When I picture Jesus on the cross I feel the weight of his love bear down on my chest, so heavy I physically sense the buckling of knees. The sorrow over sins is present with this picture, but when I see him in my mind’s eye, it’s joy I feel—a deep, almost painful joy. It radiates through my bones, and keeps them from idleness. I am the blind healed, the woman restored, the mute given voice, the prisoner set free, and I am powerless to the driving force that is grace. It always seems so strange to me, reading the gospels, when he tells the healed to keep to themselves. Because surely he knows, they too are driven by this same impetus that sets feet to motion and mouths to loud, endless words of praise. He too was moved to the wild dancing, the bubbling up from your depths- jump to your feet agalliao- rejoicing. So when I close my eyes and am at his feet and see them, beaten and destroyed for my deep joy- my body aches for movement. The very marrow of my being catches flame and I begin the slow mournful sway of the bereaved. And as I mourn that mirror of broken body, I am startled by one, jarring sound. In his final moment he is the beautiful-soled messenger, crying out to all “It is finished!” Three words that brought life bursting into a barren land. Three words that say to my shaking joints, “Strengthen those weak hands, make firm your feeble knees, He has come to win you back!” He lifts my head and binds my wounds, and in those three words my sackcloth becomes a garment of praise, my ash-filled hair is washed clean with oils of gladness, and takes on a new glistening crown. My weary feet become oaks of righteousness, planted firmly for his glory- whose limbs will forever sway and dance with the reckless abandon of a prisoner set free. And I cannot help but believe, that as he hung there, eyes closed in agony, that he foresaw this coming freedom, soaked in the songs of the redeemed and was satisfied to invite us into the joy set before him.
“Out of the anguish of his soul he shall see and be satisfied; by his knowledge shall the righteous one, my servant, make many to be accounted righteous, and he shall bear their iniquities.” Isaiah 53:11
Rest, not just another 4 letter word
I am tired.
Bone weary, wake up planning my nap, “I now understand what boot camp must feel like,” (the military version, not the squats-in-the-park type… though I will avoid both like the plague) TIRED.
I started this year praying to find joy in my children, praying for REST. And as often happens, that spiraled into my own spiritual boot camp of sorts. Months of sick babies punctuated by houseguests, job changes, and our first surgery have drawn me down to the basest of survival modes. All of this tacked on to the end of several years of desert wandering, has left me in an endlessly restless state.
Days mesh into a glob of tantrums and coffee and wondering when I last showered. I look at the clock to realize the hubs will be home in 20 minutes and my appearance (and odor) is unchanged from the moment he kissed my groggy face goodbye eight-ish hours earlier. The idea of rest lazily oscillates around in the fog of my mind- sometimes stirring obsessive longing, sometimes guilt (like when you see that stack of dishes that didn’t get done AGAIN—what did you do all day?) And in this, it becomes just another four letter word- because how on earth am I to keep up with that Proverbs 31 broad AND rest. Unpossible (see, brain so broke it makes up words.)
Yet, the Bible talks about rest… A LOT. Like, commands it. Sets a day aside for it. Sets weeks and months and years aside for it, and requires even the land to be given rest. And Ms. Proverbs Three One- she’s not exempt. So how on earth do we walk in obedience in the area of rest, when all of life with its expectations and tiny, non-sleeping people, seem to be single-mindedly preying on it?
The beauty of scripture is that every story, command, and seemingly insignificant tittle, is a lovely glimpse of the broader meta-narrative of redemption. In the beginning God creates, it is good, there is rest. The world goes to chaos, Noah builds an ark, storms come, the ark rests, God promises future rest from his wrath. (PS Noah’s name comes from the Hebrew verb meaning “to rest”—mind. blown.) The Israelites are told to order their lives around a calendar punctuated by rest. Jesus calls people to his rest out of weariness and heavy burdens. A final rest is promised to all who believe. “Rest is the goal and culmination of the original creation, so it is also the goal and culmination of God’s work of re-creation.”**
Psalm 23 bids us to sit beside quiet waters, lie down in green pastures and enjoy restoration of soul. Psalm 46 tells us to be still and experience him. He has not only commanded, but has given you permission to lay down those burdens and be pampered in your enjoyment of him. While rest in the temporal may just sound like a really good nap, rest in the Infinite is an arrival into the Promised Land. Seasons of restlessness make us feel inadequate, lost, and empty. But rest in the Almighty makes us whole.
So, mama, stop striving for the appearance of togetherness, let go of the weariness of soul, stop trying to keep up and be enough.
Breathe.
Worship.
Because true rest, the kind that our deep gut-cry longs for, comes only in the presence of the King. Each time rest is mentioned in the Bible it is a calling into the throne room. Anything more or less than that will never satisfy. But the beauty of it is, God rested from his work, so that in him you can rest from yours and enter confidently into his green pastures.
Now your job is to lie down, sit beside, drink in, do the seemingly unpossible… slow down. It means you have to say no to something to say yes to Him. Time is not rushing past you, it is flowing toward you- in gift form- receive, enjoy, and savor.
So stumble your sweat pants laden self into the throne room of the Beloved and let him lavish you with the rest your weary bones need. (Even if it requires you to hide in your pantry next to the half empty sleeve of Oreos and cup of coffee you’ve been looking for since last week.)
**Dictionary of the Old Testament Pentateuch. "Rest, Peace"
Brave.
Nearly 7 years ago, my husband and I packed our belongings for the third time since we’d been married and set off for an adventure. We left behind all of our immediate family, a thriving college ministry, and some of the most intriguing, exciting, Jesus-loving people we will ever know. To say it was painful is an understatement. But, we had full confidence that God was calling us into full-time ministry on staff at a church 9 hours away. So our little family of two (plus a fat dog called Rupert and horrible cat, Gus Thompkins) set out on our own.
