Searching the Skies

2020. The name alone ushers forth a subconscious groan from all who hear. The greatest “gotcha” moment in history––we were lured in with a smooth transition from 2019 and then the bottom fell out. Well, 2020, to you we all hand out a hardy “don’t let the door hit you in the butt on the way out!” But, if I’m being honest, I’m not anticipating 2020’s little sister. Who knows what atrocities 2021 could bring?! Full hazmat suits, permanent online school, revenge of the Killer Hornet, and… I hesitate to even speak this into existence… nothing new on any of our streaming platforms. I just blacked out a little. 

To be fair to 2020, I must admit it hasn’t been all bad. I saw kids riding bikes with their parents. Couples taking long walks with their dog. Communities rallying around small businesses. And Christians forced to decide how important and real their faith was. 2020 brought us to the realization that we are not in control nor have we ever truly been. It was the lightbulb moment that I am not the one in the cockpit but the yahoo in business class who keeps asking for more pretzels. Humility. We all received a healthy dose of it; and, I pray, we can maintain it in the coming years. 

Not to be outdone by 2019 or whatever 2021 will bring, 2020 is ending on a high note with the return of the “Christmas Star.” If you are like me and assumed this was a scientific return of the potential star that led the wisemen to Jesus then you would be wrong. Jupiter and Saturn will be crossing closer to one another than they have in nearly 800 years. This crossing will occur on December 21 creating a bright “star” effect––reminiscent of the original Christmas Star. And, while it isn’t the ancient star that resided over the infant King, it still brought such a smile to my face. Of all the years for a Christmas Star, this is the one that truly needed it. 

What was that first star if not the greatest beacon of true hope? For 400 years there had been silence. God’s people had not heard from their King for four centuries. Can you imagine the utter despair and anguish that that silence caused in those who truly believed? For those who merely found Judaism to be their heritage––their religion––I’m certain the silence was a welcome relief. No more prophets condemning you. No more seeking God as to who should be made king of Israel. Sure, you followed the rituals but your heart didn’t have to be in it… or so it seemed. 

Even in the silence of those days, God was as omnipresent and omniscient as He is today. He was neither fooled nor neglectful. When the time had come to shatter the silence, it was not done through a burning bush, the parting of a sea, or a mere mortal. The silence fell away at the cry of an infant who was both fully man and fully God. His one herald who declared his presence was a star. A star breathed into existence by the very Creator he proclaimed. This Christmas Star came to a generation who had known the chaos of a world without faith. These humans knew well of the sins of cities such as Sodom and Gamora. For those who longed for the redemption of what they saw, what must this star have meant to them? 

This year has brought about more conversation than ever and less listening than ever. In the midst of all the noise, I hear so many Christians sounding shocked by what they see occurring. I refrain from asking, “How? When scripture is so clear there is ‘nothing new under the sun.’” We live in a world that is deteriorating––waiting for the day it will be redeemed. This is not news to those who believe, so why do we live as if it is? Why do we see the world and gape slack-jawed? How can we cling to the faith of our forefathers who survived atrocities such as world wars, famines, and great depressions? 

I think the answer is to search the skies. To lift our eyes up to the hills and see where our help will come from. The wise men were truly wise as they searched the heavens. Their trained eyes knew what to find and how to find it again. These foreign men recognized the greatest hope promised to mankind when they discovered that blessed Christmas Star. This prophecy was worth so much to them that they journeyed far for mere moments with a child born in Bethlehem. 

I want to look up at 2020’s “Christmas Star” with as much awe and wonder as the wise men did. To see the hope written in the skies. Whatever 2020 has brought, and whatever may come with 2021, none of it has been unseen or unknown to the maker of the stars. He is still God; and, if He is still God, there is still hope, and joy, and good. And, yes, while I am not sad to see this year end, I don’t want to be afraid of what a new year will bring. I pray 2021 looks different but I know that it may not. So, I will cling to the hope of the truest Christmas Star and rejoice that the silence has been broken forever. 

Just Hug Me, Already

There are two kinds of people in this world––huggers and non-huggers. Or, in my opinion, huggers and the wayward. All kidding aside, physical touch is such a dividing line in life. Within both camps, there are varying degrees of what is acceptable physical touch. Maybe you love to hug but aren’t a cuddler. Or, you hate hugs but want someone to sit close to you while you watch a movie. You could be like me and accept all forms of physical affection. I joked recently that all I wanted for my birthday was a cuddle session and a good movie. (I mean, honestly, just thinking about that is my nirvana.) This idea has sent some of you screaming for the hills. That’s fine. We “touchers” will find you. 

I respect the boundaries of my friends who are not “physical touch” people and they know that at some point they will have to hug me. It’s a two-way street, homies! And, while I respect their desires, I confess I don’t understand them. I know they don’t understand me. We agree to disagree and it is a beautiful thing. But, the point of this blog isn’t to debate whose way is better. Both camps can agree that physical touch is a necessity of life––some of us just need it more than others. 

As one of the needy, I feel as if my body is always on high alert for when physical affection is given. I will watch myself––almost an out of body experience––scooch closer and closer to whoever I’m sitting next to. We may start out with a person’s space between us but by the end of the movie, I will be practically in your lap. (If you have ever watched a movie with me then you have experienced this. If you hated that… I apologize.) Every fiber of my being just wants to be near another’s. 

I was launched into this thought process by a recent hug experience. It was the hug that surprises you. You both know you are going to hug each other but you didn’t expect it to be as tight, last as long, feel as weighty. It’s the hug that says, “I needed this. I love you. I miss you.” You don’t want to pull away. It’s a touchstone, an anchor point, in the day. A moment you mull on and are grateful you had. I love those kinds of hugs. But why do they mean so much? 

In my life there have always been two indicators as to health in my relationships: can we laugh and can we be physically close. If both of these happen then that means everything is and will be okay. And, I don’t think I am the only person who feels this way. Touch is a powerful, healing mechanism. Hugs have been found to trigger and release oxytocin––the wonderful “feel-good” chemical. Every hug gives both the giver and the receiver a boost of feeling loved both emotionally and chemically. This chemical high helps to reduce your stress and has even been found to help reduce the frequency of getting sick with such viruses as the common cold. Yes, yes, I know, a hug can’t cure you of disease; but, knowing you are loved and supported––feeling the happiness that comes with oxytocin––has been shown to lead to a healthier and longer life.  

