Category: Accepting Change

In Between Times

I’ve always loved flowers that grow from bulbs: daffodils and tulips are my favorites. Plunging the small brown bulbs into the earth in the fall is like tucking away a gift that will delight me when shoots push through the soil the following spring. 

Once I’ve planted bulbs, there’s a process taking place underground that is hidden and quiet, but crucial for the flowers to bloom. Bulbs use the dark, cold months of winter to sprout roots at the base to anchor the plant in the soil. Then they lie ‘dormant,’ awaiting the right amount of sunlight and moisture to bring those tiny green shoots through the dirt. The ugly brown bulbs will eventually bloom into beautiful flowers in vivid colors.1 

The process of planting bulbs and waiting for them to bloom gives a perfect picture of those “in between times” when one season ends, and another hasn’t quite begun. Waiting isn’t my favorite activity and resting is hard for me. But I’ve learned that just as bulbs require the cold and quiet months of winter before sprouting, those “in between times” are vital for our mental, spiritual, and emotional lives. 

Elijah’s story gives us a perfect example of how God uses “in between times” in our lives to root us more deeply in Him before we can sprout and grow. After empowering Elijah to confront King Ahab, the Lord tells him: “Go away from here and turn eastward, and hide yourself by the brook Cherith, which is east of the Jordan.” (1 Kings 17:3) With that simple command, God shifts Elijah from speaking with authority in the the king’s chambers to living in obscurity, isolated in the wilderness by a brook named “Cherith.” The brook’s name means “to cut off” or to “to cut down.” “[Elijah] was cut off from any visible means of support, but he was also being cut down to size, learning the invaluable lesson of how to depend on God alone.”2 During this season of waiting, the Lord prepares Elijah for future assignments that will be even more challenging.

Priscilla Shirer provides insight that helps us to apply Elijah’s story on a personal level: “’Cherith’—a season of life that I perceived at the time to be undesirable, obscure, isolating, unproductive and relatively mundane…It’s sometimes seemed to me like a waste of  weeks, months, and years, away from the work He’s been calling me to do—work that seems a lot more important to me than the little I appeared to be accomplishing while at Cherith. But just as Elijah apparently needed to learn, I’m not as necessary to the greater work of God, as much as the greater work of God is necessary to me.”3

Can you recall Cherith seasons in your own life? Are you in one now? As I’ve studied week 2 in Priscilla Shirer’s Elijah, God has reminded me of several “in between times” in my past that I didn’t welcome or enjoy (at first). In retrospect, I can see how each one deepened my connection to Him and prepared me for something yet to come. Cherith seasons have taught me to slow down, be patient, and trust God in the waiting. 

I’ve written before about my freshman year in college, when I was lonely and aching for deep friendships. That season of longing drew me into a more intimate relationship with God than I’d ever had before. Now I see that the Lord was teaching me to want Him more than I wanted anything else from Him. Times alone in prayer and Scripture reading built a solid connection between us. God filled my need for security and belonging when I was tempted to look for it in unhealthy places with ungodly people. Seeking Him first gave me the freedom to enjoy friendships without expecting anyone to fill all my longings and meet all my needs.

Later in life, God led me into another Cherith season after the birth of my first child. My son was born in May, which was always one of my busiest seasons at work. His birth pivoted me from overseeing a bustling schedule of student activities at the high school where I taught to sitting in a quiet house nursing a newborn. As much as I loved my son and relished the gift of maternity leave, I felt restless and insignificant. My schedule had been overwhelmingly full for so long that I didn’t know what to do with the time between feeding my baby and changing his diapers. I wrestled with God about staying home with my son or going back to work. My uncertainty led me to begin praying consistently for wisdom, direction, and peace. The Lord also used that quiet season to ignite a hunger in me to study His Word. Choosing to take a leave of absence from my teaching job opened the opportunity to try an inductive Bible study class. Soon, the quiet hours in my house while my son napped became sacred time to meet the Lord in prayer and discover truth in the pages of Scripture. 

Those two “in between times” laid a foundation that I’m still building on today. Cultivating a personal, intimate relationship with the Lord in college and then prioritizing studying His Word in my first years of motherhood continue to sustain me today. Like a bulb sprouting roots underground before pushing upward to the surface, God used those times, and many others since then, to deepen my spiritual roots so that I could blossom and give Him glory.

If you’re in a Cherith season now, let the Lord sustain you as He did for Elijah at the brook. Rather than lamenting the waiting or questioning His purposes, trust that He’s at work in ways you can’t see. Soak up the nutrients of His Word. Reach towards Him in prayer and trust the He’s preparing you for the next step on your journey with Him. “Remember this: Waiting time doesn’t have to be wasted time. Even though you feel like God’s clock is moving at a glacial pace, God knows exactly where you are right now, and He knows exactly what He is doing. Elijah went through a Cherith experience, but during that time of waiting Elijah learned vital skills every one of us has to learn if we are going to be used by God in an extraordinary way.”2

While you wait, take heart and let David’s words in Psalm 27 become your own:“I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.” (Psalm 27:13-14, NIV)

Need some encouragement while you wait? Click here and listen to Elevation Worship’s “Do It Again.”

  1. All My Favourite Flower Names: “Spring Bulbs and Other Storage Organs”
  2. Dr. Robert Jeffress, “Two Purposes for Elijah’s Waiting”
  3. Priscilla Shirer, Elijah, Lifeway Press, 2020, 51-52.

