He leads me beside still freeways…
He leads me beside still freeways.
*sigh*
These were the words that echoed in my mind as I sat (still) on I-5 headed south. I had given myself plenty of time. Checked the traffic. Headed to a speaking event in Salem, and even gave myself a few minutes extra so I could pray and gather my thoughts once I arrived. But then, once I took the freeway onramp, too late to take any other route, I saw the stopped traffic, checked my navigation again, and saw the grim prediction: 2 hours to destination.
Yikes! Two hours? The event will be almost over by then!
I made the appropriate phone calls, alerting leaders of my unavoidable predicament. I texted Jeff, “Can you look up alternate routes for me??”
That’s when I heard the bizarre rendition of Psalm 23:
He leads me beside still freeways.
See, I was headed south to speak on Psalm 23, a word for weary moms on REST. God has been ministering to my heart about what it means to embrace rest as a godly spiritual disciplines, and how He restores our souls. I was eager to share from the Scriptures with these women, but here I was, sitting still on the freeway.
Then I heard in my heart: Rest.
Rest? Here? Um…the verse says “still waters.” Remember? That’s where I rest. Remember? Green pastures. There are no green pastures here, only concrete and cars.
Rest here?
I thought about it: Really there was nowhere I could go–the freeway bridge over the river was the only route south. The only thing to do was wait.
I wonder then, if the call to wait is really just a call to rest.
I wonder how many restful moments I miss because I’m anxiously waiting instead of patiently waiting.
Sure, we’re not called to complete passivity. I knew there was an accident, and I also knew God wanted me to speak His Word that morning, so I interceded according to what I believed to be His will. I prayed for whoever was in the accident, for their safety and salvation. I prayed that God would orchestrate the timing and the traffic so that I would still be able to serve these women that morning. I prayed that He would work all things together for good for us and that He’d conform us to His image.
But then, I could rest. I had lifted up the circumstance to Him. Now I could,
“Rest in the LORD and wait patiently for Him.” (Ps. 37:7)
I could “commit my way to the LORD,” I could “trust in Him and He will act.”
Of course, the traffic cleared. The dear ladies rearranged the morning and, true to Him gracious character, God orchestrated everything gloriously. We were blessed by a powerful morning, looking together at the truth of God’s Word and the only way to find rest for our souls.
Still waters and green pastures aren’t the only places we can rest.
We can find soul-rest when I’m less concerned about the environment around me and more concerned with the environment within me.
Trust creates rest.
This was only traffic. I get it.
But isn’t the mundane what prepares us for the miraculous? Isn’t the ordinary was trains us for the extraordinary? Every single day is preparation. If I can trust Him with traffic I will be better able to trust Him with tragedy.
If I believe Him for parted freeways I can believe Him for parted seas.
So can you.
{Happy Monday. May your waiting be resting. Thanks for reading.}
On Life and Death: The only place that’s safe
I heard of the deaths just moments after protesting for life.
Strangely enough, this post was already scheduled for today. All week I’d sensed that today we’d need a word to remind us of the only place that’s safe.
All week I’d been chewing on this idea of safety.
I was also considering joining Forty Days for Life, the peaceful prayer protest outside Planned Parenthood clinics throughout the nation. We have a brand new PP clinic near our home, and I’d wanted to go and join the vigil with the kids, but wasn’t sure if it was safe for them. But yesterday, I kept sensing God nudging me: Go. I checked with Jeff, he emphatically agreed, and we met there, along with another dear friend and her three littles. The eight of us gathered there on the sidewalk, the kids snacking on sandwiches and playing, while we three adults stood and interceded for children unborn, for moms in need, for the broken, the lost.
It was only an hour. It was nothing heroic, but it opened my eyes and hearts to so much more of the brokenness in and around us. It forced my gaze outside the narrowness of my four walls, and encouraged my heart that we can make a difference, even when we have so little to offer. Afterwards, I thanked God for keeping us safe, and decided to treat the kids to a donut on the way home.
As we walked inside the donut shop, the CNN Breaking News blared on the TV:
SHOOTING: 13 DEAD, 20 INJURED.
