarantee you won’t get hurt.

Grieve that it may be unfair. But work hard to acknowledge that and move on. Don’t get stuck there.

Pursue direct conversations, work to keep your heart soft and avoid rumors or gossip. Honor the instruction in Scripture to go directly to the person – and to not gossip. As best you can, keep your heart soft. Being truthful or direct does not preclude being gentle or firm. We are to speak the truth in love, but also to believe the best about the other person. (However, see the point about patterns of behavior, below.) Be open to God doing something in the conversation. That happens more often when hearts are soft.

Ground your true identity in the Lord. A counselor once asked me “What are you most afraid of?” My response was “That people who don’t know me will believe what this person says about me.” He asked “Can you live with that?” It took a while, but I got there. And I discovered when (and how) to have the conversations that let me talk about my own perceptions of the experience – and when to just let it go.

If you are attacked or wounded, accept responsibility for pursuing your own healing. The hurt is part of living in community and relationship. Yes – it’s often unfair. But now it is your responsibility to pursue your own healing.

The person who hurt you may be operating out of wounds that were unfairly inflicted on them. You can’t force their healing but you can take responsibility for yours. And perhaps, a bit of compassion creeps in as you recognize you share the reality of being wounded unfairly.

Recognize that hurt can occur even when that was not your intention. In most cases it is right to start by acknowledging that hurt occurred. Avoid the false apology of “I’m sorry if you feel hurt” or “I’m sorry if I hurt you.” Accept that you did hurt them. It wasn’t your intention. The accusation might be unfair. But it happened and acknowledging that is important to the conversion getting to the heart of things. And to the degree that you need to “own” it, do so. Ask forgiveness if you need to.

Listen well. If you have listened well to their hurt, it’s easier for them to hear “I’m so sorry. That was not my intention at all.” Don’t jump in with your defense prematurely.

Recognize the difference between convictions and preferences. It’s a variation on “choose your battles”. Decide whether or not you can remain in relationship. See if the other person is teachable. If you can’t stay, or they aren’t teachable, learn to state that in a calm way that explains your conviction and maybe expresses sorrow over the parting of ways.

Be prepared to draw appropriate boundaries, when it is the right thing to do. This is sometimes necessary and healthy. So learn to do it well. But don’t use “drawing boundaries” as an excuse to avoid conversation. Be honest with yourself. Ask trusted friends or counselors for wisdom. Spend time with the Lord asking Him for His guidance. And then stand firm in your healthy convictions.

Be humble when someone disagrees with you. It will take a willingness from both of you to “agree to disagree” but you can initiate the conversation that asks them to help you understand their viewpoint. They may not be willing. But you will have done what I believe the Lord asks of you. The goal is to grow in understanding – not necessarily to come to a complete agreement. Be open to recognizing how your assumptions affect the conversation.

Distinguish between your responsibility and their responsibility. You cannot make this happen by yourself. You can’t argue someone into loving you. And you can’t always love them into loving you. We’re still called to love – and love is powerful – but we can’t guarantee they will love (or even like) us back. They have choices and responsibilities of their own.

Be sensitive to whether you automatically took offense at something that was said or done. Being offended is different than being hurt. Taking offense can sometimes keep you entrenched in defensiveness in such a way that you miss out on the possibility of learning and growing and healing.

Consider whether this is a pattern of behavior or a random occurrence. We need to deal with patterns differently than we do individual events. A pattern of abuse or insensitivity needs boundaries. It’s shown itself over time or in various ways. A comment that hurts in the moment may be very different – perhaps a misunderstanding, a lack of understanding from a speaker who may be very teachable about why that hurt, or an issue with context.

It’s not easy. But it’s important.

Does Hope Disappoint?

The last post of the migration from my old blog site to this new one. Written in April 0f 2022, almost 2 years after the previous one and over a year ago. From this point on I’ll be posting new material – but I write as I have things to say, not on any particular schedule. I do have some ideas though ….

Over the almost two years that this space has been silent, I’ve started to write several times. The phrase “hope does not disappoint” was stuck in my head – a remnant of a verse learned years ago. Maybe it was because, although the pandemic has been hard for me, I’ve never been without hope. There was never a time that I didn’t have something to cling to.

And I hesitate, even now, to write about hope because I am sensitive to the times it has been used as a Christian cliche, a pat answer provided by those who don’t fully experience desperate situations. I don’t like cliches and pat answers. I don’t like anything that minimizes that life is very hard for some people or implies that being a believer protects you from that.

