Posts Tagged ‘trust’
Stop holding on
Posted on: April 22, 2016
One of my favorite descriptions of what Jesus is like is found in Isaiah 42:3: “… a bruised reed He will not break, and a faintly burning wick He will not snuff out …”
Applicable to many Christians at times in their walks, even more do these express vividly the comforting reality of the life of we Christians with mental illness.
So often in acknowledging, and even daring to express, a sense of hopelessness, we feel that we are betraying our faith. Not infrequently, this sense is compounded by the well-intentioned words of exhortation that to our desperate ears sound only as a further accusation of guilt.
It is not by our choice that our wick is burning but faintly – sometimes so faintly that even we ourselves cannot see its glow. Though all the world misunderstand, Jesus doesn’t.
In the midst of the darkness, even when our mind cannot even remember what light looks like, engulfed as we are in a whirling void of darkness, what matters is not that our wick glows but faintly – what matters is that it glows at all, and that Jesus sees it, and cherishes it.
Countless times in my dark hours, I have been exhorted to “Hang in there” or to “Hold on”. Little do those offering those sentiments realize what a burden it actually places on those of us who are so soul-weary that we are beyond even that simple action. A song released by Casting Crowns offers a beautiful line of encouragement, “ … stop holding on and just be held.” Even when we cannot hold on to Him, He holds on to us.
There comes a point when it’s ok to let go and to simply let ourselves fall into the Father’s hands. Our emotions may continue to rage, but somewhere inside, faith knows that our salvation, our security, and our peace come not from our own ability to keep our flame high, but from His tender care of our faintly burning wick.
The last couple of years have seen my wick waver a lot. In the last 6 months or so, it has sometimes sunk low. In the last month, it has not even been visible, as I have been overwhelmed by a swirl of intense events with long-lasting consequences, struggling with a sense of utter despair, seeing the tunnel grow ever longer and darker, and with the feeling that any light at the end is only a train coming the other way.
And yet my wick still glows somehow. Circumstances have not improved much, and I still look with dread on the days to come, and yet, in the midst of these howling winds, He has cupped His hand around my soul, and coaxed that smoldering ember into a tiny, dancing flame.
If you, too, are fighting the darkness, it’s alright to cease. What does it matter if the darkness thinks it has won? You haven’t fallen into darkness, you’re resting in the hands of your Father – whether you feel Him or not. Stop tiring yourself out trying to hold on.
Just let yourself be held. Maybe He’ll calm the storm around you. Maybe He won’t. Maybe He’ll give your emotions a glimpse of hope. Maybe He won’t. Our spirits are not captive to our circumstances, our emotions, or our minds. Though all externals that we see and understand be in chaos, yet our innermost selves, though they be hidden from our eyes, are at peace.
We are held by the One Who never gets weary of holding us.
Stop holding on.
Just be held.
Oh, I’m you. How are fine?
Posted on: June 8, 2014
Since sometime last Fall, my life has been crazy. If I didn’t have my phone calendar to keep track of what appointments are when, I’d be totally lost. I mean, I do try to make sure I transfer all appointments to the big wall calendar at home, but the wall calendar doesn’t have an alarm that goes off a half hour before the event to remind me, “Ahem. You ARE remembering that you have an appointment at A:BC o’clock, right?” For most of February, and all of March, April, and May I had at least one appointment or scheduled necessary activity, if not two, and sometimes three, either for me, or my mom, or my cousin, almost every single day of every single week. June was looking a lot better, but that got turned on its head as well. Let me elucidate….
My daughter: I didn’t mention in the previous blog that Bethy ended up on a week of modified bedrest that first week of February because of premature labor. I was so booked up that I was only able to come over to help for one morning, I think. (She had plenty of other help, for which we were both thankful! She has many othermothers, and a flock of friends.) Early in the morning of February 13, my newest granddaughter, Rosalie Julia, made her grand entrance. For the next month, I helped when I could, but with all the medical crises of my two caregivees, it wasn’t as much as I’d have wished. Rosie’s sisters adore her. Stay tuned for once she starts crawling; that tune may change! Rosie is a smiley, smiley baby, and a total people-person, very interactive and talkative. I can hardly believe she’s almost four months already.
