Expectancy, Grief, and the God of Wonders: A Reflection on 2022

Some of you, dear Readers, may know that I am among those who choose a word or phrase as a yearly focus. Gentler than a New Year’s resolution, the word usually chooses me, revealing itself as a repetitive sound as I begin to pray and meditate on the changing year. For 2022, my word was “expectancy,” and it was complemented by scriptures about expecting great and miraculous moves of God. I felt the hope and optimism of that word. I expected God to move this year.

What I did not expect was the loss of loved ones that I would experience: great, expansive loss. Now, please understand I sit here, not as one who lost an immediate family member like a child or spouse. My experience of grief this year is auxiliary in comparison. But the quantity and tragedy of these losses has been profound.

We lost a friend who was more like a sister. She died after struggling for five weeks with a pregnancy complication, leaving behind her firstborn and husband. She was, quite possibly, the most Christ-like person I’ve ever known, and the soul of our little church community. We lost a man who dedicated his life to serving the poor and unhoused in a local city, who ran a ministry that served thousands. We lost a man who was a gifted musician, a loved teacher, and gentle friend. We lost a woman who was the kindest mother and grandmother, whose presence and demeanor made you feel at ease. We lost a young man whose story paralleled my husband’s in so many ways, who had just gotten his life back on track and was trying so hard to live right.

Any death is hard. But these, God? Why these ones? The least likely? The most needed here on earth? The ones who tried so much to be like You? Why take them from us?

What did you expect?

I have a little glass frame with a hand-me-down fabric background hanging in my bathroom. There I write my word every year as a daily reminder. This year, around halfway through, my daughter (who wants to clean everything) cleaned the words right off it. And I left it that way. I stared at the blank glass. I was defeated. I was disappointed. I had lost my hope of expectancy.

What did you expect?

I lived in my grief. I questioned God’s judgment. I detached emotionally. I focused on the work, the task at hand. I stopped expecting, anything really.

My Jesus said that in this world we would have trouble, but to take heart; He has overcome the world. That’s John 16:33.

What did you expect?

I was expecting bright, shiny victory dances and joyful hallelujahs. I was not expecting, as the song goes, cold and broken ones.

I failed to see that He was moving, He was present, He was overcoming. In His grace, he gave my dear Courtney five weeks with her newborn son, five weeks to see all her family and friends, five weeks to witness and testify to the hospital staff who heard her sing and rejoice. In His grace, He created a legacy of service to the poor in Kenny’s memory, a whole network of people who share his vision. Each life was a seed now planted and producing. In His grace, He taught us to love well, laugh hard, and live fully through each life we grieve.

This is the year the Lord taught me expectancy. He taught me to see the pockets of grace in times of darkness. He taught me to look for the ways He has overcome even the most difficult trouble we can imagine. He has taught me to see Him in a shimmering light or a bird song or a deep breath, a million ways He carries us through the fallen world.

I can see now what to expect. I expect Him to show up on the doorstep of our grief with flowers and a casserole. I expect Him to sit with us in our pain and listen to our questions. I expect God to move in hearts, not just our circumstances. I expect, when we feel the things we love pulled away, He will give us Himself. And that is all we truly need.

Easy

I wish I had an easy smile,

One that alights on eyes

Like a swallowtail,

Flitters, moves on,

Leaves everyone following.

I wish I had easy conversation,

Natural, graceful, light

As the June dawn,

Making pleasant pleasantries

Out of the stale air.

I wish I had an easy laugh,

Clear and earnest,

Like streams down a mountain,

Drawing life from the deep

To partake and refresh.

I wish I had an easy heart,

Warm and welcoming

As a friend by the hearth,

Stirring embers of hope

With patient care.

Shall I watch the world

Move in circles of dance,

Quick-stepping chit-chatting,

Change partners, smile-nodding,

While I hold the wall?

Shall I resent my makeup,

My heavy heart, my slow smile,

Silent smirk, deep talk?

Raise my fist to a Maker

Who clearly knows better?

I was not made for easy.

But He tells me,

“Your smile will be earned,

Your laugh will be true,

A ceremonial bell ringing.

“Your heart will be heavy,

Your conversation deep,

An anchor to hold fast

In the shifting tides,

In the shallow places.

“You are not who they are.

When the wall seems alone

I’ll stand beside you, hold the anchor,

Tell you stories until

The bell rings clear again.”

