I wish the sun would stop setting.
If, even for just a moment, God would stop it from going down…
Right here in this very place.
But, the sun will set…
And, tomorrow’s ache will come long before I’ve dealt with today’s.
“Certainly the faithful love of the Lord hasn’t ended; certainly God’s compassion isn’t through! They are renewed every morning.” Lamentations 3:22-23a
My life passage is Isaiah 61:1-4.
Powerful? Yes. Purposeful? Absolutely. But, on nights like this…when grief grabs at my gut and anguish atrophies every muscle of faith I can muster…I don’t care about power or purpose.
Why is it that in order to bind up the brokenhearted, I must know what it means to have my own heart shattered?
And, to comfort all who mourn, I must know what it means to bawl my guts out on the bedroom floor?
And, to restore the places long devastated, I must know what it means to sit among the ruins?
“What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?” (Romans 8:31-32)
“Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written: ’For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.’ ” (Romans 8:35-36)
“No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8:37-39)
Some say, “GRIEF IS LIFE’S GREATEST TEACHER.”
But, I’m not far enough along to agree or pass judgment…
My heart-wound raw and gaping.
Because frankly…if I had my way in the world tonight…
I’d alter the anguish of my journey.
Because on night’s like this…
When all seems lost and dim…
Until I cease my anxious striving…and sit alone with God in the silence of my soul…
Then and only then, do I hear Him faintly whisper,
“Just as it is written, ‘FOR YOUR SAKE WE ARE BEING PUT TO DEATH ALL DAY LONG; WE WERE CONSIDERED AS SHEEP TO BE SLAUGHTERED.’ But in all these things we overwhelmingly conquer through Him who loved us.” Romans 8:36-37
Then Jesus shouted, “Lazarus, come out!” And the dead man came out, his hands and feet bound in graveclothes, his face wrapped in a headcloth. Jesus told them, “Unwrap him and let him go!” John 11:43-44
I love the story of Lazarus because, well…Jesus raises a dead man from the grave. I mean …what’s not to love?
But, what should you do when death doesn’t rise? What should you do?
Almost every post I’ve written over the last 9 months has been penned from a place of deep pain and desperate hope. Living in the shadows of Heaven’s silence. Lazarus getting sicker and sicker and still, no Jesus. Mary and Martha panicking and praying their guts out.
“Where’s the miracle? Why hasn’t Jesus come? When is He coming? Why, of all things, is my brother getting worse? So much worse?”
Like Lazarus’ sisters, these are the honest questions that I’ve cried out to God and wrestled with everyday. Every single day of my brother’s troubling illness.
While there is much I won’t pretend to understand, this I know: God has used this painful season to teach me to come alongside, more intimately, the suffering of others…those precious ones grieving the loss of a marriage…a dream…a family as family was intended to exist. And, this I also know…my intimacy with Christ has grown in breadth and depth beyond all confines.
These are all good things. I know that. Redemptive things. And, I’m grateful for each one. I am. I really am. But, the reality in which I now find myself is that…
I didn’t get what I wanted for Christmas this year…or the last three years, for that matter. I fasted, prayed, worshiped, wept…even slept with my Bible night after night. For three long years my heartcries only became more dramatic as each day passed and still…no “visible” or “tangible” answers. No healing. Nothing.
We tried everything to save my brother. Did everything. Prayed everything. And, still…so much pain and suffering. Too much. Everyday, his mental condition robbing him of dignity. Stripping him bare.
Every conversation…hearing him slip further away from me, the way a song slowly fades down low, until it comes to a silent end. And then…just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse…Heaven’s silence grew all the more deafening.
Since Jay’s passing, I’ve found myself floundering in a greater measure of grief than I ever thought possible…the loss of his young life sucking the breath from my chest. My heart throbbing hot with the stark realization that his pain became far too much for him to bear, even for one more moment.
God, how can this be? While I know Jay is at rest in Heaven’s peace now, the reality of things gone seemingly awry has turned me upside-down and inside-out. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. His healing was supposed to happen on THIS side of Heaven, not the other.
