God

It’s Going to Be Okay

It's Going to Be OK
Photo by Chungkuk Bae on Unsplash

“It’s going to be okay.”

I recently told my husband that he can no longer say this to me when I am discouraged, anxious, or forecasting the demise of some aspect of my life (as I am apt to do at times).

I’ve always hated when people say, “It’s going to be okay.” I want to slap them.

“How do you know?” I wonder.

How, in the middle of this really stinky moment in my life can you offer this platitude? (Trust me, I’ve had it offered to me at really, really stinky moments).

But lately, I feel like God keeps telling me exactly that, “It’s going to be okay.”

Really, God? Is it really going to be okay? How can you say that? When I’m sitting here waiting to hear the news that could be life-changing, it doesn’t feel like it will be okay if it doesn’t turn out the way I hope. When we’re staring down disappointment, broken dreams, loss, shalom shattered, sometimes it doesn’t feel like it will ever be okay.

But He repeats: It’s going to be okay. Here’s how I know.

It’s going to be okay. Why?

This past week at church, we talked about Jesus raising Lazarus. When Lazarus falls ill, they send for Jesus by saying, “Lord, he whom you love is ill.” I don’t send for people that way, but maybe I should, like, “Erik, the wife whom you love needs a foot massage.”

But that’s what defined their relationship. And just to be clear, John reiterates it in verse 5, “Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus.” Ah, so it wasn’t just them thinking he loved them. He really did. Our speaker pointed out how important it was to preface the story this way because, in the middle of the not okay that was coming, it would be easy to doubt.

It’s easy for us too.

He loves us

It’s going to be okay because He loves us. That’s the anchor where we sink our souls when life doesn’t look the way we feel it should. The God who loves us more than life is in it.

So it’s going to be okay. But not just okay. It’s going to be good.

Oh, but not necessarily good in the way we think it should be good. And that’s the problem.

The problem is that my idea of good is so focused on my comfort and happiness, focused on tangible, temporal things. In my world, the news is always what I hoped it would be. Jesus shows up in my time and my ways.

He is good

But It’s going to be good because He is good, and His purposes toward us are for our good. He is focused on our character and sanctification, on intangible, eternal things. He shows up in His time and His ways, that are so much better than ours.

His good is so much bigger. It’s a good grounded in the deepest love we can imagine, always working on our behalf.

It’s good in the way that Jesus didn’t just save Lazarus from illness, he raised him from the dead. That’s a better story.

He’s writing a good story

And that’s what I also know. It’s going to be okay because God is a good author. He is a good storyteller. He is writing a good story for us. And the story ends well.

We won’t see them as good stories if we hold too tightly to our idea of good. In my version of life, disappointment, broken dreams, and loss are not part of the story. But what kind of story would it be if everything was perfect?

A boring story, that’s what. The best stories have conflict. They have twists and turns and nail biting, “What will happen?” moments. And God’s writing the best story for each of us.

The stories God writes are stories of redemption. You can’t have redemption if you don’t have shalom shattered. You can’t have resurrection without death.

This week is a holy reminder that it’s going to be okay. Easter demonstrates His love for us. It is a testimony to God working good on our behalf. The story is one of triumph over the greatest enemy. He made everything okay.

We say this Friday is good, but it didn’t feel good to the disciples. It felt like the end of all their hopes. Disappointment. Broken dreams. Loss. It didn’t feel like it was going to ever be okay.

They didn’t know Sunday was coming. But God knew.

He knew that it was all for love. It was the greatest story ever written. All for us.

So when I slip into bed and anxious thoughts nag at my brain, I call to mind instead His voice telling me, “It’s going to be okay.” As I think about our son heading off to college this summer, and all the unknowns that go with that, He whispers, “It’s going to be okay.” I sigh my latest dilemma to my husband, and I hear him catch himself before he says it, but I nod, and say, “You’re right. It’s going to be okay.” 

When life feels like Friday, it’s going to be okay, because Sunday’s coming.

He loves us. Everything is working for our good. The story ends well. Maybe not today, or tomorrow. Maybe not until we see Him. But it’s going to be okay.

