It’s summertime and that means it’s time for water-parks. So recently I ventured with my niece, nephew, and sister-in-law to White Water.
Our afternoon of family fun moved along with lots of laughing, splashing, and playing in the sun. That is, until I found myself waiting in a line in which the rides to my left and right looked like pipelines surrounded by heavy concrete. While this type of a waterslide was a favorite as a child, I no longer felt drawn to sliding down a tube in utter darkness. To this recovering control-freak, no thank you.
My sister-in-law seemed to notice at the same time. Would this ride be alright for me she wondered. What could I do? The line crowded in behind me closing off any escape. Plus, I wanted my niece and nephew to know that I am in fact a very cool aunt. So while inside a slow panic started erupting, I responded, “Yeah, sure. Besides it looks like only a small part of the ride is enclosed fully.” And then I started praying.
After my anxiety had ample time to swell in line, we finally reached the top. Armed with a double-tube, my excited nephew claimed me for his partner and we begin “boarding” our tube. The ride felt fun the first few seconds. Then the tunnel appeared.
Before I knew it darkness encompassed me. My heart rate quickened. Panic coursed throughout my body. My breathing all but stopped. How long will this uncertainty last? I felt us moving but had no idea where. Would there be a big drop? Would we curve? Would we be in here forever?
Finally light appeared and my whole body relaxed. Just as I felt pleased that I braved my fears, my niece ran up to me and shouted, “That was awesome! Let’s do it again, and this time I get to ride with you!” People really will do anything for the kids they love because I braved the darkness once again. And the second time wasn’t nearly as bad.
Later as I described my experience to a friend, a light dawned in my heart. I realized how this ride exemplified my walk with God in the midst of my present circumstances.
I don’t know the future. I can’t see the next steps. A current pulls me along that I’m unable to maneuver. I have no control. I feel stressed, worried, anxious. I struggle to trust in God’s provision as Jesus promised (Matt 6:25–34).
Yet I hear God whisper, “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they will not overflow you” (Is 43:2). He promises to walk with us through, and not necessarily deliver us from, the raging rivers. His presence then is our hope.
Instead of seeking deliverance from darkness, God invites me to lean into the arms of comfort already present. Think of movie scenes in which people suddenly find themselves in an unlit, creepy house at midnight. They usually step toward, and even grab the arm, of the person with them. Dark places, as such, seem to lend themselves to drawing us closer to those around us.
Perhaps you too find yourself in similar times. You need answers but only have questions. You seek direction but get more turned-around. You look for relief but only feel more grief. You long for love but feel lonely. You crave strength but can barely stand.
In the shadowy moments, God offers Himself. Besides that’s what life is, knowing Jesus and His Father (John 17:3). That’s why the disciples constantly experienced joy in the midst of trials, heartache, persecution. They focused on drawing close to Christ. When He’s our passion, the twists and turns of life offer a new joy.
So in our confusion, pain, doubt we can move toward the Person present with us. To the One of whom David writes, “Even the darkness is not dark to You, and the night is as bright as the day. Darkness and light are alike to You” (Ps 139:12).
Showing posts with label Christian. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christian. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Watching and Waiting
“In the morning, O Lord, You will hear my voice; in the morning I will order my prayer to You and eagerly watch” (Ps 5:3).
Most of us pray. Perhaps not as often as we would like or as eloquently as we would like. But still we pray. We petition God. We ask Him to move. We ask Him to intervene. We long for Him to act on our behalf. So we pray for anything from wisdom in relationships to obtaining a job to healing from cancer. We may pray in the morning, we may pray in the evening, in our bed or in our car, sitting down or on our knees. Whenever, however, we send forth our voice into the heavenly realm.
And many of us leave it at that. We say our prayers and then go on with our day or go to sleep. We tend to think of prayer as only the voicing of our requests. But in Psalm 5 David includes another part in his petitioning— watching.
He says his morning prayers, and then throughout the rest of the day David looks for God’s response. More than mere lip-service, as if he half-heartedly believes something will result from his prayer, he comes to God because he believes God will help. He is fully convinced God cares about his situation and more so, that God will do something about it. In an act of faith, he watches, eagerly anticipating His response.
Sometimes I wrestle with watching. There are circumstances in my life in which I plead with God for His active involvement. Most days He seems silent. I see no movement. I receive no response. There are moments (that sometimes turn into days) in which I struggle to believe He will come to my aid.
But the words and actions of David keep me lifting my eyes upward. God may not always give us what we want or respond the way we want. For many reasons, perhaps unknown to us, God may not answer our request as we desire. But sometimes He will. However He moves we can rest in the truth that He is always with us and in every situation, painful or joyful, working for our good and His glory (Rom 8:28). At minimum then we can watch how he labors for these in the midst of our longings.
