Waiting in the Valley

David’s infant son lay in his mother’s arms, caressed by the warmth of her body. As she drew the infant still closer, she gently stroked his wrinkled little brow and marveled at the perfections of her tiny little person, so alive with potential, so satisfying to her mother heart. Not so far away was David, becoming enraged by the words of the prophet Nathan -- words that told a story of greed, power out of control, and a dry void of human compassion. David’s anger allowed for the full impact of Nathan’s accusations to be unleashed. “You are the man!” broke the self-righteous spirit of David as he confessed the atrocities of his own sins of adultery, manipulation, and murder. God responded to David’s brokenness and freely gave forgiveness and cleansing. For David though, fully forgiven, God still brought consequences to bear upon his sin. Why those consequences were imposed, I do not fully understand, but the most imminent of those consequences was to be the death of the infant that was cradled by his mother. The baby became intensely ill, and David begged God to spare the child. He went without food and lay all night on the bare floor. The elders of his household pleaded with him to get up and eat with them, but he refused. David had to wait. And in his waiting, he mourned profusely, still crying out to God, and yet knowing that as he waited, his child was dying. Many of you have been in that deep valley of dark and ponderous waiting. Perhaps you waited for death to come to one you loved, but perhaps you waited for the doctor’s report, for a job assessment, for a prodigal to come back home, or for words that could give you the assurance of safety. The waiting punctuates our every breath, ties our emotions in knots, confuses our thinking, and, depending on our basic nature, immobilizes our actions or creates a frenzy. But prayerfully, like David, our waiting lays us prostrate in our Father’s presence, immensely grateful for that one constant, wanting to be wrapped in His arms and comforted and assured of a grace that knows no measure and a presence that is wholly dependable. I believe God gave those gifts to David even though David knew what the days would unfold. And whether we wait with a certain knowledge of what lies ahead or we wait for a tomorrow that is still clouded, we can wait as David waited – yes, in deep grief, but with an awareness of our God. David waited for seven days before he heard the whispers that his child was dead. Some of you have waited far longer. Whatever the wait, our God is still there. He loves. He cares. And, yes, He gives – not always what we want, but what His Father-heart knows is best. When David’s waiting was over, he got up and he did what was at hand to do, and he worshipped his God. In my distress I prayed to the Lord, and the Lord answered me and set me free. – Bev (Related Bible reading: 2 Samuel 12:1-25) WHEN YOUR WORLD FALLS APART Chapter 2...... Bitter or Better? God never intended for us to be the ones in control of our lives, but when tragedy strikes, we have the evidence that fully substantiates our helplessness. And helplessness is capable of spawning the cancer of bitterness, infiltrating and destroying, hardening, and sapping our joy. As we invite a loving God into our lives, the “better” replaces the bitterness.

Surviving The Holidays

If you know anyone who recently lost a loved one this is a great way to get through the holiday season and its only 2 hours in a Zoom meeting. To register go to Surviving the Holidays.org and Look for Lighthouse Community Church

Letter to My Daughter

My dearest daughter, I have never written to you before and I realize that only if Jesus deems it wise, will He reveal to you the contents of this letter. I probably need to write it more than you need to read it. The truths I have learned, you learned long ago. The perspective on earth is so distorted. It is focused on a time and on places, belongings, events, possessions, and achievements that are sooo temporary. The brevity of life here as I work, play, relate, and become, is recognized more vividly the older I get. I know the expression, “when I lost you,” probably sounds strange to you because the home you have known all these years creates such a sense of belonging for you, and there would be no thought or longing on your part to find a home anywhere other than where you are. In my temporal world though, your presence was no longer here, and it was as if that presence I had so much longed for, had slipped from my hands and left my arms empty of the infant I literally ached to caress and nurture. My heart never “lost” you though, and still, these many years later, there is a tender place that belongs to only you. Today, had you stayed here, you would already be a mom yourself, and you would be immersed in the busyness of your home, your community, and prayerfully, your church. All good things, but they cannot compare to the good you have embraced within the reality of something I can still only hope for, although I recognize the certainty of that hope. And with whatever “good” this place that has been so contaminated by sin can still offer, you would have also known tears of sorrow and the heartache of disappointment. You may have also known the complexities of spiritual and emotional struggles, the failures of relationships, the inadequacies of personal striving, the void left by pursuit and attainment. And yet, you have known none of these. Instead you know an aliveness and a completion, a satisfaction and a saturation, that simply isn’t even possible within the earthly realm. I long for a sense of the reality of God’s presence and the joy and exuberance of worship and communion with Him and with His Son, that far exceeds human possibility within a still mortal body. All this belongs to you, and so much more! I would never call you back, but because my heart never “lost” you, you give to me over and over again. As I imagine the reunions that must occur in Heaven and the excitement of welcoming others who come, my heart becomes eager to know the same reality that you know. But as I stay in the place God has for me now, that tender place in my heart is tender too towards the hurts and disappointments of others. My heart has been enlarged and my capacity to give has been stretched by grace. I am far from perfect, but some day I will share in the perfection you already have shared in. And as I wait, I pray that the heavenly Father you have known so intimately all these years, will be more and more at home in my heart, that I would be no stranger to His presence when I am blessed to share it with you, my daughter. Much love, Mom (Related Bible reading: 2 Corinthians 5:1-8)