Five years, and one beautiful daughter, later we sat amidst piles of boxes, totally defeated. Our life in ministry had been more than difficult. As many do, we went in with a fire in our bellies and walked out with less than a spark. I remember walking into the garage to find my not quite 2-year-old sitting among the stacks of boxes. She hung her head and said in her sweet little baby voice, “I’m sad.” My heart breaks every time I replay the moment, because truly, she was feeling the heaviness that we all carried, and her little heart could take it no more than mine. We, as a family were broken.
Months later we settled into a new home, a new city and a new position of ministry. I tried to let the hope bubble up, but had nothing left. Though I had loved Jesus for many years, my faith, and all that I thought I knew, was rocked to its core. I was standing on a precipice, and felt that one slight breeze would send me hurtling headlong into complete rebellion against the God I felt I no longer knew. Little did I know, that breeze would be a powerful headwind and would come swiftly and painfully.
I reeled when it hit. That final thread in the tapestry of my faith and foundation had been yanked and I unraveled. I remember standing in the bathroom with my husband saying, “If this is what God looks like, if this is what he calls his leaders to be like. If this is what ministry is, I don’t want anything to do with it anymore.” I felt that the pain I had carried, and watched my husband and now my child endure was far beyond the loving Father God that I thought I knew so well. I went into deep mourning. When you are engrained with the truth that there is a God who loves you desperately, to attempt to step out into the world without him is more painful a loss than can be described.
I found out I was pregnant with our second child, and my mourning took a back seat, but only for a moment. As I prepared to face labor and birth I found my pain and grief was still very close to the surface. I began to cry out to the silent white walls that my relationship with Jesus felt like. I could almost feel my heart’s plea bouncing off of them and hitting me in the face, like standing in a closed racquetball room. I remember saying to the void, “I know we are not really anything right now, but I have never done anything without You. I can’t do this without You. Please don’t make me do it alone.”
I continued to call out to Jesus, though the tension I felt toward Him was thick, I knew one thing- I needed Him. So I clung in the way a child clings to her mother’s neck during a tantrum- kicking and stiff, but unwilling to be put out.
When we finally headed to the hospital, I had already been in labor for 22 hours, and had not progressed AT ALL. I was exhausted and beyond myself. My doctor graciously gave me two hours to stay and be monitored. I faced the pains of those 24 hours of labor with my eyes closed. I could do nothing during that waiting period but cry to Jesus. Each wave of pain brought with it, “Please, Jesus,” reverberating through my very bones. I could think of nothing else.
My body was where my heart had been for months: weary and weak from the struggle and pain of labor. But there was no way out but forward, and no strength left of my own. So I called out to Him.
My friend had given me verses that she had used when having her daughter only months before. Each promised Jesus’ strength in place of my own, each ran through my head like a broken record. The nurse returned, and my body had progressed amazingly- Jesus had done the unlikely on my behalf! I could be admitted (AND have an epidural, praise the Lord!)
When the time came, I found myself (eyes still closed) still tapped of any stores of strength- and yet facing a tremendous mission. Between each contraction I laid my head back, and felt Jesus’ peace washing over me. The words of Isaiah and David resting on my heart. And with each push I was fully aware of His power, higher and greater than my own, able to bring life, able to take the pain and the heartbreak and replace it with peace and wholeness. And as we neared the end, or should I say the beginning, I heard for the first time the music my husband had started in the background. The familiar voice rang out, “You make me brave! You make me brave! You call me out beyond the shore onto the waves.”
I knew in that moment that the God Who Sees had done as he always does; been in patient, persistent, unwarranted pursuit of me. He was wooing me back to him, and in my devastation he was welling up new life in my bones. A new fire that would be tested and fanned over the next several months until it burned away the scales and revealed to me who I really was from the beginning: a Daughter of the King.
I opened my eyes for the first time in 32 hours, and looked directly into the wide eyes of my own, newly born daughter: Aulani Varee “The King’s Messenger.”
So why tell this story? Why not just tell my birth story (for the very few that enjoy reading the details!)? Why admit that I gave up on God?
The reasons are endless, but the reality is this: we will all be hurt by others, and more than likely, we will be hurt by at least one Christian, or someone we link to a church. We will all watch from our holy hills as preacher after preacher falls into scandal and ends up on the 5 o’clock, and many of us will feel righteous indignation as we run the other way. It’s not enough to just say, “The church is full of broken people.” Which is very very true. We were hurdling headlong toward hell before Jesus scooped us up.
My mama always says, “Hurting people hurt people.” Let us, as The Church recognize that our actions hold great weight in the life and death of those around us. And then let us pick up the mirror of the Word and be changed by what we see. Let us not continue in our hurt, but allow the true nurturing heart of Jesus teach us to live and accept our radically healed state. And then let it teach us to wrap truth bandages around the wounds of those who step through these hallowed doors.
Did you know that when a branch is grafted into a healthy living tree, the receiving tree will grow new vascular tissue and begin feeding the new branch? I long to see The Church move forward, full to the brim with grafted branches, fed and nourished by the strength of the whole. But I have to do my part in being a healthy member of the Whole, and that means being vulnerable where it matters- in the presence of the King.
The other, and most poignant, reason for writing this is that nothing I experience or enjoy at the hand of Jesus is by my own merit or strength. I have been chased by a skilled marksman. I have been hunted and caught up and I have struggled: hard. But the thing is, once you have known the genuine goodness of God, there is not a thing in this life that will fill that void if you try to forget it. His love, His never ending, never giving up, fight-till-you-call-uncle, passionate love is ultimately irresistible. Not because He is forceful, but because He is patient. His persistence is gentle, consistent force to be reckoned with, and He always wins.
If you have been placing the pain-filled mask of your own church/ministry/human related projections over the true face of Jesus, it’s time to let Him show you what He is really about- let Him call you by what you really are: Son. Daughter. Then let Him reintroduce you to those you will call Brother. Sister. I promise you won’t be disappointed. And then come see me, we can ugly cry together as we revel in our new names.
Letters to my girls: on being a woman
My sweet girls,
I am blessed to be a mom of daughters. I have learned to wonder and glory rather than wallow in the mysteries of womanhood because of you.
