Category: Acceptance

The Present Nu…

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The more I journey into my adult life, the more I find that the past is something that has a strong grip on me. For better or worse, it has shaped me into the person I am today. Many memories, trained reactions, and wounds are hard to let go of. I’ve found that some are even woven into parts of my subconscious and nervous system. This way of being can in fact, be a place of exile. As author Leif Enger mentions in his novel Peace Like a River, “Exile is a country of shifting borders, hard to quit yet hard to endure, no matter your wide shoulders, no matter your toughened heart.” Though I know that it is only as I grow and learn to dwell in the present that I can embrace all that God has for me, it is quite a journey to learn how to do that. 

 

What a comfort to know that regardless of where I dwell–past, present, or future–God is with me. Psalm 46:1 states, “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in times of trouble.” We often hear that God the Alpha and Omega, the First and the Last. I recently read a quote by William Watley that emphasizes another aspect of His character: “You are connected to somebody who is not only the Alpha and the Omega, but the Nu as well. Alpha and omega are the first and last letters of the Greek alphabet; nu is the middle letter. Thus, Jesus is not only somebody who will be with us in the beginning….He abides with us in all that is between…in the middle.” 

 

God offers us His support in each moment of our lives simply through His presence. I ask, by His mercy, that I may learn to let go of the past and abide in the present with Him. Dominican singer and songwriter Juan Luis Guerra has a song called “Tan Solo He Venido/I Have Only Come,” which speaks to the author’s desire to commune with God. In it, he speaks to wanting to walk in the park with the Lord and have a conversation, just to be with Him and worship Him and know Him more, trusting God already knows the needs and petitions of His heart. Though at times I may get discouraged with the slow speed of my growth, it’s a consolation to find this level of companionship and comfort always waiting for me.

Perspective & Gratitude…

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It’s amazing how an unexpected trip to the emergency room and stay in the hospital can provide a new perspective on things. After two intestinal surgeries to remediate the effects of his Crohn’s Disease, my husband is finally beginning to heal, and we are grateful.

One of the biggest things I’ve learned is that marriage worked–we truly are one. As my husband has bravely suffered countless procedures, pokings and proddings, two operations, the night of the drug-induced coma between them, the intense sleepless days in the ICU after, and the indignity of the ileostomy bag he’ll need for several more months, I have felt at least a small share of his pain in it all. Every time I have to leave him or be separated from him or watch them stick something else into him, I physically feel the pain of it and my heart breaks for him. Often it feels as though I’m leaving a part of myself behind. Despite the difficulty of all of this, we know that God is making us stronger and more united, increasing our love for one another day by day. Mikael is loved by all the nurses and providers here for his positive attitude and the way he thanks them for everything they do, even those that are painful or uncomfortable. I come to admire my Mikael more every day too.

Each one of those experiences that’s been hard or humbling or uncomfortable we’re doing our best to bless, knowing that when you bless something it loses its power to hurt you. So we bless the N/G tube in his nose that made him gag and prevented him from turning his head. I bless the nurses that see him naked and get irritated with my questions or requests (though overall, they’ve been wonderful!). We bless each thing as an instrument of God’s healing and growing work in our lives.

We’re learning to give thanks for each small miracle, and we’ve had a lot this week! We got to leave the ICU and get onto a regular ward floor, enabling Mikael to get some better rest. We’ve had good visits from family and friends and feel love and support from those who are far away. Mikael got his N/G tube out and can move his head freely! On other days he got his catheter out, an IV taken out of his left hand, and one out of his right hand. Yesterday, they took off his wound covering and the wound-vac pump that went with it. Then, the miracle of all miracles, I got the first hug I’d had in almost a week because he was free enough of tubes to make it possible!

Mikael’s making some physical strides of progress. He was able to walk all the way down the ward hallway and sit outside on the patio and I don’t think we’ve ever been so grateful to look out at the I-225 traffic on a cloudy day and feel the breeze :). Yesterday, Mikael got his first bite of real food in twelve days and began to weep it tasted so good. Today, he had his first shower in six days and it left him speechless. Both of us may sleep an hour or ninety minutes at a time here at night, but we’re just so thankful to get that much, and that we can be together, and that he’s okay.

