The balcony

Attending a conference for moms who have suffered the loss of a child brings all kinds of emotions, regardless of how long a mom has walked her journey of grief. And I do realize our journey travels through crushing darkness and suffocating pain, but it will emerge into the light of God’s presence, hope, and enabling grace as we allow Him to walk with us and uphold us. And with His grace actively and intimately at work in our lives, both the darkness and the pain soften, and we begin to find what God has for us as our loss is woven into the very fabric of our lives. But, bring all of those moms together, or at least enough to fill 40 rooms in a hotel, plus a bunch commuting from the local area, and the freshness of grief or the memories of loss will re-surface emotions as they come together to find what God is offering through Himself and through other moms. My friend and I attended together, sharing a double room for the long weekend. Our room opened up to a private balcony, ended by thick concrete walls, and at the front, a railing that framed the usually tranquil scene of the desert mountains. Spring though was changing into summer, and the wind advisory wasn’t unexpected. Comfortably seated on the balcony, we watched the usually tranquil scene being jumbled by the wind. Our room was on the third floor and the palm trees that circled the fountains below stood taller than our third floor, but tonight, they were bending and swaying with the winds of thirty to forty miles an hour. The sprays from the pool below followed the direction of the wind, dancing in their wetness, captivating our thoughts as we watched. By desert standards, it was a relatively mild wind storm, but still neither of us had any desire to go for a walk that evening. We were “comfortably seated,” secure and safe, tucked away from the wind, watching with fascination, and yet strangely, feeling very peaceful. As we watched, we contemplated. Didn’t each mom at our conference represent a storm of loss and pain? Aren’t there still other storms we would prefer not to walk through, and yet sometimes we can find ourselves being bent and swayed, tossed and jumbled by the things that can happen in our lives? Whatever the storm, whatever the intensity of the storm, whatever the reason for the storm, it is still unsettling and it still totally distorts the tranquil scene of life we would much rather enjoy. And in the storm, we long for a safe place, a secure place, a quiet place, a place of peace and comfort. And God provides. The “balcony” is there. Securely framed within the concrete strength of His love and His grace. And my God is there, offering me a place to sit in the peace of His presence. Tucked away from the wind. Safe, even when the storm blows. Matt Redman said it well, Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, Your perfect love is casting out fear. And even when I'm caught in the middle of the storms of this life, I won't turn back; I know you are near. ...... For my God is with me. And if my God is with me ..... through the calm and through the storm .... Oh no, [He] never lets go, in every high and every low. ...... Lord, You never let go of me. Stay on the balcony. God provides. – Bev (Related Bible reading: Psalm 23:1-6)

