A New Name

 

You know the names you call yourself inside your head. You are a whore. You are a failure. You are an addict. You are stupid. You are lazy. You are obsessive. You are a liar. You are greedy. You are a thief. Maybe you feel ashamed of these names. You feel dirty or vulnerable, weak, out of control. Maybe you are proud of your name, like it's an accomplishment. You are proud of your sexual prowess or your ability to fool people with your words or how you can slick that handbag past the store clerk. You are proud of how drunk you can be without anyone knowing. Maybe you picture your stacks and stacks of cash, visualize yourself rolling in them like Scrooge McDuck, and take pride in how you've provided for yourself, protected your future.

We all have our name. You're thinking about it right now. Whether you're ashamed of it or proud of it, you know what it is. It's not the first thing you tell people about yourself, often times the last. It's what characters in books or movies or TV shows reveal about themselves that makes you feel squirmy inside, like they should have just kept it quiet, but also what you secretly enjoy knowing. Like their Achilles heel or the soft spot that makes them human. It's why PostSecret is so popular. We want to know the dirty ugly parts in others that reminds us we aren't alone in our dirty uglies, even if they're different things.

I read the other day about Abraham. His name originally was Abram, but God chose to change his name. "No longer shall you be called Abram, but your name shall be Abraham, for I have made you the father of a multitude of nations." (Genesis 17:5) Several times in the Bible, God changed people's names. Abram to Abraham, Jacob ("deceiver") to Israel ("he strives with God"), Simon to Peter ("rock"). Each time, God changed their names to indicate a future state. When God named Abram "father of a multitude", Abram's wife was barren. Father of a multitude? How? His wife couldn't conceive. When Jacob became "he strives with God", he was on the run. When Simon became a "rock", he still had yet to deny Christ, hardly a sign of someone strong and stable. But eventually, God blessed Sarah with a baby and Abraham became a father. Eventually, God used Jacob in the line of generations leading to Jesus. Eventually, Peter would become the mouthpiece of Jesus's ministry, spreading the Gospel around the world. These men weren't fathers of multitudes or striving with God or rocks when their names were changed. These men would become who God said they were.

If you are a Christian, God has given you a new name. "Christian" means little Christ, means "like Jesus". The Word says you are a conqueror, a child of God, an heir with Christ, a new man. "You are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone." (Ephesians 2:19-20) You have a new name, Christian. Your name might have been slut. It might have been liar or thief or adulterer or murderer. Whatever it was, it isn't anymore. And your new name? It might wear a little big, like you don't quite fit it and you aren't really sure of it. Who is sure of it? God. He gave it to you and not because He felt bad for you and wanted to give you a self-esteem boost. He gave it to you because He will make it fit, He will make it true, and of that, you can be sure.

What we call ourselves matters. The more we replay the names we give ourselves, beat them into our minds, the more true they seem to us. We often become who we say we are. Our own name for ourselves means much more to us than others' names for us because we are the ones living in our own minds. We know the real truth, despite what others may see or say. But sometimes we get the truth wrong. Sometimes what we think we know isn't at all what is. "If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come." (2 Corinthians 5:17) You are a new creation, right now. The "old"? The not-nice, ugly-awful? It's dead. It may not feel like it. It may not look like it. You may not believe it which is why you need to hear it.

For my children more than for myself, I need to hear this. If I am a mom who constantly beats herself up, my children will learn from me and beat themselves up. If they hear from me all their faults, they will live in that pocket, preach that ugly to themselves. For my daughter, this is even scarier. She faces a future of hearing loss and possibly brain damage. She faces taunts from children who will mock her for being deaf or having strange hearing aids. You know all the names they will call her if she is developmentally delayed and to think of it, to think of a sweet little child being called those names, it makes your stomach hurt. And so for her sake, for her sake, I need my life to preach "Redeemed". I need my life to preach "Loved". I need my life to preach "Precious Child" and "Citizen with Saints" and "New Creation". I need to picture myself not as broken and dirty and discarded, but as polished and clean and cherished. I need to know that I am who God says I am and not what I say I am or what anyone else says I am. My daughter needs to know this too.

As ugly as those names others might call my girl is as ugly as those names you call yourself. As sick as those words make you feel, to think of them being hurled at her, is as sick as it should make you feel to beat yourself up. You aren't those ugly words any more than she is. You aren't, not because you aren't, but because God says you aren't. The God who spoke and there was light says, "Child" and so you are. Says "New" and so you are. Says "Clean" and so you are. Live in that pocket, preach that beauty, become that truth. "There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death... If Christ is in you, although the body is dead because of sin, the Spirit is life because of righteousness. If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ Jesus from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit who dwells in you." (Romans 8:1-2, 10-11)

Thanking God

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving so the whole internet is all, "Give thanks! Be thankful! Eat turkey!" While I think the general giving of thanks is good -- it turns our eyes to our blessings and off of ourselves -- I'd encourage a more specific phrasing. Don't just give thanks; give thanks to God. Don't just be thankful; be thankful to God. Don't just eat turkey; thank God for that turkey as He provided it. And when we consider what we are thankful for, move beyond just our "stuff" -- food, home, cars, etc. These are all provisions from God, yes, but they come from somewhere so much deeper and our thanksgiving should reflect that. We should truly consider the depths of the Lord's work and how richly we are blessed by it.