I am acutely aware that while I faced pandemic-related struggles, I have always known I’m one of the fortunate ones. So what can I say about hope? I didn’t lose my job. I had access to health care if I needed it. I didn’t get sick. I didn’t have to worry about a roof over my head or food on my table. I didn’t have a parent in a retirement home that I couldn’t visit and who wouldn’t know me the next time I could go to them. And I didn’t lose anyone close to me. Outside of pandemic issues, I’m not struggling with chronic pain or terminal illness – either my own or with someone I love. And I know many who are.

Maybe Easter weekend is a particularly good time to reflect on this. There’s an old children’s illustration that I’ve used in the past that involves lighting one of those relighting birthday candles – and then giving children the chance to blow it out. It appears to be extinguished, and then there’s the surprise of the tiny sparks, the faint crackling of a relighting wick, and then it’s back. Is this a simple picture of the joy of the resurrection, after all appeared lost? Can this help us understand hope?

I did isolate during the pandemic. And the weeks and months without face to face contact, or physical touch, or “normal” interactions took their toll. I felt the sting of being alone in so many ways – no spouse or at-home children to talk to daily.

So how do I talk about hope in a way that reflects the depth and authenticity it has in my life? That conveys it is not just a “pat religious answer”. I was hesitant to publish anything when there was a constant stream of things that made me cautious to post – new Covid variants that shut things down just as they were opening up, a political season characterized by vicious attacks, racial issues that continue to tear our country apart, wars and more. The world gives us much to be concerned about, and hope may feel further away than it used to.

I’ve spent time in the scriptures and realized how much Job had to say about hope – a man whose life included the most horrific of losses. I discovered that hope and expectation are not the same thing. And there are biblical characters who never saw, in this life, the hope they knew was coming. Even the remnant of the verse that stuck in my mind – “hope does not disappoint” – has a fuller context. “And not only this, but we also celebrate in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.” (Romans 5:3-5 NASB)

The translation I use these days (ESV) puts it this way – “and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts”. At first I didn’t like “does not put us to shame” as much as I liked “does not disappoint” but I’ve come to see that in both translations, hope is “for” us, it is the thing to cling to, the thing that says we are not alone in our struggles.

At a core level, I don’t believe hope is a theological discussion. I think it’s a heart one, borne out of our stories. So the best way for me to communicate it is probably not a blog on hope. It’s in the conversations where someone wants to know what gets me through things. How did I survive the pain of a marriage ending after 25 years? What was my cancer journey like? What I believe about hope is wrapped up in the things I’ve written about trust and learning my value and healing. It’s inseparable from my experience that God’s love is a safe place for me, that He has my best interest at heart.

But I’ve realized I can also consciously choose to make decisions based on hope.

Some of those may be hard. I choose to live in hope of a rich and full future, even if my hope and yearning for a companion never materializes. So I hold the hope of that desire alongside the deep contentment I feel in my current life. I choose to embrace, and not run away from, hard conversations in the hope that the resulting relationships will be deeper and real – and that I’ll continue to learn that avoiding conflict is not the best way to live. And I’ll press into hard things. I choose to publish this blog even though the writing feels clumsy – in the hope that it’s a step toward reclaiming my voice in this space.

Some choices bring immediate joy. I bought a table for my new home that easily seats 12 – in the hope that I’ll host tables full of people again. I had diamonds from jewelry that brought memories of a painful period in my life reset into a newly designed piece – to reflect the hope and beauty that comes from healing. I created a tangible way, through “guest rocks” collected in a decorative bowl, to commemorate the people who visit my home – in the hope that in my new home there will be ongoing opportunities to provide hospitality. My hope is to see the bowl full of memories of people who have been here.

The picture at the top of this blog is an image of hope for me as well. A pile of shoes that fills me with the hope that my home will be a place for guests, of all generations – a place of peace and rest.

And here we are, on Saturday, between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. A reminder that there are days when it feels hope has been extinguished. To live in hope, particularly when it looks like it’s not going to happen, takes courage and faith and trust. And an openness to not understanding everything, or seeing the whole picture, right now. As the disciples endured the day we now set aside as Holy Saturday, they thought the hope was over – but it wasn’t.

For me, I’m not able to live in hope based just on my own abilities or my own skill at navigating my future. I need the hope based on the love of God, poured out to me. It has sustained me, nourished me, comforted me, provided surprise gifts and so much more. It’s what gets me through whatever is going on. And it does not disappoint.

