The last decade has been full of goodbyes. I’ve said goodbye to parents who’ve passed away. Goodbyes to children who’ve gone to college, gotten married, and moved to different states and countries. I’ve said goodbye to co-workers and friends. Good byes to my coffee shop and flexibility.
Some of the goodbyes felt profound and all have represented change. And now, I’m saying goodbye again. This will be my last post. I’ve been writing for years. I’ve been blogging for about 13-14 years. My first blog was “The View From Here” which gradually transformed into “Flirting with Eternity” here on WordPress. Writing has always been an outlet for me and a way to process. I’ve shared my heart here in this space, talking about depression, frustration, grief, sorrow, joy and hopefully, sharing the beauty of life. The last few years, because of several circumstances, writing has been difficult and writing transparently has been impossible. Because of that, I’ve decided to call it quits on my little blog. The web is so full of writers and stories and noise, I have no doubt my voice won’t be missed. Others speak Truth and wisdom and do it far better than me. Enjoy them. Thank you for letting me share my heart, mind and experiences here in this place. May your hearts, souls and minds be blessed as you continue to seek Truth.
Sitting contentedly with a word search, she suddenly looked at me with her big, sweet eyes and said “Oh Patty, God will take care of you. God will take care of you.” She rocked back and forth in her chair then said again, “The Lord will provide. The Lord will provide.” Through stinging tears, I agreed with her, “Yes, He will take care of us. Yes, He will provide.” Then she went back to her word search.
She’ll often repeat things for comfort. Maybe she was anxious and needed to remind herself of God’s love. I don’t know. What I do know is that I needed to hear about God’s love and provision. I needed to know He cared. In that moment, her simple, repetitive words spoke peace and comfort to my anxiety-ridden heart. She had no idea what was on my mind. But God knew. And His clear message came through one of His most precious souls and provided a grace-laden balm for my churning thoughts.
Do you need to hear the message today too, friend?
He’s whispering it to you.
He will take care of you. He will take care of you.
He will provide. He will provide.
Discouragement stands on my doorstep, relentlessly pounding to come in and invade my heart. I grip the handle with all my might and try to keep him out. But this week, for lots of varied reasons, fending off discouragement felt like a losing battle. These words that I wrote three years ago and read again this morning helped call me back to a place of hope. Maybe, just maybe, if you’re fighting the battle against despair and discouragement, they’ll help you too.
About 24 years ago, my former pastor said “There’s no hope without waiting.” As a 24-year-old who’d just recently experienced my first major loss as an independent adult, those words sank deep into my heart and shaped my view of this faith journey. As I grew in faith and read the Bible more, especially passages like Lamentations 1-3, another truth dawned. Not only is there no hope without waiting, but there is no hope without pain. If we don’t experience pain, loss or need, we have no reason to hope. If we have every need met, every longing fulfilled, and every dream realized before even asking, we don’t experience hope. So, in my little mind, would life be better without a need for hope? Would life here be better without pain? Is that what heaven will be? We will live in the presence of every fulfillment so there will be no need to hope. What will that feel like? What replaces hope when there’s no need for it? Contentment? Fulfillment? Satisfaction? Peace?
I’m not sure. I’m just pondering. And, if I’m honest, I’m trying to hold on to hope in the midst of some hurts and fears. People betray and disappoint, uncertainty of the future rears its head, injustice seems unchecked and my heart and mind grow weary. But I want to live in a place of hope. I want to live as a person of hope.
There is pain and suffering and heart ache and the truth is, life can be hard. But I don’t want to live as if that’s all there is.
I want to be a person who lives and breathes and brings hope.
Back to Lamentations 1-3, if you read it, it’s painful. It’s about regrets, screw-ups, abandonment, disappointment and desertion. The writer despairs over his own people and their predicament. He despairs of his own life and feels alone in his suffering. He feels like everyone is letting him down and they (the nation of Israel) have let God down. There’s a sense of betrayal and bewilderment in his summary words:
The thought of my suffering and homelessness is bitter beyond words. I will never forget this awful time, as I grieve over my loss.
Then, he follows with the oft-quoted words:
Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: The faithful love of the Lord never ends!
His mercies never cease.
Great is his faithfulness;
his mercies begin afresh each morning.
I say to myself, “The Lord is my inheritance; therefore, I will hope in him!” The Lord is good to those who depend on him,
to those who search for him.
So it is good to wait quietly for salvation from the Lord.
What would those beautiful words of hope be without the longing and despair that came before them? Hollow. Shallow. Trite. But because of his sense of loss, pain and longing for justice, the words are filled with trust and beauty. He writes his words in the midst of his burdens, not after them. He claims hope and salvation from the very place of his intense mental anguish.