Just out of curiosity, I skimmed through several passages about "giving thanks" in the Bible. I just wanted to see exactly what the Word tells us to give thanks for. I noticed four major things: 1) Who God is. Psalm 118:1 says, "Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; for his steadfast love endures forever." Give thanks to God why? For who He is. He is good, His love is steadfast... you could go on: He is just, He is loving, He is all-powerful. Why do we give thanks to God for who He is? Because who He is directly affects us. If He is not a good God, we serve a corrupt Lord. If He is not steadfast in His love, we are at risk of falling outside of His care. If He is not just, He will not reckon for all the injustices of this world. If He is not all-powerful, He is not God at all. We give thanks to God for who He is because by Him, we are all upheld. ("Behold, God is my helper; the Lord is the upholder of my life." Psalm 54:4)

2) What God has done. Psalm 145:10 says, "All your works shall give thanks to you, O Lord, and all your saints shall bless you!" God's creation and His works give thanks to Him because without Him they would not exist, and because He is good, all things He does are good too. In Luke 17, a healed leper gives thanks to Jesus for making him whole. "Thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads the fragrance of the knowledge of him everywhere. (2 Corinthians 2:14) We thank God for the victory we have in Jesus and for the ways He uses our lives to make Him known.

3) What God has given us. This relates some to what God has done, but is more specifically related to the blessings and gifts of God. This section gets the most play around the Thanksgiving holiday. "Both riches and honor come from you, and you rule over all. In your hand are power and might, and in your hand it is to make great and to give strength to all. And now we thank you, our God, and praise your glorious name. (1 Chronicles 29:13-14)" God gives riches, honor, power, might, and strength. Therefore, we thank Him and praise Him. Jesus is seen several times in the New Testament giving thanks for the bread that He multiplies to feed the crowd and for the communion supper served right before He is taken to die. Ephesians 5 tells us to be "giving thanks always and for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." Everything we have, all the time, comes from God.

4) Salvation. Possibly the most important thing we can thank God for is the salvation He offers us in Jesus. "The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Christ Jesus." 1 Corinthians 15:56-57) Sin leads to death, and when we are in sin, we are held to the law, the impossible-to-follow law that all of us have broken. We are all condemned to death, save for the grace we are offered in Jesus. We thank God for rescuing us and providing us a path to mercy.

As I read through these and considered these "categories" of thanks, I couldn't help but note how closely they resemble the Lord's prayer. Jesus, in the Sermon on the Mount, cautions the people to consider their prayers carefully. He warns against grand displays of faithfulness that are only meant to draw attention to man, instead of God, and instead, encourages His people to pray earnestly. In Matthew, He says, "Your father knows what you need before you ask him. Pray then like this:

Our Father in heaven,

Hallowed be your name 

[1) Who God is]

Your kingdom come,

your will be done,

on earth as it is in heaven.

  [2) What God has done]

Give us this day our daily bread

[3) What God has given us]

And forgive us our debts,

as we also have forgiven our debtors.

And lead us not into temptation,

but deliver us from evil.

[4) Salvation]

Your thanks should have a direction. You can generally just throw out phrases of thankfulness to the universe, but they are empty without something to hang them on. All of our thanks belong to God. For who He is, what He has done, what He has given us, for the offer of salvation -- any and everything we could possibly list as something to be thankful for falls into this category. Instead of thanking God for our big screen TVs or the freedom to watch football on them, let's dig a little deeper. These material blessings aren't bad and we certainly should be thankful for them since they make us richer than a far majority of the world. But life is so much richer and deeper than football and your TV. Life is an opportunity to experience the rich power and love of the almighty Ruler of the universe, who loves us so richly that He would set aside heaven and its glories (way better than the best flatscreen), He would become like the ones He created, He would walk alongside us -- weeping, toiling, enduring temptation, sweating, bleeding, living -- and He would give over that life to us. We have so much more to be thankful for than we even know.

As you sit around the Thanksgiving table tomorrow (or serve at a shelter or boycott the holiday all together), thank God for your material blessings. And then look deeper. Thank Him for the sweet, loving spirit He gave your son. Thank Him for the life He preserved for your daughter. Thank Him for the sense of humor He gave your husband, a humor that has the power to lift your spirits exactly when you need it. Thank Him for the depth of compassion in your dad. Thank Him for the tireless steadfastness of your mom who you can always count on to be and do for you whatever you need. Thank Him for the lifelong companionship of your brother, the one person who will always have your back, no matter what. Thank Him for the spiritual family He has brought you into, a family that walks with you and sometimes carries you. Thank Him for the caring love of your sweet friends who always have you on their minds, praying for you, caring for you, thinking of you. Thank Him for how all these things -- love, life, humor, compassion, steadfastness, companionship, commitment, consideration -- point you to Jesus. They show you the love of Christ every day, each in their own ways, and remind you to thank God -- for who He is, what He has done, what He has given you, and most importantly, for salvation through Christ. Now that, my friends, is a Thanksgiving. Eat up!

Rest

I'm a homebody, an expert relaxer. I have twice, maybe three times as many pajama pants as I do "real" pants. I can rock a lazy day with the best of them, and I love those quiet moments at home with my family. While I excel at "relaxing", I am terrible, awful, very-no-good at "resting". With my lazy bum planted firmly on the couch, my mind and heart are still going about a thousand miles an hour, corralling in all the worries and responsibilities of my life and attempting to solve all the problems right then and there. I have to write things down or I will go over and over them in my mind, afraid I will forget, unable to let the thought go until it's somewhere outside my mind. This worked for me for a while (well, kind of) ... until the problems and worries and responsibilities exceeded the capacity of my poor mind and heart. Then, I had to learn to rest.

In Jeremiah 6, the Lord says, "Stand by the roads and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way is; and walk in it, and find rest for your souls." The way of the Lord brings rest for the soul. Jesus famously said, "Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. (Matthew 11:28-29)" Jesus promises a rest, a soulful rest, for the weary, for those who have been trying to work their way into the salvation that God offers. Believing on Jesus is an easy, light burden because we rest our concerns and our trials on the One who has already accomplished the work in our stead.