Photos courtesy of Pixabay.com.

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Letting Go

Pulling up to the house, tears welled up in my eyes at the first glimpse of the “For Sale” sign planted in the front lawn. It was yet another catalyst for the grief I’ve been experiencing since losing my mom to cancer six months ago. After sorting the contents of my parents’ home of 45 years, it was time to let it go. Imagining life without it made me feel adrift and untethered. 

I remember when we toured the model homes and chose the lot where our house would be built. I was six years old and the sting of moving was temporarily soothed by the prospect of living in a two-story house in a brand-new neighborhood. However, my enthusiasm waned when construction wasn’t finished by the time school started. Instead of getting acclimated to our new home, we spent six weeks making the 45- minute commute with our dad to our new schools. Every morning a lump would form in my throat and I’d fight back tears when it was time to leave for school. I dreaded being away from the comfort and security of my mom’s presence. My tearful departures didn’t let up until one day when she leaned down to hug me and said, “Even though I can’t be there with you, Jesus can. Just remember that He’s there holding your hand, no matter what.” Her words were such a comfort to me that my tears stopped flowing. Every day after that I’d plead, “Tell me again, mom. Tell me about Jesus holding my hand.” The angst I’d felt at the start of each day soon faded.

Later that fall, we finally moved into our new home. I loved riding my bike to explore the paths that wound through the greenbelt behind our house. Inside, my brothers and I created a “fort” in a small attic space, piecing together carpet remnants on the floor and hanging posters in the rafters. We signed our names on a beam above the small doorway to make it an official “clubhouse.” In later years, my boys enjoyed exploring the fort and adding their names to the others above the doorway, which remain there to this day.

I remember summer afternoons when the whole family would be in the pool. I spent hours attempting to master back flips off the springy diving board. In the evenings we loved watching brilliant sunsets as orange and pink clouds slowly faded to black. Hot summer nights often called for walks in the neighborhood before sitting on the deck to talk and laugh while eating cold watermelon. Later, when we had kids of our own, the backyard was the scene of many memorable celebrations. I still picture my boys and their cousins frolicking in rafts in the pool, swatting piñatas at family birthday parties, and eating homemade ice cream on July Fourth.

The kitchen was the center of activity in our home. For years I did my homework sitting at the large oval table that faced the backyard. I loved to perch my elbows on the counter and chat with my mom as she made dinner. The ritual of meals around our kitchen table was a source of comfort and security for all of us. Despite the large size of our family, eating together nightly was typical. And many times, there would be extra people in our midst—interns from church, visiting relatives, or neighborhood friends. The number of people we could wedge around the table seemed limitless. 

Once my siblings and I grew up and had families of our own, we continued to gather around the table for special occasions. When our kids were little, my mom would fill the kitchen with miniature tables and chairs to accommodate her beloved grandchildren. She didn’t mind how cramped the space became with the extra bodies because she loved having all of us together.

The formal living room was the one place in the house that always stayed tidy. The only time it was messy was on Christmas, which we celebrated there every year from the time I was in first grade until my own children were in high school. I can still picture piles of boxes, gifts, and ribbons scattered around the room.  I also remember watching with envy as my older siblings took prom pictures there with their dates; I couldn’t wait for it to be my turn. A few years later I posed for photos in the living room on my wedding day.

So many memories swirl in my mind when I envision my family’s home, it’s hard to imagine someone else living there. In the days leading up to selling it, my stomach lurched every time I pictured the “For Sale” sign. Letting go of the house triggered grief that left me feeling fragile and vulnerable. It was the last tangible link to my parents and my childhood. Selling it made sense, but that didn’t make it any easier. On the day we signed papers agreeing to the sale, an entry in Sarah Young’s Jesus Calling brought me just the reassurance I needed:

“THIS IS A TIME IN YOUR LIFE WHEN YOU MUST LEARN TO LET GO: of loved ones, of possessions, of control. In order to let go of something that is precious to you, you need to rest in My Presence, where you are complete. Take time to bask in the Light of My Love. As you relax more and more, your grasping hand gradually opens up, releasing your prized possession into My care.

You can feel secure, even in the midst of cataclysmic changes, through awareness of My continual Presence. The One who never leaves you is the same One who never changes: I am the same yesterday, today, and forever. As you release more and more things into My care, remember that I never let go of your hand. Herein lies your security, which no one and no circumstance can take from you.” (March 24 entry)

The words reminded me that my security isn’t based on anything in the world, not even good things like my parents or our family home. One line especially caught my attention: “Remember that I never let go of your hand.” I thought back to my mom’s reassurance to me when I was a frightened first grader starting at a new school. She told me that Jesus would be there to hold my hand, even when she couldn’t be. And she was right.

My childhood home doesn’t belong to us anymore, and I’m making peace with that because my true refuge and security didn’t rest there anyway. Jesus promised: “My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.” (John 14:2-3, NIV) Ironically, one of my mom’s caregivers reminded me of this passage a few days before she passed away.