Contentment and Yearning

Written in September 2019.

There’s a recurring tension I encounter. It’s the tension of living in contentment and living with unfulfilled yearning.

This isn’t unique to me. I know scripture praises learning to be content in all circumstances and sees godliness with contentment as great gain. But scripture also tells us to yearn for (hunger and thirst for) things like righteousness. We’re encouraged to be persistent in prayer. We’re not supposed to be content in the face of things like injustice or evil.

But what do we do when it feels less “invisible spiritual realm” and more “flesh and blood” realm? When it is not a spiritual desire or a crisis, but is rather a persistent desire that just doesn’t go away, with no clear word from the Lord one way or another. The things that don’t dominate your life, aren’t necessarily painful, don’t intrude daily, but are never too far beneath the surface.

How do we live in the tension between contentment and yearning?

I love my life. I love what I get to do. I love the ministry. I love making a difference. I love owning a home that lends itself to hospitality. I love getting to travel. I love that I have friends to connect with. I love that I’m cancer-free. I’m very grateful for all that.

I’m deeply content. This empty nest season of my life has been healed and redeemed in ways far beyond what I could have imagined 15 years ago. I also recognize that the depth of my contentment does not come from any of those things I mentioned above. No job, no person, no possession can fill those spaces in me that require the Lord in order to be deeply and peacefully content in a way that is not shaken by circumstances.

My ability to live in the tension between contentment and yearning stems from a rootedness that knows my needs are ultimately met by the Lord. For me, He has been a trustworthy place to take pain and abandonment and abuse and disappointment and cancer and so much more. I trust at a deep level that He is “for me” and not against me.

BUT …

I also experience yearnings that don’t go away. I don’t live in pain because of them. They don’t intrude daily. But they are there.

Some are easy to talk about. I yearn for the kind of community I experienced in Connecticut before moving to Georgia eight years ago. For a church that “did church” better than anywhere else I’ve been. For the close friends that come from walking with each other in daily life, through ups and downs, for years.

Some are harder to talk about. I yearn for someone special in my life. Not just for someone to love me, but for someone who would delight in being loved by me. A companion to share life with. Someone “there” to listen and talk to – rather than having to find someone to share with when I’m lonely or happy or just have something to share. Someone there in the going out and coming in each day.

My life is busy and full. So it is rare that I have enough time to get deeply reflective on this. But when I do, I’ll be honest – I have more questions than answers as I reflect on what I should do with this yearning.

But I’ve learned a few things:

Don’t let lies gain a foothold. For me, this took years of work with counselors and with the Lord before it became instinctive rather than requiring intense effort. I don’t allow myself to go down the path where the “old tapes” play. Where I hear the voices saying I’m not good enough, pretty enough, special enough.

Don’t get stuck in unproductive places that feed the lies. I don’t allow myself to fixate on “Why has no one been interested in me in the 15 years since my divorce?” (And the corollary leap that says the reason must be me.) Comparison fits in here as well: “Why do other people get a second chance and I don’t?”

Ground yourself in truth even if you have to repeat it 50 times a day during the hard times. I cling to what I know is true. Five years ago the Lord asked me: “What if this (the possibility of a companion to share life with) is about My timing and not your worth?” I cling to that. I press into the assurance that I have been healed from earlier wounds, I am strong, and I have something to offer. I hang onto the truth that I am well-equipped to be a partner, whether or not that ever happens.

Be honest about what you want and courageous enough to ask for it. This is still a tough one for me. I’m not a demanding person. My identity for much of my life has been as “the compliant one”. I’m sometimes a tentative “if it’s okay and if it’s your will” kind of pray-er. I don’t want to ask Him for something until I’m sure He wants to give it to me. There’s some messed up “need to get it right” stuff in there. There’s also some healthy willingness to accept that He knows best.

What’s missing is the fullness of my identity as a beloved daughter and the trust that He knows my heart and ultimately wants His best for me. I don’t have to be afraid that I might not “get it right’. So I can ask in freedom, knowing that He delights to hear my requests. That not only is it “safe” to dream with Him, but that doing so knits our hearts together in unique ways. My heart is still catching up to my head knowledge on this one.