Oh, Father. I turned the kids eyes the other way and began silently praying for the scene. My mind spun: How odd to be doling out sprinkled donuts to my kids while other moms mere miles away were receiving news of their own children’s deaths, while other moms were considering ending their unborn children’s lives.
I thought of this again: Where is safe?
I had just re-read this portion of Jeremiah 26 and it reminded me of the only place that’s safe:
Jeremiah is prophesying to King Jehoiakim about the impending disaster coming upon them if they do not repent and turn from their evil deeds. His words aren’t popular, as you can imagine, so
“when he finished speaking all that the LORD had commanded him to speak to all the people, then the priests and the prophets and all the people laid hold of him, saying, ‘You shall die!’ (v.8)
“Then the priests and the prophets said to the officials and to all the people, ‘This man deserves the sentence of death, because he has prophesied against this city.” (v.11)
Is Jeremiah safe? How does he respond? First he exhorts them to mend their ways and obey the voice of the Lord, and then he says,
“But as for me, behold I am in your hands. Do with me as seems good and right to you … for in truth the LORD sent me to you to speak all these words in your ears.” (v.14-15)
I am in your hands.
How could Jeremiah say that? How could he entrust himself into the hands of an angry mob of people who most certainly intended to kill him?
He knew whose hands he really was in.
Jeremiah could entrust himself to their hands because he’d first entrusted himself to God’s hands.
Perhaps he knew the song of David by heart,
Jeremiah was safe because his heart was free of fear. He was then spared from death. But you know what the very next story holds? Another prophet, Uriah, who had spoken the same sort of words. His story is told,
There was another man who prophesied … Uriah … He prophesied against this city and against this land in words like those of Jeremiah. And when King Jehoiakim, with all his warriors and all the officials, heard his words, the king sought to put him to death. But when Uriah heard of it, he was afraid and fled and escaped to Egypt. Then … they took Uriah from Egypt and brought him down to King Jehoiakim, who struck him down with the sword and dumped his dead body into a burial place of the common people.” (vv.20-23)
Jeremiah knew whose hands he was in so he entrusted himself to the people and was spared. Uriah, who spoke the same message, was “afraid and fled and escaped,” and yet was put to death.
Where are we truly safe?
Yesterday we were reminded that this world is not safe.
The only place we’re truly safe is the place of refusing fear, of wholeheartedly trusting God.
Then His peace rules our hearts and gives us the courage to enter dark places with the light of His love, and refuse to cower in fear.
May we fully ENTRUST our lives to His good care, and actively intercede for those around us, with the faith and courage that only He can bring.
{In life or in death, in God we trust and we are not afraid. Thank you for reading.}
*Go HERE to find a peaceful prayer protest at a Planned Parenthood clinic near you.
Emotionally unstable kids and the Father who loves us
It really was the perfect day. Some plans changed last minute which left the calendar square completely blank and the forecast promised 84-degrees. Glorious!
Our housemate popped up her head, “Going to the track; you guys want to come?!” The kids were eager, the sun was shining, and at the last minute Jeff showed up and surprised us all by saying he’d come too. Yes! We ran to the local High School track and watched birds, ran stairs, jogged laps, and goofed off until we’d worked up a good sweat, then ran home.
On the way home we discovered an ornithological jackpot — dozens of crows crowding into a walnut tree, throwing nuts down on the road to crack open, then feasting on the contents. The kids watched, mesmerized, then gathered handfuls of walnuts to take home to our own bird feeders.
After lunch, when it was sunny and warm, I decided to be uncharacteristically spontaneous and treat the kids to a trip to the zoo. All morning I had had a strong impression that I should take them that day. I wasn’t sure exactly why, we hadn’t been to the zoo in at least a year because we only go when we’re invited by someone with a membership (read: Free admission), but with 84-degree weather I figured we could spring for it. Plus, I just kept sensing I should take them today. The kids were ecstatic with the surprise, and we were on our way.
Traffic was surprisingly light, and when we arrived, we discovered that it was the last day to get free admission to another museum (in the same complex) with payment to the zoo. What?! So we’d get 2-for-1 because we came that day. I praised God for His care for us, celebrating the fun treat for our kids.