I’m going to keep putting my hope and trust in the One who provides an eternal home for me: “Yes, my soul, find rest in God; my hope comes from him. Truly he is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will not be shaken. My salvation and my honor depend on God; he is my mighty rock, my refuge.”  (Psalm 62:5-7, NIV)

Followers of Jesus look forward to the day we’ll finally be at home with our heavenly Father. Even now, He’s preparing a place for us. Enjoy Cory Asbury’s song “The Father’s House” as you celebrate this truth: 

Lastly, take a stroll down memory lane and get a taste of my childhood as you listen to “Our House” by the English band “Madness.” It was released when I was in middle school in the 80’s and quickly became a family favorite. I can still picture my parents dancing to it in our kitchen with goofy grins on their faces. 

Sarah Young, Jesus Calling: Enjoying Peace in His Presence, Thomas Nelson, 2004.

Seek Him

Like many people, I don’t love change. So, the way I prepare for it is by figuring out what’s next for me. If I can’t prevent a transition, at least I can try getting comfortable with the fact that it’s going to happen. 

So, last summer, as I began my final season of a three-year term as Coordinator for a women’s Bible study at church, I started emotionally preparing for my role to end. Bracing myself for the impending change, I started praying about what was next for me. But every time I asked for the Lord’s leading, the two messages He seemed to repeat were: 1) Seek Me instead of answers from Me. 2) Continue to focus on where you’re serving now and don’t worry about what comes next.

It seemed that every book I read or Bible study I did kept repeating that message. Here’s one quote that captures it well: “Listen, He is the prize. Not His direction, guidance, and clarity, not even His comfort, relief, and encouragement. Just Him. He is the One who encompasses all you are searching for. When God speaks, His chief aim is to reveal Himself. He desires to make Himself known and lead you into a more intimate relationship with Him. If you overlook this main objective in search of more self-focused ambitions (even honorable ones), you will not be able to clearly discern His leading. The distorting filter of pride and self-importance will skew what you’re hearing, mistaking the voice of your own ego for the voice of God. The clarity you desire comes from matching your chief aim in hearing Him with His chief aim in speaking to you.” (Priscilla Shirer*)

Keeping this in mind, I began searching the Bible for every instance of the word “seek.” Turns out it’s in there quite a few times. Throughout the Old Testament Israel’s kings were advised by wise counselors and prophets to seek the Lord. God’s chosen people were also repeatedly admonished to seek Him and to steer clear of foreign idols and false gods. Some listened, quite a few didn’t.

Many of us are familiar with the words of Jeremiah 29:11, which are often quoted when people transition from one season in life to another: “’For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’”  

These words of reassurance aren’t always set in context, however. They were written to the Israelites who had been taken captive and brought to Babylon. Jeremiah’s words here encourage them that God hasn’t forgotten them, but the verses that follow also include some important instructions for them: “’Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you.  You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you,’ declares the Lord, ‘and will bring you back from captivity. I will gather you from all the nations and places where I have banished you,’ declares the Lord, ‘and will bring you back to the place from which I carried you into exile.’” (Jeremiah 29:12-14)

God reassured His children they would be rescued from exile, but a previous verse also mentions it wouldn’t happen for seventy years! While they waited, He invited His people to call upon Him and He promised He would listen to them. Many of the captives would live their remaining days in Babylon, never seeing their homeland again. That didn’t mean God had abandoned them. In fact, He invited them to draw near to Him and assured them of His presence. However, He also made it clear that seeking Him required wholeheartedness.

The word “seek” used here is the Hebrew verb “baqash.”** It means to search out by any method, but especially through worship and prayer. The implication is “to strive after.” Seeking God involves ongoing effort and focus. Once we begin a relationship with Him, we’re meant to spend the rest of our lives striving to know Him more deeply. 

The word “heart” used in the passage is the Hebrew noun “lebab.”** It characterizes our soul, mind, inclinations, conscience, moral character, and appetites. So, to seek God with all our hearts reflects a pursuit of Him that is complete and connected to all areas of our lives. It means surrendering to His will and His ways without holding anything back. Learning to do this takes consistent practice for a lifetime. It seems there are always areas of our lives we either consciously or unconsciously withhold from God. As we pursue Him, He reveals them to us and gently invites us to surrender them to Him.

I think that’s what He’s doing in me. As I slow my pace and seek Him, I’m giving Him room to show me where I’m holding out on Him and where I need further refinement.  There are moments when I struggle with impatience–I just want to know His plan for me so that I can start implementing it. Instead, God seems to be reminding me to be still in His presence so that I can learn more about His character. He wants to shape my character so that He can use me effectively. If I run ahead of Him, I’m missing the point. It’s not about finding the next place to serve, but becoming more completely surrendered to Him.

In the last month, I’ve changed my early morning routine and have begun spending my quiet time on the front porch sitting in a rocking chair wrapped in a blanket. Before opening my Bible or journal, I remain still for a few minutes and take in the sights and sounds around me. I’m learning that my neighborhood has a predictable morning rhythm. While I usually see the same runner at the same time or notice certain neighbors following regular patterns, I’ve also realized that the natural world is always changing. The white blossoms that filled my apple tree in late April have been replaced by tiny green fruit. Birds are constantly active, whether it’s chirping and calling from the trees or taking flight and soaring overhead. Rays of sunshine spotlight new blooms on the lavender across the street that weren’t there a few weeks ago. Sitting quietly taking it all in, I see that life teems around me– I’ve just never stopped to notice it before. It reminds me that even while I’m still, God is always at work. 

