In The Meantime

This morning I am thinking about the relative banality of the Saturday that falls between Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday.  Every good Easter narrative depicts a striking contrast between the suffering and humiliation of the Christ’s crucifixion on Friday with the glory and victory of His rising again on Sunday.  Knowing how the story ends, I understand that what happened on Sunday is what made the events of Friday “good.”  But I wonder what that Saturday-in-between was like for Jesus’ closest disciples and for others who had followed His ministry.  The embodiment of their hope had been brutally and publically slain.  There was no denying that a beautiful season of learning, laughing, loving, and living had come to an end.  What did they do?  What, if anything, did they say to one another?  What was going through their minds on that silent Saturday?  I suppose that for some, it was a day of abject sorrow and despair.  Perhaps for others, it was a day of hope-filled expectation.  I think it all depended on the degree to which they had really heard and believed the words He had told them.  And, so it is for me in my “meantimes.”  At the end of certain beautiful seasons in my life, I felt so overwhelmingly sad that it was hard to remember to hope.  It was hard to imagine that any good could possibly come out of the pain.  It was a struggle to believe that what appeared to be a tragic conclusion was only a necessary transition to something greater…something more wonderful than I could even imagine.  I have learned, however, that there is grace in the quiet waiting.  I have found that there is power in enduring the “silent Saturdays” of life, to see the resurrection of faithful promises that seemed hopelessly dead.  I have discovered that indescribable peace, joy, and freedom are imparted to me whenever I choose to view those times of patient waiting as seasons of preparation, rather than desperation.  Regardless of how dire temporary circumstances may look or feel, I know that God will always bring to pass a good and perfect outcome.  I will watch and wait with confident trust in the meantime.

Uncommon

This morning I am thinking about the statement I heard a woman make on the news.  There had been a shooting, and a reporter had asked the woman to share what she may have seen or heard.  Her quote, which captured my attention, was, “Well, I did hear some gunshots, but I didn’t think anything of it.”  All I could say at the moment was, “Wow.”  I found it sobering to imagine the life conditions or circumstances under which the sound of gunfire is so common that it would not provoke deep concern, or at least some level of curiosity.  I understand, to some degree, the desensitizing effect of repeated exposure.  I realize that it can significantly dilute, or completely destroy, a sense of awe and wonder.  I’m certain that I am not the only person who is vulnerable to the powerful lullaby of Familiarity.  Its haunting melody of “ho hum” creates a space in which I can mentally and emotionally disconnect, zone out, and chill.  Sometimes, I guess this is a good thing.  But there are other times when I know I want to be intentional and vigilant to tune out the song of the common.  One such time is this season of the Passion.  Every year, since I was a very young child, I have heard how “God so loved the world,” that He offered up His only Son.  I have heard that Christ suffered, was crucified, and was buried for my sin.  I have heard that the blood Christ shed was for my cleansing, healing, and redemption.  And I have heard that on the third day, Christ was raised from the dead for my justification.  Such wonder!  I can’t imagine ever responding to the recounting of this amazing act of grace by saying, “I heard it, but I didn’t think anything of it.”  But, beyond my words, I want my thoughts and actions to reflect uncommon gratitude and uncommon praise for God’s uncommon love.               

Unequivocal Praise

This morning I am thinking about a joke my dad used to love to tell.  It was about a woman whose son had just been saved from drowning.  Holding the young child in her arms, she approaches a lifeguard and asks, “Are you the man who saved my son from drowning?”  The lifeguard replies, “Why, yes ma’am, I am.”  With indignation, the woman asks, “Well, where’s his hat?”  I am taking an honest assessment of myself and reflecting on how I am sometimes like the woman in that joke.  I realize I have so many blessings for which to be thankful.  Time and time again, God showers me with manifold manifestations of His love, mercy, grace, and favor.  Oh, sure I am diligent to at least say, “Lord, thank You.”  Yet, I must admit I have been guilty of lifting one hand in praise, while at the same time holding the other hand out for something else…something more.  Trust me when I tell you that, on more than one occasion, I’ve found myself flailing helplessly and sinking rapidly in floods of sorrow, pain, confusion, and ignorance.  But each time, a strong Hand of grace has lifted me up to save me from completely drowning.  Today, I just want to offer up pure, unequivocal thanksgiving and praise; not the kind that is conditional or linked to some ulterior motive.  Today, I want to go forth with both hands up, asking nothing, just saying, “Thank You!  Thank You!”        

