Robin's Nest

I’m thinking about someone precious today. I’m remembering my Ashley Nicole.

She breezed into my life on the first of May, spring’s new, cleansing breath. She stayed for nine days and left on my darkest night. But, thirty-three years later, I rest in what she taught me. One who never spoke a word.

When we carried her out of the hospital, joy was new and bright like sunshine and birdsong. When she died, my days grayed. Grief slithered in to steal Ashley’s joy. But it’s back, because I fought for it. Well … not at first.

Our souls have an enemy. Where there’s joy, there’s a battle.

Our pain is painted on in layers. Some by others, some by our own choices. Mine was multi-tiered. When Ashley died, my suffering sealed all those hurting layers. My empty arms ached and anger towards God spiraled me further into a pit. My pursuit of relief and escape took me where I never imagined. I dulled my sorrow with alcohol, drugs, and relationships.

Some of us lash out, over-eat, or over-shop. Whatever works to feel better, to maintain control, or to make others pay for our pain. Anger will shackle us to a victim mindset as we relive the pain, keeping our wounds fresh.

I know because my identity was wrapped tight in that victim-skin. It was a soul-killing, twisted comfort that kept me trapped for years.

Since childhood, I’d sensed a light beyond my reach, coaxing me past my pain. It was something stronger than my parents’ persuasion or my religion’s rules. Something personal. I called it false hope until grief’s weight and sinful choices broke me and I finally let Jesus into my selfish world.

He showed me that my husband and children deserved better than what broken-me gave them. He revealed who I was beyond my fear and shame: whole and healthy. He challenged me to believe that hope is real, peace is possible, and healing is available.

I learned a lot from my baby girl who breezed from my life when spring was brand new. Through the pain of her leaving and the pit I sank into, she taught me that a sin-soaked past can be turned around for good and there’s always a higher road to rescue me. She taught me that heartache, though a part of life, doesn’t define me.

Now, by God’s grace, I  resist joy-stealers. I’m no longer a victim and I’m proof that grief and joy can coexist in a heart where peace reigns.

My baby girl led me to the One who died so I could live fully and freely. Ashley Nicole showed me Jesus.

 

Photo: Robin & daughter, Hannah, born ten years after Ashley Nicole

 

©Robin Melvin 2016

 

 

As we welcome spring, I’m enjoying my new grandson, Alexander, born into our home eight weeks ago. Those tiny toes and the miracle of new life remind me that Easter’s coming and I remember the purpose of this Lenten season.

Have I done a real soul search lately and walked with Jesus through my mind, will, and emotions?

Allowing him to take spiritual inventory is uncomfortable, but we grow into our divine design when we let him transform wrong actions and attitudes.

Perhaps it seems we can’t overcome temptation and defeat sin’s control. My friend, that’s a lie. If we’re destined to remain sin’s slave, then why did Jesus allow the whip to shred his flesh and why did he surrender to the most humiliating, excruciating death known to the Roman world?

Jesus’ victory over death gives us victory over sin. His death and resurrection rescue us if we choose. We can die to our sinful nature and be raised to new life. Do we instantly become perfect with no more problems? Nope. We begin a lifelong journey empowered by his Holy Spirit, seeking spiritual growth through the good and bad times.

As a new believer, I learned that following rules and observing traditions don’t connect us with our Creator. Outwardly, we check the boxes and clean up quite well. As did the Pharisees. Jesus called them white-washed tombs. I don’t want to be shiny on the outside and dirty on the inside.

So, I need daily soul searches.

The longer I follow Christ’s teachings, the clearer I see this truth: All sin begins inside as a desire, a feeling, a thought. Our thoughts dictate our actions, so outward sin is merely a symptom of what’s hiding soul-deep: pride, greed, bitterness, jealousy, apathy, self-loathing, self-righteousness, etc. God wants an inner cleansing of our heart and soul.

Are you tired of living a defeated life? Of praying and saying, “That’s the last time, I promise.” only to be pulled back into something or someone that’s killing you from the inside out? If so, I have a dangerous prayer for you. It’s from Psalm 139 and the heart of King David:

“Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”

The guy who penned this prayer messed up big time … more than once. Yet God called him, “… a man after my own heart” and put him in Jesus’ family tree. God saw a heart that wanted to do what was right.

Maybe you’re fresh out of courage. I’ve been there. From that humble state, may we ask our creator to reveal what separates us from his peace and purpose.

As we walk through Lent, let’s remember Jesus’ last few weeks. They were plagued with volatile crowds and murderous plots. Hope dimmed as dark hearts conspired to extinguish the Light. The Son chose death so we can be in relationship with the Father.