Household gods

I had an interesting conversation with my ten year-old son tonight. One of Judah’s strengths is his curiosity, which often peaks at bedtime. He wants to know everything, and his topics are often deep and engaging.

We have been reading Around the World in Eighty Days, and we reached a point regarding India and the Hindu belief in many gods. He understands the religion in a general sense, but could not understand how people could believe in such a multitude of gods, so many that they could not possibly know them all.

Courtesy of Retro Printing, Etsy

To the contrary, it might be the most human way to believe.

I reminded him that polytheism is ancient and not restricted to Hinduism. The Greeks, Romans, Norse, Egyptians, Native Americans, and countless other tribes and people groups embraced polytheism. Their gods had stories and patron causes, and families or communities adopted particular gods as their own.

There is a particular difference in these gods and the God of our faith. In Christianity and Judaism, God is omnipotent, omniscient, omnipotent, and (yes) holy. He is not like a human, and though Christ is God incarnate, he is holy and without sin.

The stories of gods told of their faults and vices; they were angry, jealous, lustful, and proud. In short, these gods were oddly human. Relatable, entertaining, but more human than holy.

For all our Western Christianity, though, we have not strayed far. For many, while we might claim to be monotheistic in our religion, we are polytheistic in our in our idolatry.

We claim Jesus, but know all of a celebrity’s stories better than his. We claim to worship Yahweh, but we spend all our breath on praising the latest movie or series or album. We own a Bible, but spend more time reading the mostly fictional stories on social media. We know to pray, but would rather wring our hands over political and societal issues. We would rather relate to angry, vengeful, jealous, lustful gods of culture than aspire to connect to a savior who laid down his life for us.

If we are honest, idolatry is never far. We can all enjoy a good story (I am a writer, after all!), but we must be diligent to check our hearts for shrines to household gods. No one deserves greater space in our lives than the holy God of the universe.

Of Honor and Idolatry, Part 1

I make no claims of being a professional prophet, nor do I hear from the Lord perfectly all the time. However, there are times when I feel (not think) a message quickly and powerfully. In those moments, I know God is speaking to me for a reason.

I wrote the bulk of this message a few weeks ago. It flowed through me so abruptly that I had to use the talk-to-text function to keep up. But, as I often do, I let the document sit in my notes untouched afterward.

I did not see the connection at first, but in the meantime the Christian world was rocked by a certain young, influential author boldly proclaiming his spiritual enlightenment and abandoning his Christian faith. While the author’s most influential work is from my B.C. days, I know many around my age who were greatly effected by his ideas. But there have been others, countless others: worship leaders and musicians, pastors, teachers, authors, and celebrities. Many have publicly expressed unbiblical beliefs or failures and have taken flocks down with them. The Bible warns us that teachers will be held accountable for those they lead astray, but my heart breaks for those who hitch themselves to a falling star.

On the flip side, I have seen the beauty and power of a culture of honor in the church. Honoring people who use their gifts to serve the Body of Christ is biblical and necessary to a healthy church.

So how do we know the difference between honoring Christian leaders and idolizing them?

Idolatry ignores flaws.

We see this mistake in politics when people defend or turn a blind eye towards wrongs of their particular party or politician. Often, believers are more interested in being politically “right” (pun intended) than being biblically righteous.

However, this behavior is just as common within church walls when a leader’s actions are questionable, but defended, excused, or tolerated. We read a book by an influential pastor, and suddenly, we accept every word as “gospel” because of popularity. We hear that certain celebrities are Christians, and we follow and promote them endlessly. But what happens if (read: when) they fall? When their opinions change? When they espouse beliefs which contradict the Word? Often, we are anxious to maintain our popular poster child, and reluctant to admit we were wrong to boast in people. So, we compromise our own convictions to save face.

Honor sees flaws but covers them with grace.

To honor leaders does not mean to ignore their failures. Rather, it faces them with open eyes, addresses them with an open heart, and gives mercy with open hands.

After the flood in the book of Genesis, Noah was found in the wine press, drunken and naked on the floor. One son ridiculed him, while the other two covered him without looking at him. They acknowledged his fault, but covered him out of honor. In the Gospels, Peter denied his friend Jesus three times. Jesus addressed him in private, showed him mercy, and restored him in relationship. Jesus honored Peter even in correction and set him on a path to lead the Church.