We know that our Father is good and that we have never been out of His care. That’s definitely been proven to us by having so many beautiful loved ones in our lives! As well as we may know them, we’re learning again the words of Paul by heart, “Rejoice always; pray without ceasing. In everything, give thanks, for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus” (I Thessalonians 5:16-18). My favorite author Wendell Berry said it well too, “What we must do is this: ‘Love always, pray continually, in everything give thanks.’ I’m not all the way capable of it, but I know those are the right instructions.” These events that have interrupted the normal events of our life also serve as an invitation to draw even more near to God’s heart–gratitude is one of our paths and we have chosen to take it.

“DO IT AGAIN…”

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Though my family didn’t move to Colorado until I turned eight, having lived here thirty years this year, I consider myself very much a Colorado girl. Filled with more Fourteeners than any other state, Colorado’s high desert tundra, crystal mountain lakes, majestic sunrises and sunsets, alpenglow, and mystical mountains have “filled up my senses” countless times.

 

I’ve often wondered what it is about mountains that’s so captivating. They’re definitely a solid, seemingly immovable presence. They remind us there’s something and someone greater than us, greater than the obstacles we face each day. They invite and beckon to adventure, exploration, and challenge. They call us to see new beauty and summit the heights. And yet, as solid and unchanging as the mountains seem, Jesus tell us we can move them. “…Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you” (Matthew 17:20, NIV).

 

There are a few seasons of life that have been marked journeys of faith for me, times when God called me to believe something that seemed virtually impossible at the time. It required a long wait, a lot of growth, and an attitude of expectancy as I navigated the valleys and summited the peaks. Sometimes, the hoped-for result came. Sometimes not. Most often, the answer looked quite different than I anticipated. But always, always, God proved Himself faithful, and the greatest reward came from His presence on the journey. In reality, it wasn’t my faith that moved mountains. My Father God worked on my behalf to move them for me as I depended on Him.

 

Several things have shifted in my circumstances lately, or burst, perhaps, is a better word. So now, here I am, once again in another season of absolute need, desperate for my God to move. As many times as God’s done the impossible and shown Himself strong in my life, still, it requires more faith for me to believe He’ll do it again. I continue to allow my fear to be bigger than my faith. But as song artist Rita Springer says, “I have to believe that He sees my darkness. I have to believe that He knows my pain…. For He said that He’s forever faithful. He said He’s forever true. He said He can move mountains. He can move my mountains; He can move your mountains too. I have to believe.” Faith simultaneously transforms us and sustains us. In Isaiah, hundreds of years before Jesus came, God assures us, “…I will not forget you. See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands. Your walls…are ever before me” (Isaiah 49:16). What I face, He faces…He has engraved me on the palms of His hands. He has always been faithful…He will be again. “I believe Lord, help my unbelief” (Mark 9:24).

 

There’s a song by Elevation Worship that’s been speaking to my heart, “DO IT AGAIN.” The lyrics state:

 

“Walking around these walls

I thought by now they’d fall

But You have never failed me yet

Waiting for change to come

Knowing the battle’s won

For You have never failed me yet

 

Your promise still stands

Great is Your faithfulness, faithfulness

I’m still in Your hands

This is my confidence, You’ve never failed me yet

 

I know the night won’t last

Your Word will come to pass

My heart will sing Your praise again

Jesus, You’re still enough

Keep me within Your love

My heart will sing Your praise again

 

I’ve seen You move, come move the mountains

And I believe, I’ll see You do it again

You made a way, where there was no way

And I believe, I’ll see You do it again…”

 

Indeed. I have seen Him move mountains. And I do believe. I will see Him do it again. He has made a way where there was no way. Let’s believe we’ll see Him do it again.

Un Examen…

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As a Spanish speaker, I’m very familiar with the term “un examen,” meaning an exam or test. Until recently, however, I was not familiar with the term “examen” as it was first practiced by the Ignatius of Loyola in the Fourteenth Century. The examen was a series of six questions the Jesuit priests used for reflection at the end of each day:

 

  • Where did I experience the most consolation today?
  • Where did I experience desolation?
  • What was the most life-giving encounter today?
  • What was not life-giving?
  • For what was I most grateful today?
  • For what was I least grateful?