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What to Do When It’s Hard 

This Kind of Jesus 

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When You’re Angry with God

What to Do When You're Angry with God
photo by Ben White

“Mom, what do you do when you’re angry at God?”

This was the question I had to field one night before bed (why can’t they ask these in the morning, when I’m fresh? Haven’t they learned by now that mama’s useless at night?)

The question came after a time of tears over unanswered prayer. He’d been exploring the idea that God cares about even the small details of life. He’d been praying about each of them, trusting that even though they seemed “silly,” they mattered to God because they mattered to him.

Until that one. That one thing that was more important than anything else. In that, he got the shaft. That question was accompanied by so many others, “Why is the answer no? Why this time? Why, when He knows how important it is to me? He could have said no to those other things and I wouldn’t care. Why this?”

And my answer to all those was, “I don’t know.”

But, “What do you do when you’re angry with God?” That one I’ve learned a little about.

When I was his age, I didn’t think it was ok to be angry with God (but I was). God is infallible, never makes mistakes, everything’s got a purpose, right? So we should thank Him and trust what we do not see. All true.

All hard to swallow when life isn’t what you thought it would be.

So I told my son that I tell God about my anger. I’ve told God at times that I don’t like Him, that I hated Him even. I have accused Him of abandoning me. I have refused to talk to Him.

He can take it. Like someone beating their fists against another’s chest, He patiently holds us and won’t let go while we vent. All our anger, our doubts, our questions – God can withstand them. And when I have poured it all out, then I can just collapse in His arms and rest.

After all, He knows them anyway. It’s not like we can pretend with Him. What is the alternative? As our son jokingly put it, “I could stuff all my negative feelings deep down inside into a dark place where I’ll never see them again?” Ha. Right. Except he will see them again. They must come out.

It was heart wrenching to witness this spiritual struggle. On the one hand, it was good for him to learn that God is not a cosmic Santa Claus, a genie in a bottle, a butler to ring for more towels. I am thankful that he was learning to pray, learning to make this faith his own.

On the other, it is hard and terrifying to see people teeter on the edge of doubt and frustration with God. I wanted to grasp our son by the shoulders and out of desperation cry, “No, really, He’s pretty great once you get to know Him!” But it was a necessary battle.

God can handle our anger. Rather than live a false faith, pretending we’re ok, trying to ignore our doubts and questions, we can bring them to His feet and know that He will listen, for as long as it takes. And when we’re done, we collapse in His arms and let Him be all that we need.

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This Kind of Jesus

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What Kind of Jesus Do You Know?
photo by Greyson Joraleson

When I worked in campus ministry, I had a student insist to me that Jesus was white, because she’d “seen the pictures.”

Yeah. I’ve seen the pictures too. Jesus always looks so serene and other worldly, like in that one where He’s standing outside the door in a halo of sunlight. I get the feeling that if I were to ask that Jesus what He’s thinking about, He’d say something like, “Heaven” and I’d be all, “Oh” because I was thinking about chocolate, and then feel like maybe He and I couldn’t relate very well.

But a few years ago I watched The Bible on The History Channel. It was a great series, even if Noah had a Scottish accent and Moses seemed a little unhinged, and Satan looked like a cross between Obama and Voldemort. What I liked the most about it was Jesus.

When Jesus was with Peter in the boat, He just seemed so, well, human. He needed help getting into the boat. He sat casually and looked amused at Peter’s lack of faith. He spoke earnestly to him, and with conviction. He looked at Peter like you would look at someone you just really like.

Throughout the series, I watched Jesus’ face with fascination. I saw His joy when He was in the midst of friends. He was delighted with children. He was compassionate toward even the guard who came to arrest Him. His face filled with sadness and tenderness as He was betrayed by a kiss. He was human.

And then He swirled his hand around in the water and brought tons of fish to the boat and reminded me, “Oh yeah, this guy’s God.” He walked on water, He healed lepers, He gave the religious leaders looks that penetrated to their souls. When asked, “Are you the son of God?” He answered, “I am” and I thought, “These men stood in the presence of God and they didn’t know it.”