You are women. Created stunningly and purposefully to be just that. While womanhood will translate in a kaleidoscope of ways from each of you and from every woman you know, it boils down to this: you are women, created and endowed by the Creator with His beauty. Image bearers of God’s nurturing, life-giving, gentle stability.
Do not be harsh to yourself. If it would hurt coming from some other source, do not be the one to say it about yourself. As my mama always says, “Don’t talk about my baby that way!” So if it would cause harm coming out of someone else’s mouth, it is causing harm floating around in your head. You are beautiful not because of some physical attribute you have been blessed with, but because it is the depth of who you are. God’s life in you, spilling out into those around you is where your beauty lies. It is what makes the world captivated by you when you walk into a room, and it is what will make you ageless. You are smart, not because of your achievements or grades, but because the Spirit living in you has all knowledge and understanding- which you can tap into any time you ask!
Rejoice in your body. It will forever be changing, but each time it does it will be a reflection of God’s redemption plan. Women’s bodies have the unique ability to bring life into the world. To be the very vessel where new life is created. We see over and over again in God’s story that the old life has to pass away through the shedding of blood, and through this, God brings new life. As miserable (and gross) as it may seem now, your body gives you a miraculous reminder of this every month. And when and if you do have children, biologically or adopted, your body and your heart will bear the scars of this process. Every time you see stretch marks, grey hairs, extra pounds, or sleep circles think on the scars that were borne for you, so that you too, might have new life and be called an heiress of the Most High God. And then, someday, your body will stop doing all of these things. The monthly reminder will end, and the ability to bear children will come to a close. Though it may seem horribly sad now, it too is a picture of God’s purpose. For there is coming a time when the need for new life and bloodshed will end, and we will enter into a glorious rest. Though it seems a loss to leave all the sweetness (though mixed with excruciating pain) this earth has to offer behind. It is nothing compared to the glorious end Jesus has prepared for those who love him. Your body is a picture of the Gospel, do not diminish it by believing it to be anything less.
As a woman you will grow up hearing more and more about your rights. Indeed, history is rich with heroic stories of women fighting to be liberated from bondage that holds them back from fullness of potential and purpose. These stories are empowering, and many of them should be! However, know this: your ultimate oppressor has no human face, no standing institution or government, it is the father of lies, who looks to snuff out your power as a woman. He will tell you that you are worthless. He will tell you that you are a failure. He will tell you that you must put emotion and empathy aside in order to be successful in a man’s world. He will tell you that you are frail. He will fill your head so fully with tiny, seemingly harmless lies that embed themselves into the very tapestry of who you are. He will send others to tell you no, when God says yes. He will heap upon you guilt, fear, and self-loathing. He will tell you, you must fight for your right to choose, to control your body, because you are the only one who will. He will tell you life is not valuable, that sexiness is both shameful and significant. He will tell you that sex is less than an extravagant gift from God, and he will try to use it in various ways to make you feel tarnished. He will shackle you to busyness, to comparison, to unspoken competition with other women. He will say you are alone. He will hand you a mental vault so that you may collect all of the false evidence he puts in your path, confirming the lies he has woven. He will tell you there is no hope, that you are broken and beyond repair. And if given the chance, he will destroy you.
And yet, God, in his all-consuming mercy, has heaped upon you truth. Glorious, liberating truest-truth. He says you are worth more to him than all of creation- and oh, how he cares for even the birds! He says that in Him you are more than a conqueror! He says that gentleness makes you great! He says that he is your strength! He says that you will know truth and it will set you free! He says that in Jesus all of his promises are Yes! He says he has not given you a spirit of fear, but of power, love and sound mind. He says in Him, there is no disapproval or disappointment, that you are His child. He says not only is your body His masterpiece, but that He has made it His dwelling place, and He fights for what is His- and God does not lose. He says it is by His hand, His breath that life is given. He says that your desire for Him is what makes you attractive and praiseworthy. He says sex is a gift for your enjoyment, and holds the relationship between a man and his wife in such high regard that He has made it the very reflection of his own relationship with His people! He will call you to be Mary, to sit restfully at His feet as He soothes your weary heart and mind. He will repair your broken relationships, and teach you to be vulnerable to new ones if you allow Him. He will never leave you! He holds the key to the past, present and future, and will gently and carefully unlock that vault and replace all of it’s contents with treasures from His Word. He says He is your hope! He says He is your healer, and as He is the one who created you, there is nothing broken that cannot be fixed by Him. And if given the chance, He will bring you to life.
My Loves, I long for you to be confident, to walk through life with an ever-present wake of kindness and awe. I long for you to know your worth, and to live full, adventuresome lives. But above all, I long for you a deep-down, fire-in-your-bones love for Jesus. It is only in Him that your understanding of womanhood will be fully realized, and your own identity for that matter. And only in Him that you will be a woman liberated.
Love and kisses,
Mama
A day living the life
I wake up to crying, and notice the first rays of sun beginning to glow outside. Groggily pulling the sick infant from her bed, I count in my head how many times I’ve done this since I first laid down- five? I’ve lost count. Expertly, I change a dirty diaper in the dark and remind myself to write the FBI/CIA/Ninjas to encourage them to add this to their training regimen. I administer medication, and climb back into the bed in her room to nurse. Wash, rinse, repeat…
I tromp down the stairs, baby and toddler in tow, sun peeking only slightly more through the windows. Later, climbing into the lukewarm shower and glowering in self-pity, I think, “If my children were as neglected as I feel right now, someone would go to prison. Ahhh, prison, I wonder what it would take to get just a few days in solitary confinement…But then again, prison is also where you don’t get to sleep, eat, shower, or go to the bathroom alone. Oh, wait…” Queue another wave of self-pity.
Then I am out of the shower, dry but not dressed, bathing the crying baby, and pointedly avoiding contact with my spouse. Amidst the self-imposed gloom, my husband leaves for work with hardly a word because on mornings like this we have an ongoing, but unspoken war as to whose job sucks more. And we are both first-borns, so we hate to lose.