Choosing Love

Can anything ever separate us from Christ’s love? The lies that ruminate in our distorted thinking attempt to. Circumstances may attempt to. Temptations that create guilt without our even succumbing to them, attempt to. Does it mean he no longer loves us if we have trouble or calamity, or are persecuted, or hungry, or destitute, or in danger, or threatened with death? When the crisis comes, the character assault, the sting of death, the emptiness of failure, the unkept promises from others, God can seem so distant, and my tendency is to retreat to my cocoon of self-protection or addictive habits. No, despite all these things, overwhelming victory is ours through Christ, who loved us. His love may be the solitary light in the darkness, but, it is there. There is a promise that will always be kept that pervades that light. It is a promise that assures me I do not have to be victimized by the darkness. The darkness may be very real. It may be threatening and much bigger than I am. It may not go away, but the light of God’s love is my safety, my security, my enablement, and my encouragement. God’s love softens the darkness, and gives reason and purpose. It opens my heart to His unfailing presence and the truth that He wants to replace the lies with. I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. My faith may falter as doubts intrude, but I must acknowledge the love that never, ever, goes away. When I shake off my self-made cocoon, and simply look in God’s direction, He will do the rest. His truth will overwhelm me when I least expect it. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow – not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. The busy pursuits of life, the “demons” of our own vulnerabilities, the fears of unpaid bills, of prodigals, of inabilities, the worries of tomorrow’s uncertainties – none of these can quench the stubborn, unyielding, love of God. Nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord. His love was most passionate and most pursuing when He gave us the sacrifice of His Son. His giving has not ceased. His love longs to give to us over and over and over again. I now have a choice. I can choose God’s love, the incomprehensible, impeccably sufficient love of my eternal, ever-present Father, or I can choose the discord or terror of whatever earthly tentacles will attempt to wrench me from my Father’s hands. I am infinitely secure in His love – nothing has the capacity to thwart it or abort its power and provision. But, in my choosing, I can focus on the discord or the terror, and not be aware of – not see, nor sense, nor feel, nor even believe – the forever loving hands that hold me. Daughter of God, let us all choose God’s love. It reflects the heart of the Father for us. (Related Bible reading: Romans 8:35-39) When Your World Falls Apart Chapter 1...... Make or Break? Each of us has faced a great loss in our lives, and the devastation that came left us in a crumpled heap of helplessness and despair. In our brokenness, we can choose. We can stay broken, or we can allow the God who loves us to bring comfort, healing, and restoration. -- Bev

Birthday in Heaven

John 14:3 “And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with Me that you also may be where I am.” My life radically changed 30 years ago, August 8, the day Elisha was born – and my life has never been the same since the Lord took him to his heavenly home 7 years ago. Every year on Elisha’s birthday, I would throw a huge elaborate party for him to celebrate his special day, not only because he was the coolest kid ever born, but because it was an opportunity to have fun and fellowship with our friends. As Elisha grew older and his disability became more apparent, I realized that making friends would not be easy for him, and so I made it a point to celebrate his birthday by planning a fun day for him that everyone would enjoy. Over the years, we have had ponies, a clown, a petting zoo, which included a cow calf we fed with a bottle, many jump houses, a magician and yes, even a Barney. We would always have a piñata filled with candy and lots of treats for the kids. Each year, I would plan ahead and in his early years we would have his party at a park near our house because there were at least 50 people who would want to come. As he got older, we still had a huge party for him, but it turned into a pool party and barbecue and every year Elisha basked in the glory of his day. He absolutely loved his birthday party; he loved to be the center of attention and he loved to celebrate his special day with all his friends. Now that he is gone, the days leading up to his birthday are difficult for me and anticipating celebrating his birthday is depressing. There is no planning to do, only the reality that I would spend his birthday without him. 2 Corinthians 5:8 says, “We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord.” Now that my child is no longer here on this earth, there is a heavenly homesickness that has occurred in my soul; there is a yearning in my heart to also be at home with the Lord and a longing to join the huge gathering in Heaven. The things that used to satisfy me no longer hold any interest and the only contentment I have found is in striving for excellence, pursuing holiness and laying up my treasure in Heaven. All things pale in comparison to the hope of my ultimate destiny in Heaven, and one day, experiencing the fullness of the presence of God. No matter how hard I try, as long as I am still tethered to this earthly realm, I can only see small and tiny glimpses of what my future holds, but I do know this, the party that awaits me in my eternal home is far more lavish and decadent than any party I could have thrown here in this world. The best part about this celebration is that all I have to do is show up. I’ve been thinking a lot of about Heaven these days and the Bible has lots to say about what our forever home will be like. There will be many mansions (John 14:2), a holy city with streets of pure gold that will shine with the glory of God and its radiance will be like a most rare jewel, like a jasper, clear as crystal (Rev. 21:11), its walls adorned with every kind of jewel (Rev. 21:19) and its twelve gates, each made with a single pearl. And there will be a great crowd, far too great to count, from every nation and tribe and people and language standing in front of the throne before the Lamb. (Rev. 7:9.) There is more than enough room in my Father’s house and I long for the day when He returns for me and ushers me into His kingdom and I cannot wait to hear His words to me saying, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” (Matt. 25:23.) Oh, what a party that will be. Happy 30th birthday, my sweet Elisha. Love, Mama. – Melody

