A Paradox of Emotion; A Certainty of Truth

I guess it's a bit sad but, until recently, I knew very few saints who had passed on to heaven. Don't misunderstand, I am not hoping or counting -- but this is not something I am accustomed to feeling. I was a legalist. A legalist goes to funerals and says things like, "It's okay, she's with Jesus now," while they wonder if she really is or not, and if they've done enough to get there. Legalists can be fine, moral people, but put them on the unemployment line or sit them next to a heroin addict and you can almost see the facade crumble. I was that person and I gravitated toward other self-righteous people. But for the grace of God. He rescued me, He gave me assurance, and He led me to a supportive family truly "sold out" to Christ. And through that I learned, the humble, the people smallest in stature, when they depart this earth, leave the largest deficit.

In the last five years or so, I have experienced the pain and joy that, I would guess, most Christians feel when a brother or sister has crossed from this side of Eternity to the other. I am working through that right now. Another sweet, sweet soul from our church has gone to be with Jesus. And that is not some polite colloquialism, I know she is with Jesus. I know she is whole; I know she was, the second her body ceased to function. And that is the paradox: grief and comfort, death and life.

One of the first times I remember feeling such a conflict of emotion was when an aunt passed. She'd become ill, and I wanted to visit her; but, life happened and I never made it. I had wonderful memories of her. The impact she had on me in my childhood was one of God's grace; she was His light to me. The genuine article. Her death meant I would never see her; I would never tell her just what she meant to me; those closest to her would never again find inspiration in the love for her Lord which never wavered even as her illness progressed; and those she ceaselessly prayed for would no longer see their names formed on her pleading lips. BUT, she was whole, she was healed, and she was with the One she loved the most. Mourning the loss, but rejoicing in her gain.

The next few years brought more deaths and the absence of more authentic servants of God. Pain as deep as joy. Gratitude as powerful as the desire to know why. Hard-working, Sword-wielding, lovers of Jesus, taken from us far too soon. Their surrender to the Lord now complete. Saints with cancer, confident God would heal them. And He did, the moment they passed from this world. Fathers responsible for the spiritual welfare of the young children they would leave behind, now standing in the presence of their Father, the One who personally cares for the fatherless. And those taken suddenly, leaving behind spouses in shock, employees out of work, tickets which would remain unused, clothing still in the dryer, projects unfinished and debts yet to be paid -- the very definition of how life can change in an instant. It changed for us, but oh how it changed for them!

And now, my dear Ruby. I knew her heart. She was so gentle and kind. She was never about pretense and I knew her to be always, in all ways, humble. She had things she wanted to see, and people she wanted to tell about Jesus. She was kind enough to ask me for prayer, to share with me some of the areas in which she believed she fell short and some of the ways she believed she was unqualified. And her smile, which I will miss tremendously, was as sweet as she was. I know it's even sweeter today.

I'm guessing every Christian feels this way at some point -- uncertain how to feel, caught between sadness and joy, longing and existence. Right now I cling to it all, knowing that God created me with an entire range of emotions, in His image. And He has promised to be my comfort. In life and in death.

Free to...

Is life everything you expected it would be? One of our daughters used to tell me she wanted to be a ballet-dancing, airplane driving, Army girl. To my "Mom mind" those were just the ramblings of a little girl who didn't know how competitive the professional dance world was, or how many hours it took to learn how to fly a plane, or how dangerous it was to be on the front lines. To her little mind, she was fearless and the possibilities were endless.

Sales people often try to tap into that childlike sense of adventure by posing the question, "What would you attempt if you knew you couldn't fail?" Would you take more risks? Would you feel lighter, more carefree? Would you be more upfront and honest with people? Eliminating the fear of failure is a powerful motivator. After all, children don't play "Divorced and Alone," or "Addicted and Living on the Streets." Childlike ignorance of risk opens up our minds to dream; the assurance those dreams will come true -- perfectly -- opens us up to walk in that, to take action. But we all know risk exists. We all know there are things in this world that can and will harm us. So, I ask you, "What would you attempt if someone else was paying the tab?"

Since I was a little girl, I could not look at the cross or celebrate Easter without thinking of Jesus dying. He died for me. He died for you. He died so that all our sins are forgiven. Paul talks about this in Romans 5:18-21:

"18 So then as through one trespass [Adam’s sin] there resulted condemnation for all men, even so through one act of righteousness there resulted justification of life to [a]all men. 19 For just as through one man’s disobedience [his failure to hear, his carelessness] the many were made sinners, so through the obedience of the one Man the many will be made righteous and acceptable to God and brought into right standing with Him. 20 But the Law came to increase and expand [the awareness of] the trespass [by defining and unmasking sin]. But where sin increased, [God’s remarkable, gracious gift of] grace [His unmerited favor] has surpassed it and increased all the more, 21 so that, as sin reigned in death, so also grace would reign through righteousness which brings eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord."

Our slates are clean! But what for? Not that we might just go around leading the same life we did before we confessed the saving work of the Lord Jesus Christ (Paul continues with regard to that in Romans 6:1-7), but that we might do great things:

"10 For we are His workmanship [His own master work, a work of art], created in Christ Jesus [reborn from above—spiritually transformed, renewed, ready to be used] for good works, which God prepared [for us] beforehand [taking paths which He set], so that we would walk in them [living the good life which He prearranged and made ready for us]."