Be aware of where your past experiences impact your current fears, actions and desires – and figure out what that means. I am honest about the places where my past experience impacts my yearning. Some of my past treatment has created a desire in me to be pursued, rather than to be the one trying to hold things together, to keep someone close who wants to leave. Basically, when I’m really honest, my wish goes like this: “Any time Lord – but I want him to just drop out of the sky into my lap and pursue me”. I’ve worked with a counselor to unpack the healthy and the unhealthy parts of that desire to be pursued. As part of that, I’ve looked at things like whether I’ve too narrowly defined what pursuit looks like (i.e., in a way that spares me from any action or risk) and what it would mean to put myself “out there”.

Take your questions to the Lord. Spend time listening. My selfish wish is “just drop out of the sky, into my lap”. But it’s rarely how the Lord works in my life. So, in those moments, when I have time, I find myself with questions like these:

When do I wait for it to happen and when do I be persistent? What would persistence look like? How do I admit the depth of my yearning without messing with my contentment? Is it a good risk or a bad risk to mess with my contentment? Is discontentment a bad thing when it pushes us toward something important? Does “settling” for contentment mean I miss out on greater joy?

I know my thinking can get convoluted and bogged down. Time with the Lord brings clarity – and often much more quickly than I thought possible. It’s where I get the things I cling to as true.

Figure out what hope looks like for you. I have my days where I give up hope that it will happen – and where I genuinely and peacefully trust the Lord with that. But I haven’t heard Him tell me to lay down this yearning, to move past it.

So most days, if I think about it, I live with a tentative hope. Not one that requires this for a rich and full life, but one that believes my heavenly Father could still surprise me with a gift that would delight my heart and take my breath away.

Be willing to give it up if you know He is asking that. I’ve had a few unfulfilled dreams, even ones that persisted for years, where I eventually heard a “no”. Some were instantaneously easy to give up. Others weren’t. But obedience is worth it and brings freedom.

Make sure the “important thing” remains the important thing. Without that, the balance between contentment and yearning is tenuous.

So I come back to this: I have a trustworthy Father who loves me, and grounding both my contentment and my yearnings in His goodness is what makes living in the tension possible.

The Impact of “Just 15 Minutes a Day”

Written in October 2018 during radiation treatment for cancer.

At this point I am somewhere between halfway and two-thirds of the way through my radiation treatments. And everyone was correct – I’m in and out of there in 15 minutes. Every day, Monday through Friday.

This is by far easier than chemo would have been. I have nothing to complain about – and everything to be grateful for. I am constantly aware that my cancer journey is minimally disruptive. My life – and full recovery – has never been in question. I can’t say that I’ve really had to wrestle with my mortality. It’s been easy to be hopeful and positive. So it is hard to say what I am about to say.

I’m tired of this.

When I am brutally honest, I’ve realized in the past week that it’s true. I need to learn to say this and to know I can say this without it being a complaint. It’s just a statement of fact.

It’s also a statement of fact that I really am “doing well”. Being tired of something doesn’t have to mean my life is awful – or even particularly hard.

There’s the physical tiredness – which I was told would likely happen. It’s an odd feeling to not be exerting myself, to physically feel nothing during the treatment and still feel the fatigue growing week by week. I’ve kept it at a manageable level by doing some wise things. I blocked my work calendar off from 2-5 every day. So I go home right after my 2:45 radiation appointment. No afternoon commitments. And I take a nap if I need to before finishing up my emails or other work for the day. I’m gratefully accepting meals and offers to walk the dogs so that about half of my days I don’t have to think about that in the evening. I’m asleep a couple of hours earlier than normal every night. All of these things are keeping the tiredness at a manageable level and allowing me to continue to do most of the things that matter to me.

But I’ve hit a stage where there’s another kind of tiredness as well. I’m tired of the routine of the treatments. I’m tired of having to slather Aquaphor on the treatment site 3 times a day – and think through my wardrobe choices with the filter of “what won’t be ruined by the Aquaphor”. I’m tired of energy level being a bigger factor in my plans. Along with that tiredness, I’m afraid of sounding petty – after all, this is minor (compared to many treatment protocols), this is really no big deal (and I know that), and so on.

So what is the Father teaching me in this?

Rest is a gift. Not only for the physical healing, but for the way it opens up my soul and spirit to peace.

Community is a gift. Not just the meals and the dog walks, but the prayers and encouragement in other ways. While there is no real need for anyone to go with me to daily radiation, I’m incredibly grateful for the friends who accompanied me to all the appointments from the biopsy through the start of radiation. The Body of Christ, functioning well, is irreplaceable.

