Love Costs

Psalm 30:3 “You brought me up from the grave, O Lord. You kept me from falling into the pit of death.“ Good morning, my dear brother. How is your day going? My youngest brother has just lost his wife to cancer. It was a journey of two years where we surrounded them with prayer and support. They had been together since seventh grade. A junior high school crush that turned into a love story that lasted 45 years. I realized very quickly that this was one of those deep grieving days. I remember those days. Tears that don’t stop and a guttural sound I had never heard before. The cost of love lost affects every part of our being. To try and tell him it won’t hurt like this forever are words he cannot understand. When we have lost someone in our everyday lives, we can’t imagine our lives without them. I remember waking up a month after my daughter died with that deep pain that became my morning sickness. How can I live the rest of my life in this much pain? I couldn’t see how I could live in this place forever. Reaching out to others through Umbrella Ministries, I found the pathway to healing. Work was to be done, so I surrounded myself with other moms who had walked this journey. They pointed me to the only One who could mend my broken heart. In Psalm 30, David cries, "Oh Lord my God, I cried to You for help, and You restored my health. You brought me up from the grave, O Lord, and kept me from falling into the pit of death." The pain of loss is real, and it hurts so bad. Yet without that pain, we would have missed out on knowing and loving these wonderful human beings. I, for one, would not give up my seventeen years with my daughter. I am sure my brother would feel the same. One day, his pain will lessen. The mourning clothes will slowly slip away, and he will find his footing. He will thank the Lord for his beautiful Pammy. Lord, I thank You for our love for those we have said goodbye to. We know we will be with them forever, and no words describe how wonderful that will be. May I always remember the cost You paid. – Michele

Cushioning the Vacuum

Quiet Stillness

1 Kings 19:11-12 “Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper.” In the quiet stillness of the cool morning, I sat down with my journal. As I pondered this scripture and the prophet Elijah, I considered where he was at this very moment when these ancient words were written. He was trembling with fear; his hope had been shattered; he was worn out from running for his life from Jezebel, who sought to kill him, and he was discouraged. As I unpacked this story, I thought about all of these emotions that this extraordinary man experienced, and I understood that he was an ordinary person, just like me. Fear is a natural emotion, but when fear moves to dread, it can be paralyzing, all consuming, and it magnifies the unknown to the point of taunting me. When I have no hope, I have no vision for my future; I am crushed in a heap of ruin and I am defeated and broken by the traumatic events that have occurred in my life. Being weary depletes me of my strength, my energy, my endurance, and it beats me down to the point of being worn out and exhausted. Discouragement has a tendency to select its own facts; it causes me to focus on the situation at hand; it robs me of being able to see anything good in my circumstances, and it nurses my own sense of self-pity. 1 Kings 19:9 says, “There he went into a cave and spent the night. And the word of the LORD came to him: ‘What are you doing here, Elijah?’” The Bible is filled with saints who faced difficult situations and treacherous circumstances; some of them handled them very well and some of them did not. What I noticed about Elijah, about David and Moses, is that each one of them retreated to a quiet place, a place where they could be alone with their God, a place where the Lord was able to speak to them in their discouragement, a place of refreshment and a place of reflection. In God’s wisdom, He asked Elijah, “What are you doing here?” God can speak to us anywhere at any time, but I what I notice about these great prophets, is that each of them retreated in order to get away from it all and with the full expectation of hearing from the Lord. We live in a busy and noisy world and I have found that I need to meet with the Lord daily in a place that lends itself to silence, a place where no one else is present, a place where I can hear my Savior speak to me early in the morning, in the quietness of day where I can gather all my emotions and lay them all down at the foot of the cross. When you lay your head down on your pillow at night and it’s just you and your thoughts, where do these thoughts take you? When you wake in the early morning hours thinking about the great and powerful whirlwinds of events that have torn through your life and there is nowhere to go, what do you do? When your life has been shattered and broken as a result of a traumatic loss, or your world has been shaken by devastating news, where do you hide? When the destruction of an all-consuming fire has burned through everything in its path, has destroyed all that you hold dear, and all that is left are the embers of the ashes that threaten to reignite a flame that you thought had long been extinguished, how can you sleep? What I have found is that when I stop and retreat and consider Jesus, when I look up from my sorrow, from my pain, from my fear and my discouragement, and fix my eyes on my Lord and my Savior, I can hear His still small voice speaking words of peace and comfort into my empty and thirsty soul; I can hear His gentle whisper filling me with songs of deliverance; I can feel His love for me and He is there with me in the quietness of the moment, in the midst of the holy silence; in the stillness of my heart, He is near and I know that He is God. – Melody