Jesus has picked up the tab. Even if I am called to "fail" (by the world's definition) that others might be blessed, or that I might be blessed in a way different from the one I expected -- getting what I need from my Father's hand, instead of what I want.

Risk exists. Trouble exists. John 16:33, not only assures us of its existence, but promises victory:

"I have told you these things, so that in Me you may have [perfect] peace. In the world you have tribulation and distress and suffering, but be courageous [be confident, be undaunted, be filled with joy]; I have overcome the world. [My conquest is accomplished, My victory abiding.]"

Following a risen Christ is not a "hide-your-head-in-the-sand, deny, deny, deny" kind of commitment. We don't deny life is tough. We don't deny things are not as we expected or even, as we'd like. We don't proclaim to understand it all, or always get it right. But following Christ is knowing He picked up the tab long before we ever took our first breath, and the possibilities are endless. What would He have you attempt today?

Safe at Home

America has always been a country populated by refugees. "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free; the wretched refuse of your teeming shore." Throngs of people have landed at Ellis Island seeking safety from civil war, coming from famine and plague to a land where they could raise their children in health and prosperity. Some were the first in their families to ever stray outside their villages. Some had suffered great loss, and were the only remaining survivors. Some lost children en route. Some have become America's greatest leaders and innovators. Many refused to believe they were safe until they saw for themselves the outline of Lady Liberty rising in the distance.

Some friends and I recently studied Psalm 91. The first two verses alone make for an amazing "soundbite", perfect for refrigerator magnets and Bible covers all over the world. A place of hiding and refuge, kept by the Most High God Himself. Doesn't it just make you wanna curl up in peaceful rest? War raging about outside your door, and yet, you are safe and sound, protected from turmoil. Burglars and thugs sneaking around in the middle of the night, and your home, your family remain untouched, inside the fortress of Almighty God. A pandemic that does not touch anyone in your circle. But, what I've discovered is this psalm is not a promise for us to claim when trouble befalls us; it does not guarantee our safety, nor is it without exclusion.

Those who sought refuge here in America, had to be willing to forsake the things of their past, to come to this place and dwell.  Many may have hoped to return to their homeland once peace was restored or the plague eradicated, but most knew this land of refuge would become their home as long as they were in danger outside its borders. They would find jobs, secure housing, start families, join clubs and churches, make new memories, even adopt our language and customs. This place would be more than a temporary bomb shelter, a place to hide when trouble touched them; it would become a way of life for them, a home. And though they sought asylum in America, it did not stop the damage the conflict in their country had caused or the pain they'd experienced. Some still bore scars. Some left fresh graves of those they loved far behind. The safety they sought did not alter or erase the memories of the peril they'd known before they ever saw America's golden shore. It did nothing to change the past, only the future.

Once here, they struggled to adapt and toiled to survive. They were outsiders. Everything about life in their new land was foreign to them. Suspicious nationals did not exactly roll out the red carpet for them. Jobs were scarce. Even those who worked tirelessly to become citizens were betrayed by the accent and skin tone of their native shores. Their pledge of loyalty and their deep-seated desire to "be" American was tested time and time again. Integration and assimilation, while necessary, was not easy.

This is what dwelling "in the secret place of the Most High" is about. This is what it means to "abide" in His shadow. It is a permanent arrangement, a conscious choice in lifestyle, a daily state of being, a new way -- God's way -- of doing things. It is not some basement in which to simply weather a storm, crawling out toward daylight when roaring winds have passed. Likewise, it is not a deluded ambition for the perfect life. No one dreams it will erase trouble from their world or obliterate the brokenness that comes from a past lived outside the parameters and protection of Almighty God. And nothing about this psalm or its promises is unconditional. Like a refugee who cannot benefit from the safety and shelter of a new land unless they actually dwell there, neither can the persecuted soul of Psalm 91 know the benefits of the Father's rest unless he dwells under His shadow. The proviso is dwelling, abiding -- even when life appears to be quiet and under control.

As I read verses 14-15, I wondered just how many times I had caused things to be difficult simply because I had not been proactive in my prayers. How many struggles could have been avoided if I'd simply asked God for His help, even when I didn't think I needed it? If dwelling and resting are activities for everyday, all day, then prayer must be part of that. Do you go for days without speaking to those who share your home? Do relationships whither, or bloom when we go for long periods of silence? Prayer is the means by which we maintain contact and stoke the fires of relationship with the One in whom we dwell. If I begin my day absent of prayer, I have not oiled or activated my armor. I have taken for granted this will be a "typical day," completely manageable through my own efforts. But, apart from Christ we can do nothing. He sustains us. He is our hope and breath. Without daily, constant communion with Him, I am assuming the enemy will not attack. That is a lie, and Satan loves for us to believe it! Satan is a roaring, blood-thirsty lion, seeking whom he may devour; he can't help but attack! And we are foolish to believe "ordinary" is safe. Many times we are lulled into complacency just before tragedy strikes. Prayer is required to prevent or withstand tragedy as God intends. Throughout history, God has shown what He will do when those who dwell with Him, who rest in Him, who trust Him pray. How will we know if we never ask?

The safety and refuge of new shores are of no benefit to one who refuses to leave behind the uncertainty and peril of old lands. Seek the shadow of the Almighty and make your home with Him today.