So, I have proved my point scientifically. Well, as scientifically as I will get. I mean, I majored in theatre okay! I want to emphasize the point by looking at scripture. How many times was someone touched and healed by Jesus? I think of Mark 5:21-43 and the two women, both in opposing stages of life, who are healed by the touch of Christ. The passage begins with a father pleading to Jesus, “Please come and lay your hands on her; heal her so she can live.” He is desperate for his daughter to live. On the way to his house, the entire entourage is stopped because Jesus says, “Who touched my robe?” The group looks at him skeptically because so many people were pressing in on him. If the phrase, “What you talkin’ about, Willis,” had been a colloquialism at the time, I am certain that’s what the disciples would have said. Jesus tells them he felt power leave his body and finally the bleeding woman steps forward. She had believed that if she could just “touch his robe” she could be healed. Jesus calls her daughter, confirming His love for her, just as the anguishing father hears news that his beloved little girl has died. In spite of this announcement, Jesus proceeds to his house anyway. He makes the great declaration that “The child isn’t dead; she’s only asleep.” Once Jesus clears the house of the lookie-loos, He speaks to her. “Holding her hand, he said to her, ‘Talitha koum.’” The little girl awakes from her sleep to the touch and voice of her Creator. 

One of my favorite passages on the power of Jesus’ touch is Matthew 14:24-33. The disciples are sailing as instructed by Jesus when they see him walking towards them on the water. Rightly so, they assume it’s a ghost. (We all like to roll our eyes at the disciples but, let’s face it, we all know we would be them.) Jesus tells them to stop freaking out because it’s him. Peter––of course, it’s Peter––says, “‘Lord, if it’s really you, tell me to come to you, walking on the water.’” We all know what happens after that. Jesus bids him come and as soon as Peter sees the waves and hears the wind he begins to sink. Peter cries out for help and receives it. “Jesus immediately reached out and grabbed him.” He didn’t have to. The man who tells waves to be still and they obey didn’t have to physically touch Peter in that moment. Scripture doesn’t say why he physically rescues him, but I think he did it for Peter. Peter was human. He was petrified. He needed the comforting, rescuing touch of his Savior, not another mind-blowing miracle.

Jesus never had to touch anyone and yet he touched so many. He made us to crave physical human touch. As infants, we want to be held. One of the fastest ways to satiate a crying little stinker is to hold them. And, I think, one of our greatest longings is to be held by God. Can you imagine what that will feel like? Think of the best hug you have ever had. How safe did you feel? How happy? How connected? How loved? Now multiply that by a thousand and we can catch a glimpse of what His hugs will feel like. We crave that connection and are blessed that He allows us to experience a fleeting taste of it when we hug those we love. 

We haven’t had a lot of hugs recently, have we? In fact, we have been told that the wrong hug could kill us or someone else. I look around the world right now and wonder if a good snuggle session, a giant hug, and a quick pat on the back wouldn’t do a great amount of healing. It’s hard to touch someone when you can’t physically touch someone. Expressing love with words is beautiful but expressing it with actions and touch makes the words all the more impactful. I’m not saying ignore medical advice and hug anyways. (I’m also not going to tattle on you if you do.) But, consider the power of physical touch to heal––to join. And, when you are sitting close to someone never forget to remind them of the ultimate healing touch of our Savior. 

1. https://health.usnews.com/health-news/health-wellness/articles/2016-02-03/the-health-benefits-of-hugging
2. https://www.health.harvard.edu/healthbeat/the-happiness-health-connection

War-Weary

The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.

Exodus 14:14

Well, I sat in front of my computer for a while this week trying to think of what to write about. All of my other posts have launched from prayers, conversations, sermons, any little nugget that has continued to stick around with me through the days. But, this week was different. This week … well, this week I’m tired. I’m not talking just physically tired or mentally drained. I mean soul weary. The kind of exhausted that leaves your heart battered and bruised, nursing its wounds on the couch. This is the tiredness sleep cannot cure. I’m guessing if you have lived long enough you know what I mean. Your eyes are heavy but you aren’t sleepy. You can’t seem to make your body do what it needs to do even though you fed it great nutrition. Joy seems just out of reach and yet somehow present. 

I find myself referring to my soul as “war-weary.” You see, we live in a world at war. Both physically and spiritually there is a battle raging all around us right now. We are fighting to protect ourselves and those we love from getting sick. We are battling to discover a cure or vaccine for an unseen enemy. Some of you are rallying the troops at home as you face canceled graduations, weddings, showers, birthday parties, vacations, and general sadness. You call out the battle cry of joy with half-hearted responses while your own heart is bedraggled and weary. Who would have thought that almost two months of doing “nothing” would leave me so exhausted? 

But, how much war has your soul and mine seen in the past few weeks? Tack these weeks onto decades of spiritual attack and it isn’t surprising I’m weary. I’m not shocked that my little heart just wants to veg out on the couch with some Cheetos and a soda. As Christians, we have daily been faced with the world’s questions of “ Where is your god right now?” “How could a good God allow this?” And on a personal level we ask when God will relieve us from this? When will He allow us to return to normal? We promise to pay attention and learn whatever He is teaching if He will just hurry it up and move us along! (Just me? That’s my whiney promise anytime rough patches occur.) Our eyes consume conflicting information and don’t know what news to believe. We spend our days texting, commenting, calling, and Zooming with friends and family who call on us to encourage their own bedraggled souls. No wonder we are tired. 

Maybe quarantine and this current situation haven’t taken the same toll on you as it has on me but I know you have experienced this kind of “over it.” The kind where you feel numb and like nothing new could phase you. For someone who feels deeply, this is always a sign something is wrong. I wasn’t meant to be a zombie bumping through life. I think my heart gets so tired that it turns off all incoming messages and switches to auto-pilot. It can’t feel anymore because it might just die if it does. 

In a normal season of life, I could rally and push through. But, this season has taken its toll. I’m up to my hips in the mud of spiritual warfare fighting to protect my soul and the souls of those I love from the Enemy’s assault. And, in full transparency, some nights I step out of the battle. I give up. I let Satan whisper his familiar lies to me because it’s easier than fighting. What breaks my heart is to think that others I love probably do the same. It’s crazy to me how that idea is what can often rally my heart. I may not have it in me to fight for myself but I can fight for someone else. In those moments I realize the depth of love Christ displayed on the cross. He didn’t face death for himself, but for me. I am in no way comparing myself to Christ! What I am saying is that He has placed this kind of love in each of us. What an insane gift is that? I get to know the love of Christ and then express it even in the depths of heartache. He allows me to grasp what He did for me by allowing me to love and to suffer. 