I believe in supporting our pastors and even those politicians and celebrities who openly proclaim their faith. These leaders have a difficult job, whether it is preaching, teaching, or creating content. Additionally, they face increased scrutiny in our culture simply because they claim Jesus.

We should show them Honor by supporting them, praying for them, and addressing their faults honestly and gracefully.

We will look at more comparisons in the coming posts. For now, I wonder: Is there a time when I have made excuses for a Christian influencer out of my own pride or disillusionment? What was the outcome? How can I show honor to my leaders while keeping off the rose-colored glasses?

The Resurrection and the Renaissance

We do not really use the word “Easter” around our house. I know it is the quintessential Christian holy day, but the word itself has roots, well, elsewhere. We tend to say “Resurrection Sunday.” After all, that is what it is. We reflect through Holy Week. We prepare our hearts on Maundy Thursday. We mourn on Good Friday. We wait on Holy Saturday. And then, we rejoice on Resurrection Sunday. Jesus has risen, and He is risen daily in our hearts. And because He is risen, we, too die to sin and are risen in Him, alive again.

But there is more, isn’t there.

I taught my son about the Israelites’ feast days that were ordained by God as they dwelt in the desert. I told him how many cultures from the earliest times have held feasts or celebrations during spring and fall because nature itself reminds us of what we have to celebrate and urges us to give thanks. We discussed the importance of Jesus’ crucifixion occurring on the Passover, which is in the spring. It signifies new life.

To resurrect is to rise from the dead. But as any little boy will tell you, when someone comes back from the dead, he is a zombie. And zombies aren’t pretty.

God built our hearts to earnestly seek resurrection. When He begins to draw us, the overwhelming feeling of sin compels us to run to the cross and die to ourselves.

But if we stop there, we are little more than the risen dead, zombies with old bodies and old habits and old hangups, still just waiting to please the flesh.

I think Jars of Clay wrote a song about it…

<ear worm>

We all know the word “Renaissance” from our history lessons. It means “new birth,” and it is the joy and exuberance of spring in her glory. It is the breath of fresh air after the death of winter. It is color and song and light.

We are built for it, my friends.

See, the former things have taken place, and new things I declare; before they spring into being, I announce them to you.” – Isaiah 42:9

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here.” – 2 Corinthians 5:17

The Resurrection brings us back, and the inner working of new birth, or Renaissance if you will, gives us a new heart, a new mind, and a new perspective. We leave the dead man in his grave and embrace with fresh eyes the Kingdom of God.

It is a choice. This Resurrection Sunday, I will not walk around dragging my dead, decaying self, believing it is enough to have been risen in Jesus. I will not go to the altar, say I am dying to myself, and take those same habits back home with me to live every other day the same way I have always done.  I will leave that old self in the grave. I will choose to accept His new life.

Careful Words

“… a careless word is like the thorn of the honey locust thorn tree – it can cause a deep wound that can lead to the ‘infection’ of bitterness…” – Wally Armstrong, Practicing the Presence of Jesus

“All bitterness, anger and wrath, shouting and slander must be removed from you, along with all malice. And be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving one another, just as God forgave you in Christ.” – Eph. 4:31-32

I have been on the receiving end of bitterness, anger, slander – spiteful words. I am quite certain we all have. As a young person, these words damaged me to my core. Thankfully, I have healed from these wounds and walk free from their pain. As an adult and a believer, I have felt mostly compassion and sorrow for the unbelievers who rage against me or my worldview. I cannot expect those who do not understand me or my views to accept them, and their opinions do not injure me.

 

However, there is one party from whom careless words continue to hurt – fellow believers. While there is not typically shouting involved, or even discernible anger, careless words from believers can cut a person’s confidence, self-worth, and spirit. They can cause a person to question his/her calling or even leave the church. This pain has not been my experience alone, but the story of many people I have walked with over the years. Careless words lead to a wound of offense, which can easily become bitterness. Tragically, I have seen many walk away from friendships, from churches, and even from the faith, over offenses rooted in careless words.

I am talking about hastily delivered criticisms.

I am talking about sarcasm;

about gossip;

about jesting;

about snarky side commentary;

about words said out of earshot,

because they weren’t really out of earshot. These things have a way of getting around.

I am talking to myself. I used to pride myself on my sarcastic humor. You know what sarcasm means? To tear the flesh. And I gloried in it. Now my six year old son calls me out on it, and I realize my foolishness.