My 4 year-old sweetly asks what kind of clothes I would like to wear today, obviously creeped out that I have yet to put any on, and I say, “pajamas.”
I cried on New Years as my husband and I discussed what we hope for this coming year because all I could think was, “I just want to not be tired anymore.” All other goals seemed to fade into the grey of my utter exhaustion. “I just want to find joy in caring for my children again.”
There is ministry to be found in the mundane. Jesus is not absent from these hard mornings. He sprinkles joy around like random candy canes on a Where’s Waldo page, just little glimpses to give you momentum. But these little treasures are only extracted with the persistent and purposeful eye of thankfulness. Not ‘find-the-silver-lining’ peppiness, but the hard, gut-felt, thank you for the simple fact that he is Jehovah El-Roi, the God Who Sees me, and that I am only a sighed prayer away from His embrace.
When I said that I wanted to find joy again this year I did not know that I would be spending that night, and several following, caring for two sick babies. I did not know that the depth of my exhaustion would grow exponentially. Nor did I realize then that this illness would be just what the Doctor had ordered for my weary, apathetic heart. Through endless midnight snuggles and kisses and rocking, Jesus rekindled in me what it is that makes me love being a mom. He has reminded me of the fulfillment I receive when I set myself aside. Through his gentle shepherding he restores the joy that is only found in His strength, and that graciously needs nothing from me to get there.
You have given me the shield of your salvation,
and your right hand supported me,
and your gentleness made me great.
psalm 18:35
Today, I will be joyful in the fact that it is HIS gentleness that makes me a great mom…because goodness knows I would be hiding in a closet (probably still nude) with a sleeve of Oreos and a set of ear plugs, without Him.
It’s ok to stop hiding
Being a mom is tough. Some days it down-right stinks. A few nights ago my husband came back to our bed after mercifully fielding yet another EF-5 tantrum from our 4 year old (at one point she was naked and screaming while jumping on her bed…). He patted the blankets in the dark and finally asked, “Where are you?” “Hiding,” I mumbled from my fetal position in the corner of the bed, buried like a mouse under a mountain of fluff. After laying there listening to her frenzy and his calm voice trying to bring her back to some semblance of reason (did I mention he’s amazing?), I turned off the baby monitor and dug deep into my covers. I did what I have always done when overwhelmed, I hid.
I just got done watching “Inside Out” for what I am sure will be one of a thousand viewings. (If you are unfamiliar with the movie, it is an animation about what goes on inside the heads of people, showing 5 characters representing joy, sadness, disgust, anger, and fear.) I noticed that the mom’s primary emotion, the one that calls most of the shots is sadness. It seems the writers may be onto something fairly revealing about motherhood.
Eve was told there would be pain in bringing children up in this broken world. The violence of sin transformed the beauty of motherhood far beyond just painful childbirth. Loving my child means I break daily. I sacrifice my comfort daily. I vacillate between consuming joy and devastating worry. And I understand more than ever, the depth that is Jesus’ love for me.
When my first child was born, my heart felt full. It didn’t matter that I would have to wake again in 45 minutes, there were nights I would stay up just to watch her chest rise and fall a few more times. But my admiration for her was matched by the growing hostility I felt toward my husband. I would lay awake listening to him snore, and be screaming silently in my head, and fantasizing about physically harming him. I thought little of it, because my anger felt so justified at the time- I mean, he got to sleep!
After confiding in a friend who encouraged me to tell my doctor, I made an appointment. I mentioned my thoughts casually to the nurse and hoped it wouldn’t come up again. But my doctor came in and immediately exclaimed, “Elizabeth, is this you!?” I looked down at the chart, the nurse had written in quotes, “I want to punch my husband.”
The doctor told me that postpartum depression can manifest itself in many ways, including hostility toward a spouse. He encouraged me to start an anti-depressant. I went home that night and tried to explain to my husband our situation (talk about an awkward chat). Because I was breastfeeding we were both hesitant about taking an anti-depressant, and my sweet husband said he could handle my anger. So we decided to forego the medication.
A few weeks passed and what I thought were just normal mommy worries for my daughter’s well-being evolved into haunting visions of her being harmed, first by things outside of my control, and then later by my own hand. I couldn’t walk up a set of stairs, or pick up sharp objects when she was near me. I began to hear a voice tell me to hurt her.
One night, I stood over her bed, having finished nursing her and laid her down. The visions and voices screamed through me, and I ran from my room, unable to tell anymore what was reality and what was the chaos in my own mind. Every ounce of me loved my daughter. Never had I felt so selflessly in love, and yet that same body that had protected and nourished her life for 9 months had gone to war with itself. I fled my room, ran to the far end of my house and sobbed. I couldn’t even be in the same room as my child.
I went back to my doctor, sat in his chair clinging to my 3-month old baby, and cried uncontrollably. I couldn’t even get the words out. I had convinced myself that if I told anyone what I was going through, that they would take my child.
I started anti-depressants that same day, and within weeks was again enjoying motherhood. Though, even now there is healing to be done.
Bringing children into this world is miraculous and worth the hype for sure. But it’s ok, mama, to admit if some days are less than enjoyable. It’s ok, mama, to admit it if some of what got you to that sweet warm breath on your neck as you rock and hum and marvel, was in fact traumatizing. And it’s more than ok, even vital, for you to ask for help when you need it. You have not failed.
Give yourself the grace to accept help. And the grace to hide under the blankets and cry. But while you’re under there, give yourself the gift of a conversation with your own Creator. In his arms we are pressed but not crushed, troubled but not driven to despair. If anyone is going to understand the heartache of bearing children, it will be the God who bore the pain of the whole world so you could be his child. You are not alone. You are held, and you are brave.