My battle is not over but it is already won. The cross conquered the battle that causes my heart to languish. His love for me is the healing balm to my retreating heart. When I am assailed on all sides, He presses in ever nearer. Exodus 14:14 reminds us, “The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.” I am not the commander of this spiritual battle. I am merely a soldier following in the footsteps of an already triumphant king. Why do I let my heart get so bogged down in this war when I know the outcome? Why not fight as if the victory celebration has already begun? I want my heart to know where to run in times of trial but to also live in light of the knowledge that the victory is ours. 

This isn’t my typical blog post but I wanted to have full transparency. How will anyone know to encourage us if we don’t express our struggles? So, this week has been hard. Really hard. And, the reality is that you probably would have never known if I hadn’t confessed it. How many of us are tired of fighting our battles alone? How many of us need reminders to look to the conquering King? If you are tired, I pray you find rest. If you are hiding from the fight, I pray you find the courage to engage. Your heart is worth putting up a fight for––after all, someone has already laid down their life to ransom it. 

Desert Stories

“But then I will win her back once again. I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her there.” Hosea 2:14

Each day that passes in this crazy quarantine finds some new method to draw, shove, or punt me back to God. We are all living in a weary wilderness that God has, in His sovereignty, led us into. It isn’t comfortable some days nor is it natural most days; but, it is where He has us for the time being. And, the wonderful part of it all is that we aren’t alone in it. 

Recently, in a midweek connection video for my church, the question was raised to look back and name three God stories that shaped your life. I love moments such as these. Self-reflection is my jam! I know, I know. Most people don’t typically enjoy examining all of their innermost thoughts or moments but it is such fun for me. It’s like putting together a puzzle that the Holy Spirit provides the pieces to. My life puzzle will never be complete this side of eternity but I love to put together the portions I can and see where God is and has been actively working. 

So, I set to thinking and filtering through so many of the defining moments of my life. Some of them were obvious and others I know are still so hidden that I don’t know they are God moments yet. The three I settled on for this post are: the loss of my father, moving to Nashville, and moving home again. I can name many more but these three felt like the right stories for now. 

“No, there is too much. Let me sum up.” Ahh, such a quotable line by Inigo Montoya from The Princess Bride, and very fitting for this first God story. Long story short, I grew up with a quadriplegic dad who was my best friend. I lost him when I was 17 years old. If you had asked me before he passed away about my faith, I’m certain you would have received a beautiful Christian answer. I was a Christian––a good girl––but my faith had yet to pierce my soul. Losing my dad sent me into a tailspin. How could a good God do this to me? Why would he allow my dad to be in a wheelchair and then take him away when I was so young? I didn’t just walk away from faith, I slammed and bolted every door and every entrance to my heart. I hated everything to do with God. 

I remember being so exhausted when I would come home from school because I had had to fake my way through a day of smiles and conversations. I would lie in bed, staring wistfully at my newly prescribed sleeping pills wondering if I could take enough to stop feeling. I didn’t want to die, I just didn’t want to exist. Breathing hurt. Thinking was excruciating. And as for feeling, I wanted to run as far away from it as possible. 

I couldn’t tell you what brought me to my knees that night; but, whatever or whoever it was, I am eternally grateful. I was face down on the carpet of my bedroom crying out to whoever would listen. I remember hearing myself tell God that I didn’t want His help, but I knew He was the only one who could help me. I was tired of feeling so broken. I was so tired. The peace that flooded my tattered soul was palpable. It didn’t strip me of my sorrow or mend instantaneously. But, it came like a friend and raised my face to the face of my Maker. 

This was my first desert … and I hated it. What would be clear in hindsight was that this desert did more for my faith than any oasis could have. I learned my God could be my Abba. I found a Savior who wanted more for me than comfort. He would not neglect my sanctification. I understood what it meant to be in the refiner’s fire and that the Refiner himself would always be near. Losing my dad took away the option to worship an earthly example of my Heavenly Father. Hear me and know that I would give anything to spend time with my dad here on earth. There isn’t a day that passes that I don’t think of him or long to be near him. But, I also don’t know who I would be if I hadn’t lost him. I entered the desert uncertain and undesirous of God’s love and emerged with the knowledge that with Christ I could overcome any obstacle in my path. I walked in under the guise that I was alone and left clutching the hand of my ever-present Abba. 

Life had its typical ups and downs between that desert and the next. I went to college, changed colleges, graduated, and panicked like all graduates do when they realize they spent four years and thousands of dollars earning a piece of paper that no one ever asks to see. At 23, I decided God was leading me to move to Nashville. It was just then becoming the happening place for young millennials and all of my college friends were dreaming and making plans to move. Like any determined Type A, I made a plan of attack and forged ahead. I applied for a part-time job at The Grand Ole Opry just to see what would happen. Much to my surprise, I got the job and they wanted me to start in a few weeks. Confessing to HR, “Um … I have nowhere to live,” did not feel like the appropriate statement; so, I hit the ground running. I reached out on Facebook and had a reply within hours from a friend. His family needed someone to house sit for the next six months and I could live there free if I was willing. God to the rescue! 

I moved, got another job, and began my Nashville life. I auditioned for theatre job after theatre job, the main impetus for the move. I was going to get enough points to earn my Actor’s Equity card and then look towards moving to New York. I had callback after callback but never got hired to act. Phone call after phone call with friends who never could find the right time to move to Nashville. I could feel the dreams I had for this time slipping through my hands and I panicked. 

Hadn’t God paved the way for me to move to Nashville? Then why wasn’t He making things happen? In the loneliness and isolation, I retreated to the one place I so often avoided going. I didn’t know what it looked like to have a daily quiet time or even where to begin. All I knew was that God was my one friend and the only other person in the exact spot as me. I treated myself to a leather journal from Barnes and Noble and got to writing. Prayers began as bullet points and lists which eventually turned into letters to my best friend. I learned how to be comfortable praying and talking to God out loud while sipping on a cup of coffee. The more I drew nearer to Him, the sweeter the relationships around me became. I saw friends where once I saw only acquaintances. I found a home church, a bible study group, and a young professionals ministry that would change the way I viewed the church as a young, single woman. My first summer in Nashville was worlds away from my second. Where once there had been loneliness and isolation there was laughter and deep friendship. I had a sweet roommate and one friend who had finally been able to move! 

