I find myself being drawn back into my places of pain. I don’t want to go there. I want to move on. But it seems there is more to be gained from the experience, not just for myself. Over and over again, I sense the Lord beckoning me. And invitation to enter into not only the sufferings of others, but His sufferings as well.
As I’ve pondered this over the past week, I have been reminded of the desperation I have felt at different times for my pain not to be lost. That it would count for something eternal. For the significance of whatever I have suffered to be remembered somehow, by someone.
I have been haunted by the words of a Sudanese Christian who has been severely persecuted for her faith. She only asks one thing of the rest of the Body of Christ. “Remember us.” She, too, wants to be remembered for her suffering.
Now, in no way am I comparing what I have been through to the pain she has suffered. The things I have been called to walk through thus far in life are so miniscule in light of the affliction of countless people around the world. My only observation is that I have realized how important is has been to think that my pain counts for something, and how, on a much larger scale, this Sudanese woman also wants her anguish not to be forgotten.
Last Sunday, the analogy was drawn a step further.
Imagine, if you will, you have suffered a great loss on behalf of others. That you literally laid down your life for the good of someone else. And they despised you for it. What if they even went as far as they could to demean you and reject what you had done on their behalf?
How would I feel if someone said that my pain was a waste? That nothing good would ever come from it and they despised the part of my heart I had given away?
What agonies Jesus must face as people reject Him and the life He gave away that we, too, might have life! In how many little ways do I, also, participate in that? Do I despise His authority in my life? Do I take for granted His cross and the blood He shed on my behalf?
When it came time for communion, the picture was complete. The Scriptures were read and I suddenly had a new appreciation for the significance of this sacred act:
That the Lord Jesus, the same night in which he was betrayed, took bread: And when he had given thanks, he broke it, and said, "Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken for you: this do in remembrance of me." After the same manner also he took the cup, when he had supped, saying, "This cup is the new testament in my blood: this do ye, as oft as ye drink it, in remembrance of me." For as often as ye eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye do show the Lord's death till he come. (1 Cor. 11:23-26)
He asks the same of us as does the Sudanese Christian. “Remember Me.” That we would call His sufferings to mind and highly value the great price He paid for us to be eternally free. That we would willingly give of ourselves to enter into “the fellowship of His sufferings.”
What an incredible invitation! May He give me the grace to RSVP.
November 9, 2007
February 23, 2007
A Visit to the Graves
As the sun falls behind the horizon, Dave and I venture across the field and through an enclosed pathway through the woods to the site. A couple of stone benches, a cross, and five small headstones mark the place. We sit down and sigh. Four of these stones are ours. They signify the missing pieces and the broken places of our lives.
I lean my head against his shoulder, silently pondering the weight of it all. Sometimes the pain cuts deep, but not always. There seems to be a veil over my emotions that I don’t always have access to. Yet tonight, it hurts.
I have been studying about the empty places of our lives, and how these caverns are built through hurt, betrayal, and loss. As my eyes glanced from stone to stone, my eyes are opened to the gaping hole my babies have left. There really is a cavernous place within my heart, one that has continued to be unfulfilled. And yet, as I heard earlier in the day, no matter what I try to fill it with, nothing will satisfy. There is only One who can do that. And so recognizing my need, I ask once again for Him to fill me.
My heart is full of pain as tears run down my cheeks. Then the nearby cross leads me to remember, as if I could ever forget, this isn’t really the end. There is hope beyond the grave. This bittersweet realization changes my perspective. And I look once again at the stones reflecting their inscriptions in the dim light…
Belita – “Little Beautiful One”
Katie Esperanza – “Pure Hope”
Confianza – “Trust”
Andrew David – “Drewbaby”
This last one holds my attention a little longer than the rest. The stone is larger than the others and actually has dates. Here was our little son who lived nine short weeks. We did finally have a baby who stayed around for awhile. And now, even two years have passed since he was with us.
Will there be another grave? Will there be more loss? I find myself counting the cost of this childless life. And even now, as we consider fostering a beautiful baby boy and potentially adopting down the road, I know there is more pain to come. Perhaps fulfillment too. Am I up for this, despite what I know? Yes Lord, I am up for it.
The significant meanings of the names of Katie and Confianza especially stand out. I do have hope beyond all of this. I have learned to trust God more than ever. And suddenly, I am grateful. I lay my head in Dave’s lap and tell him about it. These heart shattering experiences over the last seven years have been worth it. I know God in a way I could not have known Him otherwise. And that has been my prayer all along.
From my perpendicular view, I see the fading light on the horizon, the trees silhouetted against a darkening sky, and a crescent moon directly overhead. In the stillness, I appreciate the beauty of God’s magnificent creation. I can’t wait to see what this life is all about and the purpose behind the pain. For now, I will have to let my God fill the deepest places of my heart and find solace in His words, “Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.”
I lean my head against his shoulder, silently pondering the weight of it all. Sometimes the pain cuts deep, but not always. There seems to be a veil over my emotions that I don’t always have access to. Yet tonight, it hurts.
