the beginning of the end

The past few years of my life have been filled with untold endings. The end of my marriage. The closing of my ministry. The loss of my home, job, community...

The endings can be so obvious that it's often easy for me to overlook the new beginnings. But they're there. When I take the time and make the choice to look for them — to dust for God's fingerprints — I see them. Plain as day.

The beginning of my heart re-awakening. The launch of a new journey. The start of a new home, job, community...

I am reminded once again that the new life of spring actually begins with the dying leaves of autumn.

And I'm brought back to The Beginning.

"There was evening, and there was morning—the first day."

While we usually picture our day starting with the sunrise, God created it to begin in the darkness of night. Though it seems like an ending, the night — with all its bleakness and uncertainty — is really just the beginning...

What endings are you experiencing right now where you need to dust for God's fingerprints of new life?

Originally posted at Deeper Story. Read the comments there >

worship on a high pain day

I don't talk about my health issues very often. Or with very many people. For lots of reasons.

Not the least of which is that I have more questions than answers, both in terms of actual diagnosis as well as my heart's processing of it all.

So this post feels like a tremendous risk for me.

It felt frighteningly risky when I began writing it a month ago. And it feels even more so today as it goes live online.

So I'm holding my breath. And doing it afraid.

Because maybe my questions will help someone else. Even if it's only to let them know they're not the only one asking...

... ... ...

I believe You're my Healer I believe You are all I need I believe You're my Portion I believe You're more than enough for me Jesus, You're all I need

That song gets me every single time...

I have a love/hate relationship with it because I always feel challenged to sing the words honestly. Even more so this Sunday morning, because...

It's a high pain day.

I battle chronic health issues, some days worse than others. Today is one of those days. And today, the aches have settled angrily in my hands and arms.

Since I woke up, I've been subconsciously massaging my hands. Rubbing my arms. Trying hard to find some small bit of relief however possible.

And then that song starts.

You walk with me through fire And heal all my disease I trust in You...

Oh my heart...

I'm left whispering that simple prayer that seems to be all I can muster at times like this: I believe, Lord. Help me in my unbelief.

So I lift my sore arms Heavenward and declare -- maybe mostly to myself -- "I believe You're my healer... I trust in You... Nothing is impossible for You..."

My heart wrestles through the tension of trusting that God heals, despite the fact that He may never heal me here on earth.

I've seen Him heal. I've watched it with my own eyes. I've seen Him do it through my own hands.

I've witnessed cataract-clouded eyes opening, lame men dancing, deaf ears hearing for the first time. I've experienced scores of miraculous healings. And yet, every day, I live with pain.

So my heart continues to wrestle through the tension of faith.

How do I reconcile what I believe to be true with what I actually experience everyday?

I don't know that I can.

Maybe all I can do is choose to keep wrestling. To worship Him anyway, with my pain-ridden hands held high. To acknowledge with honesty, "God, I don't get it... but I want to trust You. I need to trust You. Help me trust You."

Painfully praising.

Wincing in worship.

It isn't mine to understand. It is only mine to trust. Even in the pain. And the uncertainty. And the heartache.

I'm not called to understand the mind of God. I'm only called to pursue His heart.

And to trust that ultimately His heart is for my good and His glory, no matter what.

So even though I may not get it, I want Him to still get me.

All of me.

High pain days, wrestling heart, unanswered questions, and all...

Originally posted at Deeper Story. Read the comments there >

God is good

I was raised to believe that blessings and healing and victory belong to those who believe. Which is a wonderful thought. But the flipside of that belief is that failure, sickness, and lack are signs of not believing enough. So while I was taught to instinctively respond to "God is good" with "All the time", it was understood that God's goodness is only reflected in the goodness of our own lives.

It's not in the pain or the difficulty or the challenges. For those, clearly, are signs of a wayward heart... a faltering faith... an unexposed sin.

Basically anything but blessing, success, and victory boiled down to me not being enough.

Not praying enough. Not believing enough. Not claiming the victory enough. Not speaking words of faith enough.

It was drilled into me that difficult and painful circumstances were never God's will for me. And if I found myself in the midst of them, then obviously I needed to change/fix/do something to get back in right-standing with God, so that things would turn around.

I think back now and I wonder how I processed all the stories I read in the Bible.

You know, stories like Stephen being killed because of his faith. And Joseph's decades of wrongful imprisonment. There's also Paul's beatings, jail sentences, and never-abating thorn in the flesh. John the Baptist, Jesus' own cousin, had his head chopped off. And let's not even talk about Job...

