Singing in the middle of one’s midnight releases what holds us to the pain of this world and frees us to stay, unshackled, to sing to the rest of its listening captives. Worship shakes the foundations of dungeons and darkness and pain and death, opens doors, and loosens chains.
The Widow's Valentine
Hula-Hoops, Kazoos & Grief
Their visits didn’t look at all like what I would have thought they should look like — if I had any time to think about it. “They” are the ones who came. And none of them really knew what to do. But… they came, and their selfless weakness continues to bear beautiful fruit in our lives, though my husband died on a rainy afternoon in April.
We all tend to keep our weaknesses to ourselves, but sometimes we don’t even know we’re weak… or don’t want to admit it if we do. And that’s the kind of weakness that can hurt others. Especially when the “others” have nowhere to hide.
You would’ve thought since we were the obvious “weak” in the situation, the others who came would be the “strong.” But that was not the case. Weakness can be self-centered or other-centered; proud or humble. Jesus set the standard, and the often awkward weakness of those who came to cheer us, and often to weep, became our strength. That’s because in our weakness He is strong.
The kids and I spent every breath and moment in what seemed like a netherworld as we walked through the Valley of the Shadow. I couldn’t come to a place of digesting what death offered. All those years of loving husband, friend and dad, and then, (to be honest) the reward seemed a mockery. He died.
One night, a family from up the street chose to be the hands and heart of God, despite their fear and despite what others may have thought. They were professional but off-the-beaten-path musicians, and brought what they had and who they were, which meant kazoos and hula-hoops. Up until that point, I hadn’t considered the fact that Jesus played the kazoo or was proficient at hula-hooping. But it turns out He is. So they sang and played and whirled their hoops and we all laughed until we cried. Their little ones brought crayon works of art that I still treasure, and I’m healed once again by their love as I remember. We thought we were the caregivers, but that night, we were the cared-for.
I’m glad “they” didn’t look like what I would have thought. I’m glad they came; all of them. Jesus didn’t look like what many thought He would, and because He played the kazoo and hooped some moves that night, I can face tomorrow. And so can you.
The "Dis" "Un" and "En" in Courage
To encourage doesn’t require courage. Nor is expertise a prerequisite; just humble willingness.
The quiet action of it always speaks of the goodness of God and the future, but it doesn’t have to involve words. To encourage another, we go “in” to their life and encircle, enclose and entwine them in the love of Christ - not in our ability, and in return, we are mysteriously encouraged too.
The Widow's Valentine
Grief at the Holidays: Moody Radio West Michigan
Winter Grass
The Widow's Valentine
The "Good" in "Goodbye"
Certain goodbyes mark time forever, not because they ease the transition into the next thing, but because they feel like the perpetual film glitch at the Saturday matinee when you were a kid. Those goodbyes make you want to scream.
Our word “goodbye” literally comes from “God be with you” and as all true definitions, this one begins and ends with God. For most of us, saying goodbye to our beloved (and all that is connected to their life and death) is seldom good, but when we put God into the picture, when we insert His inscrutable name into the goodbye and dare to believe, perspective changes. I’ll show you.
The "Dis" "Un" and "En" in Courage
To encourage doesn’t require courage. Nor is expertise a prerequisite; just humble willingness.
The quiet action of it always speaks of the goodness of God and the future, but it doesn’t have to involve words. To encourage another, we go “in” to their life and encircle, enclose and entwine them in the love of Christ - not in our ability, and in return, we are mysteriously encouraged too.
PRESSED
Dear Believer, how is it, in the heat of this life and its battles left seemingly half-fought and half-won, and so often poorly at that, are we able to abide and to be pressed into fragrance? How can there be a “giving back” born from no effort but the resting in God’s care? How are we not crushed beneath it all and left to perish on the trail?
Because there is a promise; His sure and victorious promise.