I have always been very open about my experience with severe postpartum depression. When I got through it, I felt God speak over me, telling me that if I kept silent I would be overcome with shame. Studies show that up to 19% of women will experience postpartum depression on some level- that is almost 1-in-5. While my experience is unique- and admittedly severe, it can manifest itself in a multitude of ways. American Pregnancy Association has a great list of symptoms, and is a good place to start. If you are struggling, tell someone, there is no shame in it, and ultimately is the best choice for both you and your child. There is hope and healing!
and if not… (part 3 dance anyway)
As we enter into this sweet Advent season, my heart feels the familiar anticipation of things to come. I am always filled with an inexplicable excitement as Christmas approaches. I used to think it was because, you know… presents and pie… probably more pie. But as I have gotten older, and presents have gotten fewer (and pie means more than stuffing my face with awesome), my anticipation seems to build, not wane. The sweetness of a baby, the rejoicing of the lowly, even the aesthetics of twinkling lights and shiny things- I tell myself, ‘This is why you’re excited’. But every year, the festivities end and I find myself in the seasonal hangover that is taking down Christmas decorations and finding places to put all those extra toys (and pounds)- and I am sad. That was it?
But this year, though the anticipation is still there, it has a different taste, a different texture to it. This past Sunday my church played a video that discussed the hope that we are preparing for during this time. I had gotten there late and was still decompressing from the mandatory Sunday morning tantrums (No, you can’t take the dog. Yes, you must wear pants. Every. Stinking. Sunday.) I was shaken out of my mommy coma by one quick sentence: “He stepped into time, into the mess, to redeem the world and he says, ‘This is not all there will ever be…Hope in God.”
This is not all there will ever be.
You see, I have been in somewhat of a wrestling match for the past few years. Trying to reconcile some questions about God with truths that I held true only in my mind. I wanted God’s goodness to mean that my circumstances here on earth, and specifically as a wife to a man in full-time ministry, were easy, comfy, and protected. And then they weren’t. My fragile image of Him fell apart- and so did my faith.
JR Vassar said, “He will put you through trial to test if you want God, or if you just want from God.” So here I am, having been stripped to nothing and being given the opportunity to jump headlong in the questions I have harbored. And here He is, so faithful to provide answers.
Jump back to two weeks ago. I am fumbling around with Skype, making sure the camera isn’t pointed up my nose or directly at my chest, and praying. I am about to interview a total stranger about what may possibly be the most difficult thing she has ever faced…but I know God has something to teach me, so I hit the call button.
Grace smiles at me through the screen. She is a friend of a friend and we get through the awkward introductions. (To clarify, it’s really just me being awkward, she’s very poised.) I ask her about her family and her older brother.
“He was pretty awesome. We really became close over the past couple years, especially this year when I found out he got sick. That’s what called me home… God said, ‘I want you to go home and take care of your brother.'”
Grace had been living overseas for three years when she learned that her brother, Robert, was sick. “At first I said, ‘No. You are not making me leave. My heart’s here, I love it here, missions is my life. Do not make me leave. Don’t make me go home to face this awful thing that’s happened to my brother.'”
In December of 2014 she returned to her home in Oklahoma and soon after moved in with her brother and his wife. Robert was diagnosed with what was thought to be Lou Gehrig’s disease (ALS), but what they later found was Lyme disease with ALS symptoms. He had gone from a young, healthy, active minister to completely immobile in the course of just under a year.
She was shocked seeing her once strong protector totally bed-ridden, left only with his ability to speak. Despite his physical condition, she was amazed at his spiritual strength. “I saw that my brother was a man of such strong faith and encouragement. People would come and bring him flowers and encouragement and they would leave feeling encouraged. My brother would pray for them…he would have them pray for him and then he would pray for them back. It was just really touching.”
Her first years overseas had been a very intimate time with Jesus. “I learned how to hear his voice very clearly. How to pray for people, how to keep an ear open to the Holy Spirit while praying for someone…I grew close to the Lord in ways that I had not previously experienced in my Christian walk.”
“When I heard my brother was sick, at least in the very beginning, I was confident the Lord could heal him. Because I had seen it first hand; the deaf hear, the blind see, the lame walk…I held on strong to my faith.” But as the months passed and her brother’s physical condition worsened, fear began to take hold of her. “When I prayed, I had that question in the back of my mind, are my prayers even touching your ears? Are you even hearing me about my brother, I’ve been praying about him for months now and he’s only getting worse. That kind of shook my view of God as a healer, and as completely trustworthy.”
Grace wrestled with God for months before returning home, “I would be honest with the Lord in my prayer times…saying ‘I’m scared about going home. I’m not afraid to admit it, my faith is shaken, my trust in you is shaken. I know I believe that you’re a healer. I know I believe that you’ve got my whole world in your hands, that you can do a miracle in an instant, but I am shaking with fear. I am afraid to lose my brother. I am afraid to go home and face it.'”
Raised in a Christian home, Grace grew up hearing God’s truth spoken to and over her. She tells me about knowing from a young age that God had spoken bravery over her, that it was something he had instilled in her heart. But watching helplessly as her brother remained sick, despite her having witnessed God’s miraculous healing through prayer in the past, was a direct challenge to this gift. Like God was asking her, “Will you be brave? Will you go home and face this thing you fear?”
Caring for her brother full time was not something she initially wanted to do, it seemed too painful. “But then God convinced me, he said ‘Look, you can do this, my grace is sufficient for you.’ So I moved in in early February.” Grace continued to hope for a the miracle she knew was still possible, all the while watching her brother grow weaker and weaker. “His speech got softer and softer and softer. He started losing more weight and certain systems started to shut down. We knew that unless God did a miracle this was it.”
Her brother Robert passed away in June, 2015. He was 30 years old.
“I have asked him why, many many times…. I used to be afraid to yell at God. I was afraid I would go to hell if I was angry at him. I even asked my mom once if it was ok if I yelled at God, because I feel like I needed to get these emotions out… She [mom] said, ‘Oh yeah, God can handle it. You just be real with your Father. If in your quiet time you need to cry, you need to shout, whatever you need to do, you do it.'”
“I know God doesn’t always answer our why questions. He hasn’t really given me an answer. But I always kind of get this picture of when a child’s upset and his father comes in and wraps his arms around him. He doesn’t answer why, he just kind of pats him on the back and says, ‘It’s ok. I’m here.’ I kind of feel like that’s what God’s doing with me.”