My mom: Since the February 8 post, it was determined that the brain tumor hadn’t grown at all and was, in fact, slightly smaller, if anything. The severe nausea abated, though she continues to have problems with milder, occasional nausea even now. She had bad problems with gas for a couple more months, the only relief for which proved to be ginger ale. She was prescribed lidocaine patches for her back pain. These help a lot, but are impossible for her to put on by herself, so she had to have the services of a health care aid friend. We ended up changing doctors, and bless the day we did. The new doc discovered that she has two collapsed vertebrae since all this started. She did finally resume the cancer drug at its lowest dose at the end of March, and has been able to tolerate the mild side effects. By early May, she had regained a lot of energy, and was back to doing 10 or 15 minute walks around her community, doing housework and gardening in short stretches, dressing in her normal skirts and blouses instead of easy-to-put-on sweats. Then two weeks ago, she suddenly lost all energy and was huffing and puffing as badly as she had when she first was diagnosed, so weak she could barely walk, and was somewhat incoherent in her thinking. Blood work revealed an elevated white blood cell count and a CT, pneumonia. (Bright side, it showed the lung tumor has shrunk some.) So that night they started her on a quinine-related antibiotic, levoquin. Emotionally, these last months have been extremely difficult (no duh, huh?). It’s hard being jacked this way and that, it’s good, it’s bad, maybe you’ll live for years, maybe you’ll be dead within months. Even with a strong faith, KNOWING the suffering that all but certainly lies ahead is not a pleasant prospect – and is hard not to think about. So she had asked for medication to help deal with the anxiety/depression. As it happened, they started her on Zoloft the day after starting the levoquin. That night about 10, she called me to tell me that she’d been hearing and seeing things that weren’t there since sometime mid-day! Into the ER. They immediately replaced the levoquin with a cephalosporin drug IV, and took her off Zoloft. Her white blood cell count was even higher than the previous day’s had been. A head CT the next day didn’t show any obvious reason for the hallucinations, so they were put down to a reaction to one/both/combination of the drugs. She stopped seeing things by the end of that day, and hearing things by the next morning, and since her white blood cell count had come down significantly, too, she was allowed to go home. She is very slowly recovering from the pneumonia; it may take a month. However, the head CT showed that the low dose of the cancer drug is not being effective on the brain tumor; it has grown substantially. The CT also revealed a number of a type of small strokes called lacunar infarctions. (No, I’m not making that name up; my mom has brain farcts.) She is now on a 325 mg./day aspirin regimen to prevent more of them. There is nothing predictable about her situation, and that’s all there is to it.
My cousin: Longer time readers will recall that I am also caregiver for my husband’s cousin here in town, Marie. She is a brittle diabetic who has never taken care of herself as she should, and is now suffering all the consequences of it. Every system in her body is affected. She’s almost blind as a bat. She has virtually no feeling in her right foot, and only partial in her left. She has many vascular problems as the arterial system is both deteriorating due to the diabetes, and getting clogged from plaque due to poor diet and a near total lack of exercise because of severe arthritis in her hips, back, and neck. She has had some silent heart attacks. The vascular shutdown has led to her developing vascular dementia, the primary reason I had to take over her financial, legal and medical affairs. How she has pushed herself to do what she does to keep on going and to do things for herself, in spite of her extreme pain and near-constant exhaustion amazes me; I don’t think I could do it. She truly is a role model for me. Her son got out of a 20 year stretch in prison last year. She has spent the last 20 years living for this time, dreaming of what it was going to be like, but things have gone very badly. Her son has inherited not one of her traits of independence, of making do rather than asking for hand-outs, of being grateful for what you have, of integrity. She has seen all her dreams of the future blown to smithereens as she has realized that the son she has sacrificed for all these years is NOT the son she actually has.. Her health – physical, mental, and emotional – has deteriorated in the last 6 months in a nosedive, bringing extra visits to cardiologists, vascular surgeons, psychiatrists, physical therapists, CTs, MRIs, urgent care, as well as more frequent check-ups with her regular provider. She has had an incredibly hard life ALL her life – you’d never be willing to see a movie of it because it would be too intensely depressing! – and to now realize that the end of it is going to be just more of the same **** she’s dealt with for the entire memory of her existence…… it’s no wonder she is now dealing with severe anxiety and depression, in spite of her heart and soul love for Jesus. She is deeply appreciative of the love and care I and my family have shown her, but having never been loved before in all her life, she does not know how to receive it. Although WE consider her as part of our family, she always thinks of herself as an outsider.