This is so, so much easier said than done. I found myself unable to rest in the midst of my daughter's struggles, anguished over her pain and trials. I would spend hours trying to fall asleep, all the medical words playing through my head over and over like I was studying for some test. When I was awake, I could never focus, constantly trying to remember to do this or that or caught thinking about everything that happened and everything that might happen. Even when the going is smooth, I have a hard time calming my mind; throw me into a difficult situation and I start to drown, flapping and flailing as I go. So how was I supposed to achieve this rest? How could I get myself to calm down and trust in God?

Well, first, I can't. I don't have the power within myself to give myself rest. I have to turn to the Lord. Jesus promises rest for all those to come to Him. Hebrews tells us that "we who have believed" enter God's rest. Jeremiah says that I just have to ask about the good way and then walk in it. But there has to be more to this whole thing, right? How does this mysterious "rest" help me in the midst of my struggles and suffering? What does it have to offer me?

What I needed was a better understanding of "rest". I was looking for a soothing calm for my busy mind. The rest that God promises His people is far bigger and stronger than that. He promises an eternal rest. Hebrews goes on to connect the rest that we enter with God's rest on the seventh day. He had created the world, "And God rested on the seventh day from all his works." God's rest came in connection with his finished creation, the completion of His work. Our rest, found in Jesus (like he says in Matthew) comes from recognizing the finished work of Christ, the completion of His work in securing our redemption.

Deep down, when I'm obsessing about medications or feeding tubes or balanced dinners for my toddler, I'm trying to get everything right. I'm reverting back to my control-freak ways and taking on all the responsibilities, putting the weight on myself. I'm trying to make it all go right so I can stand back, look at my accomplishments, and say, "That's right. I did that." I fall and fail and flounder because I'm just not capable of this. I'm one little person and it's a big world out there; I can't possibly fight all the battles and win. I find rest not by figuring it all out or having all the answers or "seeking" God's path (when really, I'm just looking for the trigger, the little pill to swallow to make me good enough); I find rest when I look to the cross and see the finished work of the Savior. He makes it all right. He fights the battles. He knows the will of the Father, accomplishes that work, and offers me the reward. "So then there remains a Sabbath rest for the people of God, for whoever has entered God's rest has also rested from his works as God did from his." I rest from my works because Jesus has already completed them. I don't have to get everything right or earn favor with God or work so hard that I fall apart. Jesus already did.

But how do I know that's good enough? How do I know that's true? How can I be sure there isn't more for me to do? Because "we have a great high priest, who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God... For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need. (Hebrews 4:14-16)" Jesus completed the work, but He did so knowing my struggles. He was tempted to defy God, go His own way, work in His own power, in all the same ways that I am tempted to do that. But He obeyed God, stayed the course, and sacrificed Himself. God's plan made room for a fumbling, confused, worry-wart like myself to find rest in the One who completed the work I fail so miserably at. I can be confident in my acceptance with God not because I did everything right, checked all the boxes, succeeded in every way. I can be confident because of Jesus and there at His feet, I find the mercy I could never gain on my own. I also find the grace that I so desperately long for in times when all seems lost.

This is not a medicine, take it once and you're fixed. This is one of those things, like I quoted Piper here, that I have to preach to myself every single day. It is all tied in to my desire for control and my inability to let go. But I remind myself that this rest is not mine to earn, but rather mine to receive. It is not just for this day or this season of life or even just for this life; it is for eternity. It is a rest that brings not just the illusion of calm and happy, but a true peace, one that surpasses understanding. It is a rest secured by the Lord for His people out of a love and devotion that are deeper than the sea. This is a comfort for my weary soul. This is the song that sings me to sleep when I lay my weary head on the pillow. And this is the rest that not only comforts, but heals all the broken places. "Come," Jesus says, "Come... and I will give you rest."

Call and Answer

“Thus says the Lord who made the earth, the Lord who formed it to establish it—the Lord is his name: Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known. (Jeremiah 33:2-3)"

I wrote about how the Bible shows us that it's okay both to cry and to cry out to God. He is a loving Father who hears His children. I also wrote about how I struggled with all the "whys" surrounding our situation. These formed the foundation for the next lesson God had for me: calling upon the Lord.

You may have heard the term "prayer warrior" before. Generally reserved for women (at least in my experience), the term refers to people who seem to be constantly in prayer or who spend hours before the Lord every day, petitioning the concerns that plague their hearts. These are the first people you ask to pray because you know they will follow through. You can count on their faithfulness. I know a few women I would use this term for, women who are so faithful in prayer and constantly seek the face of the Lord. I used to think about their devotion and sacrifice of their time and wonder how they managed to spend so much time doing something so static. Don't they have things to do? Responsibilities to take care of? Jobs, husbands, children, homes? How do they have time for this?

We always have time for things that are critical. No one has so much to do that they don't sleep a wink for six days straight. If you don't sleep, you die. Anything you have to do has to wait until you get enough sleep to function. Same for eating and drinking and using the bathroom and all those other basic, necessary, life-sustaining activities. Our "responsibilities" take a back seat to these things and no one wonders, "How can you get it all done when you have all that sleeping to do?" It's just the way it is.

For the child of God, prayer should be the same way. God tells us in Jeremiah that if we call to Him, He will answer us and tell us the mysteries we seek to understand. We have a direct line to the One who has laid our paths and directs our lives; any concern we have, He knows before we even speak it (Matthew 6:8). Yet we are told in the Word to pray, again and again. "Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18)" Pray without ceasing; don't ever stop praying. Sounds like a prayer warrior to me. But it isn't just reserved for the random person with plenty of time on her hands. It is "the will of God" for all His children. Why?

