Pray and just start digging. God will move.
Every time I looked at the side yard I felt discouraged. As some of you know, we finished our house in Sept 2023, but we’ve been slowly tackling small areas of the property surrounding. We still have half-burned tree stumps (we’ve been working on those almost 2 years!), piles of rocks, logs waiting to be bucked up, rounds waiting to be split. There’s a LOT to do. We’re doing it all ourselves, so it’s a slow process.
Although we’ve been tackling bits of it, the side yard felt particularly overwhelming. It is where the septic field is, so we can’t bring in any heavy equipment, but the entire area (it’s huge) was filled with half-buried rocks, weeds out of control, uneven ground. We couldn’t mow it because the rocks were so big, so we’d just weed-eat it here and there, and it just looked terrible.
I knew what we needed to do, but the problem was that it needed to be done by hand and I knew that meant countless (dozens and dozens) hours of digging out rocks, hacking out weeds, leveling, getting good garden soil delivered, spreading it by hand, then seeding it in grass.
It just felt like too much to tackle, plus it seemed like it needed someone strong to do it. A man’s job. But Jeff is busy, and we have so many other things that only he can do, there was no way I could put this on his list as well.
But I also really wanted to get this side yard usable. I wanted it to bless people. Wanted to get a badminton net up, get some lawn games, have grass for kids to come over this summer and play tag and roll around and run through a sprinkler, room to goof off.
But it seemed like too much to tackle, so I just kept telling myself someday we’ll do it.
Well last week when Jeff had knee surgery, I blocked out our schedule for the week to stay home, as I didn’t want to leave him home alone, and didn’t want to make plans, not knowing how he’d be.
The week turned out beautifully sunny, and as Jeff was doing fine but needed to be in bed all week, I decided to tackle the side yard. I knew I probably couldn’t do much of anything myself, but why not?
Something inside prodded me: just start.
I enlisted the kids, and little by little, we dug up every rock. We filled holes, leveled dirt, dug out huge gnarly weeds. By the end of each day I could barely walk I was so tired, my back ached, legs ached, arms ached, but also: It felt so good.
I knew it would take a long time, and it probably wouldn’t look amazing, but we were doing it.
Although it still didn’t look like much, since the rocks were gone and it was decently level, we decided to go ahead and order two full dump trucks full of premium garden soil to be delivered this week, while we were away on a trip. I figured when we got home I could begin spreading it, with a shovel, one wheelbarrow load at a time.
When we arrived home today in the late afternoon from our trip, the two huge piles sat in the hard. Even though the car still needed unloading and dinner needed to be made, I wanted to get started. I thought if I hauled some dirt each day, maybe I could get the whole thing done in three days. Again, something prodded me on to just grab a shovel and start.
I started digging, filling the wheelbarrow and having Dutch dump it for me in various places around the yard. Man shoveling is hard work. I tried to push out of my mind how incredibly exhausting this was going to be moving all this myself. Dutch & Heidi were both working the next few days and Jeff was still out of commission from surgery.
I kept shoveling.
After about 5 wheelbarrow loads, our new neighbor came walking by with his dogs. He struck up a conversation with Jeff. I felt a little foolish, I’ll admit. Little 44-year-old me out with one shovel trying to tackle these mountains of dirt. I couldn’t hear all their words but pretty soon the neighbor called out, “Want me to help with my tractor?”
Tractor? Sure!
A few minutes later he walked off. I figured he’d come back in the next day or two, but moments later, I heard his tractor fire up.
I could barely believe it. Minutes later he was here there and everywhere, carefully maneuvering the septic field, avoiding boulders, pushing dirt here and there and spreading it while we pointed and thanked him profusely.
Within 20 minutes the dirt was all spread.
ALL SPREAD.
He smiled, waved, and went home.
I couldn’t keep tears from welling up in my eyes. We could totally do the rest of the smoothing and leveling the next day, easily, with shovels and rakes. The insurmountable part was suddenly … done.
So clearly I felt God impressing on my heart the truth I needed to hear for something so much bigger than a side yard. This is how we work with the Spirit.
Just pick up a shovel. Just start. Yes, it looks overwhelming. Yes, it feels like the job should be for someone stronger, bigger, more capable. You feel a little foolish and where do you even begin?
But if you will just start shoveling, start picking up rocks, pull weeds …
humbly work.
The Spirit will surprise you and SHOW UP and do what you could never do on your own.