Me: Trying to cross some rocks across a river last September, I took a fall. Didn’t go all the way down – caught myself on my hands going forward, but really did a twist. For most folks, it might have resulted in a few hours or a day or two of feeling a bit sore, but because of skeletal abnormalities I have, it really did a number on me. As usual, when I’ve had to stop because of an injury, when I did try to start again, it set off headaches, so I backed off and waited, then tried again, more headaches, waited , tried… and the wait between got longer and longer, and I couldn’t get past the headaches. Then the roller coaster ride of my mom’s and Marie’s situations started, and even attempting to exercise went out the window. My eating habits devolved to whatever was easiest to grab, because eating healthy takes time, energy and thought, none of which I had to spare. I had a lot of trouble sleeping, in spite of my meds. I felt like I was just a leaf in a river, going down rapids at that, with no control. But in March I finally started seeing a physical therapist, and though it’s very slow going because I’m not as faithful at doing my exercises as I should be, it IS improving. Last week I even did my treadmill three days. I’ve been doing a lot better at prepping veggies so they’re ready in my frig, so I’m eating better. I’ve even cooked actual meals a few times a week for the last month. My doctor figured out that the dose of thyroid I take had gotten too high for my body’s needs, and since we lowered it by a third, I am sleeping ever so much better.
The stress has certainly pushed my bipolar buttons and I have sometimes found myself close to the edge emotionally at home. But I always remember this: Once the appointments are done, I get to go home to my nice, normal life. Mama and Marie don’t. I’m not having to live with cancer like Mama. No matter what I may need to do for her, it will never be as hard as what she is going through, and what she has yet to go through, barring the unexpected gift of a sudden death from something else. Unlike Marie, I don’t have diabetes and arthritis and dementia and and and, so that all I have to look forward to is getting worse and worse and worse. None of my kids are breaking my heart. I don’t worry about any of them becoming homeless. I’m not lonely and isolated, unable to drive, with no hobbies and nothing to do but watch TV and hold my chinchillas. The same loving Father is with us all, and gives grace to us all, but I have to readily admit that I have the easier portion right now!
When people ask me what I’m up to these days, I often roll my eyes (and sometimes laugh) and tell them, “I don’t HAVE a life right now – I have other people’s lives.” To a great extent, it’s true – my life is taking care of THEIR lives. But in reality, my life isn’t my life anyway. The verse that keeps going through my head in the last months is from Psalm 31 “My times are in Your hands.”
Years ago, when my migraines and fibro were at their worst, and I felt terribly guilty about the weight my kids, especially Bethy, had to carry to make the household run, God made the point to me that what was happening in MY life was His will for THEIRS as well. (In the years since, He has shown me one impact my illnesses had on my kids: they all have a deeper level than usual of compassion and understanding for the hurting and the sick and the weak.) God’s purposes for events in our lives are never limited to just “us”; He has much broader things in mind. Much as my mom and Marie sometimes (ok, with Marie it’s ALL the time) feel guilty for the fact that they need my help, or for how much of my time their needs take, it’s not their choice – it’s God’s purpose for this time in their life, and His purpose for ME for this time in their life, too.
These times are sometimes stressful, sometimes exhausting, yes, but when I keep the perspective that my times are in HIS dayplanner, I know that I’ll get through – and be glad that I kept the appointment!
Recalculating
Posted on: February 8, 2014
I’ve only driven a few times using a GPS. It’s interesting being told what to do by this robot voice, “Left turn 100 yards”, “Merge into right lane”, “Continue straight at divide.” When you’re driving to someplace unfamiliar, there’s a certain comfort in knowing that SOMEONE (ok, someTHING) knows what the heck you’re supposed to be doing! It doesn’t even faze the gizmo if you take a wrong turn. It just calmly says, “Recalculating…. Recalculating…” and plots a new route to get you to your destination. (At least, you hope that’s where you end up…)
Back in October, my daughter was diagnosed with placenta previa, a condition which can lead to months of bed rest, at home or in the hospital, or premature delivery. Since she already has a 4 yo and 2 yo, either result would mean needing a good deal of help. So, I cleared my calendar of all engagements that I could for the foreseeable future so I would be available come what may.