I have been studying about the empty places of our lives, and how these caverns are built through hurt, betrayal, and loss. As my eyes glanced from stone to stone, my eyes are opened to the gaping hole my babies have left. There really is a cavernous place within my heart, one that has continued to be unfulfilled. And yet, as I heard earlier in the day, no matter what I try to fill it with, nothing will satisfy. There is only One who can do that. And so recognizing my need, I ask once again for Him to fill me.
My heart is full of pain as tears run down my cheeks. Then the nearby cross leads me to remember, as if I could ever forget, this isn’t really the end. There is hope beyond the grave. This bittersweet realization changes my perspective. And I look once again at the stones reflecting their inscriptions in the dim light…
Belita – “Little Beautiful One”
Katie Esperanza – “Pure Hope”
Confianza – “Trust”
Andrew David – “Drewbaby”
This last one holds my attention a little longer than the rest. The stone is larger than the others and actually has dates. Here was our little son who lived nine short weeks. We did finally have a baby who stayed around for awhile. And now, even two years have passed since he was with us.
Will there be another grave? Will there be more loss? I find myself counting the cost of this childless life. And even now, as we consider fostering a beautiful baby boy and potentially adopting down the road, I know there is more pain to come. Perhaps fulfillment too. Am I up for this, despite what I know? Yes Lord, I am up for it.
The significant meanings of the names of Katie and Confianza especially stand out. I do have hope beyond all of this. I have learned to trust God more than ever. And suddenly, I am grateful. I lay my head in Dave’s lap and tell him about it. These heart shattering experiences over the last seven years have been worth it. I know God in a way I could not have known Him otherwise. And that has been my prayer all along.
From my perpendicular view, I see the fading light on the horizon, the trees silhouetted against a darkening sky, and a crescent moon directly overhead. In the stillness, I appreciate the beauty of God’s magnificent creation. I can’t wait to see what this life is all about and the purpose behind the pain. For now, I will have to let my God fill the deepest places of my heart and find solace in His words, “Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.”
January 15, 2007
Trust
From Lexical Aids To The Old Testament
982 - batach
To attach oneself, to trust, confide in, feel safe, be confident, secure; to be careless. The basic idea is associated with firmness or solidity. The word expresses the sense of well-being which results from knowing that the "rug won't be pulled out from under you." This type of hope is a confident expectation, not a constant anxiety. We can truly relax when we know Who is in control.
I came across this definition eight years ago, completely unaware of the impact it would have on my life. I knew it was significant of things to come, yet I had no way of comprehending the magnitude of the circumstances it would see me through.
This is a lesson I am continually learning. No matter where I am in life, this keeps rising to the surface. Do I trust the One who made me? Will I continue to commit myself to His care? Am I secure in knowing the "rug won't be pulled out from under me?" Can I relax because I know He is in control?
To be quite honest, I'm not there yet. But I want to be.
When the searing pain of life has me questioning God's goodness, I want to confidently rest in the fact that, "The Lord is good to all, and His mercies are over all His works." (Psalm 145:9)
When all around me is dark and I wonder whether His presence is real, I want to know beyond a shadow of a doubt, "Where can I go from Thy Spirit? Or where can I flee from Thy presence? If I ascend to heaven, Thou art there; if I make my bed in Sheol, behold, Thou art there. If I say, 'Surely the darkness will overwhelm me, and the light around me will be night,' even the darkness is not dark to Thee, and the night is as bright as the day." (Psalm 139:7,8,11,12)
When I seem to be on shaky ground and unsure of what the future may hold, I want to hold on to the hope that, "He only is my rock and my salvation, my stronghold; I shall not be shaken. On God my salvation and my glory rest; the rock of my strength, my refuge is in God." (Psalm 62:6,7)
When the waves come crashing down, I have to know there is a rock I can hold on to through the storm. And so, He sends the storm to teach me that He alone contains the strength to uphold me. Yet, the question is, will I choose to trust Him beforehand? Will I make myself susceptible to the pain life will inevitably bring, and allow my heart to remain tender and pliable as He molds me into the vessel He created me to be?
He is asking for my heart, my all. I am thankful that, He Himself knows our frame; He is mindful that we are but dust." (Psalm 103:14) Yet the question remains, "Will you trust Me?"
982 - batach
To attach oneself, to trust, confide in, feel safe, be confident, secure; to be careless. The basic idea is associated with firmness or solidity. The word expresses the sense of well-being which results from knowing that the "rug won't be pulled out from under you." This type of hope is a confident expectation, not a constant anxiety. We can truly relax when we know Who is in control.
I came across this definition eight years ago, completely unaware of the impact it would have on my life. I knew it was significant of things to come, yet I had no way of comprehending the magnitude of the circumstances it would see me through.
This is a lesson I am continually learning. No matter where I am in life, this keeps rising to the surface. Do I trust the One who made me? Will I continue to commit myself to His care? Am I secure in knowing the "rug won't be pulled out from under me?" Can I relax because I know He is in control?
To be quite honest, I'm not there yet. But I want to be.