With the side yard, I couldn’t just sit around and pray that that yard would suddenly, miraculously just turn into level, rockless dirt. The Spirit doesn’t compensate for our laziness, he helps us in our weakness.
It took a shovel. But, and I don’t know how all this works, but it was a Spirit-driven shovel. 😉 I wasn’t out there angrily “getting it done” because no one else will. I wasn’t mad about it, I just knew that there were rocks to be dug up and someone needs to dig them up so ok Lord, let’s go!
And in His kindness, when we least expect it, God shows up with His tractor and BOOM. He knocks out almost instantly what would’ve taken us FOREVER to do.
I don’t exactly how this translates to any of you, but I’m praying this encourages you just a fraction of how it has encouraged me.
If you are holding a shovel, so to speak, and you feel like you’re the only one, weak and ill-equipped, out in a huge field of rocks and weeds, and you feel a little foolish.
Pray and just start digging. God will move.
What about when the wrongdoer wins?
I love to sit inside Scripture. When my mind has time to wander, it sometimes runs amok of course, but often it meanders to how I would feel inside a story, how my responses would align with or differ from the character.
One story I return to a lot in my mind is Joseph and his brothers, in Gen 37-50. When you think about it, that’s an incredible chunk of chapters to highlight one person. Of course it’s a critical portion of the nation of Israel’s history but much of the narrative centers on Joseph. He’s a key figure!
You’re probably familiar: Joseph is the favorite and he’s a little foolish. He has these dreams and tells his brothers, which just stirs up the anger and resentment they already feel. They want to kill him but settle for selling him off to passing Ishmaelmite. Hey, at least let’s make some money off him!
Betrayed by your own brothers! Of course things go from bad to worse. He’s eventually falsely accused of attempted rape, then completely forgotten about in prison. Probably 12-13 years go by where he’s forgotten.
He cannot get those years back.
Now of course the end of the story is beautiful. God places Joseph in power over all of Egypt, brings back his brothers who are starving, and Joseph gets to use his power and authority to gracious provide for the people who hurt him. A stunning picture of forgiveness and grace. Yes!
I love it. I really do. But I cannot tell you how many times over the years I have had this nagging feeling.
What if his brothers had somehow risen to power while Joseph remained in jail? Would he have forgiven them then?
Just to be dead bang honest: At least in my own experience, when I come out of a situation “on top” so to speak, it’s easy to forgive.
If I was in a place of power and somehow the people who wronged me came groveling back, bowing, starving, of course I would forgive them. Of course I would use my power to help them. No brainer.
But what if Joseph was still in prison? What if the brothers were somehow allowed to rise in power instead and they remained completely oblivious to their long-lost brother’s plight? What if they strode by him, without ever recognizing him?
Or worse, what if Joseph had to bow to them?
What if Pharaoh had awarded them the “best brothers in Egypt,” award while Joseph had to silently applaud?
Would he have forgiven them then?
Knowing Joseph’s character, my guess is that yes he would’ve, but can we be so honest as to admit that would’ve been a whole lot harder?!
So I guess what I’m wondering is, During those 12-13 years, at what point did Joseph do the inner work of forgiving them? And what would it have looked like if he never “came out on top” but his brothers did instead?
Like, what about when the wrongdoer wins? What does forgiveness look like then?
I don’t have a specific situation in mind, but more like shades of lots of scenarios that crop up here and then in life.
I don’t have the magic answer, but I will say that at one point I was wrestling with God about this, and I asked Him. While Joseph was in prison, before he came out on top and the whole thing became so clear: what was Joseph to do then?
And so clearly the word settled in my heart:
Wait.
Ah yes. Joseph was to wait. When he was bumping along in some donkey cart with the Ishmaelites, terrified, with no idea what the future held, he waited.
When Joseph was falsely accused by Pharaoh’s wife and wound up in prison, he waited.
When Joseph was forgotten by the cupbearer, thus left alone in prison longer and longer, he waited.
If a situation seems upside down and wrong and unresolved and seems like the wrongdoer wins?
Wait.
I’d like to add that this applies to me as well. Often, I am the wrongdoer. I know there are seasons where I’m not quite walking the way I should, but it kinda seems like everything’s still going ok, so that must mean I’m good.
That’s a dangerous spot. Just because it seems like I’m “on top” so to speak or things are going well, doesn’t mean there’s no divine discipline right around the corner. God loves me enough to bring things around that’ll bring me to Him.