The God of Ground Zero

I was surrounded by moms “just like me,” moms whose hearts had been shattered and whose lives had been forever changed by the death of a child, and I was browsing at the book table, when one of the books particularly caught my eye. It wasn’t the title, as much as it was the sub-title, “Life Lessons from a Ground Zero Chaplain,” that caused me to pick up the book and turn its pages as my emotions grew and the memories gripped me, all over again. September 11, 2001, I was sitting in the family room of my brother’s home, my brother who had died from cancer just the week before. I had arrived prior to his death hoping to be of help to his pregnant wife as she tried to maintain her work schedule. For several days, family had gathered, small grandchildren wondering when “Pop-pop” would be able to play again, Mom, who was losing her second son, brothers, sisters, cousins. The younger of the two older daughters had been adjusting her schedule at Morgan Stanley, one of the largest firms in the Twin Towers. Death came on Thursday, and the weekend and Monday found all of us grieving the life that ended too soon. My son had flown in from California to attend the funeral with me, and Monday afternoon, he joined some of his cousins for a trip into Manhattan and stood with them in front of the Towers, thoroughly engrossed with their stature amidst a city of contrasts and diversity. On the morning of the eleventh, emotionally drained, we attempted relaxing in front of the TV. Any calm we had hoped for was stolen by the horrendous reality that began to unfold on the screen in front of us. The newspaper headlines were to read, “Terror Beyond Belief.” Shock. Fear. Trauma. Confusion and chaos. Thousands upon thousands struggled to cope with the unimaginable. And a family chose to grieve for countless and unknown faces while their own sorrow beckoned from an eerie silence. The memories flooded my awareness as I turned pages, and I set the book down, unwilling to choose reopening a reality I was still too close to. But I am not the only one with memories. Mike MacIntosh remembers too. He was a Ground Zero chaplain. And Mike chose to reopen the reality of his own memories to offer the hope and encouragement of a compassionate God to multitudes gripped by their own Ground Zero. He understands that our world can collapse, that the blackness of tragedy can descend, that hope can be snuffed out. But he relived the ugliness, the rubble, the smells, the faces, the pain of tragedy, to offer his God to others. The God of peace. Of strength. Of healing. The God who moves us forward. Sometimes our own Ground Zero begins to recede from the reality of our lives. Time has passed and the demands and expectations of daily living allow us to close off the memories. Tragedy though places our feet on a journey, and that journey continues for a lifetime. And, sometimes, we need to willingly choose to allow God to continue the healing He has already begun. For some, Ground Zero is still clouding our lives with its ashes and its still present reality creates a war zone of existence. For all of us, God longs to give us a reality that pulsates with His perspective, with expectancy, with faith, and with an identity wrapped up in the compassionate God who longs to walk our journey with us. – Bev (Related Bible reading: Isaiah 40:28-31)

Hold Loosely

Hebrews 13:14 “For this world is not our permanent home; we are looking forward to a home yet to come.” Chuck Swindoll tells a story when he met Corrie ten Boom at his church. Corrie ten Boom survived the German concentration camp in Ravensbruck. She lost her father and sister who also were arrested. Their crime was trying to save as many Jews as they could from being incarcerated. Pastor Swindoll introduced her to his family. As she looked at his beautiful family, she grabbed his hand. He said that she opened my hand and said these words to me, “Pastor Swindoll, be careful to not hold too tightly to those you love. You must learn to hold everything loosely…everything. Even your dear family. Why? Because the Father may wish to take them back to Himself and when He does it will hurt you if He must pry your fingers loose.” She then let go of his hand and said, “Remember, hold everything loosely.” Corrie was speaking from a heart that had been broken many times. She knew what she was speaking of. To walk through the loss of a child is one of life’s hardest journeys. Yet it is a journey worth taking. God did have to pry my fingers loose and boy, did it hurt. The pain is indescribable. Yet from the moment I held Katie in my arms, it was pure love; it also came with the realization that in the back of my mind there was a fear of loss. As Katie’s mom, my instinct was to hold her tightly and protect her. At the young age of seventeen, I had to surrender her to the Lord. I loved her so much, but I had to recognize that ultimately she belonged to God. As I have aged, I realize many people around me are leaving this earth before me. It is hard to let go. Yet they are headed to a new life that we can’t imagine. To hold our loved ones loosely is not because we don’t care, but because we trust the One who does. – Michele