God had called me into this wilderness to deepen my faith in so many ways. I treasure the Truth that I can be with God and not be lonely. I trust that He called me to Nashville and know it was His sovereignty that never provided what I thought I was truly moving for. He spoke tenderly to me in this desert and I look back with eyes of fondness on my quiet, isolated time. 

Just like I knew God was calling me to Nashville, I also knew when He was calling me away. My roommates were moving, my jobs were changing, and my church community was shifting due to changes in church hierarchy. Everything around me repeated, “It’s time to go home.” One of my dearest friends saw my anxiety to leave the oasis I had found in Nashville. I told her I didn’t want to just give up and go home. In sweet wisdom and words of the Spirit, she asked, “How long do you have to stay to say you tried?” That was it. I knew at that moment that God was telling me to go. I never dreamed that what would be awaiting me at home was … another stinking desert.

I packed up my apartment, said my goodbyes, and returned to my hometown. I told everyone, “I’m not moving back, I’m just moving somewhere I have already lived.” With this mantra, I charged forward applying for jobs, reconnecting with friends, and eager to regain the life I had previously. Funny thing is you can’t go back to what was. I applied and interviewed for great jobs but couldn’t manage to get hired. Friends had moved on with their lives, just as I had, and didn’t have the space or time. For six months, I schlepped all over town searching high and low for a job but couldn’t manage to find one. 

During this time, I had the opportunity to go on another retreat with my young professionals group in Nashville. I sprinted back to their open arms and found a sweet weekend of solace. While I was there, one of our leaders stopped me and asked how life was going. I was honest but tried to remain positive. “It’s just … different,” I confessed. “You’ve changed,” she whispered wisely. “And so have they.” That was it! I had changed and they had changed. My friends had made new friends and new memories I wasn’t a part of––and that was okay. I left that retreat with the realization that although I may be living in my hometown, I was still starting over. 

This six month desert of unemployment and rebuilding taught me to savor my precious time with the Lord. I had hours to read, pray, and study His word. There was no rush to hurry up and do my quiet time because all I had was time! I could serve my mom by helping around the house with projects that had long been avoided. My days were flexible and I could accommodate new and old friendships in ways I never had been able to do before. The tender words of my Abba were wooing me in the desert as they had so many times. 

Each of my deserts is a God story for me. Each of them taught me stillness––something I so desperately need. Each one reminds me that while God will be the one to lead me into the desert, He will not leave me there alone. He will not be silent. My faith would be greatly lacking without these God stories. I rejoice in knowing that these are just a few of the stories and a handful of the deserts I have been through and will go through. These memories and moments give me hope for this current desert we are all experiencing. I can’t wait to hear more stories about how God whispered sweet words to the souls of His beloved children during these days. I know there will be tale after tale exchanged of God’s goodness in the darkness. 

What are your God stories? Where have your deserts been? Maybe, this is the first true desert you have experienced. Or, perhaps, you are a far more knowledgeable pilgrim than I when it comes to desert seasons. Wherever you are, I hope you will stop and ask God to reveal His story to you. Let Him show you how He has called you into the hard places and never left your side. And, once you know these stories, I hope you will share them with other travelers along the way. Sit down and hear their hearts. Hear how our God has won us and wooed us even in the most difficult of days.  

Stitches

To know me at all is to know I love words. Time and time again I am undone by what language can do. The fact that I serve a God who created not only my language but over 6,500 other languages (that does not include those that have died out) blows my mind. Can you comprehend that with paragraphs, formed by sentences, composed of words, made up of letters, designed by strokes of a pen we can express our innermost thoughts and feelings? Without language, we could not even think in sentences. How would you express how you feel if you couldn’t put words to what it was? Language is beautiful and stunning and some of us use it better than others. One of my favorite life experiences is when God uses language to illuminate His scriptures. When, with one simple word, like a key, it unlocks an entire passage or biblical concept. 

This was the case for me last Sunday. Our pastor was preaching on the relationship between David and Jonathan. Now, you should know I have always loved Jonathan. My two favorite bible stories since childhood have been Esther (duh, kick-butt queen to the rescue … I’m imaging Gal Gadot from Wonder Woman) and Jonathan and David. You could say that God oriented my heart to relationships from an early age. I have always loved people and loved them deeply. (Notice I didn’t say I have always loved them well.) Friends filled the void for siblings and cousins. With age, their meaning in my life has only deepened. As an adult, I have found myself in seasons where I feel “obsessed” with specific friends. They are always on my heart and mind. I pray for them while I get ready in the morning, throughout the day, and when I crawl into bed. For years, this made me feel––weird, strange, and slightly obsessive. I would come back to God time and time again asking Him what was wrong with me. This wasn’t the case for every friend, just specific ones. Did this mean I was a horrible friend who loved the others less? 

No matter how much the Holy Spirit would ease this fear, Satan would come crawling back in to tell me something was wrong with me. I was overwhelming and should just leave people alone. This past Sunday, it all clicked. The fog lifted from the mountains and I saw clearly what the Spirit had been whispering for so long. “As soon as he had finished speaking to Saul, the soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.” 1 Samuel 18:1. This constant affection was not of my own making but the Lord’s. He had knit my soul to another for such a time as this. 

Knit. Sew. Stitched. Bound together were the souls of Jonathan and David. Knit by the gentle hands of God. These two men were connected in a way that they probably couldn’t have verbalized to anyone else. Jonathan loved David “as his own soul.” And, I get that. I certainly don’t do a great job with it nine times out of ten, but I get it. One of my favorite authors also understood it. 

C.S. Lewis says in his book The Four Loves:

“But in Friendship … we think we have chosen our peers. In reality, a few years’ difference in the dates of our births, a few more miles between certain houses, the choice of one university instead of another, posting to different regiments, the accident of a topic being raised or not raised at a first meeting—any of these chances might have kept us apart. But, for a Christian, there are, strictly speaking, no chances. A secret Master of the Ceremonies has been at work. Christ, who said to the disciples ‘Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you,’ can truly say to every group of Christian friends ‘You have not chosen one another but I have chosen you for one another.’” 

Cue the hairs standing up on the back of my neck as I, once again, remember the all-knowing God who has orchestrated every relationship I have. I would also like to take this moment to encourage you to read The Four Loves if you never have. I truly know no other book that has expounded on the love of Christ in such depth and understanding in my life. Read it. Right now. Well, as soon as you finish this post. 

If God orchestrates relationships then He also controls the depths of them. So, to answer my tear-stained question, no there was nothing wrong with me. God has only knit my heart to a few people. (I could truly count them on one hand.) Does this negate the dear friendships that He has not done this to? Absolutely not! I love them and treasure them; and, honestly, most days they are easier than the soul-stitched ones. 