Just like the Prodigal Dad, I think it’s safe to say that while he waited, Joseph must’ve done the inner work in his heart to let go of anger, bitterness, resentment, and unforgiveness.
And, I think it’s safe to say that if the brothers “came out on top” that would’ve been a tough pill to swallow for Joseph. It would’ve been incredibly hard for him to bow to them.
But the other truth that keeps haunting my heart is this sense, that the truth is, God would never let that happen. And if it seems like that’s happening, it’s because the story isn’t done yet.
When we ask, “What about when the wrongdoer wins?”
The truth?
He doesn’t.
He doesn’t win. God will right every wrong somehow.
This should be encouraging and terrifying.
I know I for one don’t want God’s just punishment doled out unmercifully on wrongdoers, because I am one.
I want there to be justice, but I want mercy to triumph.
No matter who bows to who on earth, I want all of us to bow to King Jesus in eternity.
Ultimately, the story of Joseph, even more than forgiveness, is about TRUST. Joseph was able to forgive because Joseph was able to TRUST. He trusted that God would figure out his life. That God saw the hidden prison cell. That God saw the inner struggles of his own heart.
Joseph was able to forgive, I believe, inwardly, even before that situation resolved, because he trusted God. It was trust in his heavenly Father that fueled his forgiveness.
Just like Jesus.
Jesus forgave while still on the cross.
—–
And Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” (Luke 23:24)
The fellowship of the broken-hearted
{From Oct 2017, right after our first two miscarriages and Jeff’s dad’s sudden death. I was just sitting by the river praying and this came to mind so I’m revisiting this again. It continues to encourage my heart.}
What is wrong with me??
I leaned against the kitchen cabinet, trying to keep the sobs silent. The kids played, oblivious. Jeff worked outside. I just couldn’t stop crying. I tried to text a friend, but a few words in I quit.
Too much. Don’t even know where to begin.
Another deflating disappointment, another super confusing complication that leaves me bewildered, wondering where God is leading all this tangle of seemingly dead-end roads.
I came upstairs, figured I’d put the clean sheets on the bed. Do the next thing.
And there, beside my bed, was my answer. To what was wrong with me.
Except maybe it’s not wrong.
There, beside my bed, I saw the display. My pregnancy book. My miscarriage book. The Pro-Life book. There’s a book on how to provide marriage counseling to those in need. To the left is a book on preparing your daughter for sexual and emotional purity. There’s a photo of my grandma, who passed away this past year. Underneath them all is a phone-book sized biblical parenting book that accompanies a video study. You can’t see the Intercessory Prayer book but it’s there too.
Each book represents an aspect of my life that tears at my heart, that weighs on me, that causes me to cry out in prayer, that, at times, keeps me awake at night. Each aspect represents a part of this past year, something we’ve walked through, or are walking through.
You’re probably familiar with these aspects too, and more.
None of them are cerebral studies. I’m not gathering data for a business presentation.
Each represents, in some way, a broken heart.
Friday night, Jeff and I watched Joan of Arc. I had seen it before, but I was struck afresh by this brave & broken-hearted girl who united France and died a martyr, because she cared.
To care is to cry. To break.
A month ago I spoke to a gathering of pastor’s wives. Before the conference, I was in the midst of yet another emotional episode, and I lay with my face to the floor and asked God how this was going to work, speaking to these women, when I was such a wreck inside. I heard, in my heart:
“The fellowship of the broken-hearted.”
Yes. Of course. Each one of these women, because they shepherd others, they lead, they love, and they lay down their lives … every single one of them lives with a broken heart. To care is to cry. To break.
My friend Christine always says, “Breakthrough comes through a broken heart.”
Certainly much of my own sorrow probably comes from selfishness, but in this particular situation I can honestly say it came from caring. Jesus was a man acquainted with sorrows, and it only makes sense that as we come to know Him more, as we walk His way, we will care more. We will ache more. We will hurt more. There will be victories. There will be hallelujahs. There will be mountain tops and glorious days. But if Jesus wept over Jerusalem, won’t we weep over our nation? If Jesus wept when Lazarus died, knowing He would raise Him, won’t we weep over the sick and disease-ridden, the ones who die too soon, the victims of violence, both born and unborn?
Maybe tears aren’t a symptom something’s wrong.
Maybe they mean something’s right because we care about what’s wrong.