Grace, On Purpose

This morning I am thinking about the night I totaled my little, red SUV in a rollover accident.  I have always given pet names to each of my cars and, ironically, the name of that one was Grace.  As memories from that night came back to me today, I marveled anew at the undeniable intentionality of God’s mercy and favor toward me.  Before the rollover, I had a bad habit of not wearing a seatbelt.  I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt that night either, at least not until about 5 minutes before a rear tire blew out.  I distinctly remember having a strong sense to put on the seatbelt when my mom and I got in the car to head home from Tampa, and I also distinctly remember ignoring it.  I remember getting the sense again, while I was on the bridge.  That time, there was a greater urging, almost like a firm smack upside the head of my conscience, “Put your seatbelt on!”  With one hand holding the steering wheel, I reached up, pulled the seatbelt across my body, and snapped it into place.  I’m not sure if I got the complete sentence out: “What is that noise?”  In a split second, I had completely lost control of the vehicle.  As my car spun across two lanes of traffic, I was fully aware of what was happening.  I thought I was surely going to be killed.  I thought about how fast I had been driving (another bad habit).  I thought about my daughter at college, and I thought about the rest of my family.  While I anticipated the initial impact…because there were several other cars on the busy interstate that night…I allowed myself to just settle into an indescribable Force, which I could feel encompassing me and holding me tight.  When my car finally came to rest, flipped onto its side, I was disoriented.  My mom’s voice never sounded sweeter than when she said, “I’m okay.”  I don’t know where all the men came from who helped lift us out and onto the ground.  I don’t know how we avoided being hit by any other vehicles.  I don’t know how the SUV landed just inches from the guardrail, without touching it.  I do, however, know this—I was thoroughly convinced that God was mindful of me and that He cared for me.  I was certain that my life was spared ON purpose and FOR purpose.  Every day, my sincere prayer is that I will diligently walk in His purpose for me.  I pray that my love and service to those He places in my life will, in some measure, express my heartfelt gratitude for His grace.                 

Let It Soak

This morning I am thinking about my showdown with a roasting pan while doing dishes the other night.  The only remnant from delicious barbecued chicken was some sauce, most of which washed off easily into the soapy water.  But along the edges, and in the corners of the pan, there were a few spots that proved a bit more stubborn.  Not to be outdone, I applied more pressure, bearing down with the abrasive side of the sponge.  It didn’t make a difference.  I tried adding a little more dish detergent before scrubbing again.  Still, the sticky sauce stayed stuck.  I allowed myself to come to terms with the fact that there were several things I could (and should) be doing at that moment, other than engaging in a wrestling match with a roasting pan.  So I decided to just let it soak.  I would leave the pan to rest in a warm, sudsy bath while I went to work on something else.  Sure enough, when I came back, the spots that had previously been so obstinate wiped off effortlessly.  Today, it occurs to me that the pan reminds me of how this heart of mine has been lately.  In the heat of recent trials, there are particular “saucy” issues…frankly, underlying issues of fear…that seem to have stuck to me.  There’s a fear of failure and, oddly enough, a fear of success.  There’s a fear of being ultimately alone, and yet a fear of being fully known.  There’s a fear of being ignorant, but also a fear of the responsibility of knowing and understanding.  For all my earnest efforts (even applying extra pressure on myself) these fearful spots have remained, unmerciful and unyielding.  As I sit here in anticipation of some much needed time for reflection and restoration, I have determined to recommit my heart, with all its stubborn stains, to the God of mercy.  I am going to let it soak in the warmth of His wisdom, goodness and grace.  I am just going to rest while the power of His love makes me clean and free again.  

No If's, And's...or Ruts

This morning I am thinking about a quirky habit of my Yorkie, which I recently noticed.  I had always given her and my Chihuahua their treats in a certain spot in a particular room, but a few weeks ago I happened to be busy working in a different room.  I grabbed some treats from the pantry and, as usual, the sound of me opening the package brought them both running.  When I offered the Chihuahua his treat, he devoured it eagerly.  The Yorkie, however, turned and walked away.  Puzzled, I followed her and found her sitting in the regular “treat spot” just waiting for me.  For several days after that, I made a number of attempts to coax her into receiving and enjoying her treat elsewhere.  I tried picking her up and placing her right in front of the treat in another room, but she’d just sniff it and go wait in the usual place.  One day I decided I wouldn’t bring the treat to her if she didn’t come out and get it.  After waiting for a while, I went in to find her curled up and sleeping in her treat place.  I started reflecting on the ways in which I sometimes behave exactly like my Yorkie.  I wondered how many times I’ve walked away from blessings because they weren’t presented in a manner or place (or, perhaps, a package) that fit nicely within my mental and emotional comfort zone.  I wondered about the contrived conditions I’ve placed on God’s promises, digging myself into narrow ruts of limited expectations.  I wondered how often I’ve “dozed off,” waiting for God to bring the desires of my heart to me on my terms, when He’s leading me to follow Him into something unexpected but wonderful.  I suppose one of the most important lessons I can learn is that God, Himself, is the source of all my blessings and every good thing I could ever hope to have, do, or become.  So, I resolve to trust Him and follow His lead to receive that which He has purposed for me.  No if’s, and’s, but’s…or ruts.