Forgiveness

Ephesians 5:1-2 “Therefore, be imitators of God, as dearly loved children and walk in the way of love, just as Christ loved us and gave Himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.” I sat on my bed and I was finishing the homework for my weekly Bible study on discipleship. The Scripture in Matthew 5:44 said that we are to “love our enemies” and the question was posed, “Who is your enemy?” I honestly could not think of one person. But then, the next question was this, “Who has hurt you?” Okay, well, that’s a different story. I was able to jot down quite a few names, and the first person on the list was the dental surgeon who performed my son’s surgery, the surgery which ultimately ended his life. In the next step of our homework, we were instructed to spend some time in prayer, praying for and interceding for the names of the people we had listed, those who had hurt us. This was easy for me to do, since the Lord had been putting this particular person on my heart and in my prayers for the last 10 months. As I was driving to work I listened to a sermon by John MacArthur entitled “Forgiveness in the Day of Rage.” As he was speaking, he said these words, “Unforgiveness imprisons people in their past. As long as you refuse to forgive offenses and the offenders, you are shackled to their offence. As long as you refuse to forgive, you keep the pain alive, in fact, you pour gas on the wound.” I knew it was no mistake that the Lord was speaking to my heart right there and then. He had gently been calling me to forgive this doctor who I have held personally responsible for the death of my child. Ephesians 4:31-32 says, “Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ, God forgave you.” There is no greater calling for a believer than to imitate our Lord. We are called to be living testimonies, sanctified and set apart from the rest of the world, and to live our lives as an act of worship to our God. The reason for our existence here on the earth is to bring glory to our Creator and to become more and more like our heavenly Father so that others who may never darken the doorstep of a church, or who may never crack open the Living Word of God, would be able to see Him in our countenance and in our character. The very purpose of the sanctification process is to grow more and more into the likeness of the Lord while serving Him here on this earth. A believer’s life is designed to reproduce godliness as modeled by our Savior, Jesus Christ, in whose image we have been recreated through our new birth. However, there are certain stumbling blocks that will hinder our ability to live out a life that is fully glorifying to our Father, and those stumbling blocks are sin. It was no mistake that the Scriptures I was looking at in the morning were all tied together with the sermon I was listening to on my way to work. The Holy Spirit was speaking to my heart and telling me that I must get rid of my bitterness and my anger toward this person who had hurt me and who I felt robbed me of my child. I knew I must remove all of the hate that had turned into bitterness, all of the anger that I have harbored in my heart toward this doctor these past years. When that “putting off” is accomplished, then I must “put on” forgiveness, compassion and kindness, I must clothe myself in His divine nature, His holy character, His abundant love, His everlasting peace, and then, and only then, will I able to walk in the freedom of being an imitator of God, a living sacrifice and a fragrant aroma to our Lord. And that is exactly what I did. After years of harboring unforgiveness in my heart, I finally sat down and penned a letter to the dental surgeon. When I dropped it in the mail, I knew my Lord was so incredibly pleased and it felt good, really good, to finally close this chapter of my grief journey by letting him go. – Melody

When We Dare....

When we dare to believe, He is right here. Stretch out the palm of your hand, and almost press it against your face – you won’t even be able to see the wrinkled, intersecting lines within your palms – only the faintness of the light between your fingers. He is here!! That close!! God! God of creation. Sustaining God. Wisdom of the ages. Loving, compassionate God – weaver of every happening into the masterpiece of His eternal plan........... Where is He in my grief? In my loneliness? In the oppressive, depressive messes of my emotions? Where is He when tragedy seems to triumph, when carefully planned details splinter, and my tomorrows lie like an unruly pile of dirty laundry? When I dare to believe, I will know the certainty – He is right here. He is as close as the palm of my hand almost suffocating my face – and really, even closer. He never leaves me, never abandons me, never withholds His grace, His enabling, His strength. He is right here. I was preparing to speak to a group of moms about the fingerprints of God. And in the midst of rehearsing the appropriate words, my child’s life was distorted by the decisions of others – life impacting decisions that wreaked havoc with my child’s life, with mine, and with my husband’s. Where was God? God, I know all the words; I have a past that shouts Your presence. But, where are You now? And God whispered, “Bev, I have not changed. I am still your constant presence. I love you. I care. I long to walk with you and embrace you.” A young girl, just learning to read, glowed when she told me, “I want to read the Bible.” And God whispered again, “Bev, go to Walmart and purchase a primary reader’s Bible for her.” But, God, she probably has a roomful! “Bev, go to Walmart.” And the whispers kept repeating themselves. And I listened to the God who is right here, and my little friend read it from cover to cover with her mom the first night she had it – and it was the very first Bible she will be able to read soon, all by herself. There was the book money, a large amount of cash to suddenly need to replace, and there were the hours of searching in nondescript places, until I finally listened to the whispers of His presence. On another evening, my tears mixed with the waters of an evening shower, bathing my body while my heart cried out for answers – answers given by the God who is right here. I sat with a friend, rehearsing the tragedies of life both of us had experienced as young people, and I was reminded that even in those early years of brokenness, God was there. He was holding, shaping, giving a secure foundation that the world around us just doesn’t understand – and yet, we did. When we dare to believe, He is right here. Even closer. I can know it, whether or not my feelings want to cooperate. But, He has promised, and I can trust His promise, and it is the promise I most cling to. He is here. Right here. Always and forever. I will never fail you. I will never abandon you. I am your helper. You need not fear. I am the same yesterday, today, and forever. Your strength comes from My grace. – Bev (Related Bible reading: Hebrews 13:5-9; Psalm 91:1-4)

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