She says she feels like her trust and her strength have been stolen. “I just want things to be ok. I’m tired of being strong, I’m tired of having to be brave, I just want to rest. But I want those things back. I want to be brave, I want to have unshakable trust. And my love for the Lord has never changed. I feel like he’s restoring [these things] one at a time.”
I ask her how he is restoring trust to her. She smiles a little, “I think it’s definitely in the quiet places that he’s restoring them… Whenever I worship the Lord, I feel so at peace and free to express myself. I’m a dancer, so I’ll just close the door and dance. I feel like there’s lightness in my feet, almost like when I worship him nothing else matters.” Her voice changes, softens. “It’s almost like I’m conquering something. When I’m able to say, ‘despite everything I’ve been through, I can dance. Despite everything I’ve been through, I can worship. Because you’re still good and you’re still God.’ Even though things have been stolen or shaken I know you’re going to restore them to me, and I am going to worship and dance in the rain- in the storm. Especially when I dance actually. I just feel lightness of my feet. No longer heavy lead. Just lightness.”
She learned this tactic, the dancing out the storm in her Father’s arms, from her mom. On the days when she is ready to run instead of rest, she hears her mom praying in her prayer closet. “I’ve watched her struggle with this. I’ve watched her ask those same questions and I’ve watched her grow closer to the Lord… To know that my mom, who has suffered more, who has had to deal with more anguish in her soul, she just runs right into the arms of her Father. I can say, ‘Yeah, I’m going to do that exact same thing.'”
God’s protection is not found in health, or keeping those you love near you. It is not making our lives cushy and Pinterest pretty. It is the promise that in the end all will bring glory. And God’s glory is wrapped up in the perfect unity of sovereignty and goodness. Not sovereignty tempered by goodness- but the two working in perfect union, always bringing wholeness. Grace says she feels like God is pushing her forward into hope, telling her “the best is yet to come.”
And I’m reminded, we too are called to this same hope, the hope that causes feet to dance in rain, and whispers into a grieving heart, “This is not all that will ever be…”
To read the final installment click HERE
and if not…(part 2.5 Choose Joy)
I am on a journey to answer this question: if God allows crippling pain into the lives of those he loves, or who love him, if his protection does not look like we hope it would, is he still good? Below is part 2.5 of my journey— a continuation of Linda’s story, click here to read the first part of her story part 2.
How does a mother who is walking alongside her child as he battles cancer say so emphatically: “Yes, He [God] is a good father!”?
Linda tells 
me that in the beginning she was in a very dark place, running the gamut of emotions. “You experience sadness and confusion, and I really was like, I’m over this faith thing, and over this relationship that’s a joke. If God is really about this type of life for me, then I am really out…”
“After having this terrible season of doubt, of anger and hatred, the Holy Spirit just started saying, ‘OK fine, if you want to be done with God, every person is allowed to feel that way. So be done with God. But if you don’t believe in God, if you don’t trust God, then what do you believe, what do you think? So I started thinking ‘What do I know?’ So even though I may be very mad right now, and may be forever, I do believe
the Bible is true. It is an absolute truth. So I felt the holy spirit say,’ Okay, so if you believe the Bible is true, what does the Bible say?’ So I started researching that. Faith is so great when life is easy. And knowing truth is so good. But experiencing truth is something different.”
“I just started looking up scripture. Ok, God says he’s so great, let’s prove it. So I started with the promises of God. Every time I would read a promise of God I would write it down. I was searching, searching, searching; what is truth? You know the Bible says he will never leave you, he will never turn against you.”
“Some of the verses that were really poignant in my life at that time were Isaiah 43:1-3, when it talks about when you pass through the waters I will be with you, when you go through the fire it will not burn you, when you go through the rivers they will not overcome you. And it talks about how Christ doesn’t allow you to be overwhelmed in whatever the situation is. Those became the verses that I went to all the time on the days I felt overwhelmed with a newborn and a sick child.”
“It was such a sweet time because, you know when you’re at the bottom you really can only go up from there, especially spiritually. I had really felt like I was at the bottom before that. I was so grateful to be coming up out of that darkness, in spite of all that was going on… Of course there have been ups and downs, days where I am angry with God, and days where I am happy with God; days where I can find joy, and days where there is none for me to find.”
“I don’t think if we were to ask Job, ‘Hey, do you feel like God’s protecting you?’ He might have said yes, but what does that look like? Is God protecting me from my children dying? No. Or my wife, or my servants, dying? I think that we subconsciously all have this idea that, ‘My children are going to live beyond my days, I will die before them, and you know yes, there’s going to be hard times…but ultimately I’m going to graduate college, get married, have kids, …’ But the reality is, that’s n
ot what we’re promised. We all know that’s not promised, we all know that at any point anything could change, but the truth is, in my experience, we really don’t believe that… You really have to go back and say, ‘What is true?’ Part of the reason I love Isaiah 43 is because it does not say, ‘ IF you go through the waters, I will be with you. It says, ‘WHEN’. It’s almost like saying ‘You’re going to go through the water,
but when you do, I’ll be with you in the water. Or WHEN you go through fire, I will prevent the burning. WHEN you go through a river, I will not let it overcome you…”
“I think protection isn’t something we understand. It doesn’t mean our child is going to live. It doesn’t mean we’re going to have the house, or the money, or the whatever. It just doesn’t mean that to me. But I do know that God, no matter what, will always be there.”
“I think it’s figuring out that no matter what, God’s goodness is always the same. What we have gone through has been really hard, and very devastating. But people go through a lot worse than what we’ve been through and I can only imagine what they think of God’s goodness. That’s what we have to remember, that in spite of our circumstances, God never changes. We may not feel like God is being good to us, but goodness isn’t a feeling it’s an attribute of Christ. So if I believe what the Word says, and the Word says that God is good, then I don’t doubt that, I don’t question that.”