Now I’ll admit, I’m not even a huge zoo fan, but apparently this day, all the animals were out. It was like they knew we were coming! The bears came face-to-face, the bald eagle perched just outside our reach, the 5 massive California condors were looming right above us, and the cheetah nestled right next to Dutch, just a thin glass window between them.
Seriously, what a day. We were on cloud 9 when we finally left the zoo, just in time for a trip to the other museum. They enjoyed that one as well, and we finally dragged ourselves out, back to the car, and arrived with 1 minute left on our parking pass. We soaked up every second of this trip! With full and grateful hearts we drove home, taking a creative route because of traffic.
Then, just before home, because of the unusual route we took, we drove near the house of Julie, that gal who lived with us once upon a time. I prayed for her as we drove by her neighborhood, then stopped at a stop light, and looked over at the crosswalk … and there she was! Oh my! I hollered over at her across two lanes and she lit up, winding her way through traffic to climb into our car. She was breathless and happy to see us,
“Can you take me home?!”
So we had the chance to talk to her and pray over her before heading home. I just shook my head at God’s amazing providence in so many ways. I thanked Him over and over for leading our day, our every step.
We pulled into the driveway, hearts so full.
But then.
I needed the gate opened, and Dutch full of joy and zeal, happily volunteered, “Oh I’ll do it Mommy!”
He swung open the door and hopped out … and caught his foot as he jumped, and landed SMACK on the asphalt.
Sobs. Bloodied knee, bloodied elbow, sobbing boy. I carried him up into the house, thinking we were would be fine. Thinking to myself this is no big deal, just a scrape, it was still an amazing day, still so much to be happy about.
But then.
This kid. He can emotionally tailspin like nobody’s business, and next thing I knew I was scrambling to make dinner and he was still sobbing, devastated, crying in pain, saying it was the worst day. When Jeff walked in from work all he could see was a messy kitchen, a harried wife, and a sobbing, sullen little boy.
Awesome.
How does the best day turn to the worst day in like 30-seconds?!! Dutch continued in a steady stream of negativity and crying. Next he started missing one of our dead chickens and became inconsolable, unable to think or talk or anything other than a dead chicken.
Now, here is the part where you, mature adult that you are, would’ve handled the situation well.
I didn’t.
I was ticked. I was so frustrated. I sat across the porch from him, facing him, positioned against him, trying to piece together calm sentences but inside I was saying something like, Why on earth are you CRYING OVER A DEAD CHICKEN?! I just gave you the best day imaginable! I did everything for you! We had the best day! Everything was awesome and now you are completely hijacking my awesome day and letting your emotions RUIN EVERYTHING! WHY ARE YOU SO EMOTIONALLY UNSTABLE?!!
Oh the irony!
We wonder where our emotionally unstable children get it from, right?
*sigh*
I finally stop questioning, turn my heart’s gaze up, and ask the only question that matters:
What would the Father do?
I see it clearly.
I went near, right beside him, and held out my hand. He looked up, tears still streaming down his cheeks, his face asking his own question: “Is she angry with me? Or is she kind?”
I smiled. He gave me his hand–oh! The feel of that hand! The feel of our children’s hands–isn’t it a wonder?! Oh, Father, let me never turn down an opportunity to hold this hand.
I led him into the dark living room, to the special gold couch we rarely sit on. I pulled him onto the couch next to me, his head resting on my neck, his tired-out body resting beside mine. I held him there, kissing the top of his head, wiping away his tears. We lay there, in silence, there in the dark, for a long time. He stopped crying.
He smiled.
Oh how much I need to learn, friends! I am that emotionally unstable child, tossed to and fro by every skinned knee that comes my way. And yet, the Father loves me, loves us, so much it’s unfathomable.
And so, I repent again (it’s a daily thing). Even as I type these words I hear more tears, who knows why. Daddy is doing bedtime and there’s no telling what the cause may be. So I leave this space, again. I go. I listen.
The tragedy? Toast.
Yes, of course. It’s about toast.
But you know what? They can be emotional wrecks, irrational at times, and yes, even a little unstable.