So what about you? When you pray, do you think He hears you? Are you convinced He cares? Do you think He is able to and will work in the situation?
David concludes his prayer, "For it is You who blesses the righteous man, O LORD, You surround him with favor as with a shield" (v.12). Let his words of faith encourage us to keep watch, believing and hoping in God’s loyal love. And may the Spirit grant us discernment to note the gentle, sometimes subtle, hand of God weaving through the moments of our day.
Most of us pray. Perhaps not as often as we would like or as eloquently as we would like. But still we pray. We petition God. We ask Him to move. We ask Him to intervene. We long for Him to act on our behalf. So we pray for anything from wisdom in relationships to obtaining a job to healing from cancer. We may pray in the morning, we may pray in the evening, in our bed or in our car, sitting down or on our knees. Whenever, however, we send forth our voice into the heavenly realm.
And many of us leave it at that. We say our prayers and then go on with our day or go to sleep. We tend to think of prayer as only the voicing of our requests. But in Psalm 5 David includes another part in his petitioning— watching.
He says his morning prayers, and then throughout the rest of the day David looks for God’s response. More than mere lip-service, as if he half-heartedly believes something will result from his prayer, he comes to God because he believes God will help. He is fully convinced God cares about his situation and more so, that God will do something about it. In an act of faith, he watches, eagerly anticipating His response.
Sometimes I wrestle with watching. There are circumstances in my life in which I plead with God for His active involvement. Most days He seems silent. I see no movement. I receive no response. There are moments (that sometimes turn into days) in which I struggle to believe He will come to my aid.
But the words and actions of David keep me lifting my eyes upward. God may not always give us what we want or respond the way we want. For many reasons, perhaps unknown to us, God may not answer our request as we desire. But sometimes He will. However He moves we can rest in the truth that He is always with us and in every situation, painful or joyful, working for our good and His glory (Rom 8:28). At minimum then we can watch how he labors for these in the midst of our longings.
So what about you? When you pray, do you think He hears you? Are you convinced He cares? Do you think He is able to and will work in the situation?
David concludes his prayer, "For it is You who blesses the righteous man, O LORD, You surround him with favor as with a shield" (v.12). Let his words of faith encourage us to keep watch, believing and hoping in God’s loyal love. And may the Spirit grant us discernment to note the gentle, sometimes subtle, hand of God weaving through the moments of our day.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
When Grief Changes God
“Then I said, “It is my grief, that the right hand of the Most High has changed.’” ~ Ps 77:10
Pain often has a way of skewing how we see God. Like storm clouds hide the warm rays of the sun, suffering can overshadow God’s compassion, mercy, love. Some moments it seems to whisper, “God isn’t good.” At other times, it screams, “God has left you.”
Perhaps you have felt, or are feeling, something similar. Sorrow so great that nothing seems to bring relief. God feels thousands of miles away. Perhaps it’s a break up, a job loss, a car crash. Maybe a loved one died, or it’s an addiction you can’t shake, or loneliness that causes your heart to ache. Whatever the cause of pain, it feels impossible to find comfort. You look to God and find nothing. Friends’ words offer no lasting hope. It appears God has fled the scene.
This is exactly what Asaph, author of Psalm 77, experienced. While we don’t know the specifics of his circumstance, it was powerful enough to rock his world. He could find no escape from his sorrow. He laments, “my soul refused to be comforted” (77:2). He wondered if God had stopped loving him. Had God abandoned His people? Had He spent all His grace? Would God no longer forgive, restore, rebuild? Had His anger sapped all His compassion?
But in the midst of the darkness of questioning God’s character, a light began to shine. Asaph awakened to the reality that God does not change (77:10; cf., James 1:17). Rather, it was his despair that had altered his perspective of God.
With this new understanding Asaph consoles his soul, “I will meditate on all Your work and muse on Your deeds” (77:12). He decides to shift his focus from his sorrow to God’s past dealings with him and the nation of Israel. He hoped in the unchanging nature of God. If He showed love in the past, He will show it in the future. If He delivered before, He will deliver again. If He gave good gifts in the past, He will give good gifts once again.
When the storms of life crash on us, we can cling to God’s works in the past. We must refuse to focus on our circumstances. People, places, and times may change, but God’s goodness remains the same. Tears may fall but God still loves. Hearts may break but God still mends. Panic may overwhelm but God still calms storms. Sinners transgress but God still transforms hearts of stone. A terminal diagnosis may come but God still raises the dead.
So when tragedy rattles our world, let’s remember. Let’s lift our eyes to the Rock of all rocks, the One who is sturdy, strong, unchanging. In so doing our souls find comfort, relief, hope. As Asaph says, “Your way, O God, is holy; what god is great like our God? You are the God who works wonders; You have made known Your strength among the peoples” (77:13, 14).