That’s the thing with stitching your soul to another’s. It’s painful. And, in this world, it’s not natural. Two hearts that love each other beyond expression but seem to tug and pull at their adjoined seems. What do you do when your stitches itch? When one soul is running away instead of leaning in? How do you know if it’s time to rip out the stitches and leave? Funnily enough, these bound friendships are the ones I have the hardest time being fully honest about my hurts. When their heart pulls and breaks a stitch in my heart, I often keep silent. I love them so much I don’t want to hurt them by telling them they have hurt me. I know it was unintentional, why bring it up? But, if our hearts are to stay healthily bound then we must address the oozing wound. (I’m preaching to my own heart right now.) A healing balm of communication and forgiveness must be applied or the wound will continue to be infected. 

“Eros will have naked bodies,” wrote C.S. Lewis. “Friendship naked personalities.” This nakedness is necessary for two hearts attached. Whether it is naked honesty, naked confession, nakedness––vulnerability––is key. When your adjoined soul is running away, you press in. You show up naked. That’s right, I said it. But, please don’t show up on your friend’s lawn in your natural glory. Even if you are that close, it’s illegal. While staying fully clothed, you bring your bare heart and love ever deeper. This is one of the most excruciating experiences of my life. Every fiber of my being says, “we have been wounded and now we must run!” Yet, everywhere I look in scripture God never runs. He didn’t run away from Adam and Eve, they ran. He never ran away from the Jews, they ran. He didn’t run from the cross. If Christ can endure the cross in the name of love, then I can suffer my simple human pains. All the while, bringing them to His healing hands. 

Lean in when it hurts. I find myself ranting and confessing the hurt in the morning only to be instructed to reach out in love in the afternoon. I buck against it because showing love to someone who is hurting me feels like stepping into the role of a glutton for punishment. Raise your hand if you want your heart rung today! No, thank you. But, in the wrestling with God, I find His voice calling me into His kind of love. So, I reach out––most of the time––mainly out of sheer obedience not desire. But, no matter the motive, when I show love to these knitted souls I find more love waiting to be given to them. I am always left flabbergasted by God’s economy of love. It makes no sense and yet complete sense when you experience it. By loving others in their brokenness I am humbled and awed at God’s unending love for me in my brokenness

The most difficult question I have had to ask in these relationships is, do I ever get to cut and run? Is there ever a time I can pull out the stitches and say sayonara? Yes and no. Yes, there may be a season when it is time to disentangle your heart but that is not your call to make. Your responsibility is to daily surrender these relationships to the Lord and ask Him how He is calling you to steward them. I have asked many times if I can sever the ties (remember I’m an emotional runner) and all but once God has spoken an emphatic “no.” He has brought my heart into the ring and will be there to help bandage the wounds but I don’t get to leave the fight. Some seasons He might call a timeout, knowing how weary and worn my soul is and that rest with Him will equip me to reenter the battle. But rarely will He lift the ropes and let me give up.   

After reading and re-reading this scripture in 1 Samuel, I am struck by the wording “and Jonathan loved him [David] as his own soul.” We never read in this passage that David reciprocated Jonathan’s deep love. Yes, we know God knit their souls to one another, but to love someone as your own soul takes it one step further. It’s active. God did the sewing and Jonathan was active in his loving of David. This type of love is not passive. It doesn’t sit and wait on the other but initiates time and time again. Did David love Jonathan in the same way? If not, how did Jonathan cope with the ache and pain? We may never know, but I’m guessing––like David––he took this heartbreak to the Lord. For me, that’s the one place I have been able to take these wounds. I find myself at His feet day after day, wishing I didn’t love so deeply. But, then I wonder, how empty my life would be without this depth of love. 

Have you ever experienced this “chesed” love? This loving-kindness. Has your heart been knit to another? Is there a friend you love as your own soul? (Let’s remember this is the type of relationship referenced. Unconditional, covenantal love can be known fully outside of marriage if we will allow God to reveal it to us. That is the single woman in me shouting “YAS!”) Do you have people in your life who ask you, no need you, to show up for them? And when they ask, do you show up even when it’s inconvenient? One of my dearest friends would be vulnerable and reach out when she needed friendship, always with the caveat that I didn’t have to come if I was busy. The more I thought and prayed over this idea, I felt deeply convicted that I didn’t get to say “no.” I couldn’t find a scripture that said if it was inconvenient for me then I didn’t have to show up and love my sister-in-Christ. My showing up didn’t have to look the same each time or in each stage of life but it wasn’t excused. If I had a spouse, I could explain to him that a dear friend needed me for a little while. If I had kids, I could have told her to come over after they were in bed. I have no excuses not to love her. 

I pray that you will allow God to bind your soul to a friend. It will hurt more often than not; but, I promise it is worth it. To love another sister as your own soul is one of the most rewarding relationships you will ever have. Pursue it. Savor it. And, at the end of the day, always surrender it to the One who gave it to you.

The Breakup

Okay, I’m about to let you in on a secret. This is my unpopular opinion about what is happening in our world right now. We are opening back up, timidly, but still trying to slowly reorient ourselves with the world and … I’m sad. That’s right. I said it. I’m sad to see the quarantine end. It feels like sassy little Quarantine looked me dead in the eyes, took my hand, and said, “It’s time to see other people.” No! I’m not ready! I don’t want to move on. I didn’t get a choice when our relationship began, I should at least get a say as to when it ends! 

How many times have you or a friend confessed the desire to hit “pause” on life? That’s what we all had. We had a giant, unforeseen pause. And, now, it’s all over. It feels like grief if I’m honest. I’ve had several great losses in my life; and, while this doesn’t compare with their depth, it’s flavor profile is identical to grief. I grieved being forced into my home and now I’m grieving leaving. (Clearly, the Lord was correct in comparing us to sheep. We don’t know what we want or need and wander aimlessly.) 

A friend recently asked if I had been experiencing restlessness and my answer was, “I think I have always felt restless.” My whole life was spent wanting to do and go––anywhere that wasn’t where I was. You can blame it on the Millennial mentality that says we can go and do whenever we darn well please but I don’t think that’s it. There has been a hunger in my soul as long as I can remember. I vividly recall confessing to a friend one late night, “I think I was made for more. More than this. More than what I’m doing right now.” Is that hunger for more simply a reflection of the eternity sew in my heart? Or, is it a part of the Spirit stirring in me to keep me pushing and moving forward? Could it be both? 