 

I am struck by how deeply each of these questions resonates, but also by what a profound practice and ritual this is. In my own culture and life and time, it seems that I am always on the move. Like many, my to-do list is a mile long and I struggle to let go of many of the items on it each day, always pushing. In the end, I push because I feel good about myself when I have accomplished a lot, but is that truly a place of consolation, or one of desolation? A quote I read recently from Do Hyun Choe Sugi Master reflects the balance we all must find well: “Movement is what creates life. Stillness is what creates love. To be still and still moving…that is everything.”

 

So in this new year, as with every year, this is one of the intentions, “…to be still and still moving.” To do so, I must find a daily balance between joyfully completing the tasks that I must do, being with the people I love, and resting. First and foremost must come time to “Be still and know that [He] is God.” Carving out time for the type of reflection suggested by the examen would be a lovely conclusion. Max Lucado reminds us, “Next time a sunrise leaves you breathless or a sunset leaves you speechless, STOP…REMAIN THAT WAY. Say nothing as heaven whispers: ‘Do you like it? I did it just for you?’ “

“O Cross that Liftest Up My Head” (George Matheson)…

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The final stanza to George Matheson’s hymn “O Love That Will Not Let Me Go” makes clear the calling each follower of Christ is called to:

 

O Cross that liftest up my head

I do not ask to fly from thee

I lay in dust life’s glory dead

And from the ground there blossoms red

Life that shall ever be.

 

Our earthly lives can be full of blessing, and simultaneously, full of suffering, marked my wounds and scars we’ve received along the way. The apostle Peter speaks to this in I Peter 4:12: “My dear brothers, do not be surprised at the test you are suffering, as though something unusual was happening to you. Rather, rejoice that you are sharing in the suffering of Christ, so that you may be full of joy when His glory is revealed.”

 

We share in the suffering of Christ, who suffered all things for us, and we are promised joy as the end result. When Jesus returned to the disciples after the crucifixion and the apostle Thomas doubted his resurrected identity, Jesus told him to feel the wounds in his side and his hands. Jesus offered Thomas total transparency, knowing this apostle would one day be martyred for his efforts to share the gospel in modern day India.

 

As author Sheila Walsh states in her book It’s Okay Not to Be Okay: Moving Forward One Day At a Time:
“There is no image that displays the love of God more perfectly than the scars of Jesus. The scars tell God’s story. ‘That Sunday evening the disciples were meeting behind locked doors because they were afraid of the Jewish leaders. Suddenly, Jesus was standing there among them! ‘Peace be with you,’ he said. As he spoke, he showed them the wounds in his hands and his side. They were filled with joy when they saw the Lord!’ (John 20:19–20)

But before the joy, there was heartache and questions. Nothing made sense anymore.

We all know we’ll face challenges in life, but sometimes we’re hit by something that feels as if the enemy has won. That’s a frightening place to be. That must have been how the disciples felt that night.

But as the risen Christ held out His nail-pierced hands and wounded side to His friends, they were no longer marks of death, they were signs of victory: declaring that death was overcome by the blood of the Lamb. Christ wears those scars in heaven as glorious trophies of the battle He has won.

The only wound from this earth in eternity will be the scars of Christ (emphasis mine). If Christ has chosen to live eternally with His scars, why would we be ashamed to show ours?

I think that every time God the Father sees the pierced hands and feet of Christ, He sees you and me. The scars tell God’s love story.

The love of God invites us to bring our scars into the light. We don’t have to hide anymore. It really is okay not to be okay.

Our scars are proof that God heals.”

A Spacious Place…

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Just now I’m listening to the song of wind chimes blowing in a gentle summer breeze outside my window. Curtains rustle as the light filters in. The dogs sleep in a mix of sun and shade under a tree where apples ripen in preparation for the autumn harvest. I sit at the table with the extraordinary gift before me of a peaceful, quiet time in which to read and reflect and write. As friends begin teaching children for a new school year, a blessing we once shared, I have a whiff of nostalgia, but breath a deep sigh of relief, for I know it had become too much for my fragile body.

 

A man walks his clomping horse up the dirt road where we live in this one-of-a-kind small mountain town. Though late August, the tundra on the hills has begun to change and the evenings are cooler. I settle into the weekday morning quiet of this world and feel deep gratitude for the season of rest I’ve been granted in this beautiful and spacious place. Studies completed, new paths opened and explored, more adventures and learning await and good work will need to be done. But for now, this day, I rest and give thanks.