Under His Wings

When my Mom passed away, she was finally honored, for her love, for her faith, and for her persistence. Under His Wings was one of my mom's most favorite songs. We grew up with nothing, but we grew up with a mom who held on to her faith in the darkness of life, and she sang -- in the choir, but mostly to her children -- all 8 of us sleeping 2 to a bed, heads at different ends, two bedrooms with four beds, bedrooms fully open one to the other, in a Brooklyn "railroad flat." Mom sat on one of the beds and began to sing the old hymns I still love, until we all fully fell asleep. She sang the songs of faith that tell me much more about my Mom and my God today than they did decades ago. And one of those hymns was almost always, Under His Wings. As much as Mom knew and persisted through a deep depth of darkness as she fought to bring her children to adulthood, she clung desperately to her faith. She sang the words that she begged God for the reality of. She yearned for her God and she knew the refuge He could give in sorrow. And, yes, she hid beneath His wings of love, shelter, and protection until Jesus called her home to Heaven. When my own daughter died, my Mom would have done anything she could have to protect me from the ravages of pain and emptiness, questions, guilt, shame, and the isolating loneliness that the death of a child can bring. My Mom could do none of that, but her words of truth, in time, penetrated my grief and sent me to the God who wanted to draw me close, cover me with His presence, and in a profuse outpouring, immerse me in the faithfulness of His promises. Roy Lessin says, “Being under His wings means being close to His heart – you are not only sheltered, you are loved; you are not only secure, you are cared for; you are not only covered, you are reassured.” I have said many times that what I most wanted in my grief was to know with absolute certainty, that my God is right here – to know I am not alone, to know my emptiness and my tears are softened and quieted by a presence that can come no closer. God’s faithfulness though embraces both me and my child. It is a forever faithfulness, a faithfulness of redemption, a faithfulness that transcends from temporal to eternal. It is a faithfulness consistent with His heart of love for both me and my child – a faithful love that longs to embrace both me and my child in the eternal perfections of Heaven, a place where my child can not only dance with Jesus, but some day, I too can dance with my child. And while I wait in the temporal, God’s redemptive faithfulness brings beauty from the ashes of tragedy, and as I rest beneath the sheltering protection of His wings, I will find too that my child is not forgotten, and the light of my child’s short life can still shine. Under His wings, under His wings, who from His love can sever? Under His wings, my soul shall abide, safely abide forever. Thank You, thank You, precious Father, for the faithful warmth of Your embrace. – Bev

Fear Not for I Am With You

Is 41:10 “Fear not, for I am with you, be not dismayed, for I am your God, I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” “If you could have any superpower, what would it be?” That was a question that was presented at church. The first thing out of my head was to be courageous. Courage is facing fear, danger, or uncertainty and making good choices despite these challenges. Peter and the disciples faced a strong wind and heavy waves. They were in a battle for their lives. Suddenly, they were met with Jesus walking on the water in the storm. Jesus told them not to be afraid. Take courage; I am here! Peter then told Jesus, “Lord, if that is You, ask me to come to You.” Jesus responds with, “Yes, come.” This is where Peter has a choice to make. Did he trust Jesus to hold him up in the storm, or would he sit in the boat and live in fear and anxiety? I have just stepped off of my tiny dinghy named fear. This is where I find myself when I FEEL OVERWHELMED. Soon, in that little brain of mine, I create a storm. I find myself flailing, wringing my hands, and traipsing back and forth until I tip the boat over. Jesus is asking me to come, yet I wait until I am at the point of drowning. I finally tire myself out and finally grab ahold. Fear is crippling. It is a faith robber, and it is exhausting. As I write this, I feel a deep conviction in my soul. Lord, I am so sorry. You are my God who has taken me out of the worst storm of my life, the death of my daughter. You have blessed me more than I could have ever imagined. So why do I still do what I don’t want to do? Instead of going straight to the source. I saw a plaque the other day that said, "You are enough." I am not sufficient in the storms of life. Why do I worry and fret? I am looking at the winds and the waves, and my focus is not on the One who is my refuge, strength, and ever-present help in times of trouble. Lord, when the wind starts howling, and the waves start swelling, may I remember to keep my eyes on You. When my eyes are on You, all is well with me. You are my superpower; it may be time to sell that dinghy of fear. – Michele