In the Mr. Rogers documentary that came out this summer (Won’t You Be My Neighbor?), they talked about how there was a lot of silent air time on the show. For example, the time he watched a second hand go all the way around – without talking as it was happening – to see how long a minute was. One of the producers of the show said this about the show:

“There was a lot of slow time. But there was no wasted time.”

I like that, and I think it fits here even though the context is very different.

This is a season of imposed slowness for me. My heart is choosing to not let it be wasted time.

Good News, Gifts and Desires of the Heart

September 2018 – original post. For those of you who know “cancer land” you’ll understand that I’m at the 5-year mark – past the diagnosis 5-year mark and getting close to the 5-year mark from the end of treatment.

What is “just” good news and what makes something a gift? How do the desires of our hearts fit into the mix?

I received good news a few days ago. Testing has determined that chemotherapy adds no benefit – at all – to the treatment of my cancer. So it will be six weeks of radiation (5 days per week) followed by a daily pill for 5-10 years.

That’s good news! And I immediately felt a release of the tension that I hadn’t realized I had been carrying as I waited to hear. There’s a lightness now that had been on hold. I can make plans for the fall (taking into account just the increasing level of fatigue caused by the radiation). The holidays will be after the treatment, not in the middle of it. I won’t lose my hair!. The list of good results goes on and on.

To be honest, it wasn’t the news I was expecting. So the relief was immense.

But it’s more than good news. It feels like a gift. My heart’s desire was to not have to go through chemo. Suddenly, that desire is a reality. And it’s stirring some musings deep in my spirit.

Because if there is a gift, there is a giver.

Had the results been different, that would have been okay. My faith would not have been shaken. I would not have felt “let down” by anyone. I would have gotten through chemo the same way my friends have – the same way countless other women do every year. There’s nothing in me – or in my relationship with the Lord – that makes me feel entitled to being spared “the hard stuff”. His companionship through the hard times is enough.

The truth is I know how to do “hard” with the Lord. I have a steadfast trust in His love and His faithfulness toward me. So much growth has occurred in those seasons. So much good work has been done. And the gifts embedded in those hard times have been deep and lasting and solid.

But a gift that aligns with the desires of my heart – I’m less sure how to receive that. There’s a level of delight that comes naturally and easily. There’s a nagging dilemma as well. I don’t expect “special treatment”. I’m not doom and gloom, expecting the worst, but I didn’t do anything that would explain why I get good news and someone else gets bad news. I didn’t pray harder, believe more, declare more boldly or anything else along those lines.

I’ve always struggled more with understanding the “why me” when I’m on the “good news” or easy side than when I’m on the “bad news” or hard side. I’m much more likely to ask “Why is my life easier than most?” rather than “Why is this happening to me?” And I can get tangled up in trying to figure out that “why”.

So here’s what is stirring deep in my spirit. How do I fit all the pieces together? And I keep coming back to …

If there’s a gift, there’s a Giver.

It doesn’t explain everything, but it feels like the place I need to return to, the central truth.

Scripture tells us that every good gift is from above. This good news is also a good gift. Can I acknowledge that it comes from Him – without getting bogged down in the ‘why me and not others”?

I believe deeply that I have a heavenly Father who loves me and we’re told that if we know how to give good gifts to our children, He does it even better than we do. Can I draw on the delight I feel giving gifts to my kids and believe that my heavenly Father feels that way (and more) toward me? Can I allow myself to relax into that love without having it all figured out?

As a believer and as a daughter of the King, I do have a spiritual authority and I’m told to approach the throne with boldness and confidence. I’m told to bring all of my cares to Him. That doesn’t mean I have a magic formula for getting everything I want. Can I fully embrace my identity as a beloved daughter – without being afraid I’ll be perceived as having an inappropriate “sense of entitlement”?

All of these musings stem from the great joy of receiving good news and a good gift. They don’t distract from the joy. They point me back to the heart of God and they challenge me to believe in fresh ways – deep down – that I’m “beloved”. I’m grateful for that as much as I’m grateful to be spared chemo.

And there’s something else that is stirring – quite unexpectedly. It has to do with how much this aligns with the desire of my heart. This news wasn’t a need. It wasn’t an expectation. It was just a wish to be spared chemo – a desire to not have to go through that. And it happened anyway.

To my surprise, I find my thoughts turning to other desires of my heart and I find hope rising in new ways. Maybe there will be someone to share my life. Maybe there are more times in great and deep community. Maybe there will be times at the beach and times of travel.