Careless words break trust. As believers, we should be covenanted to one another, preferring one another in love, anxious to honor each other.

“But I’m speaking the truth in love!”

Is it in love? Is it patient and kind? Is it rude or self-seeking? Does it always protect and always trust?

“People are too easily offended! That is their problem!”

We have a responsibility to forgive offense, yes. We have an equal responsibility to guard our words, to be slow to speak. The Bible charges us to use our words to encourage, heal, and extend grace.

If we find that offense tends to follow us, perhaps we are the problem.

If I am to dwell in unity with my brothers and sisters in Christ, I must carry slow to speak and quick to forgive in equal measurings like offerings. Then I can give in trust the words of grace which build and heal.

 

The Story

“All of these lines across my face tell you the story of who I am.” – Brandi Carlisle, “The Story”

I read something recently that said, “Thank goodness we do not look like what we’ve been through.”

I look in the mirror and have trouble relating to that statement. I look every bit of what I’ve been through.

I have never been the beautiful girl. I have not even been the pretty girl. I’ve been the marrying kind, as some say. Of course, I thought I’d be the “live alone in an apartment with too many cats” kind.

And that has always kind of bothered me. We women have this innate need to be lovely and adored, and, if we do not get that need filled, we likely become either lowly, desolate, and bitter; or over-bearing and attention-seeking (see Stasi and John Eldridge’s book Captivating for more on this topic). I became the former, often depressed and self-deprecating with regard to my appearance. Cerebrally, appearances should not define us, should not matter that much, blah, blah, blah. Yeah, we know. Every one of us knows. We tell ourselves all the time. But, the facts do not matter much in a world revolving around image.

I hear your thirties are supposed to be that magical time when we stop caring as much about what others think. But instead, I have found myself more critical, mainly due to my inability to maintain (you know, the oft-spoken “she let herself go”), in addition to the marks of life upon my body.

So, when I read the statement above, about looking like what I’ve been through, I had to step back for an assessment. On the bridge of my nose is a scar from years of wearing glasses, often having those glasses hit by flying sporting equipment in P.E. classes. My cheeks and chin are bumpy from the blemishes of youth, years I spent fielding taunts and sarcastic comments from the bullies and the cool kids.

Those marks, however unsightly by cultural standards, remind me that I made plans to end my life, but I survived.

My abdomen has a probably permanent bulge and dark vertical line from carrying three babies. I have scar tissue in my side from their kicks and residual pain in my tailbone, which broke when I delivered the first. I have literally been torn apart and put back together.

But it is the back together that matters. And those children are alive and healthy and beautiful.

I have gray hair and split ends and unpainted nails because those things are low on my list of priorities (no shame if that’s your thing, it just isn’t mine). I have bruises on my legs from carrying car seats and kicking children. I have freckles on my arms and sun spots on my feet from days spent outside ministering on mission trips or making memories with my family. The veins of my hands protrude, and my knuckles are growing knobby from nights writing out whatever is heavy on my heart. There are lines between my eyes, across my forehead, around my mouth – all the remnants of emotion and thought. There are a dozen other stories on my body too personal to tell.

My body is a testament to the depth of my soul, and I must learn to love it for its imperfections, not in spite of. If I love “in spite of,” I will always resent those flaws and diminish their stories.

Yes, my body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, and the Temple of God in Jerusalem was lovely and ornate. However, let us not forget that God’s presence also resided in a tent, and it was glorious. As Momma always said, it’s what’s inside that counts.

Ladies, sisters, love your story. Love the evidence of a full life that is written on your body. You are not your body; it is simply a precious, ever-changing portrait of your story.

After all, nobody ever says at a funeral, “Look at that beautiful corpse.” They will say, “Look at her beautiful life.”

Things I Can’t Not Say

Don’t be misaligned,

don’t let your faith be defined

by lines drawn in shifting sand.

Don’t fall prey to hate

upon hate.

Let us not piggyback on politics

and legislated ethics.

Let go of perceived needs,

undeserved rights,

unneeded exemptions.

Who is your King?

To Whom do you submit?

Who holds your soul, after all?

Render unto Caesar so you can

turn the other cheek.

Freedom is not in the holding on.

Who is your king?

That calf in gold,

the one of your own making?

Where is your trust?

Those paper and ink abstract notions

re-named and re-claimed by any man,

consumable when put to the flame?

We put our trust in borders of wire

and wall and water and imaginary lines.