I share this with you as I weep and grieve and groan–the computer screen blurred by endless tears–only because I know that God never intended us to hide our wounds–as much as we might like to–especially when they’re gaping wide open and bleeding out all over. Jesus didn’t try to cover up His blood. Instead, His blood covered all.
No doubt you’re longing for healing to happen on this side of Heaven too, as were we. That’s what drew most of you to our blog and to our marriage restoration story from the very start. But, as one year closes and another begins, we’re faced with learning to live out the sobering fact that…
Death has come and it is staying and amidst all my fighting and flailing, I know that I know that I know that I will drown in the massive waves of grief unless…
He trains my eyes and I strain my eyes…not to look, but to see. Because when I let God take me beyond the looking and into the seeing, I realize that…
I only know this because in the days since I got the one thing for Christmas that I never ever wanted, I’ve seen Jesus in unfathomable ways:
Jesus came in the person who left a candle on the porch of our childhood home.
Jesus came in the neighbor who consoled my father’s grief.
Jesus came in the memorial symbols that were definitely ALL THINGS JAY.
Jesus came in the sojourners who held me as I wept.
Jesus came in the smudgy sentiments of little hearts laid bare.
Jesus came in the dear ones who lent us hands and feet.
Jesus came in my Grammy, who wore Jay’s treasure with honor.
Jesus came in the red and green, hung against our mourning drab.
Jesus came in the sunlight, through the windows of the chapel.
Jesus came in the flowers, carried one-by-one.
Jesus came in the faces of the mourners, standing room only.
Jesus came.
The following post is an excerpt from our upcoming devotional, Marriage on a Mission–A Short-Term Journey with a Long-Term Impact.
“As Jesus went on from there, two blind men followed Him, calling out, ‘Have mercy on us, Son of David!’ When He had gone indoors, the blind men came to Him, and He asked them, ‘Do you believe that I am able to do this?” ‘Yes, Lord,’ they replied. Then, He touched their eyes and said, ‘According to your faith will it be done to you;’ and their sight was restored.” Matthew 9:27-29
As we traveled east across the desert today, I took note of the large pieces of tire tread strewn all over the highway—clear evidence that flat tires and blow-outs occur quite frequently in the desert. At times, we had to be careful not to run over the rubber with our van. Clint said the long journey, combined with the heat of the desert and the expansion of air in the tires, often causes the rubber just to…give way.
My spiritual life has mirrored this same principle many times. It’s pretty safe to say that I’ve had my share of blow-outs in the desert. When the duration, intense heat, and pressure of painful circumstances all seemed to combine, resulting in a spiritual blow-out, of sorts. More often than I’d like to admit, I’ve been forced to pull off the road and make some necessary repairs and adjustments to my faith. To complicate matters, each time I’ve had to pull over, fears and worries threatened to keep me off the road; staying safely on the shoulder much longer than was really necessary.
“Do you believe that I am able to do this?” What an intriguing question Jesus asked the two blind men. As we drove through the desert on day 2 of this 40-day journey, I knew God was asking me the very same thing. “Do you believe that I can sustain you and provide for all your needs during every day of this coast-to-coast mission?”
I have to admit, I’ve had my share of doubts about what has, at times, seemed like a rather crazy undertaking. There were days prior to leaving when I convinced myself that this trip was too far outside my abilities and my comfort zone…that I could never actually set out on, let alone finish, a journey like this. And, now I realize that I’m right. I can’t handle this journey. But, I know Someone who can.
Do I really believe that God will carry us through every experience, every trial (and we’ve already had several) every detour, and every blow-out? As we drove down the interstate toward Arizona, I realized that I needed to re-affirm the fact that indeed, “Lord, I believe!”
The moment we exercise our faith by telling God we believe He is able to ______________ (Go ahead, fill in that blank with whatever you’re facing right now, no matter how outrageous and impossible) is the exact place where the rubber meets the road.