I came back downstairs, did the next thing. Made dinner. While we washed dishes after, Shane & Shane came on Spotify and I heard Job’s words:
Though You slay me, yet I will praise You
Though You take from me, I will bless Your name
Though you ruin me, still I will worship
… Jeff gently pulled me into his arms–he’s part of the Fellowship too. Each word brought out the broken places and the tears flowed freely, safely, onto his shoulder. At the end of the song, I wiped my mascara-smeared eyes on his black t-shirt and SMILED. The true, genuine, hope-filled smile of knowing my Redeemer lives. And just then, another song came on, and as only Providence would have it, Housefires sang out a scripture equally true:
All Your promises are yes and amen!
Yes! Even in the broken-heartedness, His promises are ALWAYS yes and amen. This is not the end.
I love the prayer from Every Moment Holy, A Liturgy For Those Who Weep Without Knowing Why. It ends simply: “Use our tears to baptize what You love.” Amen.
The LORD is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those whose spirits are crushed.
-Psalm 34:18
{Keep fighting, praying, caring. Have a great week dear friends. Thanks for reading.}
That prodigal’s dad
I’ve always read myself as the prodigal.
That story in Luke 15, we all know it. The prodigal son, though he was loved and provided for and had everything he needed, totally disrespects his father, takes off with his dad’s money, and lives in a way that breaks his dad’s heart.
I’ve always just read the story and seen the ways I do this. Little ways I run away, live for myself. And am reminded again and again that all repentance is, is coming home.
Of course I can see myself as the older son too. That pride that takes offense at the father’s lavish kindness on the undeserving younger son.
But I’ve never really considered what it was like to be the dad.
I guess I’ve always reserved that sacred role for God, and it is a picture of God. But it’s a picture of God to give us an example to follow ourselves.
Sit in the dad’s spot for a minute. What would you feel? You’ve given this boy everything. You’ve provided for him financially, you’ve taught him, you’ve loved him.
And in a sweeping moment of chilling disconnection, this son discounts all that, displays a complete lack of even recognition or respect, takes his dad’s money and his heart and runs off.
And here’s what I’ve never thought about before, yes it’s sad that the boy is off “squandering his property in reckless living” but my guess is what really broke the dad’s heart was that his behavior was completely contrary to everything the dad had taught him.
His behavior gave the middle-finger to the dad.
His behavior was like a direct message–I reject everything you taught me, I care nothing for all that you’ve poured into me, and I will waste and count as worthless what you worked hard so hard to earn.
Wow. I mean I’ve never thought about how hurt the dad must’ve felt. Right? How angry. Wouldn’t you be?
It’s interesting, we don’t know how long the boy was gone. It sounds like it was a long time. Long enough to squander all his property (ie. lose everything) AND for a famine to arise, and for him to eventually end up so hungry he’s eating pig slop.
In other words, God was doing His thing, bringing this boy to the end of himself.
And all this time, the dad patiently waited at home. It must’ve taken everything in him to not go out and search, to not go out and beat some sense into the kid, to not go out and take matters into his own hands.
The dad stayed home and let God do his thing. We know it from our own life stories, don’t we? God has a way of bringing us prodigals home.
And what’s beautiful is that clearly the dad attended to his own heart, because after all that time (years?) he hasn’t let his heart go to anger or resentment, because when the boy finally does return the dad sees and has compassion, and as we all know he ran toward the boy, embraced him, kissed him, and threw him a party. And his words are so telling:
“It is fitting to celebrate and be glad, for [the boy] was dead and is alive; he was lost, and is found.”
The dad had the ability to recognize–during that time the prodigal was living that way, he was dead.
We don’t get mad at dead people.
There’s no use hashing it all out or berating him with a barrage of reminders at all he’d done wrong. The dad knew God had already done what needed to be done.
It had taken years, but the repentance was real so the dad simply says, “Welcome home, Son. I’m so glad you’re here.”
I’m so glad the dad didn’t take offense, didn’t sit in resentment all those years, or conversely–didn’t go out and drag the boy home. The dad knew that real change has to come from a changed heart and the boy had to decide for himself who he was going to be.
He had to walk home on his own two feet.
Now that I think of it I know so many faithful moms, dads, pastors, mentors, spouses, who watch with aching hearts while someone they love does just as the prodigal did. I’m overwhelmed with respect for those who truly walk this out so well. I know a number of you. 🙂
And I love God’s Word that is living and active and always gives us what we need for each day.
Our God, our Father, is so patient. His compassion for us is unfailing. {Thank you for reading.}