I’m a tad obsessed with Billy Graham. His humility and simplicity. His love for people and Jesus. Though he’s with His Savior now, Graham’s  messages are evergreen and never stray from the path to real, abundant life. Jesus. Always Jesus.

Yes, I’m smitten. Now, even more as I hear his children’s stories.

Ruth tells about a time in her life after a messy divorce. She dated a man her children didn’t like and her parent’s cautioned her to slow down. Describing herself as “stubborn, willful, and sinful,” she ignored their advice and married him. She realized her mistake right away. Afraid of him, she left three weeks later.

On her two-day drive home, she wondered how to tell her father. Can you imagine how shame probably harassed her?

What a failure. You’re an embarrassment. 

Rounding the corner to her parents’ yard, Ruth saw him waiting for her.

A bit reluctant, she stepped out of the car. Her daddy wrapped his arms tight around her. “Welcome home.”

No lecture. No shame or blame or condemnation.

In Luke 15, Jesus tells us that God runs to us with wide-open arms and kisses, with compassion and celebration plans, especially when we return from being “stubborn, willful, and sinful.”

Yep, I’ve been there.

But nothing can separate us from this relentless love. It shows us we’re treasured and valued beyond measure. We’re worth pursuing. Every single time.

When’s the last time you really thought about this unconditional love that doesn’t give up on you? It directs and corrects but it never condemns. The character defects of our earthly father do not exist in our Heavenly Father.

So, let’s focus on that. Understanding and experiencing God’s love. It’s a bit like going to a waterfall to fill a teacup. So much overflow to soak in, but with daily practice, it’ll get from our head to our heart.

God is patient and very pleased that we seek him. He is our good Father. And I’m a sap for good daddy stories.

That day in the driveway, Ruth Graham saw what her daddy spent his life telling the world: “My father was not God, but he showed me what God was like … When we come to God with our sin, our brokenness, our failure, our pain, and our hurt, God says, ‘Welcome home.'”

My friend, our Father not only waits for us to return to him, he runs to us and meets us right in the middle of our messes.  Let’s soak in this forgiveness and unconditional love.

 “May your roots go down deep into the soil of God’s marvelous love. And may you have the power to understand … how wide, how long, how high, how deep his love really is. May you experience the love of Christ, though it is so great you will never fully understand it. Then you will be filled with the fullness of life and power that comes from God.” ~ Ephesians 3:18-19

                                                                                           

Photo borrowed from Pixabay.com

 

Last time we met here, I was low. Not depressed or anxious, just lying low. Resting body, mind and spirit, careful to not get caught up in the stress of making Christmas happen but letting it happen in me. I was getting quiet and reclaiming my peace.

You may be familiar with Luke’s story of two sisters. Can you imagine Martha and Mary’s excitement as they prepared their home for Jesus’ visit? I hear Martha banging cabinet doors in the kitchen, frustrated that her sister won’t help. I get it. I’d want things perfect too.

Martha complains to Jesus and we hear his gentle correction: “Martha, Martha, you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.” 

Mary sets aside the busy-ness of family demands and cultural norms and sits with Jesus. She’s ready to learn and grow her faith. 

More than ever, this has become my focus too: Sitting with Jesus.

Sometimes talking, sometimes quiet. Sometimes alone with a cup of coffee watching the sunrise, sometimes with my grandbabies watching them play and chatter and giggle. 

Not because I’m super spiritual. It’s the only way to hang on to my sanity. My doing, doing, doing has to be balanced with just being. Being still with Jesus. It makes me easier to live with. Just ask my husband.

Practicing the presence of Jesus is vital. Not as part of a religious checklist but because our lives demand it, don’t they? Staying connected reminds us he’s always with us. He’s beside us in the not-so-beautiful, not-so-happy moments too. 

He sees us at our best and our worst and it doesn’t phase him a bit. In fact, he welcomes our raw honesty. Ever read David’s Psalms?

God works with scared, messy, and authentic.

We all have our inner human struggles. Pride, doubt, anger. Regret, low self-worth, loneliness. You name it. Then there’s the outward stuff of life experience that can throw us off-kilter. It’s easy to detach or get distracted. To lose our bearings and run on spiritual fumes. Peace and joy, even our hope, can trickle through the cracks of a broken spirit. And he welcomes that too.

Empty. Numb. Hence, my lying low.

Patient and deliberate focus, to live from my healing and not my hurt was all I had. And all I needed. So, I’m getting some fight back. Slow and steady. I breathe and hold back from jumping ahead. I hear what  trickled through the cracks, now flowing in. Jesus, my Living Water. Yes, I think I’ll linger here a while.

My friend, God calls us to spiritual rest. Let’s choose “what is better.” Sitting with Jesus, we find our bearings, our center. If we let him, he’ll bring light and life to any situation. He’s here. He’s got our todays and our tomorrows.

In these weeks leading to Easter and beyond, may we choose well. May we create new habits and deeper connections. I pray the busy-ness in us and around us, our worries and our upsets, will not keep us from The One most needed. 

Peace and quiet for your journey. 

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” ~ Romans 15:13

Photo borrowed from Pixabay.com

 

 

It’s been a while, my friends. In my slowing and being still, I’ve created space. To allow new struggle and new wisdom and new healing. Oh, I’ve tried to make it happen. Numb is an awful place to be. But I can’t put words to what I haven’t yet experienced. Some things just take time. God’s, not mine. And I’m reminded what I’ve told you  many times. Be patient in the process.

More than ever, I’m seeking it. The peace of Christmas. About six months ago, I hit that wall of anxiety. Somehow, in the midst of chaos, I misplaced my peace and a bit of my shine. But, I’m getting it back.