Tiny apples have replaced the spring blossoms. Watching them transform reminds me that God is always tending to what He’s created.

By seeking Him in the quiet of early morning, He’s revealing Himself to me. He’s reminding me that even while I wait, He’s at work, not just in the natural, but in the supernatural. The daily changes I see from my porch show me that He moves methodically and incrementally. Sometimes the differences start so subtly that I don’t notice them for a while. I’m reminded that He’s dependable and trustworthy, but not predictable. I recognize that God is always tending to what He’s created. Rather than waiting impatiently for Him to reveal what He’s doing, I’ll continue seeking Him so that I can know Him better and follow Him faithfully.

Natalie Grant’s song “More Than Anything” provides a powerful reminder to seek God rather than just expecting answers from Him. Will you join me in making it your prayer today?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=unG_klty9IY

*Discerning the Voice of God, p. 105

**The descriptions for the Hebrew words are compiled from Strong’s Concordance. “Baquash” is Strong’s #H1245 “Lebab” is Strong’s #H3824.

When Plans Reroute

I didn’t see it coming. With one swift move on the game board, my son thwarted my carefully constructed plans. We’d been playing the game Ticket to Ride and I had been quietly building my railway empire laying my black trains on tracks spanning from east to west. With each turn, I’d been amassing the cards I needed to connect cities between New York and Seattle. The route was obvious and the rail lines I needed had remained unclaimed for many rounds of play. It was a good sign that no one had drawn cards that would impede my progress. However, in one move, my son’s blue game pieces blocked my westward path in Helena, Montana.  

Despite my disappointment, I studied the game board carefully and discovered an alternate course I hadn’t considered. It was less direct and forced me to veer south to Salt Lake City, but would still enable me to link New York and Seattle on my fictional railway line. After a few more rounds of play, I successfully reached my destination, although the route looked much different than I’d planned.

Playing that game has been an illustration of my life in the past year. Time and time again I’ve anticipated plans moving in one direction only to have them rerouted. Family members have had illnesses and injuries that have caused major shifts in our routines and schedules, cars have broken down and created significant inconveniences, and ministry commitments have had unexpected and abrupt changes that have required continual flexibility.

While none of these life derailments has been catastrophic, each of them has had the potential to cause major discouragement and bitterness in me. Through a negative lens, I could tell you about many situations from the past year that have caused frustrations layered upon inconveniences compounded by heartbreak. However, choosing a negative focus would only  encourage me to have a sour attitude or to wallow in self-pity.

Think about it. Any time something doesn’t go according to our plans and we react negatively,  it’s because we think we’re being ripped off. We believe we deserve to get what we want. Really, this is veiled entitlement—the assumption that everything should go the way we prefer. And when our expectations aren’t met, we feel indignant, disillusioned, angry or bitter. The resulting behaviors are rudeness, impatience, self-absorption, and harsh treatment of others.

Most of us like control and when life goes according to plans, we assume we have it. But what if that control we thought we had was only an illusion? What if we learned to loosen our grasp on the need for control and to trust God when our plans get rerouted? What if we saw roadblocks as an inevitable part of life instead of an anomaly?

Like my train route on the game board, there are times when we are so singularly focused on getting from Point A to Point B that we can’t imagine any other way for something to work out. Yet when we’re open, flexible and willing to accept unexpected changes and interruptions, we leave room for God to teach us a few things along the way. This is how we grow.

Scripture emphasizes this idea: “Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.” (Proverbs 19:21, NIV) So when things don’t go according to plan, maybe instead of getting frazzled and upset, we’d be better off asking God to show us His purpose. Surely there is something we can learn from each rerouted journey we face.

Better still, we might consider including God in our plans and asking for His guidance and involvement from the start:

Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.”  (James 4:13-15, NIV)

God reveals His will through His Word. When we’re continually studying it, applying it to our lives, and pursuing a relationship with Him, we can find peace knowing our plans align with His.  Keep in mind, this doesn’t mean things will always go smoothly. Life is messy. People are complicated. Things change. We can rail against this and throw a tantrum or learn to accept it and let God refine us through it. And when our plans do get rerouted, instead of getting upset, our first inclination can be to rest in the knowledge that God is still in control.

If you’re in a season of “rerouting,” be encouraged by Micah Tyler’s song “Even Then.”

Joyfully Sad

It’s the little things that catch me by surprise—the lone toothbrush on the counter where there used to be two, the neatly made bed that wasn’t slept in the night before, or the empty hamper that used to be overflowing no matter how often I did the laundry. From my description, it almost sounds as if we’ve had a death in the family. And although we are grieving the absence of our first born, he’s not only alive and well, but thriving as a freshman in college. I wasn’t prepared for the conflicting feelings that would accompany his departure: the deep ache of knowing that our family will never be quite the same contrasted by the profound joy of watching our son launch into adulthood.

I braced myself for his departure during his senior year. Tears flowed at different milestones: making his last school lunch, waving as he and his brother drove off together on the final day of school, watching him cross the stage at graduation. The intensity of emotions increased at the end of the summer when we flew 1500 miles from home to get him settled at college.  Toggling between the joy of watching him embrace his new surroundings and the sadness of leaving him felt like a wild ride on a wobbly see-saw.