Recalculating.
Then in November, a new ultrasound showed that as the uterus had been expanding, it had taken the placenta up the wall completely away from the cervix. All risk was now gone and she was kicked back to her mid-wife with an ok for the birthing center birth they had planned on.
Recalculating.
Then on December 5th, my mom was diagnosed with Stage IV lung cancer. The initial guesstimated timeline, just from seeing cancer cells in the fluid drained from the pleural sac, was 4-6 months. Imaging determined that Mama has a large tumor in her right lung, a small one in her temporal lobe in her brain, and bone cancer in two ribs and in her mid-spine. Yikes. That was worse than the first doctor even knew, leaving us to wonder if the estimate was too generous. The tumor in her lung caused the sac around her lung to fill with fluid at such a rate that we were taking her to the hospital to have a liter plus drained every 4 to 5 days. 4 – 6 months was looking generous.
Recalculating.
Then it was determined that she was a candidate for a targeted drug called Tarceva. (The biggest advancement in cancer treatment of the last few years is that they can test the cancer itself for certain genetic mutations that indicate specific vulnerabilities in the cancer. Drugs have been designed to exploit those vulnerabilities. It’s the difference between a sniper’s bullet and a bomb. Traditional chemo kills not only cancer cells, but healthy cells as well. Targeted drugs kill pretty much only cancer cells, and thus cause many fewer, and less toxic, side effects.) It wouldn’t be a cure. There IS no curing Stage IV lung cancer. (Not by man, I mean.) The cancer would, sooner or later, mutate around the drug, but it would buy Mama some time and a better quality of life for a while. The Tarceva began to take effect within days, reducing the fluid fill rate drastically. She began regaining energy and appetite, and had more days of feeling more like her old self. The timeline was extended to possibly as long as a year.
Recalculating.
The drug began causing a nasty side effect to the skin on her face, drying it out terribly, especially around her eyes, causing them the sting and burn horribly and constantly. Unbearable. The doctor lowered the dose, which helped a little, but the effect on her eyes was still too much. The dose was to be lowered again, and if it still caused the side effect, or if it didn’t cause the side effect but wasn’t effective against the cancer, Mama would just stop it and let things go their course.
Recalculating.
But Mama hasn’t started taking the lower dose yet. Last Sunday, two days before the supply of the lower dose arrived, she started having severe nausea and vomiting, a headache hitting suddenly then disappearing, and severe back pain, such that she ended up in the ER Tuesday night. Other than getting IV hydration, the trip was a bust and she went home feeling worse than when she went in. When she saw the oncologist on Wednesday, Dr. P said the symptoms indicate that the brain tumor hasn’t been affected by the Tarceva; it must have kept growing all this time. New drugs have been added to combat the nausea and the pain, and so far are doing very well. She is going to have a single, high dose of radiation on her ribs, the probable cause of her back pain, which should eliminate that issue. She has had another MRI on her head and we’ll learn next week what it showed of the tumor there.
If the symptoms are because the tumor is growing, she probably won’t attempt any treatment it, since brain radiation carries side effect risks about as bad as the tumor itself – and still wouldn’t be more than a stopgap measure. And she isn’t restarting the Tarceva, either, until we know what’s up with the brain tumor. There would be no point to keeping the lung cancer at bay to prolong her life while the brain cancer is working so hard to end it.
Recalculating. Recalculating.
Life is full of recalculating for all of us. We think we’ve got that new job all locked up… and then they hire someone else. We expect to be in the job we have until we retire… and we get pink-slipped. We’re finally getting ahead on saving some money… and the car breaks down. We’re just starting to set the nursery up for the new baby, choosing a name, figuring out how we’ll deal with time off work and juggling day care …. and Mama goes into labor 3 months early with preeclampsia. A tree lands through the roof. Of course, most recalculations aren’t as dramatic. We plan to go grocery shopping, but have to take the dog to the vet instead. Plan to spend the afternoon doing a blog post, and the computer crashes. (Yep, getting personal there.) Wake up with a migraine. Forgot to charge the phone, so it dies. Some days it just feels like life took a wrong turn, doesn’t it? Sometimes it seems we don’t go two blocks straight in a row before we’re hanging a left or ducking into an alley! Sometimes what we thought was a side street turns out to be a freeway on-ramp. Sometimes we find ourselves stuck in a parking lot
Recalculating.