Years Closer
I’ve never been able to get out of my head the uncomfortable truth that enduring and joy seem always to be mentioned together, like parallel rails on a train track. The natural inclination would seem to be for each to travel in direct opposition to the other.
How are we to simply consider it all joy when we encounter various trials just because it produces endurance? Why is the joy of The Lord strength? Why doesn’t the strength of The Lord produce joy?
Where Nobody Sees
My Friend, it is true that death can make “lost and wandering” the rule for the grieving saint, but “Christ in you, the hope of glory”* is the believer’s reality, and says that your beauty is growing where nobody sees; at least not yet. But it is, nonetheless… there and growing. The work of its toil must be done behind the facades of life and alongside the gray where other aching saints and sinners feel lost and wandering too. They will see your beauty where nobody else sees because they walk where you walk, and the seed that is sown when you are spent will gently cling to their pain and spread alongside their journey to bloom and flourish when the season comes.
"This is for You, Sis" (by Dr. James Schaap)
Once upon a time, while I was going on and on about my very first new grandchild, an old friend pulled a quip from his back pocket and wryly gave me a line I’ve never forgotten, not because it’s true in my case–it isn’t–but because it’s probably true in every case.
“You know why grandparents get along so royally with grandchildren, don’t you?” he said.
I shook my head.
“Simple,” he said, “mutual enemies.”
I know, I know–it’s a dirty rotten thing to say, but you got to admit it’s funny.
Mastering Grief
You reflect the brightness and best of Him when you rest your grief in the care of His expertise.
He will accomplish what you don’t expect and orchestrate your future into a type of music you didn’t know was possible, even though the notes and chords are unfamiliar to you now. Grief has up-ended you and turned you on your side and you’re facing the other direction now, but remember, the greater the complexity of the song, the more astounding the Master’s ease of effort. What seems unnatural will declare His glory and the magnitude of your pain will transcend your hopelessness and turn to beauty.
Defer to him. He is The Master and He knows you. He made you. The new song will come.
The People Who Wear Their Bodies
The Psalmist tells us: “Cast your burden upon the Lord and He will sustain you.” (Psalm 55:22 NASB) At the same improbable time, the Love of Christ also asks us to “bear one another’s burdens…” because Love always “fulfills” or “fills-full” what is lacking in us, and in others. (Gal. 6:2)
The casting of one’s burden must be done before one can “bear” another’s. In Psalm 55, “burden” means “thy gift.” It seems as though the possibility of viewing a burden as a gift must be pre-empted by the casting of it into His care. Then the capacity and willingness to take on someones else’s gift of “burden” is born.
God in a Lightbulb
We “walk” through the valley of the shadow of death; we were never meant to live there. It is in Him, the Light of Life, in Whom we are to live, move, grieve, and exist, not in death’s charade and gloom.
Death and its accompanying darkness & pain are an obscene mockery of Life and God’s accompanying light and healing. It is life’s antonym, but it does not have the last word because The Word, the First and Last Word became flesh and dwelt here, then left His Spirit to continue on in us as The Light to mankind.
Do The Next Thing
Fast Grief
...sometimes, the longer we are without the loved one we crave… we crave them more.
The world seems to rush about in a blur while the griever stands still in their craving, and for the grieving clock-watchers, each tick-tick-tick pushes us farther away from the hour we last saw our beloved’s face; the hour the clock became heavy and its weight chained itself to our hearts. Life feels like the battery just ran out and the proverbial “ticks” that used to proclaim your future are stuck. You hear the sound but the hands don’t move.
Sounds of the Mourning, Sounds of the Night
I could count on the sounds of his departures; I knew them so well and by heart.
After he made his last departure, the comfort of his sounds became void of his presence and I wonder even now – what fills the space he used to occupy in this world?
For us, the mornings became like the night and were filled with the sound of pain and immeasurable, overflowing emptiness.
You probably know what I’m talking about – the pain and its stabbing, uninvited ever-presence.