I don't know what I did with those stories that clearly flew in the face of the you-will-always-walk-in-blessings-if-you-have-enough-faith breed of Christianity I embraced.

Because the truth of the matter is this: There are a good many things in life that I simply can't believe my way out of.

The rain falls on the just and the unjust. Bad things happen to God-fearing people. Life isn't fair. And life is harder than anyone ever tells you it's gonna be.

A faith that only acknowledges the goodness of God when things are going great, isn't faith at all. It's nothing but a sandcastle mirage...

Faith is believing that God is good even when my life is anything but.

Faith is believing that God is good even when my world is caving in.

Even when the sickness isn't healed... When the pain gets worse instead of better... When my husband leaves me... When I lose everything...

Faith is looking at my world that's spiraling out of control and choosing to believe that the God of the universe is still in control.

God is good. And God is sovereign. And faith is believing both those truths at the same time.

Life is hard. This we all know.

But, still... God is sovereign, and God is good.

All the time.

No matter what.

Originally posted atDeeper Story. Read the comments there >

grace runs

"Avoid the appearance of evil." We've all heard it said before.

And while it comes from the Bible, I think we may have warped its original intended meaning. More often than not, I've seen it used as a weapon of divisiveness and judgment and condemnation.

I grew up in a Christian home. I went to a Christian school. We went to church religiously. And the message was drilled into me from an early age: Avoid the appearance of evil.

I was taught to avoid places, activities, and people that might raise eyebrows.

If my presence or involvement could be misconstrued, I shouldn't be there. After all... what will people think? Or worse... what will people say?

It's why we shouldn't go to bars or clubs. It's the reason we shouldn't get tattoos. It's why we shouldn't hang out with the "rough crowd". Because all of those things might give an appearance of evil.

Someone might see it or hear about it, and jump to the wrong conclusion.

Because clearly it isn't very Christ-like to be caught in a potentially compromising situation. Right?

Oh.

Wait.

Jesus didn't avoid the appearance of evil. He ran straight into it.

Party at the thieving tax collector's house? He's there.

Intimate conversations with prostitutes? One of His favorite pastimes.

Hanging out with the scum of society? Nowhere else He'd rather be.

Enjoying some wine with His friends? Of course.

No, Jesus didn't avoid the appearance of evil. He sought it out. He pursued it. And as a result, He quite often appeared evil.

That's why the religious leaders of the day hated Him so much. Everything He did seemed to fly in the face of their long list of do's and don'ts.

They called Him a liar.

A drunk.

A glutton.

Blasphemous.

Demon-possessed.

They didn't understand His approach to life and ministry, because it was the complete opposite of theirs. He embraced what they shunned.

The scandalousness of grace is that it runs toward evil, not away from it.

Being like Christ is not about what I avoid. It's about what---and who---I embrace.

Because, after all, Christ embraced me.

And I am no different than the drunks, whores, adulterers, and all-around "rough crowd" I was taught to avoid. I am them. And they are me.

And Christ embraces us all.

Who am I to pick and choose?

Originally posted at Deeper Story. Read the comments there >

taking it deeper: the double-standard of my heart

Photo credit: taliesin from morguefile.com

For years I've prayed for my ex-husband’s heart to return to the Lord.

For him to feel the conviction of the Holy Spirit.

For the consequences of his decisions and actions to open his eyes to how deceived he’s become.

For him to hit rock bottom.

For God to do whatever it takes to get his attention.

But if I’m being most honest, I haven't been as concerned with his repentance as I am with wanting him to feel the weight of what he’s done.

The reality is that I sometimes still want him to hurt like I’ve hurt, more than I want him to live forgiven and free.

I’ve had to come face-to-face with the double-standard of my heart.

Because my struggle to genuinely pray not only for his repentance but also for his forgiveness really only means one thing—

I don’t realize just how much I’ve been forgiven.

I want to accept the work of the cross for my sins, but not for my husband’s.

As if my sins have been lesser.

Or even fewer.

When they are neither.

“…God’s kindness leads you toward repentance.”

I remember gasping out loud when I saw that verse as if with new eyes.

And I’ve wrestled with Him long and hard over the implications of it.

It has taken me a very long time to get to this point, but I’ve begun praying—still with tear-filled eyes—for God’s kindness to lead my ex-husband to repentance.

I’ve started asking God to smother him with His goodness and grace and mercy.

Some days it’s easier to pray that way than others.

Some days I can’t at all.

On those days, I just sit in the reality of what it truly means. And I pray for God’s kindness to lead me to repentance.

Originally posted at Deeper Story. Read the comments there >