 

Many times this was among the things only hoped for and imagined. That being said, it is important that I remember: my Father God and loving friends generously sacrificed and gave to share this with me. Both have been oh so sweet and faithful. As Psalm 18:16-19 proclaims, “He reached down from on high and took hold of me; He drew me out of deep waters. He rescued me from my powerful enemy, from my foes, who were too strong for me. They confronted me in the day of my disaster, but the LORD was my support. He brought me out into a spacious place; He rescued me because He delighted in me.”
As author Ann Voskamp states, the act of remembering re-members us, helping rejoin the broken pieces. A dear friend reminded me today: there have been miracles…. there will be miracles. It’s good to remember. The chimes sound as the winds stir a song of praise.  

Strong Hands, New Eyes…

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Oscar Wilde once said, “It takes great courage to see the world in all its tainted glory, and still to love it.” This truth often strikes me, for, on a daily basis, I am amazed by the beauty and kindness and inspirational perseverance around me. On an equally frequent level, I am confronted with woundedness, ugliness, and hypocrisy. To hold the tension of this world’s  “tainted glory” well takes great balance and skill. Whatever and whoever there may be in my own path, I am quick to judge, to praise or condemn, to choose a personal response that has the potential to fall on either end of the spectrum.

 

Whether in line at the post office or the supermarket, driving, walking in the beautiful mountain town where I live, or working, I cross paths with many I choose to ignore. How many do I encounter every day who are longing to be seen or heard or helped in some way? Most often, I choose to believe that my schedule is too busy, my hands are too small and weak. I allow my eyes to cloud over and my mind to wander back to its self-preoccupation.

 

But what if my small hands are strong enough to offer a drink to the thirsty? What if doing so is the water my own soul needs? As David Foster Wallace says in his graduation speech entitled “This Is Water,” “Sometimes the hardest and most important realities are often the hardest to talk about.” In the petty frustrations of day-to-day living with narrow-sighted vision, it is only in choosing to look around with compassion that we find our own paths enlarged.

 

Just as  Jesus did, we are called, “…to preach good news to the poor…to bind up the brokenhearted…to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor…to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve…to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair” (Isaiah 61:1b-3a). God says that “…if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday” (Isaiah 58:10).

 

Spanish-speaking artists Marcela Gándara and Jesus Adrian Romero have a beautiful song entitled “Dame Tus Ojos” (“Give Me Your Eyes”). In the song, they ask God, “Give me your eyes I want to see. Give me your words, I want to speak.” The song is a petition to be filled with the Spirit of God in every step. As we become Christ’s body and His church, may we literally be His hands and feet, see with His eyes, love with His heart.

***Photo Credits: Brainy Quote

It Is Well…

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The past two years of my life have seen more change than the previous ten altogether. After a long waiting season, through an unexpected breaking process, God moved in both difficult and incredible ways. He asked me to release a teaching career that had been my passion and security in adulthood. He moved me back home and placed a man in my life to love and to marry. Then, the same month of our marriage, my husband’s mother was diagnosed with stage four ovarian cancer. Within four months, she passed away. We left everything to come to Puerto Rico, see her before she passed, and manage her estate. Months later, we remain here, searching for a solution for a disabled family member she cared for.

 

The more answers we seek, the more doors close. One slight move on the board changes the whole game, perhaps for the rest of our lives. We pray for guidance, but the heavens remain silent. I believe my Father is attentively at work in ways I can’t see or understand. I trust His hand, but sometimes, the weight of the unknown feels like enough to press me into the ground and bury me there. In the midst of it all, I feel ushered into the eye of the storm where one call is certain, “Surrender.”

 

The earth quakes and the storms come, and yet…it is well with my soul. I’ve thought often of the old hymn of that title, written by Horatio Spafford after he lost his family in an ocean storm. “When peace, like a river, attendeth my way, When sorrows like sea billows roll; Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, It is well, it is well with my soul.” Bethel Music artist Kristene DiMarco recently rewrote the song with words that pierce my soul. “So let my soul go and trust in Him. The waves and wind still know His name.”

