There was evening and there was morning…

I was asked recently to reflect back on my life and look for the milestones that made my life seemingly worthwhile. The very first thing that came to mind was my children, their births and the subsequent years of raising them up into adulthood. Without a doubt, giving birth to another living being has been the greatest, most wondrous milestone of my life.

The next thing that came to mind were the deaths I’ve attended. Keeping watch at the bedsides of first my dad and then my mom was indeed every bit the milestones as the births of my three children. The rhythm of life…birth and death.

There was evening and there was morning…

The rhythm of days. Each one comes and goes, bringing whatever God wills or allows. An evening, life passing. A morning, new life begins. A day, the time from birth to death. There is a rhythm, a continuity that feels more right to me now in this season of life. I don’t feel the need to push against it, to defy its unceasing flow. These days it is rare that I think or say, “There just aren’t enough hours in this day to get everything done!” Instead I  trust that tomorrow will bring to me more hours in which to do whatever needs doing. Sometimes I even find that what was so important to get done yesterday holds less urgency for today!

There was evening and there was morning…a new day.

As I contemplate this rhythm, I find peace in simply entering into its flow. Of course, the rhythm can be fast or slow. Having a plan for the day is good; however, not being too ambitious and not holding too tightly to that plan is better. It slows the pace so that I can better appreciate the quiet grace of God in the unceasing flow, the rhythm of not just my own life, but life all around me.

In just the right time, Jesus will return and a new rhythm will begin. Until then, I will simply wait and watch, keeping with this God-ordained rhythm–there was evening and there was morning–finding peace and joy in its familiar flow.

Believing Prayer

wisdom

There’s something exhilarating about a new Bible! Thumbing through my new ESV Study Bible, I found myself smiling with renewed interest and anticipation for digging into the scriptures, mining for God’s gold: wisdom.

I love the Psalms, and so I began there. Right away, I found a little nugget in the third Psalm. According to the study notes, in verses 1-2 the psalmist acknowledges what he sees. His enemies are many, and on the rise against him. They are taunting him, saying there is no hope that God will rescue his soul.

In verses 3-6 the psalmist acknowledges what he believes. He remembers that God has protected him, has answered his cries for help. He reflects on how he has been able to sleep peacefully, and he believes that it is God who has sustained him. And as he ponders his belief in God’s faithfulness, the psalmist’s courage and confidence are bolstered and he confronts his fear, refusing to let it deceive him.

Verses 7-8 are the psalmist’s prayer, calling again on God to save him, to crush his enemies, and to bless God’s people.

This pattern from the psalmist is one I need to practice consistently:

  1. Acknowledge what I see. Sticking my head in the sand is foolish. How can I effectively deal with something I refuse to see? Ignoring an issue doesn’t make it go away.
  2. Remember what I believe. Call to mind what God has already taught me, the wisdom I’ve already mined from God’s word. Reflect on God’s faithfulness, not just to me, but to all those who love him. There I will find the confidence I need to face the fear.
  3. Pray accordingly. I can either pray based on what I see or I can pray based on what I believe. 2 Corinthians 4:18 reminds me which is the wiser choice: “the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.”

Imagine our fate if Jesus’ final prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane had been based on what he saw coming–torture, abandonment, and a cruel death–rather than on his belief that God would resurrect Jesus, conquering death once and for all.

What do you believe? Your prayers may provide insight.

The death that never dies.

In my last post, I had been pondering the consummate question. I was not inclined on that day to dig into the consequences of denying Jesus as the Son of God, so I sort of skipped past it with a reference to “the death that never dies.” Perhaps you’ve been wondering what I meant…

When I was a very young child, I remember hearing “fire and brimstone” sermons that terrified me. That was the intent, I’m sure, but not very healthy for a 5-year-old growing up with nominally-Christian parents. In other words, we never talked about it. When I reached confirmation age, that terror re-surfaced. This time, however, I was blessed to have a pastor that encouraged my questions and was happy to reassure me that I was avoiding such a fate by accepting Christ as my personal Lord and Savior.