Since returning, we’re slowly adjusting to setting three places at the table instead of four. I miss swapping sections of the newspaper with him at breakfast and the camaraderie of working side by side at computers in our office. It doesn’t take much for a lump to form in my throat these days. I could easily wallow in sadness thinking about the magnitude of this change in our family. Lamenting about how things will never be the same can feel like swimming in an overcoat—I could easily drown in sorrow. Letting the tears flow is healthy and good, but lingering too long in sadness is not. It will only wear a groove in my brain that leads me down the same negative path over and over again.

With my son’s departure, I’ve been reflecting on my own college years. My parents laid a solid foundation for me in the first eighteen years of my life, but I had to launch from home to continue building on that foundation. They had to take a lesser role for me to mature fully. I wouldn’t want to deny my son that same experience. And really, isn’t that the whole point of parenting?

Our children arrive in our lives as tiny, needy little people. They start out relying on us for everything. But with each stage of development, they take one step closer to independence. We cheer for them when they first crawl and later walk. We’re relieved when they begin to eat, dress and bathe on their own. They start school and we coach them toward taking responsibility and doing homework without being reminded. At each stage of parenting, we’re teaching them a little more about how to navigate the world without us.

A friend recently coined the term “joyfully sad” to describe the paradox of this season. It perfectly describes the tangle of emotions that arise when grown children are finally ready to launch. They will always be our kids, but that hands-on parenting of their first eighteen years is no longer needed. And this is good and right.

Part of what makes childhood something to savor is that it doesn’t last. There is beauty in things that are fleeting—whether it is a delicate flower, a vibrant sunrise, or a newborn baby. There’s no time to take them for granted because they fade and change so quickly. Instead we enjoy them while we can.

My husband and I soaked in every moment with our son during our last few days with him at his new school. Before the dreaded time came to meet him on campus to say goodbye, we clasped hands to pray in our hotel room. Amidst the tears of joy and sadness, we thanked God for entrusting him to us and giving us the privilege of raising him for eighteen years.  And then we gave him back to the God who knew him, loved him, and chose him especially for us before time began. Our son was entrusted to us for a season and we relished every moment of his childhood. He will always be our precious boy. We know we have many milestones yet to share with him. And as the next leg of his journey begins, we are learning to adapt to our changing role.  Although we no longer see him daily, we rest in the knowledge that God remains at his side for this season and all the others that lie ahead.

Faith Foundation #9: Trust Brings Peace

Digging in my paddle against the current, I pulled hard. Choppy water slapped against my board and threatened to topple me as the afternoon breeze gained force. What had started as a relaxing jaunt around the bay had quickly turned into a punishing workout. With my knees bent and my head low, I gritted my teeth to get through the most exposed part of the harbor. Between the large boats chugging by and the lack of protection from the wind, it felt a little like riding a scooter on the freeway. Rounding the final bend, the calmer waters between two islands finally came into view.  No matter how rough the main part of the harbor got, I could always count on easy paddling through that peaceful little channel.

It wasn’t long before I saw the connection between that experience and one of my favorite passages in the Bible: “You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you.” (Isaiah 26:3, NIV).  It took determination to paddle against the strong current toward calm water.  We need to use that same kind of steadfastness in our minds when we’re struggling for peace. Every moment our thoughts can draw us further towards it or further away from it, but a steadfast mind is resolute and unwavering. It isn’t deterred by the wind and waves of circumstances, nor is it overwhelmed by them. Trusting God enables us to see beyond our present situations to the One who is more powerful than the strongest current or the fiercest wind.

Over the past few weeks I’ve returned to this mental picture of the safe harbor many times as I’ve been preparing to launch my firstborn child to college. It is an intense season in our family on every level—physically, relationally, spiritually and emotionally. My heart aches as I think about my son being 1500 miles from home. The years have flown and it’s hard to believe our family  is transitioning into this new era. More than once I’ve felt like the waves of circumstances and emotions are going to topple me, but then I stop and picture that safe, calm channel.  I remind myself to remain steadfast in trusting God and I invite Him to soothe my aching heart.

Every season of life brings new challenges and new opportunities to trust God. If we rely on easy circumstances to be the source our peace, we’ll often find ourselves without it. But if we trust God, who sees a much bigger picture than we do, we can mentally stay in that safe harbor, no matter how hard the wind is blowing or how rough the water gets.  Learning to rely on Him takes practice, but it brings the only peace that can sustain us over the long haul.

In keeping with the water theme of this post, click on the link to be encouraged by Rend Collective’s song “My Lighthouse.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HA8VtUPgqTc

And if you want to know what the storm in my mind looks like right now, click on the link to hear Nichole Nordeman’s song “Slow Down.” (Don’t watch it if you don’t have tissues handy or if you’re someplace where you don’t want to cry.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=clcNB_EUao8

 

 

 

 

Faith Foundations #1

With most of my commitments taking a break for the summer, I’ve been thinking a lot about transitions lately. The biggest change I’m anticipating, though, is having my oldest child graduating from high school and leaving for college in August.  This week he turns 18 and becomes a legal adult. I can hardly believe it.  My husband and I have prayed and prepared for this season for a long time.

As I gear up for his departure, I decided this summer’s blog posts would focus on different key Scriptures that have been personally meaningful to me. My prayer is that I can entrust these foundations of my faith to others, including my son.  To kick off the series, I’m sharing a story I wrote several years ago when he was learning to drive. I hope it sets the stage for future posts about foundations of faith that equip us for the road ahead.