Restlessness has always felt like a curse, especially in a small town. This wanderer’s spirit has felt out of place most of the time which often brought a fair share of sadness with it. The greatest question is what to do with the restlessness? Where do I take it? A few years ago I read through a book discussing how God can be as real and near as I let Him. I have always felt I could talk to Him like a dear friend, but could I open up my mind and heart and give Him free rein? 

I was prayer journaling one day during a drastic life change and just closed my eyes. I heard God ask me why I was afraid to step into the light, into the change? Why was I afraid to let him take me on an adventure? “I’m so scarred,” I confessed. I had this image of hiding in the shadows with my hideous flesh and a hand extended out of the light. And, clear as day, I heard the Lord gently whisper, “You’re beautiful to me.” So, I stepped out of the darkness, squinting into the light. I slipped my wounded hand into His and told Him I wanted to trust Him to be my adventure. I wanted Him to satiate the restlessness. (This may sound quite ridiculous to some, but I truly believe God can show us and say anything to us through His Spirit if we will let Him.)

This was the moment I saw my restlessness could lead me back to the feet of Jesus and could be used as a tool of my Abba to guide me where He wanted me. He made me restless. He knitted the wild desire for adventure into my soul––right next to the wise thread of caution. But, why does the restlessness in me, in all of us, often bring sadness? Am I sad because the restlessness leads me away? Like Gomer, why do I whore myself out for cheap imitations of love when perfect love is cupping my face? I seek out lovers to fill the void of what I believe I am lacking. My restless skin itches to feel the touch of a companion who can make the ache stop if only for a moment. But, the feelings will always return. 

During this quarantine, my restlessness has been minimal. It has dissipated until now. Once I accepted my fate of temporary isolation, I settled into the silence. I stepped in line with my Heavenly Father and found ways to savor His sweet tenderness. Walking outside became an adventure! A trip to the Starbucks drive-thru was the highlight of my day. The hug of a beloved friend suddenly brought every fiber of my being alive––eternal touching eternal. Scripture covered me before I slept. Prayers flowed from my lips and my pen daily. Life was lived moment by moment with little interruption. And now … now I see the sweetness of simplicity slipping away into the reality of my world. 

Like an unending summer day, this time must come to an end. I don’t like endings. I abhor goodbyes. And yet, they always seem to come. Last week was a difficult week for me. I cried, my heart ached, and I didn’t know why until I realized it was my first taste of the end. Lives around me that had been moving at the same pace as mine were speeding back up––where did that leave me? Maybe that is a part of restlessness. Loneliness. When we all move in rhythm with one another, it’s hard to feel as if someone is doing and being what you want to do and be. We all sat in our boats and beat our oars with the same cadence. 

I think leaving this quarantine feels more lonely and isolating for me than remaining it. While we are all in the same place, we feel so connected. But now, we will spread our wings and fly to the coasts seeking other escapes. My restlessness is that of a mother whose children are leaving home. I know this is exactly as it should be but I can’t help but feel so sad and alone. How do I grieve this separation? How do I rejoice for the return of “normal” when I’m grieved at the loss of connection? 

I think, for my heart, I need to make an ebenezer––an altar of remembrance. Maybe it is this blog. Or, I could paint, draw, write, but whatever it is I need to remember the provision of God in what initially felt like a trauma. So often in the Old Testament God would instruct His people to make an altar of remembrance. He knows we are a forgetful people. “Soul amnesia” as Ann Voskamp calls it. I need to remember that the answer to my restlessness isn’t found in the common answers. It is found in the face of my Father and my friends. Being one people meant more than any travel ever could. 

That’s my heart, not yours. You could be ecstatic to escape this time. It could have felt like your prison, your hell on earth. And, that’s okay too. We are each journeying down this road with different baggage but the same Guide. How will you remember this time? Will you praise your Maker for all He has done? Taste and savor the goodness of God even if, like me, you are sad to see it go. 

My prayer for my heart in this season are the words of Audrey Assad in Restless. 

Still my heart, hold me close

Let me hear, a still small voice

Let it grow, let it rise

Into a shout, into a cry!

I Didn’t Mean To

“I didn’t mean to.” Ah, the phrase that forgives a thousand sins. Isn’t that what we want when we use the phrase? How many times has it fallen from your mouth in a casual situation? Maybe not as much as an adult but think back to your youthful days. The days of running around carefree with the wind in your hair. Okay, that sounds like an episode of The Waltons. Maybe you are running around the backyard and just trying to avoid stepping in dog feces with bare feet. That sounds much more like my “carefree” days of childhood. No matter how you spent those days, I’m almost certain at some point you looked your parents in the eyes and uttered the famous phrase, “I didn’t mean to.” Whether that was in reference to a family heirloom you carelessly careened into, a sibling you smacked with a tree branch, or an animal you accidentally let outside despite being told repeatedly not to. It doesn’t matter what brought on the need for the phrase just that it was used. 

“I didn’t mean to” was a go-to excuse for me. That’s right, I said excuse. It would fly from my mouth for anything I wanted forgiveness for, especially when I knew I was in the wrong. I don’t remember when my mother began to fight back my sad excuse with her motherly wisdom but she did. She would look me in the eye and say, “I know, but you didn’t mean not to either.” Huh? What? Say that again? Don’t just twist my words into a new meaning woman and act like you just dropped a truth bomb. My young brain was always stumped by this until one day it finally clicked. Yes, it was true that I had not set out to forget to unload the dishwasher but I had done nothing to ensure that I would remember either. 

Intentionality is the heart of “I didn’t mean to.” Well, the lack of it I should say. My mom’s words have clung to my mind and embedded themselves in my heart. I spent so many years of my life without intentionality. And, let’s be honest, it’s easier. Being intentional is difficult, tiring, and the last thing we want to do most days. Sadly, our intentionality often ends at the door and those closest to us see very little intentional love. (In our defense, I do think we are intentional but with family it often feels like “what you do” instead of intentional love.) We blow through our days reacting to every comment, look, and action without ever truly stopping to consider how we can be intentional. Life goes at lightspeed and our hearts just can’t keep up. 

So what if intentionality gets left behind? What does that really matter when there are grace and forgiveness? To skip over intentionality in our days, I believe, is to miss the heart of our Creator. Before He commanded the sun to shine and the fish to swim, He had intentionally planned out redemption and our salvation. He knew my name before my parents named me and whispered into my heart all that He has planned for me. He knew how He would recuse the nation of Israel and how many times Peter would deny Him. We serve an intentional God. And yes, He is omniscient and we are not; but, even without being all-knowing, we can know enough to be intentional. 