The writer’s words–his faith–his hope–gives me hope for the day–hope right in the middle of confusion and hurt. How about you? What gives you hope for the day?
Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good! His faithful love endures forever. ~Psalm 136:1 (click here to read the rest)
Enduring love from a good God. That’s what I need. It’s what I crave. Without it, my tumultuous thoughts take over and I’m adrift in the storms raging in my mind and heart. But God, true to His faithful nature, offers His enduring love from His good heart to me, a weary soul.
He loves you. Period. Accept the fact, decide what you’re going to do with it, and move on from there. He loves you and that’s not going to change.
No matter what.
He loved you yesterday. He loves you today. He’ll love you tomorrow.
No. matter. what.
Struggle to believe it? Yep, I know, I do too.
Click here to read 1 John 3 to read more of His love.
Listen to this song by Bethel music (based on the Bible) and let the Truth of the words soothe your soul:
He loves you, dear one. And His love endures forever. He’ll never leave you.
It rained on Saturday. Not a steady, all-day downpour, but an on and off drip. As we pulled into Fort Snelling, the drips subsided and the clouds thinned. Damp, colorful red and yellow leaves littered the hollowed ground as searched for the grave. We stood, three figures, remembering and missing. For four years he’s been absent from us and in the presence of the Holy. The tombstone reads: “Alive in Christ” and as I stood, I tried to imagine what that meant for Dad and what it means for me. We left the cemetery and went on with our day, enjoying each other’s company, but missing Dad’s.
As I drove home yesterday, I pondered again Dad’s life and legacy. Once again, I remembered his love, humor, intelligence and wisdom and thanked God for it. Dad loved people well. But his love came at personal cost. An introverts introvert, dad would have preferred to live his life in his home surrounded by his books and music with his lovely wife by his side. He could have easily and happily stayed within the confines and safety of his home. But he loved God and God calls us to love others. So he did. Dad loved others through kind words. He loved them through hugs. He loved them through his teaching and wisdom. He loved them through his generosity. He loved them through faithfully and skillfully practicing his trade. People experienced God’s love because Dad saw every interaction as a means of showing God’s love.
I don’t know what your day looks like today or if your life sucks right now. I don’t know what battles you face or the mountains that seem insurmountable. But I pray for you, friend. I pray if you’re not feeling loved, that someone will be God’s love to you today. And if you claim Christ, I pray you take loving others well as a serious and beautiful calling.
I’m reposting from my archives today. I wrote this three years ago, and in the interim, it seems soul-rest has been even more elusive. I needed to hear this again today. Maybe you do too.
I relish in the quiet of the early morning. In fact, I love any kind of quiet at any time of day. Silence, over the years, proves my friend. Every morning I drive my 35 minute commute in beautiful silence. I guess I’m an auditory minimalist. Too many noises, even good ones, wear on me. Incessant background noise–tv, radio, lots of voices– exhaust me. I suppose it has to do with filters– I have a hard time tuning anything out so it quickly becomes too much.
Lately, although I enjoy an abundance of silence, I’ve noticed that my being struggles to be quiet. Always churning and chewing on thoughts and emotions, both my heart and mind remain a far cry from quiet. A pervasive theme throughout my life, the convergence of past hurts, present struggles, and future fears set up a road-block in me and it’s a daily battle to tear it down and continue on my journey.
This morning, over coffee, I read this from the author, Isaiah:
This is what the Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says: “Only in returning to me and resting in me will you be saved. In quietness and confidence is your strength.
There’s so much noise in our world, so many things vying for our attention. How can we possibly weed it all out? And yet if we don’t–weed out the noise (sounds, sights, smells, activities)–I believe there’s the possibility we’ll miss the soul-rest that’s right there in front of us.
That verse from Isaiah? I didn’t include the last line; the complete verse reads:
This is what the Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says: “Only in returning to me and resting in me will you be saved. In quietness and confidence is your strength. But you would have none of it.
In other versions, they translate that line as “But you refused.” or “But you were unwilling”.
We all claim to want and desire peace and yet what are we willing to do or to change so that we have it? Is soul-rest right there for the taking, but because of an unwillingness on our part to simply accept it or make changes or believe it, we end up missing it? I know I do . I miss the invitation and I miss out on the rest. I know I trade quietness for the noise of the world, and I certainly trade confidence and trust for doubts and fears.
So today, once again, I pray for a willing, receptive, open heart so that I don’t miss the rest and salvation being freely offered and freely given. I pray for a constantly returning, remembering, believing heart.