God with skin on. It’s such a gift. Yes, that was just a TV show, but the fact is that He was human for a time, and He did feel all the feels. He knows what it’s like to live among people. He knows what it’s like to be us.

I can relate to a Jesus like that. That’s the kind of Jesus I want to know. I can imagine him, as I go through my days, responding to me. I think He would laugh with me. He would cry when I’m hurt. He would speak words of conviction with kindness and tenderness. He would raise my head when I’m weary. He’d high five me when I’m having a great moment. He would tell me that he likes chocolate too.

And because of Easter, because of the resurrection, there is nothing to keep us from experiencing a relationship with that God, the one who knows all that we go through, who felt it with us, who still feels it with us. He is not someone who stands at a distance. He wants to walk through life side by side, doing life with us. Do you know that Jesus?

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Are You Looking for God in the Right Places?

Looking for God in the Right Places
Photo by Chase Clark on Unsplash

One morning last week my husband told me there was a hawk in the backyard. I glanced out the kitchen window and observed nothing. Later, he came in again and asked, “Did you see the hawk?”

“No,” I replied, assuming it flew away.

“It’s still there. It’s been there all morning.”

I looked out again, scanning the trees. No hawk. Maybe he was blending in with the trees. Erik led me upstairs to our 2nd floor deck and told me to look with binoculars. “Ah,” I thought, “it’s probably way back in the trees and that’s why I couldn’t see it.”

Nope. That hawk was right in the middle of our backyard, pecking away at bugs in the grass. Turns out I couldn’t see it because I wasn’t looking in the right place. I wasn’t looking hard enough.

There’s so much we miss if we aren’t looking for it.

That hawk, on the other hand, wasn’t missing a thing. Between pecks, he hopped up on the soccer goal and stayed alert, scanning the ground. Every minute or so he jumped down with lightning speed and pulled up a frog or a worm. He was focused, and it served him well.

I want to be like that hawk. I don’t want to miss what God is doing because I’m not looking for it. I don’t want to hold so tightly to what I believe his goodness should look like that I miss his actual blessings. I don’t want to be someone who loses hope, or doesn’t expect God to work, simply because he isn’t conforming to my plans.

Last spring, I spoke with a good friend about how easy it is for me to do this though. I have been in a long season of loneliness, brought on by a number of factors mostly beyond my control. While I have cried out to God to ease this pain, it seems he has been
silent on the issue.

But when I stop and look harder, I see ways that God is providing relationships for me. My life may not look like an episode of Friends (and let’s face it-whose does??), but I have people. Yes, it’s hard to grab the quality time I would love to have with them, but I am thankful for the moments God does give me. It might be a last minute serendipitous lunch with a friend, an unexpected phone call, a canceled appointment that gives me sudden time with someone else. It’s not so much that I am alone-I am simply so focused on what I think a lack of loneliness looks like that I miss what he is giving me.

That hawk, it appears, has made our backyard his home. He’s learned there’s life here for him, and where to look for it. He trusts that this place will provide for him.

You and I, we know where to look.

Life is here, being given to us day after day. He is with us, giving us what we need. Sometimes it’s in ways we wouldn’t expect, so we miss it. Let’s pry our hands from the preconceived notions we have of how life should be so we can grab hold of what he is offering. He’s at work. We just have to search in the right places. 

“You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all of your heart.” Jer. 29:13

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What Will We Tell Our Children About These Tragedies?

What Will We Tell Our Children About These Tragedies?

Our kids return tonight from a month long mission trip during which they have been out of contact and presumably unaware of all that is happening in the world. I wish the only thing I had to explain to them is why people are looking at their phones even more than usual, to the point of running into other people and walls and such.

Instead, after sending them off just after the Pulse shooting in our own city, we have to tell them that while they were gone, the nation was in uproar over the sudden deaths of two black men at the hands of police. We have to explain to them that during the protests that followed, five police officers were shot and killed. There were bombings in Baghdad and Turkey that killed over 300 people combined. And last night in France, more than 80 people were killed during a celebration. Lord, have mercy.