When the searing pain of life has me questioning God's goodness, I want to confidently rest in the fact that, "The Lord is good to all, and His mercies are over all His works." (Psalm 145:9)
When all around me is dark and I wonder whether His presence is real, I want to know beyond a shadow of a doubt, "Where can I go from Thy Spirit? Or where can I flee from Thy presence? If I ascend to heaven, Thou art there; if I make my bed in Sheol, behold, Thou art there. If I say, 'Surely the darkness will overwhelm me, and the light around me will be night,' even the darkness is not dark to Thee, and the night is as bright as the day." (Psalm 139:7,8,11,12)
When I seem to be on shaky ground and unsure of what the future may hold, I want to hold on to the hope that, "He only is my rock and my salvation, my stronghold; I shall not be shaken. On God my salvation and my glory rest; the rock of my strength, my refuge is in God." (Psalm 62:6,7)
When the waves come crashing down, I have to know there is a rock I can hold on to through the storm. And so, He sends the storm to teach me that He alone contains the strength to uphold me. Yet, the question is, will I choose to trust Him beforehand? Will I make myself susceptible to the pain life will inevitably bring, and allow my heart to remain tender and pliable as He molds me into the vessel He created me to be?
He is asking for my heart, my all. I am thankful that, He Himself knows our frame; He is mindful that we are but dust." (Psalm 103:14) Yet the question remains, "Will you trust Me?"
April 29, 2006
Knowing Him
"That I may know Him, and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings, being made comformable to His death." Philippians 3:10
"There is no question in my mind that God pays attention to such prayers, even if they are prayed by a child. Never mind that we do not know what we are asking. He knows. He knows our frame, too, and remembers that we are dust, so He leads us tenderly and carefully along the pathway we have chosen, which is the way of the cross." -Elisabeth Elliot
How could I know what it would cost when I, at the age of 18, chose this verse to be my life's pursuit? Had I known, would I have chosen it still?
I knew it would cost something, but the "something" at that stage of my life, wasn't the heart-wrenching experience of my last six years. Of course, it would mean the laying down the comforts of my American life and serving in an unknown land. Leaving friends and family behind while I pursued God's calling. Gloriously dying to my desires for a family to singly meet the needs of others. I had it all planned out.
Life is not going according to plan.
God, in His goodness, granted me the most wonderful husband in the world...okay, scratch the single part. We made our plans to spend an extended period of time on the mission field...the door was slammed shut. The "American" life I never wanted to live was now mine...friends and family all nearby. Okay, it's not what I planned, but I guess I can handle this. You see, the plan wasn't mine to make in the first place.
Enter pain. Lots of it. The pain of miscarriage, stillbirth, premature birth and death. The pain of misunderstanding, false accusation, and being wrongfully used. And I'm still young. I think I'm getting the point. Life is full of pain.
"Wait a minute!" I say, looking upward. "This can't be the plan!"
And yet, somehow it is. In the midst of all the tears and confusion, I am coming to know One so precious and loving. A God, who for the first time in my life I can say, is good. So incredibly good. He who is working all my pain into something amazing. Something beautiful.
That I may know Him...I have a long way to go yet. And I'm sure, a lot more pain. But in the end, as He reveals more of who He is and His heart towards us, His creation, it will fade away in His perfect beauty and love. Then we will understand why it had to be this way.
"There is no question in my mind that God pays attention to such prayers, even if they are prayed by a child. Never mind that we do not know what we are asking. He knows. He knows our frame, too, and remembers that we are dust, so He leads us tenderly and carefully along the pathway we have chosen, which is the way of the cross." -Elisabeth Elliot
How could I know what it would cost when I, at the age of 18, chose this verse to be my life's pursuit? Had I known, would I have chosen it still?
I knew it would cost something, but the "something" at that stage of my life, wasn't the heart-wrenching experience of my last six years. Of course, it would mean the laying down the comforts of my American life and serving in an unknown land. Leaving friends and family behind while I pursued God's calling. Gloriously dying to my desires for a family to singly meet the needs of others. I had it all planned out.
Life is not going according to plan.
God, in His goodness, granted me the most wonderful husband in the world...okay, scratch the single part. We made our plans to spend an extended period of time on the mission field...the door was slammed shut. The "American" life I never wanted to live was now mine...friends and family all nearby. Okay, it's not what I planned, but I guess I can handle this. You see, the plan wasn't mine to make in the first place.
Enter pain. Lots of it. The pain of miscarriage, stillbirth, premature birth and death. The pain of misunderstanding, false accusation, and being wrongfully used. And I'm still young. I think I'm getting the point. Life is full of pain.
"Wait a minute!" I say, looking upward. "This can't be the plan!"
And yet, somehow it is. In the midst of all the tears and confusion, I am coming to know One so precious and loving. A God, who for the first time in my life I can say, is good. So incredibly good. He who is working all my pain into something amazing. Something beautiful.
That I may know Him...I have a long way to go yet. And I'm sure, a lot more pain. But in the end, as He reveals more of who He is and His heart towards us, His creation, it will fade away in His perfect beauty and love. Then we will understand why it had to be this way.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)