I'm not writing a book on the doctrine of prayer, but there are two distinct things God taught me about a life of prayer. The first is that prayer turns our eyes to the One who is in control. The very act of praying acknowledges God's power and gives Him the glory He is due by recognizing that power. Any time I sent out a petition for prayer, I wasn't just saying, "Please remember our daughter." I was asking people to bring her before the only One who had the power to heal. I have faith in God's power and in His love for us, and through prayer, we are reminded of those things. God isn't a cosmic gumball machine, doling out prizes whenever we put in a quarter. He is our Father who loves us, but He is also the one running the show. In prayer, we say to God, "You, Holy God, in Heaven, bring Your will to completion. Provide for us in this way. You have the power to do what we ask. Please, Lord, do." He gets the glory as the One in control (not me). He has the power (not me). So I ask of Him and ask others to ask of Him: use your marvelous power, Lord.

The second thing is that a life of prayer is a burdened life. This might sound kind of backwards and opposed to my first point, but hear me out. If you live a prayer-less life, you either think a) God has no power, b) God doesn't care or c) nothing is really that important. If you have nothing to pray about, you might think God is very small, that He couldn't do anything about what you're facing so there's no point in asking. If you believe God does have power but still you don't pray, you might think that God is up there in His big Heavenly bubble and doesn't care about your life, that He set the world in motion and has the power to intervene, but doesn't care to or wants us to live our own lives free of His control. If you believe God does have power and you believe He does care about us (check and check, you're on the right track) but still you don't pray... then you must not think there is anything in your life worth praying about. This was me. Go about my day, awake, baby awake, feed the kid, eat, do some chores, run some errands, home, eat lunch, relax during nap time, fix dinner, eat, hang out with hubby, watch some TV, bed time, sleep, do it all again. I was just going and doing and not really thinking about any of it. If someone had said, "Is God all-powerful?" I would have said, "Duh." If someone said, "Does God care about your life?" I would have said, "Of course!" If someone said, "Is prayer critical to your life?" I would have said... well, I might have said "yes" but my actions did not reflect that. I rarely prayed, certainly not "without ceasing". So what was the deal?

I was not burdened. My life was pretty good, nothing really wrong, so I was just whistling along, twiddling my thumbs, doing my thing. I believed in God's power and care but I didn't acknowledge them with my lifestyle. I knew there were things to take care of, but I just did them; I didn't need to pray about them. Until -- I encountered a whole host of things that I couldn't take care of. I couldn't heal my baby. I couldn't place her IVs. I couldn't make her create enough platelets. I couldn't help her hear. I couldn't heal her brain. I couldn't make her eat or grow. I felt like I was drowning. All these things that needed fixing and I couldn't fix any of them. My heart filled with burdens, and I began to pray. "God, this and that and everything! Help!" And God answered prayers, miracles raining from the heavens, y'all. Amazing, amazing miracles.

That time of fervent, unceasing, burdened prayer changed me. I guess it made me a prayer warrior? But that's exactly what all of God's children should be. We should all be burdened with the cares of life. We should care about what is happening around us. We should care about our neighbor's sick dog and our friend's baby and our parents' jobs and typhoons in Asia. We should care about the pain and brokenness of the world, the burdens of daily life, and we should lift those cares up to the Healer, Restorer, Lover of our souls. We should pray because these things are important and they deserve our attention and each and every one of them should be brought before the feet of the Father. Even if your life is great, pray and pray and pray. Even if your prayers are all thanksgivings and especially if your prayers are all pleading petitions, pray and pray and pray.

I'm not advocating that anyone feel like they should carry the weight of the world around with them. But life is weighty. Prayer takes our weights, our very real and important burdens (even if they seem so small to us) and places them on the crucified, risen shoulders of Christ. Prayer says, "God is powerful and He cares for us. This life is important. It matters. Therefore, I take this life and offer it over to Him, and I trust. I trust."

We have moved past our time of acute, daily fear and concern for our daughter. For the most part, she is healthy and happy and life is good again. But every day, I feel the burden of this life. The little things, the big things, our things, others' things, and all day, I say, "Lord, Lord, Lord! Look. See. Heal. Change. Redeem." It's everywhere, in the whole world. From the woman you happen to notice crying in the car next to you at a stoplight to your child who doesn't understand why you won't let him hit the dog to your beautiful friend who you desperately want to know Jesus to your coworker who just found out he has cancer. It all has weight. It all matters. And we are to bring it all to the Lord in prayer. Like the woman in Luke 18 who brought her petition before the judge again and again and was rewarded for her persistence, Jesus longs for us to always pray and never lose heart. "Will not God give justice to his elect, who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long over them? I tell you, he will give justice to them speedily. Nevertheless, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?" God will hear our cries and He will bring justice. But will Jesus find us praying when He returns?

Unseen

 Whew. This one, y'all. I'm already crying. I've been waiting on this one because I knew it would be hard. But today, my sweet daughter is five months old, and it just seems like the right time, so here we go.

I've already shared with you that I struggled with understanding why all of this was happening to us. Why my little baby had to be so sick, why we had to uproot our life for eight weeks (and longer) to help her, why we had to be left with so many lingering questions. I never felt at any point that God had abandoned us, but that still didn't answer my questions. God had prepared me (unbeknownst to myself), and I resolved to have faith in facing the unknown, and God strengthened my faith as I prayed.

God knows our hearts, and He knew that I needed a dose of hope. He used one of the members of the community we enjoy to give me just such a dose. I had emailed after a rough morning; my daughter's feeding tube was leaking (and would just days later fall out leaving her with a giant, gaping wound in her stomach), and I was feeling stressed and frazzled. Our church is always so faithful to pray, so I knew when I sent out the SOS, they would respond. One of my dear friends who had passed through her own struggles and sought the face of the Lord in them all sent me a link to a song and a sermon that had encouraged her. She included her own words of encouragement and assurance that she was praying every day for us.