I hope you’ll join me this summer as I reflect on what God has taught me through the highs and lows of my journey with Him. And maybe, my son and a few others heading off to college can glean some wisdom to carry with them as they begin the next chapter of their lives. As you read the story, think about what God might be teaching you right now…

Giving Up the Driver’s Seat

The pavement glistens in the weak sunlight as my son and I walk through the parking lot, thankful for a break in the storm. As I dig for the keys in my purse, my fifteen-year-old sidles up beside me and flashes a grin.  “Hey Mom, I brought my permit.  Can I drive home?”

            Looking up at the sky, I try to gauge if the clouds are dissipating or gathering momentum for another deluge.  Weather forecasters have been calling the storm an “atmospheric river,” and are predicting we’ll be doused with heavy rain throughout the weekend.   

            “I don’t know, buddy.  How do you feel about driving over the bridge if it starts raining again?  Do you know what to do?”  I’m trying to decide if this is a good chance for him to gain experience behind the wheel or if it’s dangerous in the volatile conditions.  I fret about the long drive and the ten-mile stretch across a bridge spanning storm-tossed waters.

            “Mom, I got this.  Besides, you always say you want me to experience driving in all kinds of conditions before I get my license.  We may not have another storm like this before I turn sixteen.”

            He has a point.  We are in our third year of a drought and he may not have many opportunities to drive in wet weather.  Handing him the keys, I say a silent prayer and think, this is one of the best or worst parenting decisions I’ve ever made.    

            Buckling myself into the passenger seat, I realize teaching my firstborn to drive is yet another adventure in parenting.  From the time he was little, I’ve braced myself for each new transition.  When he was only a preschooler, a lump would form in my throat every time we drove by the elementary school he would eventually attend.  Milestones like starting Kindergarten and middle school have been filled with emotion for me. Equipping my kids for adulthood means they will need me less and rely on themselves more.  This is the way things should be, but it doesn’t make letting go any easier.

            A few minutes later, we’re merging onto the freeway when the first drops start coming down. The storm unleashes its fury just as we make the ascent onto the bridge. The windshield wipers can’t clear the water fast enough, even going at full speed.  Our lives are literally in the hands of my fifteen-year-old son.  I’ve never been more keenly aware that he is in the driver’s seat; I’m just along for the ride.

            The car ride reminds me of the way my husband and I have been parenting since the birth of our oldest. Although it has often been tempting to try and orchestrate circumstances for our son who loves order and predictability, we felt this would not equip him to handle difficulties as he grew up. We believe our kids need to learn how to navigate life’s challenges so they’ll be strong and capable people.  However, this moment in the car is the first time I’ve ever helped my son navigate an actual storm.  

            As he drives across the bridge I keep a watchful eye on the road and reassure myself with memories of other challenging circumstances that have been catalysts for his growth. I remember when he struggled with a chaotic classroom environment in elementary school but had ultimately mastered tuning out distractions and remaining focused.  I’d never realized how thankful I am he’d learned that lesson until I look out the window at the stormy skies.  Behind the wheel, he doesn’t flinch despite the slick pavement and minimal visibility.

            The more I think of past challenges he’s overcome, the more confident I feel.  When we finally ease into the driveway at home, relief and pride wash over me.  My son didn’t panic once on the harrowing drive. I am exhausted; he seems unfazed.

            In a few months, this boy, my firstborn, will be leaving home.  He’ll launch into adulthood as he begins a new chapter in college. But, if the past is any indicator, I know he is going to navigate the road ahead with the same cool confidence that he did that day on the bridge.  His quiet faith, strong character, and unwavering integrity have been prayed into his life since before he was born.          

            And although my heart aches to think of the day he’ll leave home, I know with God at his side, his words to me in the parking lot that day will still be true: “I’ve got this, Mom.”

            I can think of no song more fitting to share with this story and to  kick off this series than “The Words I Would Say” by Sidewalk Prophets.

 

 

Good Goodbyes-No Other Gods Session 5

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The mama swallow clung to the wall just below her peeping chicks. Perched on the edge of the mud nest in the eaves, her babies flapped their tiny wings. Every few minutes, she would take flight, circling back to the nest and squawking at her chicks, encouraging them to spread their wings and fly. One by one, the babies wobbled out of the nest, plummeted a few feet and then discovered what they were made to do. There was one tiny bird, however, that clung to the nest long after the others had flown off. The mama squawked insistently, darting back and forth near her little one to encourage him to fly. When he finally did, we couldn’t help cheering, feeling privileged to have witnessed his momentous first flight.

I thought about that moment as I read Kelly Minter’s fifth lesson in No Other Gods entitled “Good Goodbyes.” Like the mother swallow urging her chicks to take flight, Minter encourages us to examine the things in our lives that we might need to bid farewell if we’re serious about eliminating idols. For many of us, staying in the cozy, warm nest feels a lot more comfortable and secure than launching out. Although the freedom of flying beckons us, we’re more worried about plummeting to the ground.