 

It Is Well
Bethel Music (Written by Kristen DiMarco) 


Grander earth has quaked before
Moved by the sound of His voice
Seas that are shaken and stirred
Can be calmed and broken for my regard
And through it all, through it all
My eyes are on You
And through it all, through it all
It is well
And through it all, through it all
My eyes are on You
And it is well with me
And far be it from me to not believe
Even when my eyes can’t see
And this mountain that’s in front of me
Will be thrown into the midst of the sea
And through it all, through it all
My eyes are on You
And through it all, through it all
It is well
And through it all, through it all
My eyes are on You
And it is well
It is well
So let go my soul and trust in Him
The waves and wind still know His name
So let go my soul and trust in Him
The waves and wind still know His name…

“The Room of Love…”

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As a new bride, I’ve thought a lot about the ways earthly love mirrors the love of our Heavenly Father. Without a doubt, marriage provides experience with the complicated mysteries and pressures of relationships, especially under high amounts of outside conflict and stress. It also allows us a window into the transcendent nature of love. Recently, I’ve reread a favorite novel that does a nice job of tackling both themes.

With an expert hand, Wendell Berry weaves the characteristics of a romance into his women’s fiction novel Hannah Coulter. Hannah remembers the pressures she and her husband Nathan were under within their marriage as they worked their farm, “The making of the place was the thing that ruled over everything else, for we were living from the place…. And as our work shaped our workplaces, our work and our workplaces shaped our days. Our work brought us together and drew us apart.” She articulates the tensions that came between them, “We had differences. There were the agreed-on differences of work. There were the accepted, mostly happy differences between a man and a woman. There were the differences of nature and character that were sometimes happy and sometimes not. Some of the things that most endeared Nathan to me—his quietness, his love of his work, his determination—were the things that could sometimes make me maddest at him.”

Most of all, however, Hannah focuses on the love that united them, “The room of love is another world. You go there wearing no watch, watching no clock. It is the world without end, so small that two people can hold it in their arms, and yet it is bigger than world on worlds, for it contains the longing of all things to be together, and to be at rest together. You come together to the day’s end, weary and sore, troubled and afraid. You take it all into your arms, it goes away, and there you are where giving and taking are the same, and you live a little while entirely in a gift. The worlds have all been said, all permissions given, and you are free in the place that is the two of you together. What could be more heavenly than to have desire and satisfaction in the same room? If you want to know why even in telling of trouble and sorrow I am giving thanks, this is why.”

I’m giving thanks too, for the room of love and the big mix that life and love are. I pray I can accept giving and taking as the same, embrace all in my arms and accept them for the gifts that they are.

***All quotes taken from: Berry, Wendell. Hannah Coulter: A Novel. Counterpoint, 2004.***

The Already, & The Not Yet…

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I swore I’d give up hoping for a husband at the age of thirty-five, and kept true to my word. Just before my thirty-sixth birthday, however, God allowed my path to cross with the man he intended for me. This wonderful guy exactly fit the bill for what I’d been praying for in the previous twenty years, and I continue to marvel at this. As it turned out, our paths had been crossing for almost seventeen, and we had even attended the same small college together without ever meeting. It’s obvious the Lord had has own plan and timing at work. We can both see ways He prepared us for one another, though the journeys we walked alone were lonely and long. What a wonder to have the opportunity to join my life to his this past December! I couldn’t ask for a better partner to share life with.

That same month, doctors in Puerto Rico diagnosed his mother with Stage Four Ovarian Cancer. The elopement we planned for New Year’s Eve took place three weeks earlier than planned, and I said goodbye to my new husband the next day. Though good friends made it possible for me to travel to spend the holidays with him and meet his family, I needed to return to work two weeks later. He remains with his mom and aunt, attempting to help and care for them. His mom is stable for now, but suffering. He hopes to return here soon, but so much of the future is unknown.
Despite being separated for these first months of marriage, I’m so thankful to have him as a part of my journey. Distance is a challenge, certainly, but he’s wonderful about prioritizing our relationship and times for us to talk. He adds so much to my life, and yet…I miss him desperately. In holding all of this, I’m struck by the reminder of the phrase, “the already, and the not yet” used to describe Kingdom of God. As believers, we have the opportunity to partake in the Kingdom here on earth, and yet, we must simultaneously wait for its full realization. As we choose to reflect Christ each day, we can help bring the realities of Christ’s Kingdom to those around us. It’s a beautiful mystery, and a great opportunity. We live in unity with Christ here and now, but an even greater unity awaits us. My Beloved is mine, and I am His. I am invited to give thanks for what is, and dwell here today. I am invited to eagerly anticipate the great day that is to come.