Much like the moment I talked about in this post, the first time I listened to the song, something inside me changed. "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 / Sing a song to the one who’s all I need" The guys who sing the song lost their father unexpectedly and wrote the song in response, as they were grieving their loved one. The lyrics cut me right in two. "I come, God, I come / I return to the Lord / The one who’s broken / The one who’s torn me apart / You strike down to bind me up / You say you do it all in love / That I might know you in your suffering" Ohhh, wow. I return to the God who has broken and torn me apart in love. This is right where I found myself, coming back, over and over again, to the One with the power to heal, but who kept breaking us, over and over again. Why, God? Why? Here's where my heart stopped: "My heart and flesh may fail / The earth below give way / But with my eyes, with my eyes I’ll see the Lord / Lifted high on that day / Behold, the Lamb that was slain / And I’ll know every tear was worth it all" One day, I will know that every tear was worth it all. Why? Jesus. The sacrifice of God for me, seeing the culmination of that in the glories of the heavenlies. "Though tonight I’m crying out / Let this cup pass from me now / You’re still more than I need / You’re enough for me" O Lord, O Lord, please let this be.

To look around at the situation, to see my daughter splayed out in a hospital crib on a warmer because she couldn't hold her own body temperature, to see her have needles in her body and tubes coming out from everywhere, to not be able to hold her for days and days, to not know if she would ever eat properly, to not know if she could gain weight to survive, to not know if her brain would function well enough for her to talk, learn, grow -- it all looked hopeless and it all looked meaningless. To look with our human eyes and see the pain and all the problems, it looked like a giant mess and seemed to have no purpose. She was so small. She didn't deserve this. We are a faithful family. We attend church, serve God, seek to teach our children about Him. Why would He do this to us? We didn't deserve it.

That is what our human eyes would see and our human hearts would say. This song hit me so hard because it spoke the truth of God, not the "truth" of man. The truth of God says this: "Not only is all your affliction momentary, not only is all your affliction light in comparison to eternity and the glory there. But all of it is totally meaningful. Every millisecond of your pain, from the fallen nature or fallen man, every millisecond of your misery in the path of obedience is producing a peculiar glory you will get because of that." These are Piper's words from the accompanying sermon (which I highly, highly recommend), and they opened my eyes to a truth I had never considered before.

He's referencing 2 Corinthians 4:16-18: "So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal." He talks about how Paul who as the writer saw so much pain and trial in his life (ending with his own beheading) characterized those trials as "light" and "momentary" -- they were small and fleeting. Compared to what? The eternal weight of glory. The forever-lasting, hugeness of the life beyond this life.

But Paul, it doesn't look that way, not even a little bit. He knows that. He anticipates that, which is why he writes, "Look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen." I had spent a lot of time looking at the things that were seen: the scabs from IVs, the puckered skin around her tube incision, her yellow skin, her skinny little body. These things made me lose heart. These things kept me up at night and made me hurt for her and question God. But all of these things, even though they seemed so big and powerful and painful -- they were light and momentary, not because they weren't important or painful, but because they were part of a much, much bigger picture.

The picture isn't just this day or this month or this year or this lifetime. The picture includes an eternity at the feet of the Savior of the world. When you zoom out and see the whole thing, this is but a breath. That is not to say it is a meaningless breath; it has great purpose. But the purpose is not found in this moment, right now, tangibly. The purpose waits in the unseen. The glory that our trials in the here and now produce we will meet on the other side. We can't see the glory or touch it or taste it. Piper says our eyes will tell us that our suffering is meaningless. But we have faith that it is not: "Either you see it with the eyes of faith, believe it because the text says it, or you lose heart."

God's word tells us in Corinthians that our trials in this life are creating a glory in heaven that is beyond all comparison. That promise is the "unseen" that we look to, that gives us hope when the seen looks scary and dim. We believe in this promise in faith, not because we can see that it is true but because God has promised it to us. My request to our church included this: "I want to be faithful and trust but my heart and mind get caught up in the problem instead of resting in our Savior." I had spent all my time looking to the seen and it looked terrible. I couldn't see anything happening, any good coming of all this. And here's the thing: in my lifetime, I may never see anything good come out of everything we've been through. It would feel really good to be able to point and say, "I see what God was doing now!" And there have been moments when I've seen Him shine through and I can see the work being done. But the Word never promises that. It never promises that we will see the big picture while we are here living it. It does promise that when we leave this world, all the pain and tears and injustice and struggle and brokenness that we encountered, all the trials of this life, will have built for us a glory beyond anything we could ever imagine. "What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, God has prepared for those who love him. (1 Corinthians 2:9)"

In theory, this doesn't feel good. It doesn't answer questions. It doesn't clarify. In the midst of pain and trial? This is sweet, sweet manna from Heaven. It says that this life doesn't have to feel good or answer questions or clarify. This life is spent in the marathon of faith, enduring to the end when we will see Jesus, glorified and sitting at the right hand of the Father and we will rejoice, being showered with glories beyond our imagination. And not only does that beautiful moment occur after we endure the pain; it occurs as a result of enduring the pain. It is not simply a "well done" after making it through the gauntlet; it is being prepared as we trial and persevere.

Finally, finally I could see. I felt like scales had fallen from my eyes and the giant weight lifted from my shoulders. Just as I have faith in the healing sacrifice of Jesus, I have faith in the promise of eternity. I can't see either of those things, but they form a foundation stronger than any physical, tangible, seen experience. Unfortunately, I am a physical, tangible, seen being and it takes me about 3.5 seconds and one little hiccup to have me spiraling into frustrated despair again. The solution? Preaching. Piper again: "Therefore, do not lose heart. But take these truths and day by day focus on them. Preach them to yourself every morning. Get alone with God and preach his word into your mind until your heart sings with confidence that you are new and cared for." Every day I have to remind myself of what I know and believe. Every day I have to come back to the fountain of life -- as Piper says, not a fountain where one sip heals, but a continually flowing fountain that we need every single day -- and drink until my thirst is quenched. Every day I have to sit at the feet of Jesus and ask him to teach me, remind me, heal my heart.