Maybe …

We throw open our doors to God and discover at the same moment that he has already thrown open his door to us. We find ourselves standing where we always hoped we might stand—out in the wide open spaces of God’s grace and glory, standing tall and shouting our praise.

There’s more to come: We continue to shout our praise even when we’re hemmed in with troubles, because we know how troubles can develop passionate patience in us, and how that patience in turn forges the tempered steel of virtue, keeping us alert for whatever God will do next. In alert expectancy such as this, we’re never left feeling shortchanged. Quite the contrary—we can’t round up enough containers to hold everything God generously pours into our lives through the Holy Spirit! (Romans 5:2-5, The Message)

So the journey continues. And hope is stirring in some new ways.

Shifting Gears – When Circumstances Change But God Doesn’t

Written in August 2018 as my cancer journey and treatment plan were still in the early stages.

Recently I wrote about having a pantry full of resources to use when I face hard times. What I didn’t specifically spell out was that I had just received a diagnosis of breast cancer. My update to close friends had a subject line of “A little bit of bad news, a whole lot of good news”. And that is what it was. Bad news – cancer. Good news – it’s small, contained, doesn’t appear to have spread, clear path was a lumpectomy and not a mastectomy and so on. The appointment with the surgeon confirmed this. It was described by various doctors as “run of the mill cancer” or “routine cancer”.

Surgery was a week ago. I was home by noon. No nausea from the anesthesia. Essentially no pain or soreness. I felt great. The surgeon was sure she’d gotten it all and didn’t see any indication it had spread to the lymph node she took just to be sure.

The followup surgeon’s visit on Friday was supposed to be a breeze – a quick checkup on the way to lunch with a couple of people who mean a lot to me. The incision was declared good and healing. My arm movement was great.

And then the “but”.

But the cancer has spread to the lymph node. It was a surprise to the surgeon. And it was a shock to me.

So once again I’m waiting. When I wrote about my pantry, I was waiting for the appointment with the surgeon. This time I’m waiting for the appointment with the oncologist.

There’s still a lot of good news. This doesn’t change the final result – but it does potentially change the path to get there because it puts chemo on the table as a likely treatment protocol.

And here’s what I know so far.

The tears that were a gift before are a gift again. God is still answering my prayer to restore my tears to me, to give me back that particular expression of emotion. It’s still primarily a tender, private thing between me and the Lord – but it may grow.

I am not afraid. I am calm. I’m sleeping well at night. There’s a peace that does pass understanding and I am in the middle of it.

I am being knit to my Georgia community in new ways – and the deeper community I’ve yearned for here is showing up and pouring out love and care in all sorts of ways. A desire of my heart is happening (even if I wouldn’t have chosen this particular way for it to happen).

The God who I know loved me and cared for me before the news of the spread is the same God who loves and cares for me after the news. He didn’t change – and this is not a surprise to Him. I may be shifting gears, but He is not.

I can decide – and cling to – what is true even before I know how the circumstances will turn out. There’s a chance this won’t involve chemo, but whether it does or doesn’t, it does not change the truth about God’s character. If God is good, then He’s good whatever news comes next, whatever treatment is right, whatever side effects it may bring. It’s not a naive need to say the right thing. It’s a conviction based on years of deep relationship.

I’m going to have to develop my voice in new ways. I will have to learn to say “I need help”, but also be able to say the harder version – “I’d like help”. Or “I don’t want to be alone.”

I’ll need to learn to graciously receive the care (and potential wisdom) behind the unsolicited offers of medical advice, while still protecting myself from being overwhelmed. I desire to be open to wisdom – and I know there are new and non-traditional protocols that may be worth considering. There are options and great stories and things that have worked well for others. But there will also need to be boundaries to protect myself from too many voices.

I’m going to have to decide who I listen to – which advice-givers, which doctors. My discernment will need to be sharpened to learn to hear the Holy Spirit’s nudge not just in spiritual matters but in medical ones as well.

Do I play out worst case or “what if” scenarios in my mind? To be honest, I don’t – with one exception. Will I lose my hair? What will that be like? Would my Connecticut friends – those long standing friends who are also my rock and my lifeline – be able to come be with me at that point if I needed them? What is going to be my safe place to get used to that? Will it become a reality?

It’s not an all consuming thought process, but it’s the one I wonder about most right now. That may change. I don’t really know what to expect.