Pain often has a way of skewing how we see God. Like storm clouds hide the warm rays of the sun, suffering can overshadow God’s compassion, mercy, love. Some moments it seems to whisper, “God isn’t good.” At other times, it screams, “God has left you.”
Perhaps you have felt, or are feeling, something similar. Sorrow so great that nothing seems to bring relief. God feels thousands of miles away. Perhaps it’s a break up, a job loss, a car crash. Maybe a loved one died, or it’s an addiction you can’t shake, or loneliness that causes your heart to ache. Whatever the cause of pain, it feels impossible to find comfort. You look to God and find nothing. Friends’ words offer no lasting hope. It appears God has fled the scene.
This is exactly what Asaph, author of Psalm 77, experienced. While we don’t know the specifics of his circumstance, it was powerful enough to rock his world. He could find no escape from his sorrow. He laments, “my soul refused to be comforted” (77:2). He wondered if God had stopped loving him. Had God abandoned His people? Had He spent all His grace? Would God no longer forgive, restore, rebuild? Had His anger sapped all His compassion?
But in the midst of the darkness of questioning God’s character, a light began to shine. Asaph awakened to the reality that God does not change (77:10; cf., James 1:17). Rather, it was his despair that had altered his perspective of God.
With this new understanding Asaph consoles his soul, “I will meditate on all Your work and muse on Your deeds” (77:12). He decides to shift his focus from his sorrow to God’s past dealings with him and the nation of Israel. He hoped in the unchanging nature of God. If He showed love in the past, He will show it in the future. If He delivered before, He will deliver again. If He gave good gifts in the past, He will give good gifts once again.
When the storms of life crash on us, we can cling to God’s works in the past. We must refuse to focus on our circumstances. People, places, and times may change, but God’s goodness remains the same. Tears may fall but God still loves. Hearts may break but God still mends. Panic may overwhelm but God still calms storms. Sinners transgress but God still transforms hearts of stone. A terminal diagnosis may come but God still raises the dead.
So when tragedy rattles our world, let’s remember. Let’s lift our eyes to the Rock of all rocks, the One who is sturdy, strong, unchanging. In so doing our souls find comfort, relief, hope. As Asaph says, “Your way, O God, is holy; what god is great like our God? You are the God who works wonders; You have made known Your strength among the peoples” (77:13, 14).
Sunday, August 2, 2009
One Thing
“One thing I have asked from the LORD, that I shall seek: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the LORD and to mediate in His temple” (Ps 27:4).
In Psalm 27, David says he longs for one thing. I wonder at his small list. How can he ask for only one? I crave so many things. I seek comfort, love, friendship, security. I want a good job. I want stability. I want peace.
As I think on the things I seek, I wonder if David limited his list to one because much of what I crave he found in God. In His presence, David discovered abundant joy (Ps 16). He had purpose because he knew God’s calling (Ps 139). He found comfort in God his refuge (Ps 61). He rested in the security of the Lord's love and sovereignty (Ps 23). In the Almighty, he had a confidant like no other (Ps 28).
Whereas it seems David came to one Fountain to drink, I often seek many reservoirs. Like the people of Israel I haul broken cisterns that can hold no water (Jer 2:13). Today I’m challenged to stop slurping from the cracked basins of work, recognition, financial security, friends and family. These, not able to satiate, instead create a thirst for Living Waters.
My soul hears the voice of God, “Ho! Every one who thirsts, come to the waters; and you who have no money come, buy and eat. Come, buy wine and milk without money and without cost. Why do you spend money for what is not bread, and your wages for what does not satisfy? Listen carefully to Me, and eat what is good, and delight yourself in abundance” (Is 55:1, 2).
With that kind of invitation how can I, along with those who thirst for more, resist? May we learn to drop empty cisterns and ask from the Lord one thing—Himself.
In Psalm 27, David says he longs for one thing. I wonder at his small list. How can he ask for only one? I crave so many things. I seek comfort, love, friendship, security. I want a good job. I want stability. I want peace.
As I think on the things I seek, I wonder if David limited his list to one because much of what I crave he found in God. In His presence, David discovered abundant joy (Ps 16). He had purpose because he knew God’s calling (Ps 139). He found comfort in God his refuge (Ps 61). He rested in the security of the Lord's love and sovereignty (Ps 23). In the Almighty, he had a confidant like no other (Ps 28).
Whereas it seems David came to one Fountain to drink, I often seek many reservoirs. Like the people of Israel I haul broken cisterns that can hold no water (Jer 2:13). Today I’m challenged to stop slurping from the cracked basins of work, recognition, financial security, friends and family. These, not able to satiate, instead create a thirst for Living Waters.