Earth’s crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God: But only he who sees takes off his shoes. ~Elizabeth Barrett Browning
On the cusp of dawn, leaving the night behind, but not quite daybreak.
The in-between.
Mysterious. Dark and light mingled and entwined and, for a few brief moments, inseparable.
Wide awake during the in between, praying…thinking, I strangely had a flashback to college.
Religion 101. Junior year–yes I realize that is late in a college career to take a general course and the registrar and prof were not happy with me, but I was and still am of the opinion that the point of a liberal arts education is to have a diverse, balanced course of study all the way through school…ok, sorry about that…stepping off my soap box now and back to the blog… Religion 101…junior…oh yeah…
Willis P. De Boer. Close to retirement, lanky with what I thought at the time were unusually long appendages (now I know that it’s just part of being Dutch) and a slight brogue, he gestured with those far reaching fingers and said we were the in “the already but the not yet”.
The already but the not yet.
The in between.
Like seeing a mountain range far off we recognize the majesty and vastness, but don’t really begin to understand their scope until we travel into them. The view is different from the foothills to the passes to the mountain tops to the high plateaus. Discovery is around every corner and rarely looks the way we expected it to.
When Jesus came to earth, He ushered in God’s Eternal Kingdom. It’s already here. But as is painfully obvious, the fulfillment of that Kingdom seems forever in the future with, at times, little evidence of its existence. For the past 2000 years we, the human race, have been journeying through the mountains of the already but the not yet.
Oh, we’re in awe of the beauty and rugged delicacy. But we’re fickle people and even the majesty of the mountains becomes mundane and all we see are the rocks and foot falls. Sometimes we’re fearful that any misstep could lead to disaster. Not always aware that what we’re in is so much bigger than us, we continue on.
I know I’ve felt lost in the mountains…in the in between. Caught in the middle…wanting desperately to get through or at least to a peak so I can get a bigger view and maybe see how much farther there is to go. Caught. Between night and day.
But then there are those moments, when beauty or art or music or communion with loved ones, or acts of kindness and generosity, or the realization of sacrifice transcends what we can grasp and is something felt not thought, and we get a glimpse of the already but the not yet. Signs of the coming dawn.
Life in the in between.
***forgive mixing metaphors and being a bit melodramatic…remember I wrote it in the wee hours and after reading Bronte.***
*reposting from the archives today. I originally published this back in 2010
“A beggar poor at Mercy’s door, lies such a wretch as I;
Thou knowest my need is great indeed, Lord, hear me when I cry.”~Samuel Medley
Throughout my life of faith, grace (or rather Grace), has meant everything to me. The knowledge, belief ,and experience that Grace is real, has been my bedrock. Grace: being given something I didn’t ask for and don’t deserve that’s more than I could imagine. I’ve been given saving Grace, sustaining Grace, guiding Grace, and forgiving Grace. It’s all a gift.
Lately, another reality of God ignites my soul: Mercy.
Grace is all about Love…free, unconditional, pure, saving love.
Mercy possesses a different quality. Mercy suggests being spared from something. There’s an element of judgement in Mercy that makes it even more wonderful. I deserve “A” but am shown Mercy and get “B” instead. Beautiful.
The words above by Samuel Medley**, grip my heart each time I hear them. I show up, beggar poor–nothing to offer, nothing to give–at Mercy’s door. He opens the door and instead of sending me away empty-handed or throwing me some scraps and then slamming the door in my face, He invites me in. Essentially, because of sin, we’re all strangers to Him. And yet, even as a stranger, because of His Mercy, He opens the doors wide open. He asks me to live there, in this place of Mercy.
But here’s the thing, if I leave Mercy’s door, I leave beggar-poor again. I can’t go there, fill up, and expect to distribute the wealth I’ve been given as if I were Father Christmas. No, I come a beggar, and if I leave, I leave a beggar. So often, we, as Christians, talk about being “filled” in such a superficial way. It’s as if you can tank up on God like you would gas and run for a while until you’re empty and then go back for more filling. He’s not a cosmic gas station. I come to God with nothing and I leave Him with nothing.
The only way I can share His love –the only way to be “filled”– is by staying at His Mercy Door. Jesus put it this way in the book of John:
“I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not remain in me, he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.
As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. If you obey my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have obeyed my Father’s commands and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command.”
When we stay in His presence, we become a channel or instrument of His grace, love, forgiveness and mercy and not a distributor of it. God, may we show up beggar poor at your door and feast on your welcoming Mercy so others may experience it as well.