Want to know the most beautiful thing? He teaches me and reminds me and heals my heart. Sometimes it comes through the victories we celebrate. Sometimes it comes through remembering how awful things were and how much better they are now, even if they aren't perfect. But most of the time, it comes just because. It comes because I ask for it in faith, knowing that God will heal. Sometimes I ask out of desperation because nothing else offers an answer and I can't fix it. But God hears those cries and slowly, slowly He is teaching me that trust in His almighty hand and His promises and His plan will never leave me empty-handed. I preach that to myself every day; my friends preach it to me. And the glory we will see at the end of this rainbow will be like nothing we have ever imagined.

**Find here A Song for the Suffering and Piper's message, "Do Not Lose Heart"** 

Why?

I think it is human nature to ask "why". My toddler hasn't entered that phase yet; he's still stuck on "what". "What's that? What's that?" All day long! But soon, his "whats" will become "whys" and I will have to know the reasons for things. "Why do birds fly?" "Why can't I have that cookie?" "Why is the baby crying?" "Why does it snow?" I look forward to this stage so much! I love learning and seeing new ideas and thoughts take shape in my little boy. But part of me worries about that phase. What do I do if I don't know the answer?

I did a lot of asking "why" after my daughter was born. "Why did this happen?" "Why are we having to deal with this?" I felt bad for having the "why me" attitude, but I couldn't help it. I couldn't help but wonder why we were in this boat when plenty of other people I knew had beautifully healthy, happy children. What did we do wrong? What is the reason for all of this?

I'm not the only one who has asked this very question. In John, we see this scene: "As [Jesus] passed by, he saw a man blind from birth. And his disciples asked him, 'Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?'" The disciples want to know who was in the wrong, who was to blame for the problem they saw. As is so often the case, Jesus answers their either/or question with a third option: "Jesus answered, 'It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him. We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming, when no one can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.'" Jesus does not fault the man OR his parents, but proceeds to give sight to this blind man. As a result, people see the power of Jesus and those who would eventually demand him killed find fault in what he did. The man was not born blind because of sin, but because he would be used to show the works of God through Christ.

How does this apply to my daughter? Jesus is not here on earth to perform a miracle and heal her. Can she still display the power of God? Absolutely. If you were beside us in this journey, you know the hundreds of prayer requests I laid at your feet. Appeals for healing for her liver, spleen, blood, brain, digestive system. Requests for protection of her eyesight, from seizures, for her heart and lungs. Pleadings for safety and good caretakers and peace for our family. All of these were legitimate concerns. She faced real danger from threat of infection and permanent damage and worsened symptoms. We laid all this before our people and the people prayed. What happened? Her life displayed God's power. Her body began to heal and we praised the Lord. Her tests came back normal and we praised the Lord. She healed after surgery and had some of the best nurses and doctors we could ever ask for and we praised the Lord. God received so much glory from her trials, so much more than if we had not faced those dangers.

The blind man in Jesus' story receives his sight, but he is harshly questioned about the matter, accused of being a liar, and is cast out from his people, left to fend for himself. Jesus hears about this and goes to the man. Here is their conversation: "Jesus heard that they had cast him out, and having found him he [Jesus] said, 'Do you believe in the Son of Man?' He answered, 'And who is he, sir, that I may believe in him?' Jesus said to him, 'You have seen him, and it is he who is speaking to you.' He said, 'Lord, I believe,' and he worshiped him. Jesus said, 'For judgment I came into this world, that those who do not see may see, and those who see may become blind.'" Because of his blindness, this man met Jesus. He not only met Jesus, but he believed in Him as the one God sent to proclaim the truth. Because of his blindness, because he did not presume to understand God but instead knelt down before Him, he was given sight, eyes to see the true God who brings healing to the world.

Part of this journey is seeing the ways that God brings glory to Himself through our trials. Another part of it is not presuming to know the mind of God. There are times that God doesn't heal, even when we (and thousands, millions of others) pray in earnest. My daughter is still deaf and she may still have damage to her brain. We continue to pray that God would heal her, but He may not. This is so, so hard for me, for my control-freak self, to step back and say with Jesus, "Not my will, but yours, be done.' (Luke 22:42)" To trust God when he says, "My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. (Isaiah 55:8-9)"

We will not always be able to answer the "whys". Sometimes, they are bigger and higher and far more complicated than we are capable of understanding. We are still called to trust in this God. We are not promised answers or healing or peace while on earth. "Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. (Hebrews 11:1)" We are promised reconciliation with God through Jesus and a place where death will be no more, but that will not be here in this life. So what do we do with ourselves in the meantime? How do we move through these times when our questions linger, answerless? We follow the model of the faithful who have come before us, who fixed their eyes on the promises of God and knew that even when they couldn't see the destination, they were moving toward something, toward something true. Hebrews 11 describes the life of many of these people: Abel, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Moses and on. People who fell on their faces before God, who often fell on their faces in sin, but who returned to God time and again, asking for forgiveness, receiving grace. Why? Where were they headed? What kept them moving forward when the road got narrow or, in some cases, wasn't even a road at all but a path through the sea? "Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses [the faithful that came before us], let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. (Hebrews 12:1-2)"

Jesus, the one who prayed for God to take the cup from Him but who accepted it regardless, He is the one that kept the faith. The promise of a Savior, of one who would be born of a woman, be degraded and mocked, but return to glory, He motivated those "heroes of the faith" who so often were fumbling fools to continue their fumbling but in the direction of God, in the direction of His promises, and with the faith that they would one day see glory. These men and women, this Jesus, they did not just go on their way; they ran the race that was "set before them". It certainly was not always a path they wanted to take, but it was the path they were given and they trusted in the God who laid it out before them.