Hope Anchors the Soul

Hope anchors the soul. That was the theme of the one day retreat for moms who have experienced the death of a child. One hundred and twenty moms gathered together to be encouraged by those farther ahead of them on this journey called grief, and one hundred and twenty moms were drawn together with their tears and understanding, and sometimes, even their laughter. We were pampered and we were loved by the moms and by women who were simply caring volunteers, and we were gifted over and over again. One of our gifts was a corded black bracelet with a small silver anchor attached. I put it on to wear, but sometime in the hours after the retreat, I realized it was no longer on my wrist. I was saddened because of its significance and felt an emptiness even in a simple, singular loss. Arriving back home though, my emptiness was dispelled when the gift was found amidst the mix of clothing and “stuff” being unpacked. It reminded me of how lost I have sometimes felt. Unconnected. Wandering. Searching for purpose and meaning. On the outside of the circle looking in; isolation deadening my spirit. Wondering if I could ever find a meaningful place in the maze of our broken world; wondering if I could even ever be accepted in that world. Hope anchors the soul. Someone showed me that hope and she made it very real, and she invited me inside the circle, and God began to transform me from the inside out. Slowly, almost systematically because that is the needed bent of my temperament, God awakened my spirit, brought acceptance, and shaped purpose and meaning from the brokenness. Hope anchors the soul. I learned the necessity of anchoring and I nurtured the only hope that truly anchors – one that is found in relationship with the God of Hope. Crisis, tragedy, major life changes, loss of people relationships, deep disappointments – these and still more, can challenge the anchor. Suddenly, or slowly, the anchor is dislodged, and instead of being securely imbedded, it drifts as circumstances, emotions, and irrational thinking take their toll and drag the anchor along a rough and sandy bottom, once again, feeling lost, life darkened because the hope that anchors seems unfounded, and the heart that longs for hope, cries out in desperation. We acknowledged at our retreat that it does happen – that one time commitments, for a myriad of reasons, can get bumped and bruised, squeezed and strained, even with the best of intentions, even with a heart that longs to please God – the anchor of hope can become a cloudy, disconnected memory, and lostness once again consumes me. And at our retreat, we confronted that reality too. Even “cloudy, disconnected memories” are still memories, and we need to intentionally rehearse them. The God of Hope has lifted me before from my lostness, and my God of Hope hasn’t changed. He longs to do it again. And He wants me to know that the “over and over and over” puts me at His feet, and in my willingness to vulnerably share my own heart with Him, He exposes His heart for me. My total and raw dependence brings the resources of His promises – over and over and over. Hope anchors the soul. In the death of my child. In the waves of grief that follow. In the threatening ebb and flow of life’s circumstances, Hope anchors the soul. It is found in the over and over and over of staying close to the God of Hope. – Bev (Related Bible reading: Hebrews 6:16-20)

Worship

John 4:23 “Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in the Spirit and in truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks.” When I think about worship, I think about the music that I listen to; I think about being in church and singing praise songs to the Lord. Worship, however, is so much more than singing songs and listening to praise music; it is a condition of the heart and a state of mind. My worship for God is born in my heart; it fills my thoughts and my mind, and it is expressed through my mouth and through my actions. The Lord calls me to live my life as an act of worship for Him. My worship is about a personal relationship and a spiritual intimacy with my Creator and when I love the Lord with all my heart, with all my soul and with all my spirit, my life will be a passionate expression of that love not only to my God, but to those around me. True worship is never something that I need to conjure up; it comes naturally as a result of true intimacy with the Lord. So often the cares of the world block my intimacy with the Lord; the weight of responsibility and mundane toil and labor takes its toll on me, and I am exhausted and weary. At times, my life reflects the condition of my heart; my countenance is downcast and my soul grows faint from everything that is pulling and tugging at me. It is so easy to get discouraged. John 14:16-17 says, “And I will ask the Father, and He will give you another Helper, that He may abide with you forever—the Spirit of Truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees Him nor knows Him; but you know Him, for He dwells with you and will be in you.” The Spirit of Truth is the Third Person of the Trinity; there is The Father, there is The Son Jesus Christ and there is the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit is our Helper and the Greek term here literally means “one called alongside to help,” and has the idea of someone who encourages and exhorts, one who will “be with you” and who takes up permanent residence within those who believe. He is the Spirit of Truth in that He is the source of truth and communicates the truth to those who belong to Him. Apart from Him, we cannot know God’s truth and ultimately, if we do not listen to that small still voice of truth that dwells within us, we will believe the lies the enemy consistently whispers to us. Thanksgiving, praise, and worship are the exact opposites of discouragement despair and anxiety, and when I move into thanksgiving, an expression of being thankful, and praise of my Lord, when I look up and worship my God with my heart and my soul, my attitude and my countenance will be radically changed, in an instant. Isaiah 26:3 says, “You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you.” This same faithful God that promised me salvation for trusting in Him, has also promised me peace when I trust in Him. Think about what will occur when I truly worship Him, when everything around me fades away and grows dim and all that I have within me is communing with my Creator, worshiping my Lord. Nothing, absolutely nothing, can touch me, for it is at that moment that I am sitting in the heavenlies with my Savior and nothing else matters. – Melody