This is the beginning of a story I would never have chosen. But I’ve learned – even in the times that have involved real and deep and damaging pain – that the stories I allow God to write in my life are full of gifts, redemption, new understanding of who He is and who I am. I grow. Opportunities arise to care for others as a result of my experience. I end up fuller, not emptier.

So I’m shifting gears. My circumstances have changed. God has not. And in the midst of the uncertainty and waiting, I still cling to my verse: I know and rely on the love God has for me. (1 John 4:16)

“Scratch and Dent” Jesus

Again, written in December 2017, but moved to new platform in a different season.

At Christmas, my sister-in-law loves to decorate their yard with an assortment of the older style, illuminated, hard plastic, blow mold figures. Mr. and Mrs. Claus, reindeer, snowmen, and a Nativity scene.

Those of us who know her get caught up in her sense of fun and joy. Her delight spills over to us.

Unfortunately, a few years ago, someone stole baby Jesus. (And apparently this is not an uncommon thing to happen in displays like this.) So I’ve kept my eyes open at flea markets and antique stores but never stumbled across a replacement. Until …

My sister discovered a website that sold not only new nativity displays, but also replacement figures. And not just brand new replacement figures. They had a “Scratch and Dent” Jesus. The description reads: Note: This product will have one or more of any of the following defects: flattened nose, indented nose, paint chips, paint smudge, missing paint or paint splatter.

I may not “love” the blow plastic molds for my yard. But I do love a “scratch and dent” Jesus. This Jesus fits my world better than a pristine, untouchable Jesus. And it fits me in a season when I have felt a bit bruised myself. I want a Jesus who knows what it is like to encounter the things that flatten us, or splatter us, or chip us. Who steps right into those things with us.

The Jesus who was born in a manger, probably more like a cave than the wooden structures we often see. Among all the smell and mess and dirt of a place that is designed to house animals, not people. Where swaddling cloths matter because the bed is uncovered straw.

Jan Karon, in At Home in Mitford, shows us a distraught visitor who enters the empty church, sits down, eventually looks upward and in deep agony pleads “God … are … you … up … there?!” Father Tim slips in beside him and gently says, “You may be asking the wrong question…. I believe the question you may want to ask is not ‘Are you up there?’ but ‘Are you down here?'”

That’s the good news of this season. That Jesus came. He is “down here”. Immanuel, “God with us”. And he’s a “scratch and dent” Jesus – not in terms of sharing our sin. But in terms of sharing our pain and our struggles and the things that hurt us. Who doesn’t run or retreat when things get messy. Who takes some of the blows intended for us. Who binds up our wounds. Who dwells among and heals the brokenhearted.

And this Christmas Eve, in the front yard of someone who does love the blow plastic molds, “scratch and dent” Jesus, with his slightly flattened nose, will join the display. A reminder that the true scratch and dent Jesus has come to bring hope. And encouraging us to let our joy in Him spill over and draw others into the same delight.

Why Do We Go “There” – When There Are Safer Places to Go?

Originally written in June 2017 as Adventures in Missions was evaluating some world events. I’ve previously posted about risk and safety here as well.

Ask someone to name Bible verses they’ve memorized and Matthew 28:19-20 is likely to pop up shortly after John 3:16.

Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age. (Matthew 28:19-20)

So many of us have memorized – and quoted – these verses. And for some of us, there comes a point when we’re asked to go at another level. Do we really believe this – ALL nations? GO? And suddenly, we have to grapple with deep and potentially scary things. How should Christians deal with fear? With risk? With the God-given protective instincts we have for our children? (And how do we navigate parenting adult children?)

How does wisdom and common sense intersect with a reliance on God’s protection? Especially when people, particularly younger people, believe they are invincible?

Has fear compromised the impact of the Church? How do we draw the “right” boundary lines? Is there a difference between a call to go into known and likely dangerous situations and an expectation that disciples be willing to lay down their lives if they find themselves in a situation that asks that of them?

Why do we go there (wherever there might be) when there are “safer” options – and kingdom work which can be done elsewhere?

If we have children who go on mission trips or into humanitarian relief situations, we deal with these questions. These are good and real and honest questions. We pray. We wrestle with the Lord. International news and travel warnings impact us on a very personal and emotional level. We have life experience and wisdom our kids may not have – and we have kids, including adult kids, whose boldness and call – and location – may concern us.

How do we align ourselves with God’s heart when there is so much at stake that scares us? Why should we even consider going into harder, riskier places? I am not minimizing the questions I’ve asked up to this point. It’s important to talk about “if” and “how” and “when”, but can we suspend those questions temporarily? Set those filters aside for just a while? What if we ask the “whether” and “why” we should go questions first?