I think about Mary birthing her first baby in that stinking stable ~ without mom or midwife or pain meds. But, I see her joy as she strokes his cheek and kisses his little nose. Can you sense her delight as the shepherds leave, excited to announce her miracle? She’s given birth to Immanuel, God with us. To Messiah, who’d save us from darkness.

Everything all sparkly and wrapped up in a bow, right?

Nope. I imagine in the midst of Christmas bliss, Mary remembered what she was told nine months earlier, “The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David … ” So she knew Jesus’ future held struggle and danger. She also knew about living under Roman rule, its oppression and violence.

And “Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.”

When Jesus was eight days old, a temple priest told her, “This child is destined to cause many in Israel to fall, and many others to rise. He is sent as a sign from God, but many will oppose him. As a result, the deepest thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your very soul.”

I bet that knocked the breath out of her for a second.

Mary didn’t understand it all. His birth, their future. But, I imagine she breathed deep, hugged that baby tight, and walked out of the temple ready to do what God called her to do. She simply believed and trusted him to do everything he promised. She didn’t place her peace in people, or an easy life, or her own dreams of security and happiness for herself or her baby.

But, I did. I misplaced my peace in all those things and even wondered if it was lost.

Somewhere along the line, I began to doubt my faith and my God. That he would do what he promises. I forgot about his gift of redemption. That he truly makes beauty out of ashes. I know it. I’ve experienced it. But I got a tad distracted.

So, in my slowing, I seek to simply believe again. Only deeper and higher and wider.

My friend, perhaps you’ve had the breath knocked out of you. In these days leading to Christmas, let’s ponder where we place our peace. It can be “elusive and fragile.”**  Let’s wrap it up snug to our chest. Treasure it, protect it. In the middle of joy and uncertainty, Immanuel calls us to a deeper trust.

Hang on, my friends.

“That time of darkness and despair will not go on forever … The people who walk in darkness will see a great light. For those who live in a land of deep darkness, a light will shine.” ~ Isaiah 9:1-2

Peace and Joy for your journey.

**Brian Wangler, http://c1naz.org/media/media-item/335/make-peace

 

All other quotes found in Luke, chapters 1 & 2

Photo from Pixabay.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jeff and I experienced countless military separations. I was used to being a temporary single parent and wasn’t worried about the added responsibility. But this time I was sending him into harm’s way. My mind was caught in a tug-of-war between duty and reality. Between “suck it up and soldier on” and processing this gut-twisting fear. I spent weeks processing the fact that he might die in Iraq.

My unhealthy habit was to stuff my fears. But, this one demanded attention. It was a daily, hourly, sometimes minute-by-minute decision to not panic.

I made a stubborn, raw choice  to choose faith over fear. 

Partly because I wanted to be strong for my kids. But mostly because I wanted to be free of worry and anxious thoughts. I wanted peace.

Conversations with God changed from, “God, he has to come home” to “Help me trust you no matter what.”

I’m glad my pastor asked, “What will you do if Jeff doesn’t come home?” Voicing my trust helped me surrender the outcome. “A part of me will die, but I’ll be okay … eventually … because God will be there.”

That’s all I had. No answers. Only faith and the promise that the same one – the Changeless One – who carried us through our daughter’s death, would be there again in the midst of my worst fears.

Jeff’s deployment day came. Preparations distracted me but fear doesn’t give up easily. What if he doesn’t come back? Refusing to let fear win, I placed pieces of home in his foot locker: family pictures and a love note smudged with grape jelly. It was pinned to a stuffed puppy and signed by nine-year-old Hannah, “Daddy’s Little Girl.”

We left early for Robert Gray Army Airfield so Jeff could arrive before his soldiers. Strong and handsome in desert fatigues, he eased the family van over dusty, cactus-flanked roads.

As he sang to the radio, I remembered him as a teenager driving his radio-less Nova. A little rectangle cassette player sat between us as he sang Elvis and Barry Manilow. He’d stick his head out the window to get the Rick Springfield look in his wavy, brown hair. We were carefree and immortal then. Now, he had that sexy crew cut and we were quite aware of his mortality.

Alone in the airfield’s parking lot, we walked to the back of the van to unload his gear. We lingered there in silent tears and embraces. Hannah clung to him, her arms tight around his waist, sobbing, “Daddy, I don’t want you to go.”

Knowing it might be our last moments together, made words seem urgent. Yet, they failed to express two hearts connected by twenty-three years of life’s darkest pain and deepest joys.

As we sat, shaded by the van’s hatch door, Jeff pulled out a book from his backpack. It symbolized his grandma’s prayers. She was a Salvation Army soldier fighting a different war. Opening the tattered, red hymnal, he sang into the face of fear:

“My Jesus, I love thee. I know thou art mine…
I will love thee in life; I will love thee in death,
And praise thee as long as thou lendest me breath;
And say, when the death-dew lies cold on my brow:
If ever I loved thee my Jesus ‘tis now.”

Jeff found words to express his trust in the one who knew our future. I rested my head on his shoulder as our Comforter wrapped us in peace. We knew, no matter what, we’d be okay. Even in the midst of our worst fears.

Next week, as twelve blessings gather around our Thanksgiving table, we’ll remember to embrace each day, thankful for each one and grateful that God is in all our tomorrows.

Sometimes faith requires a series of surrenders, my friends. Daily, hourly, minute-by-minute.

I pray today, if you’re wound up in worry, you’ll surrender the outcome and not let it rob you of today’s blessings.

“Be strong and very courageous. Do not be terrified. Do not be discouraged. For the Lord, your God, is with you wherever you go.”~ Joshua 1:9

Photos: Hannah and her daddy, March, 2004. Me and my hero, February, 2004. Photo by Kim Gibson.