In times of trial, those "whys" can seem so important. They weigh you down and make you question yourself, your friends, your family, your God. When you finally hit the point where you realize that you may never know why, it can be devastating. All this, all these terrible things that are happening, if only I knew WHY, then maybe I could accept them. In those moments, instead of asking "why", turn your mind instead to ask "who". Who is the one who gave me this great blessing in a child? (Psalm 127:3) Who is the one who knit this baby together in my womb? (Psalm 139:13) Who is the one who gave her life and breath? Who is the one who sustains her even now? (Job 12:10) Who is the one who has laid out the path before us and who will see us to completion? (Phil 1:6) It is our God, our great and mighty God who is powerful and true and good, our God who loves and gives and forgives, who weeps with us and comforts us, who longs for our hearts. So many questions and we may never know "why", but our comfort comes from knowing that we can trust, with our whole hearts and lives, the "who" in control of it all.

Called to Love, Not Fear

"You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart

and with all your soul and with all your mind. 

This is the great and first commandment. 

And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself."

(Matthew 22:37-39)

For the first couple weeks of my daughter's life, we weren't sure if she was going to live. I wrote about the gift of her life here, so I won't go into all that again. The natural response to pain is to draw back, roll into a ball, and protect yourself. When someone comes at you with a stick, you don't smile broadly and wave. The same is true for emotional pain. My life was not in the balance; my daughter's was. For me, the pain of her situation was the heart-wrenching reality of discomfort and physical pain in someone I loved dearly, someone who grew inside my body, and the possibility that that someone might cease to exist. Just as I would have thrown up my arms to block the striking blow, I encased my heart, layer by layer, adding on with each scary thing that came. I protected myself and hardened my heart to keep from being pulverized.

As we moved through the worst of it and we saw that she was going to survive the early weeks, I allowed myself to revisit the picture in my head of our little family of four. She would be a part of it and I started to open my heart to that again. As she started to pull through, however, the doctors began to give us more information about the long-term possibilities she would be facing, scary things like seizures and hearing loss, blindness and brain damage. All of these things required a "wait and see" sort of response. We had no answers in the moment; we were left to wonder and tread water.

Once again, I started building the wall around my heart. "She might never hear. I'll just give up on ever sharing music with her." "She might not see. I'll just give up the dream of teaching her to read." "She might have brain damage so I'll just accept the fact that she might live with us forever." All of these survival mechanisms, these knee-jerk responses, they allowed me to protect my own heart from feeling the wound of loss should the time come that we found it.

One day at the hospital, I held my daughter in my arms, my cold heart sitting with her out of obligation and frenzied fear, when she opened her eyes and looked right into mine. She had been so sick that this was one of the first times I actually got to see her, to look into her beautiful little face (bald though she was) and really see her. Her eyes were so warm and she just trusted me, never considering for a moment that I might have built a wall between us, that I was keeping her at bay. She didn't know a wall. She knew the warm arms around her and my eyes. In that moment, I remembered a verse that I memorized back in college, during my panic attack days: "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:6-7)" I looked at my sweet baby and prayed to God for his peace, the kind of peace that surpasses all understanding, the kind of peace that if someone were to ask me, "Wow, Aleah, you are so calm through all of this. How do you do it?", my response would be, "Ask the Lord, I have no idea."

That peace didn't hit me like a rock, but the Lord started to work in my heart. I started the see the wall between us and every time I felt scared or instinctively moved to protect myself, I saw the image instead of myself with my arms outstretched, like how I wait for my son to run to me when I want to give him a hug. I saw that picture of myself and I realized that God had not called me to protect my heart and stay safe from pain. God had called me to love. He had called me to love a little girl who might die. He had called me to love a little girl who might never hear a word I say. He had called me to love a little girl who might never speak, who might never walk, who might never know who I am. All the possibilities, all the terrible things that might be at bay, they were not for me to fear. God called me to open up my arms, open them as wide as they would go, and welcome my little girl in.

I'm crying as I write this. It is not an easy thing. Love is never, ever the easy thing. So how is it ever possible? First, fear must die. The Bible promises over and over that God abides with us always and we never need fear. "Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you.” (Deuteronomy 31:6)" That is just one example; there are so many more. As my fear of losing my daughter slowly left, replaced by the peace of God that I prayed for, my heart began to open up in love. How? Again, through the power of prayer and the Holy Spirit.

1 John 4 explains love, its source and power: "Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love." Not loving = not knowing God. God doesn't simply love, He doesn't simply give us the power to love, He doesn't say, "Go, love" and then leave us to figure it out. He IS love, so if we know Him, we know love and have the power to love. "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love." With God, we can love without fear. We can open up our hearts and love and love and love and we do not have to fear death or judgment or trial or evil or the end of days.

In the famous 1 Corinthians 13 passage that is read at every wedding ever, the Word says this: "Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. (1 Corinthians 13:7)" Bears, believes, hopes, endures -- what? ALL THINGS. All things. That means no thing, nothing, is outside the power of love to bear with, to believe in, to hope for, to endure. Love survives the easiest parts and the hardest parts. Love continues despite every obstacle that stands in its way. Love perseveres because God is love and nothing breaks God. How can we really know that? By seeing the picture of the greatest act of love the world will ever know. "Jesus uttered a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. And when the centurion, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he breathed his last, he said, “Truly this man was the Son of God!” (Mark 15:37-39)" 

I have been through hard days with my daughter and we will have hard days to come. Mothers and fathers around the world have endured all manner of pain and fear, and instead of curling into little balls, they have opened up their arms and welcomed in their children. This love, this open-armed, reckless, fearless love is just the tiniest small picture of the great love of a Father for His children, a love that would nail His Son to a tree to bleed, bearing the weight of all the darkness of humankind, that you, that I might have the light, that we might have true life without fear, that I might have the power to look into my daughter's eyes and say, "I love you, bitty. I love you right now, and I love you whatever comes our way."