Is there a need? The answer is yes. There is heart breaking and gut wrenching need. Children in danger. People being trafficked. Whole communities in danger from floods or earthquakes. Refugees who have lost everything. Poverty levels, illnesses and oppression beyond what we can imagine. Men and women in physical and spiritual bondage. And Jesus’ plan is “us”. There is a persistent call in Scripture for more laborers, and for compassion toward the widows and orphans (and other people in need). (E.g., Matthew 9:35-38; James 1:27; Luke 10:25-37; Matthew 25:34-40)
What does scripture say about risk? Scripture is full of people who risked their lives to follow the call of God. Moses faced Pharaoh at great risk to himself and even though he felt inadequate. Gideon was fearfully hiding in a wine press when the Lord called him to fight an enemy – and then took away most of his fighting men. Prophets confronted kings who had the power to imprison or kill them. In the New Testament we see Paul and Barnabas described as men who risked their lives for the name of Jesus (Acts 15:25-26). Paul commends Priscilla and Aquila for risking their lives (Romans 16).
Can we learn anything from how Jesus sent out his disciples? Jesus’ disciples were sent out as lambs among wolves (Luke 10:3). When we are sent out as lambs among wolves, we are sent to bring the Kingdom. In Isaiah 11:6-8, in the midst of one of the better known prophecies about Jesus, we’re told that the wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat. Going as a lamb among wolves means we live in expectation for the coming of that Kingdom and we want to be part of bringing it about.
Is it possible we are the answer to the prayers of Christians around the world? We have Christian brothers and sisters who serve in difficult situations and who face oppression and persecution. Their stories should not be ignored. Many of them are pleading with God to send help and encouragement in the form of other believers and workers.
What if going opens our eyes to the plight of others around the world? It is good for our eyes to be opened. We come away changed. We are more compassionate and empathetic and proactive. We become better advocates for change in the world.
How should we view martyrdom? This is the one no one wants to talk about. Martyrdom is historically one way people come to know God. I don’t believe Christians are supposed to proactively seek martyrdom in the way others (e.g. suicide bombers) do. And the missions organization I work for places a high priority on managing risk wisely. But in the New Testament we see the martyrdom of Stephen – and we know Paul was a witness to it. Many of us who are parents of adult children grew up hearing the story of Jim Elliot, Nate Saint and 3 other young men who were killed by a remote tribe in Ecuador – and whose family members went on to live with the tribe and begin to introduce them to Jesus. It is an inspiring story, but Jim Elliot was someone’s 29-year-old son when he was martyred. As Christian parents, can we get to the point where we can say that dying on the mission field, if it should happen, is not the worst thing that can happen to our kids?

How do we develop a willingness to hear the Lord say – to us or to our kids – “Go”? Especially in situations where it seems to us the answer should clearly be “Don’t go”. Can we start with an honest and fearful prayer of “should they go” – for the sake of the Kingdom or the name of Jesus?

I am aware of the dangers of implying that you are somehow less “spiritual” if you wrestle with this, or if you hear a “don’t go” after an open and honest process with the Lord. That’s not my intent. And I do believe the Lord often says “go somewhere else”. My intent is to encourage you to press beyond fear, to press beyond even “common sense” for a moment, and connect with the heart of God. To be willing to ask “Is this a time when Your ways are not my ways?”

As I am writing this [the original post in June 2017], we have a World Race squad whose situation is making this real. Our Risk Management team and Adventures in Missions leadership is evaluating options. As the parents wait for a decision, Jamie, one of the moms, shared something the Lord did in her:

What I have found very helpful and encouraging today was spending time in worship, that displaces my fear with faith, and reading the Word, which always brings life and light. Also, revisiting the book Kingdom Journeys and rereading some of the “tough parts” about releasing Racers and embracing our own kingdom journey. One special insight today: God had me pray for the people of [specific country] and challenged me to this: “What if the people of [that country] are praying for Christians to come, and what if those Christians are our kids?” Whoa, that was heavy. I spent most of my day praying for my Racer and your Racers, but then He flipped it on me, and said pray for the people of [that country]. I must admit, this is not easy, because the Holy Spirit is trying to give me another perspective and it is not the one my flesh wants to see. God bless you all. Praying for all of you parents too!

The struggle is real. But it’s important.