Most folks driving with a GPS can recount times when theirs gave them a wrong direction. I’ve read stories of folks who’ve gotten into horrendous accidents by too blindly following their Garmin. You still have to use some common sense about using one. Just because the GPS says to turn left doesn’t mean we turn left if that means turning the wrong way on a one way street! No GPS is 100% reliable.
If we’re honest, I think many of us would have to admit that some of the time we harbor distrust of God that HE might not be altogether reliable, either. When our life direction takes what feels like a “wrong turn”, when we end up in a creepy canyon, a dreary desert, or a challenging cliff, we tend to question God’s purpose and intent. We question His guidance, His provision, His very goodness. Some of us, to our shame, are even suspicious of the pleasant paths – a winding, wooded drive, a picnic in the park, or a beautiful beach. We impugn God’s nature by wondering when the other shoe is going to drop, sure that the nice scenery is simply a sucker punch.
Starting with the 2 x4 upside the head on the Damascus road, Paul faced a LOT of recalculations in his life. It’s probably fair to say that few of us can match his resume. When writing to his dear friends at Philippi, he had this to say about it all: “I know how to abase and how to abound, how to be in plenty and in want.” It seems strange to think of “how to abound” or “how to be in plenty”. I mean, those things are easy to do, right? Let the good times roll! But Paul makes clear that the one situation is really no different than the other. Abasing or abounding, being in plenty or in want, both require the same response lest we be in danger of letting our situation define us, rather than the other way around. Paul could face any recalculation with equal equanimity because he had learned the ONE constant: “I can do all things through Christ Who gives me strength.” He knew Who was his GPS.
We should be “doing” the good times through Christ’s strength just as much as we “do” the hard times, because ALL times are equal tools in His hands for conforming us to His image. We should be as ready to accept from God’s hand pay raise or pay cut, health or illness, the fruition of the hopes we cherish – or the death of them. Not that we don’t honestly acknowledge the pain or difficulty of some situations, but that we don’t let that pain fool us into thinking that it’s greater than we can bear – greater, in fact, than God is. Nor do we let the pleasantness of some situations lull us into a false sense of security or promise, as if the fact that things are “good” now means they will continue so. “Good” times, “bad” times – all times are simply God times, to be gotten through focused on Him, not on the situation.
We would be fools to place implicit, complete trust in a man-made GPS. We are greater fools to place anything BUT implicit, complete trust in our God. No matter how many times the route of our life seems to be recalculating, we can rest quite assured that we ARE on our way to the correct destination, and that God knows just how to get us there.
Our GPS – God Positioning System – will never steer us wrong.
The freedom to fail
Posted on: December 17, 2011
I’m back from our visit to our son, daughter-in-love and newest granddaughter. I’ll spare you all the panegyrics over how adorable she is; take them as read! Although our oldest daughter has had two kids, they live here in town, so although we got to see them much sooner after birth, and more frequently after, this visit was different because we spent four days in my son’s apartment. Much more intense! And boy, did it bring back memories of those first days of our own parenting adventure – the feeling of being in over our heads, in totally unfamiliar territory, with little confidence in our ability to parent this morsel of humanity. It’s been a few weeks shy of 27 years since then, and our adventure with our five kids has taken us to places we had no idea even existed. As is not uncommon, I find myself wishing I could go back and parent then with what I know now. I can’t do that, of course, but I want to share one thing that I wish I had learned a lot sooner. So here is a letter to my son and daughter-in-love, or anyone still in that journey:
Dear Phil and Brooke,
Welcome to the wonderful, crazy, scary world that is parenthood! You have no idea just what you’re in for now. Which is probably a good thing.
I have every confidence that you two are going to be great parents. You take your parenting role very seriously, giving thought to your course of action rather than simply acting on the impulse of the moment. Already you are recognizing the dying to self that good parenting requires. You are seeking the counsel of those with more experience, which is wise, but you are maintaining an independent judgment of the fitness of that counsel for your own situation, which is wiser still. Above all, you have hearts devoted to the Lord and are leaning on Him for wisdom, desiring to do what is right. Yes, you are going to be great parents.
