"The enemy has pursued my soul; he has crushed my life to the ground, he has made me sit in darkness like those long dead. Therefore my spirit faints within me; my heart within me is appalled." (Psalm 143:3-4)
Those words from David the Psalmist are the obvious result of deep crisis. David had a number of life events that could have produced them, but he's not alone. I've been there. Everyone I know has been there at least once. We've all tasted of this place of crisis, not just in the physical life being threatened, but the place where the soul is at the brink of death. The place where thoughts, emotions, decision making, they've all been brought past the point of pain to the shadows where only numbness resides.
And it's there that we have an invitation. Two, actually.
When we find ourselves in the shadowland, the valley filled with such thick fog that we can not find the face of our Savior, we can choose to accept the invitation to set up camp and become a permanent resident, or we can start climbing out.
The first invitation comes from the one who brought you there in the first place. The one who has pursued you, crushed your life, and made you sit in the darkness. He's the one who constantly reminds you of the faintness of your own heart with words that never suggest you'll ever be anything but appalled at your own life.
But, the second invitation, the one that is harder to find, harder to open, and harder to accept? It comes from the lover of your soul, and it's the one David sent in his RSVP for in the very next verse.
"I remember the days of old; I meditate on all that you have done; I ponder the works of your hands. I stretch out my hands to you; my soul thirsts for you like a parched land.....for your name's sake, O Lord, preserve my life. Bring my soul out of trouble." (Psalm 143:8,11)
The invitation is to remember, and by remembering to climb out of the darkness that makes you think life has always been this way and will always be this way. Remembering what He's done and the many times He has already saved your soul in the past is the act of turning on the light, and stretching out your hands for His presence and asking Him to meet you again is taking the first step out of the shadowlands.
So, today, if you are in that place where your soul is in danger, where you can not see Him and you don't feel anything at all, remember.
Remember the way He met you for the first time.
Remember the way He changed everything.
Remember the way He spoke to you kindly.
Remember the way He provided when you thought there was nothing in your future but lack.
Remember the way He gave you the answer before you ever even thought to ask.
Remember the way He held you when no one else even knew you cried.
Remember the way He carried you through the storm you couldn't stand in.
Remember the way He answered the cry of your heart with His presence.
And after you remember, wait for His presence again. Stretch out your arms and call. And let Him bring your soul out of trouble.
You have not always been here. You will not always be here. Your soul will live again.
"There is beauty and adventure in the commonplace for those with eyes to see beyond." - Jonathan Lockwood Huie
The older I become, the more I've realized that my life is not made up of hills and valleys like I once thought. It's made up of tiny moments on the road that stretches over hills and valleys.
Tiny moments like making my husband a cup of coffee.
Brushing my daughter's hair.
Listening to my son laugh.
Feeding the whole crew yet another meal.
Hearing about my child's day.
Watching the oldest wink at the youngest.
The choked up feeling in my throat when my friend tells of a victory.
The choked up feeling in my throat when another tells of personal pain.
The feel of the blanket in my hand as I tuck in the one who still asks.
Starting the last load of laundry for the day.
The sound of his breathing as he settles into sleep.
These moments make up my life. They lead me from the valley to the mountain that always stretches in the horizon.
They are everyday. They are common. They are nothing.
Until He gives me eyes to see beyond.
This past month was "Pastor's Appreciation" month. It just might be my family's favorite four weeks out of the year, made fun by the fact that our church appreciates us well. This last Sunday, all six of us sat in the living room floor and read a huge stack of notes and letters that had been given to us by our congregation that morning. They had been handed to us in a huge bucket the church had titled our "love tank." And those letters really did fill our love tanks.
Some were short, some were long, all were encouraging, and all were precious.
My children have only ever known the life of being pastor's children, and I believe they handle it well. My husband and I have worked hard to help them understand that while they are our "first church," we also serve a body. And that service will require sacrifice and will require it often. They have become used to Dad needing to step out of the room to answer a phone call or leave for the office again after he's already come home for the evening because someone needs him. They understand that much of the weekend, when they are home from school, is his busiest "work" time. They have made peace with the truth that their parents "jobs" involve ministering to people's hearts, and people's hearts still have needs after regular business hours.