Ironically, some of the things God calls us to bid farewell didn’t start out as idols, they were actually good things that helped us to grow. But once we start relying on them to fill us or to provide comfort or security, they can become idols.  And then it’s time to say goodbye. For me, this has often been related to the desire to belong. I’ve spent a good portion of my life viewing myself as an outlier, someone often on the outside looking in. So when I’ve found a person or group where I feel accepted and included, I can latch on pretty tightly—to a degree that often becomes unhealthy. Regardless of whether it’s people in a women’s Bible study, an accountability group or a few close friends, I always need to monitor how much I’m looking to them for identity and reassurance. There are times when God has had to remove me from a group before I’m able to see that I was clinging to it more tightly than I should have been. Here are a few other situations where good goodbyes may be in order:

A role you’re used to playing:

Maybe you’re so accustomed to being in charge, leading or hosting that you’re preventing others from having the opportunity to grow and be stretched in new ways. This could be true in a family, a church, a small group, a volunteer organization or at work.

On the other hand, maybe you’re used to being served and being a participant. You like having little or no responsibility so that you can come and go as you please. Or maybe you’re accustomed to playing the cynic, always seeing what’s wrong with a group so that you have an excuse for never engaging it on a deeper level.

Regardless of which description you identify with above, if you’re in a position that is causing you to be stagnant or that is preventing others the opportunity for growth, it may be time for a “good goodbye” to that role.

A person you’re depending on:

 God brings people into our lives at different seasons to pour into us, to nurture us and to help us develop our potential. Sometimes he blesses us with a partner in ministry that brings the perfect amount of balance and support. But just like the mama bird has to urge her chicks out of the nest, there comes a time when we need to spread our wings and fly. When we begin to depend upon a specific person to continue feeding and supporting us, we may be unintentionally making a new idol.

Even Jesus, the ultimate mentor, left the earth so that his disciples could learn to rely on the Holy Spirit (see John 14 for more on this). Jesus’ physical departure from earth catapulted Peter and the apostles into key leadership roles in the burgeoning Christian church. Think about the power and authority Peter showed in the book of Acts compared to his impulsivity and immaturity in the gospels. Through relying on the Holy Spirit, he led many disciples in spreading the good news of the gospel in Jerusalem, “Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” (Acts 1:8b, NIV)

Similarly, there may come a time when you’re called to move on from people you depend on or partner with. It can be a “good goodbye” if you take the things you’ve learned from them, rely on the Holy Spirit, spread your wings and fly.

 A group you value:

 As Christians, we are called into community. When we find like-minded people we can journey beside in life, this is a true blessing. In Acts chapter 2 the fellowship of believers enjoyed meeting together daily to break bread and grow in faith. We know they weren’t a closed group because Scripture tells us “they added to their numbers daily those who were being saved.” (Acts 2:47b). Eventually, however, the believers scattered in the face of persecution and in the process they spread the gospel far and wide.  It was probably painful for the fellowship to break apart, but ultimately it enabled them to impact many more people.

Sometimes a “good goodbye” may be in order when we want to remain part of a particular group so much that we’re holding ourselves back from a new calling God has for us. If we lock arms with others and look inward instead of trusting God’s leading, we are dangerously close to making that cherished group into an idol.

Jeremy Camp’s song “Christ in Me” challenges me to remember that when I relinquish my idols and fix my gaze on Jesus, I find true freedom. Click on the link to hear a musical inspiration for saying “good goodbyes.”

Continue reading “Good Goodbyes-No Other Gods Session 5”

True vs Truth- No Other Gods Session 3, Post 2

How often do I fixate on what is “true” in the moment, but fail to see the bigger Truth?

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(Fourth in a series on Kelly Minter’s Bible study, No Other Gods: Confronting Our Modern Day Idols)

I carry an ache with me all the time lately, even though I’m physically fine. I feel it most profoundly at night when I kiss my oldest son goodnight after putting my hand on his head to pray for him. I feel it when I look at the stacks of college-related books and papers sitting on our office counter and each time I review another essay he’s written for an application. My son will become a legal adult in the spring and shortly afterwards, he’ll walk across a stage wearing a cap and gown, signifying the end of his childhood and the beginning of the next chapter in his life. And although this is right and good, the sadness overwhelms me sometimes.

In my twenties, I used to envision the family I would have someday. More often than not, I would picture what my future children would be like as teenagers. Much of the planning my husband and I did focused on the era we’re now enjoying with our two boys. As I think about our oldest son preparing to launch into adulthood, it feels like the wave we’ve been riding since we started our family is about to crash on the sand. After all, the era we’ve been anticipating for years and enjoying thoroughly is going to change forever within the next year. Sometimes I’m tempted to feel a little hopeless, thinking life right now is as good as it gets.

Fixating on this could lead me down a dangerous path of negative thinking.  I could spend so much time dwelling on all of the things that will never happen again that I could miss out on embracing this new season my family is entering.  I have one boy on the brink of adulthood and another who will follow in a few years. Part of parenting means equipping our kids to launch well. So, while it’s true that my kids are getting older and our years raising them will come to an end, the truth is our relationship with them won’t. Beyond parenting, I trust God has many more fulfilling endeavors for my husband and me in the years ahead. Some may involve our kids, but others won’t.