“
What I learned growing up was that your relationship with Jesus was lovely, and kind, and fun and happy. You know, read your Bible every day, pray every day, life is good. But that isn’t what my relationship with Christ is like. I think that the good thing about a deep relationship with Christ, for me at least, is that I don’t mind getting angry with God and expressing that, because God can handle me… That’s given me some freedom in Christ, and I feel safe to do that…”
“I want him [Micah] to 
have fun. I want him to live life. We are not going to live in a prison here because he’s sick, because he may be sick forever…I never lived my life like today’s the last day… Knowing that your child’s going to die is horrible, and it’s like a gift because you do snuggle a little longer every day, with all of them….”
“As crazy as it may seem, I still have hope for him that he’ll live. Because he could… But since he probably won’t, I think I want for him what everyone wants for their kids. We all want our children to know Christ in whatever capacity they’re able to, at whatever age they are. I want him to love people; I want all of my kids to love others. Serve others, want to serve others. For some people that takes a lifetime to figure out, but I really feel like Micah is there already. He really does love people…he really would do anything for anybody. I just think that’s amazing…”
“I have seen some really ugly stuff happen to children, and I think if I didn’t believe that the Bible was totally true, I would struggle a lot with believing that there is a God that loves me, and is ultimately good even though my circumstance is not good. I think part of believing these things is believing that the world doesn’t revolve around me and my circumstance, but it’s bigger than that. God has plans for everyone, not just me and my child. There have been many days, where I have thought, is God really good? If this is my circumstance, does that mean God isn’t good?” Linda says that these are the times where she has to look at what she knows to be true and ultimately choose joy, not based on circumstance, but on her belief that God is unchanging and ultimately good.
Linda and Maurice will most likely never return to an international mission field. But she says her mission field is with the families they have met through Micah’s treatments. “I think as much as I really wish it was someone else,” Linda explains, “God puts people in this position, or allows these things. We have met so many people, Christian, non-Christian, Atheist, you name it. We get to learn about them, to love them. And maybe we never ever share the love of Christ with them [verbally], that’s ok, because we love them, we love their children, we will be there for them no matter what happens. That’s what will be remembered.” She knows the Holy Spirit will take it from there.
Micah will continue to undergo treatment and the Ahern family would love your prayer support as they continue to walk this road, tucked closely into the side of a Good, Good Father God.
A huge thank you to Linda Ahern for sharing her brave, abiding heart with me.
Part 3 and if not…dance anyway
To learn what started my digging into God’s goodness— part 1
and if not…(part 2 Choose Joy)
I have been on this journey, wrestling with the question of God’s goodness in light of seemingly senseless tragedy. In my mind, if God is truly a good Father then that leads to his being a protecting Father. But I look around, and people, Godly people, are facing tremendously hard things: abuse, infertility, poverty, unemployment, children dying, cancer… the list is endless. So, if God allows crippling pain into the lives of those he loves, or who love him, if his protection does not look like we hope it would, is he still good?
I find myself standing around the kitchen island of a woman I have talked to only a handful of times. She’s cutting an apple for the two giggling girls at our sides. My baby bounces on my hip. My throat catches as I ask the question I came here to ask, “So is He [God] a good Father?” I am hoping she doesn’t hear the emotion in my voice as the question squeaks out. Her answer catches me off guard, not because of the words she says, but because she is so emphatic, confident, and quick to respond. “Yes! I think so!” She continues, “The Bible says God loves our children more than we could ever understand, and this is of course why we aren’t supposed to hold onto our children, we are supposed to give them to Christ.”
In 2009 Linda Ahern and her husband Maurice sold nearly everything they had and moved overseas with their three young children; Grace, then 8, Nolan 2, and Micah 7 months. Not expecting to ever return to the States, the family settled into their new life ministering on a college campus. “It was a unique time in that city because the message of Christ was just starting to really grow and thrive. We were actually seeing more persecution of local believers and it was causing the church to grow. So we were actually in a really busy time of ministry.”
After 5 months they took a winter vacation outside of the country. While there, their youngest son, Micah came out of a hot bath with a strange line down his face, one side sweating and flushed the other remaining normal. It was weird, but they soon forgot about it as they returned to their new busy ministry. “Then summer came and it started happening more and more. He would go outside and come in with this line down his face.” This started happening multiple times a day. The family traveled again outside of the country and took Micah to a doctor, who ordered an MRI.
“[Micah] was 15 months at that time…the Doctor meets with us and introduces himself as an oncologist…He says, ‘There’s a massive tumor on your son’s chest and it is pressing on the nerve in his neck that causes sweating and flushing. I believe this is neuroblastoma, but we won’t know until it’s taken out.”
The surgeon recommended they have the tumor removed within 5 days. Getting the treatment he needed in the third-world country they now called home was not an option. So only 10 months after their initial move, the Ahern family, again, sold all of their belongings and moved back to the United States.
At the time Linda was 6 months pregnant with their fourth child, Eden Kate.
Within a week they were back in the States meeting with doctors and surgeons, and Micah underwent his first invasive surgery to remove the tumor. The doctors were able to tell them immediately that he did, indeed have Stage 1 neuroblastoma.
“Stage 1 neuroblastoma has a 97-98% chance of survival…” Linda says, “But I knew better. I just didn’t feel right about what they were saying…they declared him stage 1 and said we could move back [overseas] if we wanted.” They chose to stay in the U.S. and 6 weeks after his initial surgery, Linda’s motherly discernment was proven right. New disease was found in Micah’s lymph nodes and again required surgery.
In the meantime, the family still had not found a house or jobs, and now they had to schedule a major surgery for one of their children around the birth of another. “After all that and having to cancel a surgery because I was giving birth, and we couldn’t find jobs, and our son was sick over and over again, I just started having strong feelings of hatred toward God, like, if this is the kind of God that you are, then I’m out.”
They ended up moving back to Texas shortly afterward, back to the same jobs and neighborhood they had left a year earlier. Micah was officially in remission and had only a 3% chance of relapse, so the now family of 6 went back to life as normal for a few years.