Are you willing to relinquish your citizenship, your membership,

you rights and rightness?

Revoke your borders?

Abandon your status?

I have called you to be a people without country,

without home,

without name,

except Mine.

No other name.

Deny my father.

Refuse my name,

And I’ll be newly baptized.

Weeds

My children love dandelions. They love them bright and yellow like tufts of sunlight. They love them gray white begging to be shaken or kicked, seed pods catching the air currents and drifting to re-populate our yard. Pure childhood joy.

As we walked to a neighbor’s house the other day, my daughter’s hand clung fast to one such yellow puff, and I noticed their pristine hard-won grass un-marred by tell-tale jagged leaves. I remembered that not everyone likes dandelions as much as we do. I stashed the wilting weed into my pocket before she could have the chance to drop it.

We live in a neighborhood of terrible red clay dirt, where getting anything to grow is quite a feat. We spent the first three years as home owners tilling, seeding, fertilizing, and removing rocks just to have something to mow. For some, landscaping is a passion. Money and time are invested to achieve that perfect green lawn. And I must admit, there is a certain beauty there.

I can’t help but think about the poor dandelion, though. I mean, it isn’t ugly. It spreads out, I know, and takes up big spaces. But, that’s just survival. And, did you know you can eat dandelion greens? It is kinda the rage with chefs now.

What about clover? The little ones also love clover for a soft seat in the yard. They love to hunt for four-leaved clovers. The white flowers make excellent chains for crowns and necklaces (Okay, maybe I like them, too.).

And those little purple-flecked wildflowers. I don’t even know what those are, but we have them!

Before you cast aspersion on me and my hippie yard, allow me to work out my metaphor with fear and trembling.

I know the God I serve is the creator of all things. I know that all He created is good. That even the spiders and the ticks and the piranhas have their design and purpose in His kingdom. It was us (just being real) who introduced sin. It was us who took every good thing God created to a wrong extreme: we turned feasts into gluttony, intimacy into fornication, spirituality into religion. When God gave us His law, we worshiped it instead of Him. When He gave us a government of judges and priests, we demanded a human king. When He gave us manna from heaven, we complained for meat.

He gave us plants to enjoy and eat, and we called them weeds. We pull them and burn them and spray them with laboratory chemicals and replace them with cow food because we think it looks better.

(Seriously, stay with me. Metaphor. Sort of.)

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s dandelion? Okay, I’ll compare me. I know I have felt like a dandelion in a grassy yard. I have accepted the idea that God made me beautiful and useful in His sight, but I have not always been beautiful and useful by the world’s estimation. And though now I am strong enough to survive, I was not always. And I wonder how many people we classify and aim to remove because we do not yet see their beauty and usefulness. Because they do not fit in our scheme of the world. Because they do not look like the thousands of identical blades of grass surrounding them.

I am no fool – I recognize sin and evil and the fallen, infested ground. But that darkness on which we must set our sights is spiritual, not carnal. If there is ugliness, there is a dark spiritual root that must be removed. Often, though, I think we just have not learned to see beauty yet. We see in part. We know in part.

I resolve to look for the beauty today, even in things the world labels as weeds. I will look for the usefulness and celebrate it.

And if you happen to come to my home anytime soon, forgive my hippie yard. Focus on the joy on my children’s faces.

Parallel

courtesy of http://www.illinoisslags.com

What did you expect when you
tied on your robes, donned your chains,
your bells, your incense and oil;
when you saw him walking through crowds
paying his taxes, spitting in mud,
loving his enemies?

What did you expect when he unrolled the scroll,
broke your rules, fulfilled the law;
when he challenged your pride and died
on a thief’s cross?

Who did you expect:
A righteous warrior?
A crown prince?
Certainly not the Suffering Servant,
the Sacrificial Lamb.

What did you expect when you
put on the respectable clothes,
drove too fast, went to his house,
looked for your seat, the one with your name?

What did you expect, arms folded
mouthing songs about more about yourself than him;
critiquing the offering protocol, the message,
waiting to feel better?

Who did you expect:
A good-looking rock star?
A charismatic politician?
Certainly not the Risen Christ,
the Almighty Lord.

What does he expect, but a
heart broken and pure:
clean hands, empty of straws
grasped in a rush of fear;
eyes fixed on him?
Who does he expect?
The ones he calls “Beloved,”
even them,

even me,

even you.