I think of our lineage of “I didn’t mean to” and find myself at the beginning. Wasn’t that what Adam and Eve basically confessed when God asked what they had done? They didn’t confess, they passed blame. If there had been intentionality in their hearts, how might they have gone about NOT eating from the tree? What about Peter and his denial of Christ? He was told that he would indeed deny his dearest friend and yet we don’t see Peter engage any safeguards to protect himself from his own flesh. We find our eternal souls wrapped in fallen flesh that longs only for forgiveness. Isn’t it easier to get forgiveness than permission? Isn’t saying “I didn’t mean to” easier than setting your mind on how to avoid doing something?

Jesus tells us in Mark 12, “The Lord our God is the one and only Lord. And you must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, and all your strength. The second is equally important: Love your neighbor as yourself. No other commandment is greater than these.” It would make sense for a God of complete intentionality to expect intentionality out of His creation. If we are to love Him with all that we are, wouldn’t that look like an intentional love? Loving my neighbor as myself doesn’t look forgetful or selfish. It looks like effort––the one thing none of us feel we have any to spare. 

So, how do you give one more brain cell to thought when you feel as if they are squirrels running loose in a maze? I have found that intentionality requires practice, space, and lots of prayer. Practice being intentional in easy and simple ways to start with, don’t try to win an Olympic award for intentionality out of the gate. Send a text, make a call, write a little note––find ways to love on those around you that don’t tax you in a grand way. Maybe it is slipping a note in your husband’s lunch to tell him you can’t wait to see him after work. It could be a quick text to a friend to simply say that you love them and can’t wait to see them. Don’t feel like it has to be perfect or extreme. Keep it simple and sincere. 

You need space to be intentional and you need to be intentional to make space. Space is a luxury very few of us have. It is often taken up with wonderful activities but so many times, if we are honest, the majority of space is consumed with busyness. This quarantine has awakened us to many areas of our lives where we stay busy just to be busy. What’s even more astounding is how we have managed to find busyness in a quarantine. (We really are an ingenious people group.) Being intentional takes space and a willingness to be inconvenienced. Don’t think you can just dive into the deep end of the intentionality pool. It’s better to wade in inch by inch. I promise that as you surrender more of your time and space to the Lord, as you seek to find space to be intentional, He will provide it. It has been so sweet to see the Lord miraculously give me time to lean into intentionality as I have slowly eased towards deeper waters. 

Whether you start with prayer or arrive at prayer, somehow you will end up there in this intentionality journey. My days have slowly been consumed with prayers to my Abba about how to intentionally love someone. Maybe I thought about taking someone a quick Starbucks pick-me-up, I will stop and pray before I do so. I want His guidance on how to love His beloveds. I ask Him how He wants me to pray for those closest to me so that even in my prayers for them there is intentionality. Many times, before I send a text I will pray to make sure this is a text full of life. (There are a multitude of texts that have been deleted because they were definitely not intentional.) 

Not every waking moment, single syllable that comes out of my mouth, or action I take is intentional; but, I hope that one day it will be. I want what Jesus had. I want the love that drew others to Him despite His cutting honesty. I believe others saw and felt Jesus’s intentionality and were pulled to him. He was magnetic. We can be too. We can start with simple ways of showing intentional love and watch Christ weave it into the fabric of who we are. So, before we jump headlong into the “normal” we have all been panting for, let’s make sure we do so with intentional hearts.

Needy

“I’m scared … scared to ask for more and scared that I may never get more.” A confession written out so recently in my prayer journal. More. A word that trips off my tongue. Like a well-worn path on the floor, I have come back to “more.” This is the longing that has haunted me and followed me around like Peter Pan’s shadow. I can’t seem to escape the ache. I can stuff it full of all I believe will satiate it and yet … more. The want of more is a need I rarely confess. It feels wrong somehow to ask those who give me so much for even one moment more but … 

If you know me well, you know I love deeply. I love with all that I am. I always have. For this ginger, there is no other way to love. This all-in feeling has also led to open doors for Satan to whisper his lies. As long as I have loved deeply, I have also battled the belief that I am too much. I overwhelm people. I feel too much. I talk too much. I laugh too loud. I––in all that God made me to be––am too much. And, if I am too much, why would anyone want to be with me? 

Like a nasty scar, I do my best to conceal these feelings. Or, I bring them out into the open. Not out of honesty, but out of the belief that if I tell you I know what’s wrong with me in advance you won’t judge me as harshly when you discover it for yourself. At the end of the day, all of these lies add up to the ultimate fear for me. “Don’t be needy.” Neediness is the worst thing I could ever be. Who wants a needy friend, daughter, or (hopefully one day) wife? No one ever says, “I love her. She is so needy!” 

And yet, I find myself in need. I need someone to look me in my eyes and listen to my heart as I speak to them. I need someone to hug me tight and not let go until I do. I need to be pursued and wanted in intentional ways. I need to hear my name on someone’s lips spoken with such love and gentleness that I question how anyone could care for me like that. For many of you, that sounds like a fairy tale. Moments stolen from Jane Austen novels and not real life. Foreign and strange as they may seem, those moments are possible. I know––I have experienced them. They are the tender treasures I pull out and caress late at night when my heart wanders in search of true comfort. The stolen seconds etched on my brain. 

I tell myself to let these few moments be enough because I don’t dare ask for them. What would it sound like to hear myself ask for someone to hug me tight and not let go? To say, “I need you to love me well and here is how.” Everything in me retreats at the thought. My skin crawls and my tired heart retreats back. But, how will I ever get what I need if I don’t express my neediness? How will there ever be more with a request? 

We are all in need, are we not? We are the creations of a great Creator and we need him. Every cell in our bodies is drawn to love, laugher, joy, hope … all things that we cannot provide on our own. Unlike Adam and Eve, we cannot physically walk with our Savior in the cool of the day. We cling to his Spirit, his Word, and each other. As Christians, we are reflections of the one we serve. The love of my Abba can radiate through the love of a friend, family member, spouse, or even a stranger. His wisdom can be shed through a quiet conversation over coffee. Those around me are no replacement for my walk with the Lord but they are there to spur me on and be His loving arms and gentle voice. 

I am always drawn to the passage in Acts where Paul writes of the first church. 