You are also going to fail. There will be times when you put your desires above Evie’s needs. You will be impatient. You will speak in haste. You will choose the convenient over the constructive. You will ignore things you should correct and punish actions that were foolish but not disobedient. You will over-react. You will make bad decisions. In these and many other ways, you WILL fail. Welcome to parenthood!
That may not sound very encouraging, but if you can accept the inevitability of your own failures just as fully and as matter-of-factly as God does, you will have deprived the Enemy of his greatest weapons against you in the parenting venture – the fear of failure. As long as you are afraid of failure, you will be living in the Prison of Perfection – not the freedom Christ died to give you.
You see, the Enemy wants you to keep focusing on trying to be perfect. He’ll use the “if you parent ‘right’, then your kids will turn out ‘good’” lie. Sadly, even the Christian community has bought into this fallacy. You probably already read my post on the misuse of the Proverbs verse on “Train up a child”, so I won’t repeat the arguments here. I’ll just say this: There has only been ONE Perfect Parent in all of history, and HIS kids got kicked out of Eden! Trying to be the perfect parent won’t guarantee the outcome for your kids.
The Enemy says you should try to be perfect so you won’t disappoint God. But this is bogus as well. Isn’t it funny how we say that we know we’re not perfect, yet we get so upset with ourselves when confronted with the proof of it? We really do expect ourselves to be better than we are, and when our reality doesn’t meet those expectations, the result is disappointment. But God cannot be disappointed! God has no expectations other than reality. He knows even more clearly than we do just how sinful we are. Think of Jesus calmly telling Peter of the betrayal to come. There was no frostiness to His voice. No “how COULD you!” shaming tone. Jesus wasn’t shocked or disappointed at what Peter was about to do. SIN IS WHY JESUS WAS HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE. It’s HIS righteousness in us that He wants to see perfected – not our own. Our own self-improvement projects are all doomed to fail. HE’s the Professional!
Part of striving for perfection means that when we fail, we have to wear guilt like a hair shirt until we are rubbed raw and bleeding. The truth is that there’s no guilt TO wear, because Jesus already wore it. “There is, therefore, now no condemnation for those that are in Christ Jesus.” No condemnation. Period. If God does not condemn us, how dare we condemn ourselves? We need to confess our sin to restore fellowship, but the forgiveness is already granted. Every action has its consequence, and so will our failures – but our failures don’t take God out of the equation. When Jesus told Peter, “You’re going to betray me”, He also told him, “…and when you turn back, strengthen your brothers.” Jesus was already looking beyond the failure to what use He was going to make out of it. When the Word promises that “in all things God works for the good of those that love Him” – “all things” includes our failures. Don’t ever give yourselves credit for being able to force Him into Eternal Plan B, as if you can somehow fail badly enough to screw up eternity. You can’t.
I don’t mean to sound like I think it doesn’t matter what you do as parents. Obviously, I want you to be the best and wisest and all that that you can be, and provide as little fodder for the therapists as possible. These are my grandkids we’re talking about you raising, after all. It is, however, especially for their sake that I hope it is the LORD you will take seriously, not yourselves. My grandkids don’t need your perfection; they won’t be perfect themselves. They need to see the God Who is bigger than their failures, and they’ll see Him best by seeing Him through you. Immerse yourselves in His mercy, grab onto His grace, frolic in His forgiveness, rest in His resourcefulness!
You’re going to be great parents, and you’re going to fail. And neither is what matters. You’re free to fail because HE NEVER WILL.
Here’s hoping!
Posted on: October 29, 2011
The other day I listened to a CD I haven’t listened to in quite a while, a Steven Curtis Chapman. I was enjoying singing along, and then it hit. That song. I’d forgotten it was on this album. It’s a song written after the death of his 5 yo daughter. I cry every time I hear it – which is not always a good thing when one is driving in Seattle traffic! The song is honest in its expression of bewilderment. It doesn’t attempt to dodge the questions. It doesn’t attempt to read the mind of God and put explanations in His mouth. But what the chorus does is hold up a startlingly clear declaration of what should be every Christian’s theme: “But we can cry with hope. We can say goodbye with hope, ’cause we know that goodbye is not the end. And we can grieve with hope, because we believe in hope. There’s a place where we’ll see your face again.”