How do we deal out this information? How do we help them understand why? Part of me wants to shelter my kids from knowing the horror that this summer has brought, but they must know. They must know because we want them to be people of compassion, people of the world, people who enter in to the sorrow of others and weep with those who weep.

Will it make them fearful? I don’t know. Maybe. But I know the path to peace is not to ignore reality or choose to only see the parts of it that make us comfortable, that we agree with, that directly affects us. We cannot hide from the truth, but we can choose how we respond to it. 

We can choose, as a family, to be people who cling to God. We can’t explain to our kids why all this is happening, but we can remind them that there is always hope because of who He is. We can cry out to Him for mercy, healing, strength, wisdom, compassion, guidance, help. We can be people who remember that this is not our home, He is.

So we will tell our children about the atrocities our world has seen this past month. We will tell them, not to make them fearful, but to make them aware that this is the world we live in. We will tell them that this is when we look up, not for answers, but for help, to navigate this world as people who love it well but hold it loosely.

We will cry together for the world. We will pray together for it. We will live, not in fear, but in hope, in trust, in faith. We will face the truth and respond by looking to the One who alone can save.

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Looking for Jesus

Looking for Jesus
Photo by Bruno van der Kraan on Unsplash

It seems like people have always been looking for Jesus.

The wise men looked for him when they saw his star in the East.

Mary and Joseph spent three days looking for their son in the temple after they realized he wasn’t with them on their journey. (Can you imagine? “I thought he was with you!” “I thought he was with you!”).

John sent disciples to find him, to see if he was who he said. His mother and brothers sought him out. The woman who was bleeding reached out for him. The crowds followed him. The rich young man. The centurion. Zacchias. The ten lepers.

The soldiers, who came to take him to his death.

Three days later, the women who came to his tomb and found it empty.

My word for this year is “Seek,” and God won’t let me get away from it. Seek first his kingdom and his righteousness. Child of weakness, watch and pray. Watching and waiting, looking above. Seek his face continually. Seek and you will find.

I am trying. I know he’s there. But I get caught up in my activities and fall back on my own strength and don’t make space for him in my heart or my thoughts.

And other times, despite what I know, it feels like he just isn’t there. I don’t hear his voice. I don’t see his hand. I don’t know where he is.

I think of the disciples today. Today, tomorrow, Sunday morning. They thought he was gone. They couldn’t follow him anymore. There was no seeking, no finding. Or so they thought.

But when the women came to his tomb and found it empty, this happened:

“While they were wondering about this, suddenly two men in clothes that gleamed like lightning stood beside them. In their fright the women bowed down with their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; he has risen!“

Imagine the disciples’ joy when they finally saw him. He had made the way for them to always be able to seek him, to be with him, to know him. That’s what Easter means – we who seek him will find him. He made it possible.

If we seek Him, we will find Him.

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I Am Not My Child’s Savior

I Am Not My Child's Savior

I am not my child’s savior.

This thought occurred to me yesterday as I walked around our neighborhood. Pondering the fact that our daughter’s team, playing in a tournament an hour away, was not doing well, left me unsettled.

First game was a bust. Second game they knocked two in the goal in the first ten minutes, but let their lead slip away into a tie game. Those two games meant advancing was impossible, regardless of the outcome of the final game. Our daughter walked away from the second game in tears.

Nothing is more important to her right now than this sport. All her future hopes are wrapped up in this. And while we both know that the hold on her heart is too strong, I remind myself it is not my job to make sure her dream doesn’t die. It’s not my job to make it all better. All my unsettledness was because I could. not. fix it.

Oh, but that’s what I want to do. Take away the pain. Erase the loss and disappointment. We all want that. We want wins, and good grades, and close friends, and safety. Eliminate everything that could hurt our kids.

So I set myself up in the position of savior in her heart.

Why We Try to Save

It’s heady stuff to have a person who thinks you can do anything. We slip into the superman complex because it makes us feel good about ourselves that we can be the rescuer, the savior, the protector.