True vs. truth:  it’s a concept that I’ve been thinking about for the last few days as I’ve been working through Session 3 in No Other Gods by Kelly Minter.  She uses the story of Adam and Eve to drive home some powerful observations about what happens when we fixate on isolated things that are “true” but fail to see the larger context of Truth (with a capital “T”).  As you may remember, Satan appears in the garden in the form of a serpent and questions Eve about God’s command not to eat from a specific tree. After he plants seeds of doubt about God’s goodness in Eve’s mind, the serpent cunningly convinces her to disobey God and try the fruit:

“When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it. Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves.” (Genesis 3:6-7, NIV)

Kelly Minter points out that while the serpent did deceive Eve, nothing he said was false in that immediate moment:  they did gain knowledge of good and evil and they did not die on the spot (although their disobedience did ultimately bring death into the world).  She quotes Michael Wells of Abiding Life Ministries who says, “Satan will tell us what’s true, but he never tells us the truth.”

I’ve been thinking about that quote all week.  How often do I fixate on what is “true” in the moment, but fail to see the bigger Truth?

There are many times when I let what is true at a certain time deceive me and prevent me from seeing the bigger picture– like feeling sad about my kids growing up but forgetting that I’m doing my job right if they’re actually becoming capable adults. I can lose perspective on other things too– like when a friend unintentionally hurts me, or when the scale doesn’t show the weight I expect to see.  It might be an unanticipated expense that threatens my confidence in God’s provision. It could be feeling despair about the direction our nation and world are headed and failing to remember that God is still sovereign over it all.  The opportunities to focus on the little “t” instead of the big “T” are endless.

Armed with my new knowledge, I regularly pray for the discernment to see the difference between what is “true” and what is “Truth.” I don’t want to be so easily deceived or to get so wrapped up in the small things that I fail to recognize the big picture. Jesus tells us in John 16:33  “In this world you will have trouble.  But take heart!  I have overcome the world.”

Now that’s Truth with a capital “T” that I can believe, no matter what.

The link below is one of my favorite songs and the video with it shows the difference between what is “true” and what is “Truth.” Click on the link and enjoy “Remind Me Who I Am” by Jason Gray.

Continue reading “True vs Truth- No Other Gods Session 3, Post 2”

When I Am Weak, Then I Am Strong

I hope you’ll join me over the next few weeks as God teaches and blesses me through this unexpected season of physical challenges. And as you read, I hope you’ll consider the new places he wants to take you on your faith journey this summer.

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Turning my head for the briefest moment, I realized my carelessness just in time to see my front wheel colliding with the curb. The pavement seemed to rise up to meet my face as I crashed in a heap. Before I’d had a chance to react, I was sprawled on the side of the road, tangled in my bike and still clipped into the pedals. Rushing back to help me, my husband gently pulled the bike off me and surveyed my injuries.

The road rash on my swollen cheek and shoulder looked bad, but were minor injuries compared to the pain radiating down my right arm. A trip to the ER confirmed I’d fractured my elbow. Wrapping my arm from shoulder to fingers, the nurses listened sympathetically as I lamented that I didn’t have time to slow down at such a busy time of year.

Initially I didn’t realize that even my most common activities would be impacted by this injury.   I knew I could forget about getting exercise for a while. The effort required for simple tasks like bathing and dressing was hard enough. What I didn’t anticipate was that holding a book, writing and typing with two hands would also be extremely challenging. Suddenly, the main things I sought for spiritual and mental health were no longer available to me.

Lying in bed the morning after my accident, I realized I needed to find some new ways to connect with God that were outside of my usual practices. I thought of the many people who constantly share their life happenings on social media—it almost seems as if events don’t really “count” unless they’re posted. It turns out I can be the same way with my spiritual disciplines. If I don’t write prayers in my journal or fill in answers in a Bible study workbook, I feel like I haven’t done an actual “quiet time” like a dutiful and faithful Christian “should.”

I’ve written and thought a lot about the idea of abiding—of remaining present and engaged with God throughout each day. With the limitations created by my injury, God is challenging me to find new ways to do this consistently. My broken elbow has caused me to be a lot less productive and a lot more introspective. Holding an ice pack to my face with my left hand and having a nearly unusable right hand prevents me from multitasking like I usually would. It’s hard to grasp a book or even scroll through my phone. In those idle moments I’m trying to focus on God instead of letting my thoughts just ramble. My injury is teaching me to settle into the quiet and just be in God’s presence.

As much as I’ve grown over the years, I’m realizing God still has many things to teach me (or re-teach me). I am learning to trust him in the midst of my physical weakness and to be attentive to what he wants me to learn during the season of forced rest. And with each passing day, I’m learning to be thankful for the ways life has been simplified to accommodate my injury. I’m learning things I would be too busy to recognize in the usual fast pace of my life.

I’m taking comfort from Paul’s letter to the church at Corinth when he writes about an unnamed physical problem that challenged him:

”Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me.  But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” (2 Corinthians 12:8-10, NIV)

God’s grace was sufficient for Paul. I pray the same will be true of me as I learn to let his power be made perfect in my weakness. With every task I am unable to do with one hand, I’m being prompted to thank him for something- whether it is the patience I’m learning or the people he’s using to help me.

When I completed my last Bible study workbook by Kelly Minter, I started praying God would provide new sources of inspiration for my writing, but I never anticipated it being something like this. I hope you’ll join me over the next few weeks as God teaches and blesses me through this unexpected season of physical challenges. And as you read, I hope you’ll consider the new places he wants to take you on your faith journey this summer. Sometimes you don’t even have to leave home to do it!

I couldn’t resist sharing a song that feels like it was written just for me in the midst of this crazy time.

Continue reading “When I Am Weak, Then I Am Strong”