It's Okay to Cry (Out)

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;

and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;

when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,

and the flame shall not consume you.

For I am the Lord your God,

the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.

Isaiah 43:2-3

I have a stellar dad. Funny, smart, energetic, loud -- my dad was meant to be a dad. Throughout my childhood, he served roles as the Tickle Monster, homework-helper, shuttle bus, driving instructor, therapist, newscaster, encourager, heckler, scapegoat, travel agent, and more. Even now, as I near my thirties and have two kids of my own, he is a constant pulse of support in my life and in the lives of his grandkids. He visited my sweet daughter every day for the 52 days she spent in the hospital, most of the time coming to see her at 5 am when his health problems were least constricting. He is no longer my "go-to guy" now that I am married, but his place in my life set me up to expect a lot from my husband, and I know that if ever I need him -- no matter the reason or time of day or what I need from him -- he will be there before I can bat an eyelash.

One of the greatest things my dad taught me is that it's okay to cry. On the surface, my dad can seem intimidating and like rather a tough guy. Sit down with him to watch a John Wayne movie and you will see through the veneer. This man tears up at every emotional moment. Sometimes it made me feel weird as a kid. Dads aren't supposed to cry! My dad didn't care. He expressed what he felt (and still does!) and by doing so, he demonstrated to me and my brother that having feelings and showing them is good, to not be ashamed of how life (or even just a commercial) could affect us. As the complications of my daughter's life unfolded, my dad stood by me and my daughter, continually offering support and a comforting presence. I knew he was by my side (along with my mom and aunts and my husband's family and hoards of family and friends).

I also knew at every step of the way that the Lord was walking with us. He was with me when I would wake up crying in the middle of the night, staring at her empty crib. He was with my daughter when she had IVs placed in her head and went into surgery. He was with my husband as he shuttled our toddler from one home to the next and attempted to figure out a sleeping arrangement that had all three of us in one room. God was with the nurses who kept vigilant watch over my tiny, sick baby and He was with the doctors who attempted to navigate her unusual condition. He was with our church family and friends who walked our dogs and checked our mail and mowed our grass and begged for more ways to help us. Like my own, physical, in-the-flesh father, my Heavenly Father was a constant presence when I needed Him most.

Here's the amazing thing about God: he, too, tells us that it's okay to cry. If you have ever taken a spin through the Psalms, you will notice after just a short time that many of the Psalms start out with an appeal to God. "Help!" "Look at me!" "Where are you, God?" They go on to detail terrible situations of impending armies and illness and emotional anguish and distress. Take this for example: "O Lord, rebuke me not in your anger, nor discipline me in your wrath. Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am languishing; heal me, O Lord, for my bones are troubled. My soul also is greatly troubled. But you, O Lord—how long? (Psalm 6:1-3)" Languishing, troubled bones and a troubled soul and where are you, God? Shouldn't we have faith in God? Are we allowed to question Him? To ask Him where He is when we need Him most? I mean, He is God after all and who are we? Certainly not the author of the universe. Shouldn't we accept what comes our way and never question God's plan?

The words of Scripture teach us that "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble at its swelling. (Psalm 46:1-3)" But what about our feelings? What about when we get scared at the trembling mountains and we can't see how the earth falling into the sea is going to turn out? Does God care how we feel about that?

The Psalms show us that He does. In these Psalms, we see God's people cry out to Him and explain all the woes and every time -- Every. Single. Time. -- the author follows up all his concerns with praise to God and an expression of faith in God's plan and goodness. "O Lord, how many are my foes! Many are rising against me... But you, O Lord, are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head. I cried aloud to the Lord, and he answered me from his holy hill. (Psalm 3:1, 3-4)" Probably most convincing is the action of Christ himself. While Jesus was on the cross, obviously a time of distress, he quoted from this Psalm: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning? (Psalm 22:1)" He's appealing to His Father, where ARE you? Rescue me! Later on, the Psalm says this,  "You who fear the Lord, praise him! All you offspring of Jacob, glorify him, and stand in awe of him, all you offspring of Israel! For he has not despised or abhorred the affliction of the afflicted, and he has not hidden his face from him,but has heard, when he cried to him. (Psalm 22:23-24)" The Father hears and welcomes our cries.

I have done my share of crying these past few months about my daughter. "Lord, her platelets are low. Why haven't you fixed this?" "Lord, she just won't eat. Why won't you give her an appetite?" "Lord, she just seems in such pain. Please, please heal her body." "Lord, she can't hear. Why can't you just give her ears?" "Lord, I am not cut out to be her mother. Why did you give her to me? This is too hard." Every time I let the weight sink in and feel my heavy heart, I turn my eyes to these Psalms, to the cries of the faithful who have come before me, and I remind myself that God is my help and He is walking with me and even when I can't see where we are going, I know I am on His path.

If you have lived a perfect life up until now and nothing has ever gone wrong, congratulations. But even if that is you, there will come a day when you encounter trial and feel broken and confused. And on that day, you might turn to your friends and family for support, and they will do their very best and you will appreciate their love and attempts to heal the wound, but you will still feel empty and unsure. In those times, there is only one who knows your heart and who can heal it and that is God. He is the present help -- right here, right now, all the time -- and He cares for His children. He desires for you to cry out to Him and say, "God, where are you? Do you see what is happening right now? Do you see this? How can you let this be? Why won't you fix this?" Your tears and your appeals are not an affront to His power, not a questioning of His plan or path for you. They are an acknowledgment of His power, of the fact that He is the one who can walk you through fire and keep you from being burned. When you cry out, just like the amazing Father He is, God will say, "My child, I am right here. I am standing with you in this storm. You can trust me. Now -- watch this."