Thanksgiving Day 2014

It was nearing sunset as we drove through one tiny borough after another, on our way "home." Thanksgiving Day, and for the second year in a row my truck was stacked to the headliner with baby gear and clothing. But that's about where the similarities end.

I'd begun bracing for impact shortly before Halloween last year; I could see the situation deteriorating. For over a month I had denied, prayed, hoped, fixed -- by Thanksgiving it was done. All our son had worked for throughout the final days of summer was gone, and the grief was almost too much to bear. Those early days documented on social media -- the pride he took in his new truck, his goofy "driving hat," the ribbings he would give to "Murph" for being a Ford man. And those last days etched in my mind -- his inability to even hold a cigarette, the homelessness and turmoil he seemed to embrace. The future seemed to be cemented in hopelessness and yet, wildly uncertain. I had no plan, no solution, and certainly no vision for what was to come, but I was doing what I'd done time after time -- trying to restore order to the chaos that flooded the lives of people who love him. Even trying to gather back some of the pieces that had scattered upon impact as if, once the dust settled, he could use them to rebuild somehow. Sometimes I think it's that working to repair that helps us cope and sets us on the road to believing things will one day be livable again -- that, and lots of tears, and lots of prayers. And hope. I always have hope; I know I belong to the God of Hope. But what about my son? Where is my hope for him? Where does he find hope for himself?

Fast forward to Thanksgiving Day 2014. Our son is waiting at home for his fiancé and I to return with her things. He is beginning a new life, and seems to understand that some days are just blocks on the calendar -- work, sleep, do it again tomorrow; that the rush that comes with buying a new car, or having a baby, or starting a new job, happens only every now and again. That most days we must simply "be." But those are the days upon which a life is built, bridges to those monumental days. Days that test our meddle, that make us who we are, and point us in the right direction toward milestone days. And if we fail to establish who we are on all of those typical calendar days, like an addict, we will crave and do just about anything to experience the freedom and euphoria of wilder days, days of celebration and butterflies in our stomachs, simply to mask where we fall short on those nine-to-five days. If we fail to find happiness and hope as we run the gauntlet of day-after-days, we become nothing more than quasars, burning ourselves out as we run at full tilt for the duration of our short lives.

Even as I celebrate the remarkable contrasts between our life last year and our life today, I'm still not sure from what well our son draws his hope. But I do know where I draw mine, and I do know that it is the God of Hope that painted the sunset we drove toward on this Thanksgiving Day.

God Can; God Does; God Will. God's Time.

My parents had not been in town a week before my father had us sitting in a pew at the church where I grew up. When family vacation straddled a Sunday morning, we were guests in whatever Methodist church opened its doors. Church has always been a part of my life even when I wasn't a part of it. The guilt that would grip me from time to time on a Sunday morning, the pull I would feel to return to what I knew was home, the longing I had to be wrapped in it's familiar embrace -- especially when I was going through some mess I'd created... Church has been my second home longer than any other place. I've been to churches that fit, and churches that didn't. I've been greeted warmly, and completely ignored. I've sat, stood, and kneeled. I've shared a cup, dipped into a cup, and sipped from plastic cups, their crackles echoing for hours after they've been introduced to the tile floor of a sanctuary during prayer. I've worshipped in a myriad of ways, and heard countless sermons -- some good, some bad, some which immediately stirred the spirit, and some which simmered for a period of time. One of the "simmerers" bubbled up again this week...

Abraham of the Bible. He was promised by God, that at one hundred years of age, he would have a son. Someone recently pointed out this was not an immaculate conception; Abraham believed, and "got busy," he said. Not exactly a pretty picture, but definitely a poignant one. Abraham was so convinced that God could -- God would -- he lit the candles, put on the Lyre for Lovers CD, dumped the lamb from Tamar's Takeout onto the good plates, and made a little romance with giggling Sarah.

That Sunday, the pastor asked for a show of hands:

"Who believes God can heal and prosper them?"

Almost every hand went up. Then:

"Who believes God will heal and prosper them?"

A pitiful showing. And this was in church! I would think there was a Christian or two present. This pastor then spent the next twenty minutes or so demonstrating what a faithless lot Christians can be, and how we needed to move toward changing the way we thought about God's love and provision for us. Claim God's promises. Not a bad thing, right? Well, I walked out of that service questioning my faith -- deeply. Why were we always struggling to make end meet? Why was I divorced? Why were some of my relationships strained to the point of breaking? I must be doing something wrong, right? I need to get me some faith! Wrong. If faith healed everyone, not a Christian would be in Glory. We'd all be here, rich, healthy, smiling, getting along with each other fabulously.

This week I read this statement:

"God wants us to focus our faith in His ability, not necessarily His willingness, to fulfill our prayer requests."

There might be some truth to that, but I think we're still missing the point. The Bible is a collective, a tapestry woven throughout the history recorded in its pages, a letter -- God's letter to each of us -- not a reference manual. You can't take a story or verse and say, "Ok, this is it, the key to what God wants me to know about..." I heard a woman quote James 4:2 last week ("Ye have not because ye ask not.") in reference to opening up another cashier to handle the long line at Aldi! There's no magic formula. You can't just quote a verse and expect to have a thorough understanding of how God works. Relationship with God is just that -- relationship, and good relationships are never one-dimensional.