I resolve, afresh, to love them. Just as the Father does to us: Emotional wrecks, irrational at times, and yes, even a little unstable. The song I’ve sung all week:
You’re a good good Father, it’s who You are, it’s who You are,
and I’m loved by You; It’s who I am, it’s who I am.
{For all the emotionally unstable kids out there (myself included!), may we know the Father’s love. Thanks for reading.}
Returning to Jesus, our Healer
Wow. I don’t even know where to begin.
This past weekend the elders of our church-family, along with their wives, went away for a weekend of prayer and seeking the Lord, through the Scriptures, regarding His will for healing. As many of you know, this past year has been a journey for me of allowing God’s Word to be the only and final authority on the subject of divine healing, and specifically His will for us regarding various forms of suffering.
I shared a lot during the spring, posting tidbits along the way, trying not to use too many exclamation points and all-caps and italics because this stuff was blowing my mind. I kept reading and re-reading the gospels and walking around like a crazy lady, holding up my Bible and asking whoever would listen, “Have you read this?!”
Who knew? I had already read through the entire Bible 16 times at that point and had never noticed that Jesus healed every single person who came to Him. I never noticed that every time He commissions and sends people out, he includes preaching and healing/deliverance. I never noticed that Jesus spends more time healing and casting out demons than he does preaching. I never noticed that Jesus never tells people to “just be grateful” for their sickness or to “focus only on their spiritual needs” or to “only care about souls.” I never noticed that Jesus clearly distinguishes between suffering persecution for His name (for which we are blessed!) and suffering sickness which He came to heal and bear away, on the cross.
How have we gotten so off track? How have we come to celebrate the evil of sickness as somehow being a gift? Why are we embracing what Jesus bore away on the cross? Why are we encouraging people to stay locked in prison when Jesus came to set them free? Why do we see it as more “spiritual” to endure sickness, and somehow “shallow” or “weak” to ask for healing?
On Mother’s Day I preached a message on this, my journey, including this handout giving verse references for all the places in the gospels and Acts that we see examples or commands for healing. This past weekend we journeyed through many of these passages, allowing the Scriptures to be our authority, asking the Holy Sprit to open our eyes and see afresh the truth of God’s Word. We chose to submit our lives, our experience, our fears and our doubts, to the truth of His Word, and obey, to the best of our understanding, what He commands.
It was an incredible time. For 28 hours we searched the Scriptures, prayed, talked, discussed, prayed some more, laid hands on each other, prayed some more, ate, slept, read the Scriptures, prayed some more, cried, confessed, and prayed some more. God met us. I believe it was a watershed moment for our church, and our individual lives. Although I already fully believed, I came to know His heart for this more than ever before.
Have I seen evidence yet? Well I’m slow to lean on what I see, since faith is believing what is unseen, but I can testify and rejoice in two small “victories” I have witnessed by the power of God.
- First, I can praise God that since preaching that message on healing, and fully embracing this truth, submitting my mind and heart and spirit to God’s Word on this subject, my kids and I have not been sick a single time. That was almost 5 months ago. I praise Him for this!
- Secondly, Jeff has suffered back pain for 21-years because of a broken vertebrae when he was in High School. He always has this pain, especially severe during changes in weather, or when sleeping in uncomfortable situations. Friday night, the elders gathered around and laid hands on Jeff, asking for complete healing in Jesus’ name. He has had absolutely no pain since then. He slept on the floor that night (!) and the weather changed significantly, and he still has had absolutely no pain. We praise God for this as well!
So I simply ask you again: Search for yourself. Listen here, if you like. Click on the links to read along the journey. Download this free ebook. But most importantly, search these Scriptures. Look directly to Jesus and see what He was like. What did He say? What did He do? What did He tell us to do? Just as we pray, “Your kingdom come,” we then act. By His grace, we live out His love and bring His kingdom here, conduits of His healing power, His grace and forgiveness, His truth and freedom. For His glory.
And if you do believe, and feel discouraged at not seeing any of this come to pass yet, please don’t give up. Just as we persevere in trusting Him for our growth and sanctification, for salvation for others, for life-change, we persevere in this journey as well. Don’t give up!
{Happy Monday. May His love be shown and His will be done in your life this week. Thanks for reading.}