I still shy away from the “fire and brimstone” idea of hell. Yes, I’m well aware that scripture speaks of it and that to interpret scripture literally leaves no doubt that such a place exists. Maybe it really does. Maybe it’s also a metaphor for something that, in my mind, is much worse.

When I really accepted Christ as Lord for once and for all, I was in my early 30s. I exchanged a life that felt hopeless for one that was full of promise. I remember thinking that the grass looked greener and the sky more blue than I had ever noticed before! Nature, music, people…everything was more vibrant! A deep joy began bubbling up within me, and my life took on more meaning and purpose than I had ever dreamed possible.

I want to be crystal-clear that my problems did not magically disappear. My children did not become little angels. My husband did not turn into Prince Charming and I did not become Cinderella! I didn’t find the perfect job, our debt didn’t suddenly disappear, our house didn’t turn into something out of Southern Living magazine or Architectural Digest. My church wasn’t perfect, either. In fact, nothing was perfect. Nor has it ever been since then. Jesus Christ is not some kind of cosmic vending machine that spits out whatever version of utopia we are looking for when we push the button that says, “Yes, I believe.” What Jesus Christ offers is hope, the promise of a better life than we can ever imagine. A life that is never again lived alone.

The death that never dies? It is hell, of course. Jesus described it as a place”where the worm does not die and the fire is not quenched” (Mark 9:48), and I have no reason to doubt what He says is true. But in my mind, hell is not just a place reserved for the future. Hell can be here and now. Hell is any day not lived in the company of Jesus Christ. That is an unbearably lonely existence. And, in my experience, that version of hell is much more terrifying than the threat of some future place.

Lonely girl on a chair

Reflections From a Funeral

Funerals are important events. I’ve been to plenty of them over my lifetime, several during my childhood. Most of those were fun–I got to hang out with cousins I didn’t often see, telling stories from past adventures, stifling our giggles so as not to draw unwelcome attention from our parents. But as I grew up, funerals became occasions for grieving the loss of someone dear, or coming alongside a friend in their grief. Not fun, and therefore something to avoid whenever possible.

Frau auf Beerdigung mit Sarg

Now that I serve as a pastor in my church, I don’t get to avoid funerals anymore. In fact, yesterday I helped lead one. It was the first time I had served in that role, and I found it to be very meaningful.

I was blessed to visit with Diana in the days leading up to her transition. Admittedly, I have only known her for a half-dozen of her 82 years, but in that short time I came to respect and love her. Diana was probably the most grace-filled woman I have ever known. Her son confirmed this in his remarks at her funeral, reflecting that Diana accepted whatever life brought her way with quiet grace. This was certainly true in her last days. My final visit with her, just 48 hours before she passed, she greeted me with her sweet smile and gathered strength to thank me for coming, grace-filled to the end. Indeed, I was told that her transition from this life to the next was one of grace-filled peace.

On the way back from the graveside service yesterday, the funeral director commented that people often question the need for funerals these days. I can understand that–it’s expensive, it requires thoughtful planning, and it takes time away from things we would rather be doing. Moreover, it forces us to face our own mortality. And that is exactly why funerals are important.

As I ponder Diana’s life and death, I remember that my life grows shorter each day, too. I am now much closer to my own transition to eternity than when I first began! And I find questions arising out of that truth…

What am I doing with my life that honors God for his gracious giving of it? Am I living true to my calling? Where am I missing the mark? Am I taking full advantage of this life as training ground for the next?

As I ponder these questions, I know this: I want to be more like Diana, full of grace. Too much I rant and rave and shake my fist at God, to no avail. I want to be like soft clay in the hands of the Potter, that he might cultivate a quiet grace in me that blesses others and allows me to hear God in the stillness (think Elijah, 1 Kings 19:1-16). I want to accept what comes my way with unwavering faith in the God from whom all grace flows.

Everything teaches…even funerals. So I won’t avoid them anymore. Rather, I will seize the opportunity to face and reflect on my own mortality. I will welcome the hard questions and yield to God as he equips me for the good work he has called me to do, both here in this life and in the life to come. Amen and amen!