Almighty God is the Creator of all life; He has the power to do as He pleases. God can. But God is no holy vending machine. Some who were sick have been made completely whole. Praise God, He does that. But God is also looking at a universe-sized picture, and that includes a body of folks who've endured some stuff for the sake of God's plan -- and some who will continue to endure it until the day they meet God face to face. The Bible is full of promises that we can believe are true because God is not a liar. God will. But it's all in His time. He has a plan -- a good plan, a perfect plan.

So does the diabetic thank God for healing him -- one day? Does the homeless young mother of three thank God for the eventual food they will eat at their eventual table in their eventual home? Certainly. Almighty God is a God who calls things that are not as though they are (Romans 4:17). Why would He do that if they were not meant to be? I'm not talking about God getting you that job as Beyoncé's personal assistant or dropping that new F-250 off at your front door. But providing food, or a way to get to work, or healing for you and your family? God will -- on this side of Heaven or the next. In the meantime, thank God for it now. 

Abraham was ninety-nine when he stepped out in faith. Besides, there's nothing wrong with a little goat cheese by candlelight.

The Way of Peace They Have Not Known

My husband is a Jersey Boy. Wait, wait, wait -- don't go! Please don't hold that against him. He grew up surrounded by farmland, and running the dirt roads of South Jersey. He's got a hick side to him, despite the fact we have to remove our shoes in the house and we have a "parlor" -- you know, one of those rooms everyone passes through, but no one is allowed to sit in unless you're entertaining "company." (And the way I was raised, if I've known you more than 15 minutes, you're no longer "company." Good luck ever seeing that parlor.) Scott's response upon his first visit to my home was, "I thought you had a real house." I wasn't offended; in spite of my tenure here in the 'hood, through my veins run rich dark soil, the aroma of horse manure, and endless acres of Indian grass. I knew he meant a house you could run circles 'round. I knew he meant a house that didn't come complete with the sounds of your neighbor in the shower -- or worse. I knew he meant a house with a lot less vertical, a lot less alleyway, and a lot more more.

But, he loves me. And with five children between us, his condo -- yeah, Jersey Boy had a condo -- his condo just wasn't going to cut it; he moved with me to the 'hood. That first year or so was constant chaos. Drama with exes. Adjustments with children. Culture shock. Learning. Countless trips to Goodwill as we combined years of junk from two households. Schedules. Planning, re-planning, and scrapping entire ideas. Remodeling the house and our lives. Least of all, but probably the most common, were Scott's phone calls: "Traffic is backed up; how can I get around it?" or "I'm in the parking lot of X, but I want to get to Y. What's the best way?" He relied on me to show him a new way when he only knew the one he'd been taking all along.

In my devotions, I have begun studying Romans -- currently, chapter 3. Today I came to verses 16 and 17: "Destruction and misery are in their ways; And the way of peace they have not known.”

It wasn't long ago that I was living in the ways of destruction and misery. Granted, I was doing much better than years ago. I wasn't botching everything I touched; I was no longer in self-destruct mode. I was handling things pretty well. Sometimes it only required a little white lie to get what I wanted. Sometimes I only felt a little restless and unsure of how it would all turn out. I only reacted in anger when the situation really warranted it; and I was keeping my sarcasm (mostly) to myself. I have to admit, I was pretty content running that road each and every day.

THEN -- and that's the thing about God: there's always a "then." Someone once said, "God loves us enough to meet us right where we are, but cares too much to leave us there." I've never known that not to be true.

Then, He called me to something more. I was asked to fully embrace someone who had burnt me on numerous occasions. I was also asked to do a favor for someone I thought I could maaaybeee trust but turned out to be not so trustworthy. I was also called upon to be generous toward someone I was pretty certain was not going to return the blessing, or even genuinely appreciate it. (Think God was at work here? Yup.)

Now, if I'd been doing this in my own strength, I would have taken the way I knew to go. Maybe drawn up some sort of ironclad agreement. Maybe prayed for God to show me how to protect myself in all of this. Maybe grabbed up a few witnesses. Maybe not been too generous. Maybe simply refused. Nothing wrong with me taking any of those roads, right?

Well, there is when GPS (God's Providence & Strength) is telling me, "Go this way."

"But I don't know that way. I've never been there before."

"Trust Me." God says, "It is the way of peace."

And so it is.

I could have chosen the way I'd always gone, but nothing guarantees I would have gotten back what I put into it; even the best contracts or a dozen witnesses couldn't guarantee I wouldn't get burnt. Relationships would have been destroyed; someone would have been miserable. "Destruction and misery are in their ways; And the way of peace they have not known.”

As I mentioned, these situations have not exactly turned out in a way most accountants or attorneys would favor. But my Heavenly Accountant -- the One who will hold us all to account -- has not only led me down a road I've never known, He has deposited into my account a peace that cannot be bought with any amount of earthly currency. If God is calling you to more, I urge you to go; travel that road. It is the way of peace.

God Is Sovereign, and God Is Good

Heavenly Father, Holy God --

You are so good.
As my heart is heavy with sadness and disappointment,
You are good.

As I struggle with loss and unanswered questions,
You are good.

As I chart unknown territories in my life,
encountering those who would seek to harm, or at least, see me fail,
You are there, and You are good.

As, in sorrow, I retrace steps taken in happier days,
You are there, and You are good.

When darkness falls over the sunshine of my days,
You are good.

When light shines brightly in the depths of my soul,
and joy's smallest ember ignites a raging fire,
It is You, O God,
And You are good!

Copyright Judi Murphy, 2014. All rights reserved.