**The words are lyrics from “Love me to the End”; a hymn by Medley and covered by Red Mountain Music. Take a listen…
The weather’s been sketchy the last few days. Today’s forecast boasts “Showers with scattered storms and patchy fog mingled with sunshine.” Brad looked at the radar and started discussing the instability of the atmosphere. Little showers pop up and fall apart. The sun peaks out, heats everything up, then hides. The air, saturated with moisture, smells damp and springy. It’s difficult to plan any outdoor activities. Weather in Iowa is notoriously unpredictable, but this is different. This is shifty, changeable weather from minute to minute.
I’ve often compared chronic and major depression to a fog, skewing and distorting reality and making the journey slow and arduous. But the last several weeks, it’s felt more like today’s weather: changeable and unpredictable. One minute I’m walking in sunshine and the next, I’m caught in a downpour of painful memories, self-loathing, and isolation. It’s been exhausting, living in this low-pressure system. I’ve dealt with depression now for 30 years so I have the coping skills down and employ my full arsenal regularly. But sometimes, when the tears blind side and the inner accusations mount, my weapons seem useless and my attempts at alleviating the pain, futile.
John records for us in his book in the Bible that Jesus said: “The thief comes to steal and kill and destroy but I come that you may have life and have it to the full.” As I grow and walk through life, I continue to realize that the “full” life doesn’t mean a pain-free life or a happily-ever-after life. It doesn’t mean living in a sunny and 75º degree life all the time. It means living in a redemptive life. It means that nothing is wasted; no joy or pain that we experience is trivial or useless. Full life means growing and loving not in spite of the pain, but because of it. Full life means we’re never alone even when it feels like it. Full life means there’s always Someone going to bat for us. The writer of the book of Hebrews talks about the Great High Priest who constantly intercedes or advocates on our behalf. Even when it doesn’t feel like it and we can’t see the effects, things are happening behind the scenes. We have the best possible Person making sure we’ll be ok in the end. I know it’s true. It’s just, some days it’s hard to believe the Truth because the atmosphere is so unstable.
I’m glad it’s Easter tomorrow. Jesus coming, living, dying and rising again doesn’t mean the pain is gone on earth. It doesn’t mean there’s no struggle. It doesn’t mean life is happy and perfect all the time. It means there’s redemption in the pain. It means I don’t walk this road alone. And neither do you, my friend. I have no idea what your skies look like today. Maybe your marriage is failing. Maybe your kid walks a dangerous, self-destructive path. Maybe you’re staring retirement in the face without a penny to your name and it scares you to death. Maybe the brokenness and pain of the past cripples you to live in the present. I have no idea. But Jesus came to offer hope, stability, and redemption.
We struggle under the weight.
The failed relationships.
The strained marriages.
The wayward children.
The painful life not quite left behind.
The job we hate.
The words we can’t take back.
The words we can’t forget.
The sorrow of letting go either through death or circumstances.
The forever tight finances.
The hounding health issues.
Sometimes, we shove all of it, all the burdens, into our briefcases or purses or backpacks and lug them around.
We become accustomed to their mass and bulk.
Even comfortable under the load.
We don’t see that after a while, they don’t just burden us, but everyone around us.
Failure.
Disappointment.
Unmet expectations.
Unfulfilled dreams.
Past mistakes haunt.
Past abuses cling.
Careless, painful words echo.
Fear hangs.
We weave our tortuous way along life’s path with burdens strapped to us like extra appendages.
Or tumors.
We hide.
We fight.
We run.
We labor.
Eventually, we will buckle under the weight.
Is there hope?
As Easter approaches, I’m reminded that yes, Hope exists and my belief is renewed.
Writing about Jesus, the prophet Isaiah brings Hope: Yet it was our weaknesses he carried; it was our sorrows that weighed him down. And we thought his troubles were a punishment from God, a punishment for his own sins! But he was pierced for our rebellion, crushed for our sins. He was beaten so we could be whole. He was whipped so we could be healed. All of us, like sheep, have strayed away. We have left God’s paths to follow our own. Yet the Lord laid on him the sins of us all.
Then a few chapters later, he wrote more about Jesus:
He has sent me to tell those who mourn that the time of the Lord’s favor has come, and with it, the day of God’s anger against their enemies. To all who mourn in Israel, he will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair. In their righteousness, they will be like great oaks that the Lord has planted for his own glory.
They will rebuild the ancient ruins, repairing cities destroyed long ago. They will revive them, though they have been deserted for many generations.
We do not have to live, breathe and move with our burdens defining us and disfiguring us.
There is Hope.
Flirting with Eternity 