As we reflect on Jesus’ suffering, let’s search out sin. Own it and grieve it. Confess it and turn away from it. Jesus can remove its power over us. That’s our promise of new life, born on Easter.

Grace and peace for your journey, my friend.

This week actually feels like winter here in the Chicago suburbs. I guess we can’t complain when February decides to show up. Some of us are fighting winter colds and flu bugs. I sit at my desk surrounded by the aroma of Vicks and the hum of a humidifier.

In any life situation, we can choose to grow or grumble. And relationships, especially marriage, give us countless opportunities for both.

My husband and I are morning people. With one difference. While I like to ease into the day with quiet and minimal lighting, Jeff jumps in, singing and flipping every light switch he passes. Way too cheerful for 5:00 a.m.

Yesterday, I sat in lamplight breathing in steam from my coffee, when Jeff’s version of Jason Gray’s “Glow in the Dark” burst my peaceful bubble. If you don’t know the song, think of “Footloose” and the dance. Well maybe not exactly, but that’s what it feels like when dawn hasn’t even peeked over the horizon.

This used to annoy me. But, instead of my usual internal whining about missing my morning bliss, I chose to smile and appreciate my husband. I chose to be thankful for his joy and remember the gift given to me thirty-four years ago, packaged in a hyper seventeen year old. That boy knew how to love, and now even more as he seeks to do it God’s way.

My new reaction to Jeff’s morning enthusiasm surprised me and shows that another unhealthy mindset is changing. God reminds me that it’s not all about me and my comfort.

In Romans 5, we read about grace, God’s immeasurable kindness and mercy. We don’t earn it. We don’t deserve it.

Where sin shows up in bad attitudes, grace doesn’t just replace it with something good, it abounds. It overflows to give us a greater capacity for love and patience.

Grace doesn’t just teach us to do the right thing. It gives us abundant life and then flows to others. If we so choose. We don’t wait until they earn it or deserve it. That’s manipulation.

As Jeff’s joy glows in the dark, I choose to appreciate his uniqueness. I’m learning to admire those quirks that annoy me. Well, most of them. Some simply require a deep-breath prayer to let it go. After all, he’s not supposed to meet all my needs. That’s God’s job.

So, we let each other off the hook. We aim to love better, to be grace-givers, by putting self aside.

We know it’s a lifelong journey. A daily choice. St. Francis got it right when he said,

 “Above all the grace and the gifts that Christ gives is that of overcoming self.”

Sometimes my husband’s energy is just too much. It bubbles over, kinda like God’s grace. Free and abundant. Sometimes too much of a good thing is just what we need.

 

 

Hello, my friends. It seems forever since we met here. I hope your new year is off to a wonderful start.

It’s still Christmas in my house. The tree’s twinkling and presents are piled waiting for a late celebration with our children and grandbabies.

You probably stashed away your holiday décor and greeted this year, eager and excited. Or maybe, like me, 2015 ended with some daunting difficulties and you’re not quite ready to tackle them.

Perhaps you’re wide-awake in the wee morning hours, with a mind that won’t shut off. You’re thinking of everything and trying to figure it all out. The only thing you’ve accomplished is getting twisted into a panic and rolled into a sleepless stress-ball.

That’s where I was last week. Exhausted and determined to end my mental rant, I stopped and talked to God. I told him I didn’t want to stay in my sadness and I needed him to help me. My head cleared as he reminded me that I don’t function from a place of fear, grief, and despair.

My life is rooted in peace, hope, and joy.

Those are the gifts that Christmas gave us when God became man. His presence and his promises were born among us, to live in us. Years ago, I received those gifts. But sometimes, heartaches distract me.

I’m reminded that it’s still Christmas. Not just in my home, but in my heart.

Jesus empowers us to live above our feelings and our circumstances. He is here and he hasn’t changed. We can trust him to give us courage for the unknown. He’s already carried us through difficult situations and we know he’ll do it again. That is the hope for us who believe.

Life’s lumps don’t have to keep us stuck.

Let’s surrender to what 2016 requires: courage, hard work, and perhaps rearranging our plans.

Let’s be stubborn enough to fight. Let’s live, learn, and accept the life we’re given. All its grief and messiness will make us stronger if we allow God’s presence and promises to change us.

He’s here. He’s not silent. May we hear the gentle whisper, “It’s still Christmas.”

“Now, at the dawn, our eyes are fixed on you in gladness. We ask only that your faithfulness permeate every troubled place we are able to name, that your mercy move against the hurts to make new, that your steadfastness hold firmly what is too fragile on its own. And we begin the day in joy, in hope, and in deep gladness. Amen.”

–Walter Brueggemann; Awed to Heaven, Rooted in Earth

Photo by Connie Zink http://www.facebook.com/connie.zink1