Maybe if we just stay close enough, say the right words, step in at just the right moments, we can fend off disasters. We believe the lie that we can control their worlds.

It feels right. It feels like love, to protect others from pain. But then I look at God and His word and I remember that the path to maturity always involves suffering. It makes us like Him.

Ultimately, apart from putting way too much pressure on ourselves to be more to them than we can be, saving our kids takes away the opportunity for them to look to the real Savior, to learn to rely on Him and receive from Him what they need in times of struggle.

Why We Shouldn’t Save

Being away from my daughter this weekend was hard, but so good for her. She needs me to get out of the way so that she can learn to lean on the One who is always there, who knows the value of failure, loss, loneliness, and pain to mold a heart into His image, and whose wise hands guide her in ways I never could.

We do our people a disservice when we don’t encourage them to turn to Him in times of fear, hurt, discouragement. Our lives are meant to be lived in dependence on Him. Pain is a pathway to that dependence.

“It helps to resign as the controller of your fate. All that energy we expend to keep things running right is not what’s keeping things running right.” Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird

All that energy we spend trying to keep others’ lives running right is not what keeping things running right for them. In fact, it might just be what keeps them from Him.

So let’s resign as the controllers, the rescuers, the saviors of our children. Let’s trust the true Savior and teach our children to look to Him in times of trial.

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Why Christmas Reminds Me to Hope in God

Why Christmas Reminds Me to Hope in God

I hate waiting. That’s why I have Amazon Prime.

‘Tis the season of waiting. We wait in lines, for packages to arrive, for family, friends, parties, planes.

In the Bible, the word wait is often translated hope. They are intertwined. We must wait for the objects of our hope.

Hope feels deeper. We don’t just hope for that gift we want for Christmas. We hope for marriage, children, jobs, for needs satisfied.

Wrapped up in our hope is expectation. We have ideas of how we want our hopes realized. And when we are asking God to step into our hope and meet it, we put those expectations on Him.

What does it look like to hope in God? We place our fragile hopes in His hands, but too often the waiting is long, the expectations unmet. We fear disappointment. Sometimes it’s easier not to hope.

The Israelites knew a little about waiting. They waited in slavery, in exile, for the Promised Land, for a Messiah. In their waiting, they hoped. Their expectations grew. They longed for a leader, a savior, one who would protect them from their enemies and carry them to victory. For hundreds of years, they waited and hoped and expected rescue.

And then Jesus came, and He wasn’t anything they expected. But when I look at His birth, I’m reminded why God is worthy of our hope. In Christmas I see that:

God keeps His promises

Jesus fulfilled every prophecy about the Messiah. “For no matter how many promises God has made, they are “Yes” in Christ. And so through him, the “Amen” is spoken by us to the glory of God.” 2 Corinthians 1:20

He has promised us so much – that He will never leave us, He will work all things for good, He will give us abundant life. We can hang our hope on His promises.

He meets our deepest needs

Four men lowered their paralyzed friend through a roof, but instead of healing his body, Jesus forgave his sins (and then healed him). The Israelites thought they needed a leader; God knew they needed a redeemer. We think we know what we want, but God wants to give us what we may not even know we need. Christ’s birth reminds me that not only does He knows my needs, He can also meet them.

His ways are not our ways

The Israelites probably would not have chosen an unwed, teenage mother or a poor carpenter to parent the ruler of the universe, or have made Him a Nazarene. So many of the chapters of my life I would not have written the way God did, but looking back, they are so good. We stumble the most when we hold too tightly to the ways we think God should answer our prayers. Like the Jewish people, we might miss His answers entirely.

He loves us more than life

One of my favorite songs a few years ago was “Touch the Sky,” by Hillsong United. It says, “You traded heaven to have me again.” Christmas tells me to put my hope in Him because of this: He would do anything, give up everything, just to have me.

It might not happen now, or when we expect, but God is always working good on our behalf, meeting our deepest needs, keeping His promises out of his deep love for us. He is worthy of our hope.

This is the season of Advent, which means expectant waiting. So we wait quietly, attentively, continually, dependently. We put our hope not in an outcome, but in a Person.