Sinkholes

This morning I am thinking about sinkholes.  The subject has been on my mind, off and on, since hearing the horrific account of a man who was suddenly swallowed up by the earth while sleeping.  It prompted me to reflect on words I’d once read to describe the community where I live: “nestled next to a nature preserve.”  Just a few months ago, I found those words charming and idyllic.  More recently, however, the thought has occurred to me, “Good Lord, I’m living on top of a swamp!”  Besides natural, geological sinkholes, I am pondering the spiritual sinkholes to which I have fallen victim more than once in my life.  I have sometimes been guilty of building and constructing my life—my time, talents, ambitions, hopes, and desires—on “soft spots.”  Yes, there were instances where I hastily covered up cavernous pits of hurt, shame, fear, disappointment, disillusionment, and brokenness of the past with platitudes of “I’m okay,” “It’s fine,” and “I’m just going to move on.”  The gaping holes just felt completely overwhelming, so rather than address them I focused on trying to make sure that everything looked right on the surface.  Sometimes the sinking was gradual…almost imperceptible.  At other times, it was swift and abrupt.  By His immeasurable grace, love, and favor, God has spared me from being utterly consumed every time.  For this, I am so grateful!  I have learned that the only way to repair a sinkhole is to fill it with something of substance…something strong and enduring.  Today I’m praying for the Holy Spirit to act as a surveyor, pointing out those areas in my soul and spirit where I am still vulnerable.  And I ask to be filled with His truth, His love, and His strength so that I might stand and not fall.  Amen.

A Bonus Kind of Life

This morning I am thinking about my recent conversation with a colleague, during which we were both gushing with adoration for our grandchildren.  She shared that when her grandsons spend the night at her house, one of their routines is a story before bedtime.  One night she told the boys, “I am going to give you a bonus.”  And she read a second bedtime story to them.  So now, whenever she finishes reading a book, the boys will say, “Grammy, we want a bonus!”  She beamed as she said, “Of course they always get the bonus, too.”  It occurs to me that I want to live a bonus kind of life…the kind that goes beyond the limits of minimal expectations, whether self-imposed or suggested by others.  There was a season in which “just okay” and “good enough” were subtle, silent partners in an assassination attempt on my anointed, favored destiny.  But, one day my eyes were enlightened, and my understanding was opened to the truth that my God is able to do exceeding, abundantly above all that I can ask or think, according to the power that works in me (Ephesians 3:20).  If that doesn’t scream “bonus,” I don’t know what does!  When I ask in faith and confident trust, He beams with delight to answer with MORE.  May I never again settle for less than all He has purposed for me to do, to have, and to become.   

Higher

This morning, I am thinking about James Taylor’s song, “Up on the Roof.”  It’s one of my all-time favorite feel good songs when I am longing for some time to be alone, so I can just think and recharge.  Though it would be nice, I don’t often have access to an actual rooftop or even a nice, high balcony.  But there is a place where I can go to get high enough to gain some much needed and helpful perspective.  It’s a place where I am lifted up, above the circumstances and situations that seem so large and looming, so pressing and persistent.  Ironically, the way to this place of elevation is actually down…on my knees, in prayer.  As I pray, I first perceive, as it were, space opening up all around and encompassing me.  Although I may have felt heavy and pressed, I am made light and free to breathe, free to sigh, free to sing.  And then my God carries me beyond the limits of natural sight, to a place of insight.  He illuminates my heart and mind, by His Spirit, reminding me that He is in control.  He gives me a glance at myself from His vantage point, and I see how incredibly blessed I am!  I see that I am clothed in His salvation, mercy, and grace.  I see that He orders my steps.  I see that His thoughts, plans, and purpose for me are good.  I see that He is ever faithful to me.  I see that nothing, absolutely nothing, can separate me from His love.  And when I come “back down to earth,” I am changed.  I am refreshed and renewed in my confidence that every trial, test, and challenge is only for my growing.  I am assured that whatever is not for my good will ultimately be consumed in the light of His favor, as He takes me higher.