One Friday evening in 2013, Micah, then 3 ½, refused to get off the couch, complaining of leg pain. The doctors did not seem alarmed as his chance for relapse was so low. But again, Linda felt there was something more going on and insisted on more tests. She had the hospital take a urine sample, but after a few days everything seemed to return to normal.
The doctor called the following week. “In comes a big room full of people,” Linda describes, “That’s how you know they’re going to tell you something that’s going to matter.” The oncologist tells them his urine counts were in the 100’s when they should be 10.
Micah had relapsed.
“He had new tumors all over, it was in his bone marrow, it was truly just everywhere.”
They spent the next 13 days in the hospital. During that time they put in a mediport, had his first round of chemo, and a tumor was removed from the exact spot as the original tumor that was removed a few years earlier. “Then we started full-time treatment. That was in March 2013. He started with 5 rounds of chemo, then a stem-cell transplant. We went down to MD Anderson and had 20 days of radiation. Then came home and found out that he had more disease.” At that point, the Ahern’s knew Micah’s chance of survival was only 10%.
Micah underwent a full year of chemo, and yet his scans kept coming back the same or worse. In March of 2015, nearly 5 years after his initial diagnosis, they found another large tumor in his chest. “This tumor was taking up his entire right chest. His lung was not even functioning on that side, and he was riding his bike that day, like nothing was wrong…” Linda says they were preparing to leave for a much needed vacation when the doctor had them run a few more scans. She told them that they were no longer treating Micah in hopes of curing him, but encouraged them to continue on to improve his quality of life and give him as many days as possible. The oncologist insisted they cancel their vacation, “If you take him to Colorado, you will bring him back in a wheelchair. He will be paralyzed in a week.'”
Micah needed radiation treatment immediately. Typically the prep for radiation takes weeks with tests and insurance procedures, but they started emergency radiation 45 minutes later.
In the last few months before I spoke with Linda, Micah has received multiple rounds of both chemo and radiation. In October of this year his scans came back again with more disease.
I look around their home. So much life is lived here. Even as we were arriving Linda was busy hanging artwork, made by her youngest, on their walls. I notice poster board with Bible lessons, fruits of the spirit and the armor of God, hanging low enough for children to manage, to learn from.
But how does a mother who is walking alongside her child as he battles cancer answer so emphatically: “Yes, He [God] is a good father!”?
Above: Super Hero Micah
Click HERE for the continuation of Linda’s story
click HERE to read Part 1 “and if not…He is still good” and find out more about my journey into God’s goodness.
and if not, He is still good (Part 1)
God’s protection is in his promise of glory
I watc
hed my dearest friend reliving the conversation she had with Jesus days before. Even through Skype, I could see that familiar love-struck, far away look she gets when she talks about her One love. I know the look well because we have shared it for years. As we swung in hammocks and mused at who He might be, marveled under blankets as stars fell in a black sky, or watched silent ripples dance down the river as we both grieved and rejoiced over what we were learning about Jesus. From the day I met her, she reminded me of that river, teeming with life and giggling with anticipation of the adventure ahead – seeming to wander but all of its parts headed in one, determined direction .
Yet, in the last few years her eyes have changed. The puppy love of fresh Jesus-relationship has been replaced with a deep, abiding, hope-filled sadness. In them I see the remnants of healed scars left by the most painful and powerful of loves. She has walked with Jesus for as long as I can remember, and now walks with the limp of one who has wrestled and been blessed.
Her love for Christ has driven her to the depths of human pain. She walks the streets of a red light district, building relationships with women in bondage. She has breathed in the stench and emptiness of abject poverty. She has seen those caught in the sex trade, and watched a young man die. She hasn’t opened up to me about every detail of what she has seen, but she doesn’t need to. I can see it. I can feel it. We have wept together over the burden she carries on behalf of those she is called to love. And though she has seen the reality of human suffering, she still holds fast to the fact of a good God.
I feel my heart ache as she tells me about sitting on the pier, telling her Love that she does not trust in his protection. She has seen too much. I ache because, though I haven’t seen what she has, my heart stifles the same fear. I am brought back to my own doubts. In my mind, if God is a good Father then that leads necessarily to His being a protecting Father. If I, like God, had the ability to protect my children from pain, from being hurt by others or their own choices, I absolutely would. Without question. Is that not what a good parent would do?
I snap back to the screen, she is describing to me Jesus hanging on the cross. His own Father dumping the entirety of his wrath onto the shoulders of his innocent son. And again, I feel the nibble of doubt that I have tucked into my soul’s depth: that’s not what a good daddy would do. But she doesn’t stop there. She says, “And then I felt him say to me, ‘Is He still on the cross?'” The answer is no. No, he was led through the most intense suffering, the most devastating rejection that any human has endured – carrying the just and full punishment of a Holy God alone. Alone. But he was not defeated by it. He passed through the waters, but they did not overcome him. The passing through was necessary, but the overcoming was merciful and glorious. She says, “So God’s protection is in his promise of glory.”
Jump ahead to a few days ago. I have wrestled, chewed on, and tossed around this conversation for months now. I am again bringing it before God. I think of my friend and my own beautiful daughters, and the prayer that has become a mantra escapes my lips, “Lord, let them love you the way she does.” But this time the prayer brings to mind a new question. “You know what she has endured to love me the way she does. Would you allow your daughters to face that same pain if it meant they could love me that way, too?” Suddenly, the puzzle pieces I have collected over the last few months begin to snap into place. All that God has been showing me about his sovereignty and his goodness leads to this question. And my answer reveals a turning point. “Yes.” I breathe. Yes because I hope nothing more for my children than to have Jesus. Yes because I know now that his protection is more than giving us comfortable circumstances, happy hearts, and cushy moments of worship. Yes because he is still good. Yes because his protection is in his promise of glory– “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you.”
Over the next several weeks, I will be unpacking this journey the best that I can. As Christians, as mothers, as humans living in a relationally broken world– we will pass through the waters, we will wrestle, but we get to choose: do we walk away with the limp of one who is blessed, or do we just walk away?
Click HERE for and if not… (part 2 choose joy)
redeemedvoices.com 