With hope. Paul tells us in I Thessalonians 4:13 that we should not grieve like “the rest of men, who have no hope.” What if this isn’t talking just about grieving for death? What if we applied this thought to the rest of our lives? What would it be to walk in hope?
Hope is founded on an absolute certainty of God’s goodness. When it comes down to it, either we believe He is good, or we don’t. All worrying is a statement of doubt in either God’s love, His goodness or in His ability to carry out His will. All of Scripture is one long expression of His love, though Romans 8: 31-39, Paul’s famous elaboration on the subject, is a favorite ‘mini-treatise’. As one of my favorite hymns puts it “Could we with ink the ocean fill, and were the skies of parchment made, were every stone on earth a quill and every man a scribe by trade – to write the love of God above would drain the ocean dry, nor could the scroll contain the whole though stretched from sky to sky!” To walk in hope here, then, is to be convinced that He loved me yesterday, He loves me today, and He will love me tomorrow. Nothing that can happen, nothing I can do, nothing anyone else can do, can change that. And HE cannot change, either!
Romans 8:28 says “For in all things, God works for the good of those who love Him, those who are called according to His purpose.” And what is that purpose? Paul tells us in v. 29: “For those whom He foreknew He also predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son, in order that He might be the firstborn among many brothers.” Our ultimate good – the good that God is working for through every situation in life that comes our way – is that we become more and more like Christ. No matter our situation, then, no matter our circumstances, we can walk in hope that that good is being accomplished. No matter what man’s intentions may be, no matter the apparent origin of our circumstances, we can have absolute trust in God’s intentions for us in them.
And as for His ability to carry out His will… Remember the Lord’s question to Abraham, after Sara laughed at the idea of having a baby? “Is anything too hard for the Lord?” With God all things – ALL things – are possible. The universe was created by His Word. The barren have given birth. The lame have walked, the blind have seen, the dead have risen, the Good News has been preached to the poor. He has fed the thousands and calmed storms. He orchestrates the heavens, calls the stars by name, orders the seasons. He calls forth wind and rain, sunshine and frost. He sustains all of life, from the simplest amoeba to the most complex of his creations, man. The Savior has died and resurrected and ascended, conquering death and Hell and the power of sin FOREVER. We can walk in hope that He is able – no matter what, no matter how, no matter where, no matter who.
In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus reminded His listeners that every thing we need, God already knows. He hasn’t somehow “overlooked” something, or forgotten to take some situation into consideration. There isn’t some complication that He didn’t see coming. Everything we need that will accomplish His will, the purpose for which He called us, WILL be provided. Period. If we say we have an “unmet need”, we are calling God a liar. Jesus said we are to seek first His kingdom and His righteousness. Why? Because that way is to walk in hope. That way is to care more about God’s purpose for our lives being accomplished than about whether our situation is what we think it should be or not. The more we understand of God’s kingdom – His rule, His sovereignty, His power – and the more we submit to His conforming process for ourselves – emptying ourselves of our own will so that all may be HIS – only then will we be able to place a proper perspective on the “all these things” which will be added. Christians aren’t promised that they will always have everything they will need to maintain temporal life; millions have died of want, of sickness, and of persecution. We are promised, however, everything that we need to maintain Life. That is our hope.
In the book “Jesus Calling” I found the statement “Anxiety is the result of envisioning a future without God.” Too often, we fret about what “may” come to pass, about the “what ifs”, just like the world does, grieving as those who have no hope. We need to walk in hope, and encourage one another in hope. Hope isn’t an “everything will be ok” platitude that wallpapers over a crumbling wall. It’s not a “blab it and grab it” assertion to try to force God to perform what we believe He should do. No, hope looks every ugly possibility square in the face and yet sees in it the face of God, trusting to His everlasting love for us, His all-encompassing intent for our good, and His unlimited power. Hope means that we can express the honest feelings of grief or pain or bewilderment because we know the certainty of our hope is greater than those feelings. We can ask the hard questions that our circumstances may give rise to, because our hope does not rest in our understanding of the “whys” of God, but in God Himself.
So, whatever we do, let us not do it as the world does. Let us grieve with hope, cry with hope, suffer with hope, endure with hope, face the future with hope, no matter what things look like from our earthly eyes.
In a world with no hope, let hope be our hallmark!
the susie solution 