So, it was a joy for me to include them in the reading of the letters. To see them receive the encouragement, thanks, and respect that came through the lines of the many, many pages. It was a joy because I knew they were being able to see their dad's sacrifice, as well as the sacrifices we make as a family, are worth it.
Yes, they will always come first. And they know they have complete access to us, whenever they need us.
But, they also now they are appreciated for the way they share us.
And all because people took the time to put pen to paper and let their thoughts be known.
Such a simple act. Such profound results.
Whose love tank do you need to fill today?
I came across this picture today.
It's the capturing of morning prayers from the first day of school, just four short months ago. And I was struck by the timing.
Just this last week, I received a letter from one of our church staff. It reminded us that the prayer team at our church had been praying since February for our family, lifting up to Heaven requests that we ourselves had made at the beginning of the new year. The letter contained a copy of the prayer request form we had filled out.
As I read over the needs, I was moved by how many of them had been answered. Some big, some small, all important to our family's hearts.
And I was grateful for those who have poured hours into prayer for my family.
When I look at this picture of my husband's hands enfolding our children and lifting up requests before the Father who loves them more than he does, I'm grateful again.
Grateful that intercession was God's idea, and such a good idea it was.
Grateful that He hears.
Grateful that prayer changes things.
Grateful that the needs we face now, in this moment, can be added to the list.
Grateful that we never have to be without it.
10,487 days have passed since I asked Jesus Christ to be my Savior...I am thankful for every day that He has made me more like Him.
6,040 days have passed since I said "I do" to the man who makes my soul complete...I am thankful for every day that has made me love him more.
5, 582 days have passed since I became a mother...I am thankful for every day that has seen children grow under my care.
Just 1,285 days will pass before our oldest will graduate from high school...I am thankful for every day he spends under this roof.
Just 3,476 days will pass before our youngest will graduate from high school...I am thankful for every day there are birds in this nest.
I am thankful for now. For this moment. For this good day.
"This is the day the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it." - Psalm 118:24
Author's Note: To calculate your own days of thankfulness, click here.
This week has crushed my house with constant activity. And I've been cranky about it.
A seemingly endless to-do list. All important things with large consequences attached to them if they go undone. Hurried meals. The front door opening with people going, and coming, and going again. Laundry piling up. The copy machine at the church refusing to come to life, the backlog of office work stacking up on my desk, the bills to pay, the school projects my kids are already coming home with on the second week of school, the trip I'm supposed to be packing for...
And the knowledge of so many people with hurts so great they take your breath away to ponder what it must be like to live with that kind of pain.
Because being a minister, you hear about them. Not just in a whispered comment at the grocery store, but eye to eye in the office, the kleenex box between you and the broken heart.
The couple whose marriage is breaking.
The agonized parent dealing with the drug-addicted teen.
The family who just love their loved one forever.
The children who were sent into foster care.
And it's this knowledge that stops me from sliding into self-pity over my overwhelmed schedule.
Because when I view my life through the lenses of blessings realized, I realize what I often call "pressure" is simply the fruit of a full and bountiful life. And the consequences of the to-do list going undone aren't that large, after all, in comparison to roads others are walking.
And so tonight I stop.
And breathe.
And let the laundry pile up for one more evening.
And give thanks.
And pray for the Father to blow the breath of healing across hearts that are breaking.
And on my way to help with the science report, I find I am grateful.
To be living this life.
To hold this man.
To mother these people.
To serve this city.
To love this God.
To have a chance to wake up tomorrow to bring the healing breath to the broken.
My baby boy turns ten today.
He's the youngest of the brothers. The quickest to laugh. The one who most often drives me to prayer. His ability to make people smile is unparalleled. He has not yet located the dirty clothes hamper. He possesses incredible compassion for the hurting. He's the only one of our children that has needed a trip to the emergency room--twice. His imagination is astounding. His teacher's phone number is on my speed dial.
I have realized he is the answer to my prayer to know what my husband was like as a child. I would caution you to watch what you pray for, but really, it's a joy to have this desire fulfilled. I just have to remind myself of that often, encouraging myself by thinking on how well his dad turned out.
And the whirlwind called my son is worth every smile, every anxious moment, and every howl in the dark after stepping on a lego.