 

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Living a Better Story

Living a Better Story
Photo by Daniel McCullough on Unsplash

When I look at this next month, I’m tempted to think, “How am I going to get through this?”

My fallback is, “With a lot of caffeine and chocolate,” but there’s probably a better option.

This is my point of need, and it is a good place.

When life feels overwhelming, when the waves are just a little higher than I’m comfortable, and the current is strong, it is tempting to switch into battle mode and just barrel through.

The problem with that style is that I tend to leave people in my wake. I get short with my family. I am not present with people. My body responds physically to the stress of swimming harder. My focus becomes “I just have to get through.” I miss so much.

This morning, as I stare down this week when I know that sitting will be a luxury, there probably won’t be actual meals on the table, and if we looked at what we’re spending in tolls we would cry rivers, I know I don’t want the story to only be, “We made it.”

There’s a better story I could write this week, because God is in the picture.

All morning He has been reminding me that this week is an opportunity.

This is my point of need, where He wants to show His power in my weakness. He wants to carry us. He wants to give us the strength and peace and patience and joy to do this week like it’s the best week ever.

It begins by laying down my own efforts. If my worries become prayers, my task list becomes my places of dependence. It can happen if I navigate this week by the power of His Spirit alive in me, and not by anything I bring to the table.

If that’s where I’m resting, then I can love my family. I can be present with people. I can breathe rest into my body. My focus can be, “Let’s see what He can do with this week.” I don’t want to miss Him in it.

We can write a story of dependence this week.

We can write a chapter that says, “I can’t do it, but He can.” We can write love and joy and peace and glory, if we remember where to look for all we need.

He is bigger than whatever I face this week, whatever you’re facing. We don’t have to live any differently in the deep waters than we do in the places where our feet can touch. We can live a better story.

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Get Quiet Enough to Listen

Years ago, a speaker named Dave shared a story that stuck with me. He and his friend, Pete, worked for a logging company, the details of which are fuzzy to me, but it involved getting logs into a stream. On occasion, for fun, they rode the logs down the stream for a bit. One beautiful lazy day, they lingered on the logs a bit too long and realized they were in rough waters. So rough, in fact, they weren’t confident they could get to shore. Dave asked Pete what he was going to do. Pete, having been a swimmer in college, decided to try for shore. Dave saw that, even with his skill, it was a struggle. He thought, “What am I going to do? I can’t swim that well!” Meanwhile, the water became faster and more turbulent.

Pete ran along shore, encouraging Dave to try to swim. Seeing the danger ahead, Dave made a break for it and paddled as hard as he could for shore. Despite swimming frantically, he got nowhere. Pete ran alongside, shouting at him, though the words were lost in the sounds of  frenetic splashing and raging water.

Finally, Dave decided to give up. He could see the rapids ahead. He was a goner. Why fight it? So he went limp. At that moment, he finally heard Pete’s voice. Pete was shouting, “Stand up, Dave! Stand up!”

So Dave stood up and walked to shore.

Whenever I recall this story, I see myself. I see how I frantically try to work to get life in order, to get to solid ground, when all the while it is right there underneath me, if I would only rest in it. God, for some reason, chooses to speak to us in what Elijah experienced as the “gentle whisper.” We can’t hear it when we are scrambling on our own.

This past month, everywhere I look I am reminded that I am someone who tries to overcome the uncertainties of life by grabbing them by the horns and wrestling them to the ground with all my strength. I fight to keep control over situations that are so beyond me, (the spiritual lives of our children, for example) as though if I just try harder I can conquer them. The result is a tense, overworked, overwhelmed soul who fails at being God.

It’s time I went limp.

Anne Lamott says it well, “It helps to resign as the controller of your fate. All that energy we expend keeping things running right is not what keeps things running right.”

God calls us to resign as God, because we are not good at it. He calls us to let go of our frantic ways and trust. Trust that He is our solid rock, our peace, our salvation, our guide. He will keep things running right. We just need to get quiet enough to hear Him.

“In quietness and trust is your strength.” Isaiah 30:15

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