My soul hears the voice of God, “Ho! Every one who thirsts, come to the waters; and you who have no money come, buy and eat. Come, buy wine and milk without money and without cost. Why do you spend money for what is not bread, and your wages for what does not satisfy? Listen carefully to Me, and eat what is good, and delight yourself in abundance” (Is 55:1, 2).
With that kind of invitation how can I, along with those who thirst for more, resist? May we learn to drop empty cisterns and ask from the Lord one thing—Himself.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Redeeming Road Trip
It’s no secret. I have a mild road rage. Following behind slow drivers in the fast lane drives me into a vocal frenzy. If only they could hear me. I try to help them through subtle hand gestures, those that suggest they move into the lane a few feet to the right. Most of them don’t appear to speak my sign language.
On a recent road trip from Atlanta to Charlotte, phlegmatic drivers occupied the fast and slow lanes on a two-lane highway. My voice grew hoarser and hoarser throughout the afternoon. During this time, I also prayed and sang worship songs. Much like James of the Bible writes about in his letter, with the same mouth I praised God and cursed those made in His image. In the same breath I sang words of praise and then condemned drivers who failed to keep the pace. I knew this shouldn’t be so.
In the midst of my tantrum, I paused, turning my attention to Jesus. I shared with Him my frustration that even on Interstate 85, I witnessed flawed humanity. Things don’t operate the way they should. In all realms of reality, even more meaningful than slow traffic. Innocence fades. Children disobey. Parents separate. Friends betray. Loved ones pass away. Everything is broken.
I thought about how Jesus lived on the earth; God among subjected creation and decay. More than any other human, He had a sense of depravity and broken glory. Yet He spoke with kindness. He touched with gentleness. He taught with love. If anyone should have condemned and yelled and demanded to have things function according to design, it was Jesus.
But then, isn’t that why He came? To restore the marred image, mend the broken hearts, free the prisoners?
I realized how un-Jesus like I am. He focused not on the brokenness but on redemption. He didn’t point out all the wrongs, but pointed to the truth. He didn’t tear people down, but he led them forward, God-ward. Hope flowed through His words. Anger seems to spew through mine.
For much of my adult life I have focused on the negative side of reality, the pain, the heartache, the darkness. I thought I had a good idea about life on earth. And in some ways I do. The problem is that in Christ, there is more—hope, joy, peace, light, life, love.
I know now that I have been worldly-minded. As Jesus’ follower, I must look for redemption, pursue restoration, offer liberation. It is not enough to speak of broken creation. Love that mends has come. As His hands and feet, I now live to share that heartbeat with all those I meet. Even the carefree divers on I-85.
So I’m beginning to train myself to “look for redemption in everyone,” as Karin Berquist would say. I’m moving from anger and fear to hope and courage.
On a recent road trip from Atlanta to Charlotte, phlegmatic drivers occupied the fast and slow lanes on a two-lane highway. My voice grew hoarser and hoarser throughout the afternoon. During this time, I also prayed and sang worship songs. Much like James of the Bible writes about in his letter, with the same mouth I praised God and cursed those made in His image. In the same breath I sang words of praise and then condemned drivers who failed to keep the pace. I knew this shouldn’t be so.
In the midst of my tantrum, I paused, turning my attention to Jesus. I shared with Him my frustration that even on Interstate 85, I witnessed flawed humanity. Things don’t operate the way they should. In all realms of reality, even more meaningful than slow traffic. Innocence fades. Children disobey. Parents separate. Friends betray. Loved ones pass away. Everything is broken.
I thought about how Jesus lived on the earth; God among subjected creation and decay. More than any other human, He had a sense of depravity and broken glory. Yet He spoke with kindness. He touched with gentleness. He taught with love. If anyone should have condemned and yelled and demanded to have things function according to design, it was Jesus.
But then, isn’t that why He came? To restore the marred image, mend the broken hearts, free the prisoners?
I realized how un-Jesus like I am. He focused not on the brokenness but on redemption. He didn’t point out all the wrongs, but pointed to the truth. He didn’t tear people down, but he led them forward, God-ward. Hope flowed through His words. Anger seems to spew through mine.
For much of my adult life I have focused on the negative side of reality, the pain, the heartache, the darkness. I thought I had a good idea about life on earth. And in some ways I do. The problem is that in Christ, there is more—hope, joy, peace, light, life, love.
I know now that I have been worldly-minded. As Jesus’ follower, I must look for redemption, pursue restoration, offer liberation. It is not enough to speak of broken creation. Love that mends has come. As His hands and feet, I now live to share that heartbeat with all those I meet. Even the carefree divers on I-85.
So I’m beginning to train myself to “look for redemption in everyone,” as Karin Berquist would say. I’m moving from anger and fear to hope and courage.
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