Ten years old. A decade of joy. I cherish it.
This morning, I held him close and blessed the next decade of his life. I blessed the choices he will make. I blessed his ability to hear the voice of God. I blessed his body, soul, and spirit.
May the next ten years see my baby "grow in wisdom, stature, and favor with God and man." (Luke 2:52) And may I, as his mother, remember to breathe every moment into the deep places of memory. Even the legos.
Today has been a blessing. It's the day the virus left the house. For the past three weeks, my children and I have one by one taken turns running fever. Only Dad remained unscathed. First the body aches, then the fever, and then the sore throat and cough. It hasn't been fun.
But, even in the midst of the mess, there have been blessings.
Holding each one of my children in my lap, smoothing their hair back from their foreheads.
Having each precious pair of arms encircle my neck, seeking comfort.
The slower pace.
Snuggling on the couch watching movies together.
Seeing my second son's eyes light up when I tried to tempt his appetite by bringing home his favorite cookies.
Finding the blessings in the midst of the mess.
It's what Paul wrote about in I Thessalonians 5:18, "give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ
Jesus."
He didn't say to give thanks for all circumstances. Some things are simply not good and should not be in our lives. But, he did say to give thanks in all circumstances. Even in the midst of bad things happening, I can give thanks to the God who gives only good gifts and praise Him for the way He redeems any situation.
And when I do, the mess gets less messy. Even if it's just the mess in me.
One of the deepest joys of growing older is the ripening of old friendships. When you make a friend in your youth, it is a sweet thing. When that person remains your friend into your adulthood, it is sweeter still. And when you still have that friend as you grow old, it is precious beyond measure.
For who but an old friend can laugh with you over the outrageous mistakes you made in your young days, cry with you at the loss of your deepest dream, and at the same time rejoice with you over the answers God sends after a lifetime of prayers?
To know someone's strengths and weaknesses for decades and still call them friend. To have shared life together for season after season, both the good and the bad, and still enjoy one more meal gathered round the table. To look upon what someone has overcome and accomplished in their lifetime and find a complete lack of jealousy in your heart towards them, but only gratefulness.
This is old friendship.
Treasure it.
Is there an old friend in your life you need to thank today for the way they have grown with you and helped shaped you into what you are at this moment? Even old friends need to hear from your own lips how much you value who they are to you. Pick up a pen. Pick up the phone. And let them know you'll be around for this season they are facing right now, and the next one, and the next...
I am grateful that everyday I have a choice. On the days when the whole world turns as it should and there is not a cloud on my horizon, it's easy to choose joy. It's on the days when my life seems to be spinning a little off its axis that it becomes harder. It's in those moments that the choice is most important.
When the car is making a funny noise....I can choose joy.
When my son's teacher calls and wants to talk about his attention span....I can choose joy.
When I spend an hour with a hurting friend and do my best to comfort....I can choose joy.
When I have to have the hard conversation....I can choose joy.
When my night was too short for the long day ahead....I can choose joy.
When the prayer seems to go unanswered....I can choose joy.
And I'm grateful. Grateful that the choice is always before me.
"I will bless the Lord at all times; His praise shall continually be in my mouth. My soul will make its boast in the Lord; the humble will hear it and rejoice." (Psalm 34:1-2)
And when my mouth begins to confess His praise and make its boast in Him, my world rights itself, for I am the prophet of my own life. When I speak His praise, my heart hears and responds. Self-pity fades, and joy is uncapped.
Thank you, Lord, for the car that is almost paid for, for the way it has blessed our family.
Thank you for what you are developing in my son, for the man he is becoming.
Thank you for the way you love my friend and for the comforting arms of the Holy Spirit.
Thank you that iron sharpens iron and that friendships are stronger for it.
Thank you that in my weakness, you are made strong.
Thank you that you are always, always good.
Choosing joy clears my vision, and I see things for what they really are. Choosing joy lifts my head and transforms my face. It causes me to relax my grip on that which I am trying to control and lift my hand instead to hold His. It makes the world turn as it should as I turn in His arms and we dance the dance of grace.
"O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt His name together. I sought the Lord, and He answered me, and delivered me from all my fears. They who look to Him are radiant, and their faces will never be covered in shame." (Psalm 34:3-5)