“All the believers devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching, and to fellowship, and to sharing in meals (including the Lord’s Supper), and to prayer. A deep sense of awe came over them all, and the apostles performed many miraculous signs and wonders. And all the believers met together in one place and shared everything they had. They sold their property and possessions and shared the money with those in need. They worshiped together at the Temple each day, met in homes for the Lord’s Supper, and shared their meals with great joy and generosity— all the while praising God and enjoying the goodwill of all the people. And each day the Lord added to their fellowship those who were being saved.”

Acts 2:42-47 (emphasis added)

They were able to provide for those in need because they expressed their need. They didn’t sit and keep silent. Needs were expressed verbally. Also, they were a community that pressed in and sought to know the needs of their members. This church did life together, sat in each other’s homes, and asked the hard questions. We read this passage and are drawn to it because this is how the church was meant to be. We are needy, yes. Let’s express our needs! Let’s confess our needs to those around us! 

Wouldn’t you love to have someone say, “I need your love and affection today because I feel sad and being with you makes me feel loved by Christ.” Cue me being a puddle of tears in that moment. We want someone to tell us they need us to show up and be present. We want to be needed; but, we must also confess our own need. So, take a leap of faith and ask God where you have safety to express your need to those you love. Not every relationship is ready for this. And, when he does show you––because he will––be obedient in that vulnerability. 

Maybe, you should be someone who asks a friend or a family member what their needs are right now. Not just physically. If you do, give them space to share freely. Don’t just assume you know what they are going to say. Listen with your heart not just your ears. Try a bit of bravery and share your needs in return. Tit for tat. Above all, remember that we are not meant to do this life alone. We are needy creatures whose needs can only be filled by our Savior. What a blessing that he gives us human voices, human hands, and human hearts to express so much of his affection and fill so many of longings. 

My name is Keaghlan and I am needy. Are you? 

Grow As You Go

What will you take out of this quarantine? What have you learned? What idols are you taking down during this season? Cue the panic attack every time this question is placed in front of me. Any other time and I would have jumped at these types of queries. I love deep conversation––revealing truths of who I am and what God is teaching me. I am not averse to diving into the dirtiness of my heart if I trust you. So, why am I putting the conversation in reverse and backing out fast enough to burn rubber? Because I’m not experiencing what everyone else is. To be a member of a collective whose feelings are separate from the group is frightening. 

I keep hearing and being pulled into conversations about what everyone is learning. How they are discovering new struggles within their hearts, idols they never knew they had, and … I can’t contribute. I haven’t felt a new sense of discovery. No revelations of who I am and what I idolize have been brought to life in this. I knew I wrestled with the idolatry of relationships. I was aware that I was an extrovert who had to work hard to have balance and quiet. It was no surprise that I was a Type A planner who loved structure and order. Quarantine has not shed light on any new aspects of who I am; and, you know what, that’s okay. 

Just because this season of the unknown isn’t my wilderness doesn’t mean I haven’t had them. And, just because I’m not going to win a spiritual Nobel prize for self-discovery after this does not mean that I am not continuing to work with God on what He has revealed to me. I am reminded to have grace for myself in this season. Grace to say it’s okay that I may not be able to engage in the newest revelation conversation. Grace to be different. Grace to feel as if I am in a different place. And, grace for others who aren’t where I am. 

At the end of the day, isn’t that what we are all craving right now? Grace upon grace. We want the abundant love that flows out of this grace to consume us and say, “It’s okay to not be––fill in the blank.” It seems as if every time I get on Facebook there is another post with another article from another “specialist” that is shaming one group of people or the next. And, instead of seeing the broken flesh reacting to a fallen world, we see ourselves being attacked and post back. No one knows what to do or how to respond right now. I think it would behoove all of us if our first response was grace mingled with Truth. 

When I think of grace and Truth, I imagine the memory globes in the movie Inside Out. The emotions learn through the film that a moment, a memory, is made greater when it is composed of more than one emotion. Sadness makes Joy more valuable because it has been there. Joy is treasured more when Sadness has been felt. The mixing of the two is the greater memory. The same goes for Grace and Truth. They are so much stronger together. 

So, how do we have grace and Truth in this socially distanced world? Start with grace for the Millennial. We were not the ones crowding beaches or continuing our European tour. So many comments were made, and continue to be made, that Millennials want to get back to life as it was with no care for the elderly or healthcare workers. The reality of this is that Millennials are the majority of healthcare workers. They are also the ones helping take care of their aging parents. Yes, there will be some of every generation who think this has been a ploy of the government, that we must move on immediately. And, you know what, there is grace for them. Grace to say that this desire can often be motivated by fear of the unknown or simply lack of understanding. There is Truth to say that as Christians we are called to love our neighbors as ourselves and right now that means living life differently. 

There is grace for the high school and college senior who is heartbroken at the loss of many of their traditions. They will have an ending that looks drastically different than the majority of the world. It is easy to sit on the other side and say, “you’re not missing much.” But, to them, this is a huge loss. For the senior, there is grace to show to others who are posting their senior photo in an effort of support. The ones that have gone before you don’t know how or what to say, so they do what they can. Have grace for them. Above all, there is Truth that says this world is not our home. We were made for so much more than graduations and celebrations. Truth to share to these seniors that says, “These are gifts and blessings, not promises.” Point them to the greatest gift and the greatest blessing they can possess. Remind them that a life lived with Christ is the only treasure to desire. All but Him and His love will fade away. 

Many of us have received our stimulus checks and cannot decide which online store to hit up first. But, in the midst of that, remember there are some who are not receiving financial assistance. You may say, “They make plenty of money as it is. They don’t need it.” Remember that their finances burden them just like yours burden you. Their jobs have also been affected. They have mortgages; car payments; groceries; children to educate, clothe, and feed; bills; and oftentimes others who financially rely on them. Their lives are still fraught with worry. Give them grace and space to express these fears without reminding them they are “blessed.” (When you think that thought, take time to remind yourself how insanely blessed you are too!) And, mixed with the grace, provide the Truth that God sees them. He knows their need and will provide for them just as He does the lilies of the fields. 

It can be excruciating to love and display grace when you are frustrated, confused, or hurt by someone. It goes against every fiber of our flesh to pour out the fruit of the spirit in difficult circumstances. A dear friend of mine shared recently that when she gets frustrated with her husband, instead of reacting in the flesh, she reacts in the spirit and hugs him. This has stuck with me for many reasons, but one is that it draws me back to one of my all-time favorite quotes. In Romeo and Juliet, Juliet tells Romeo not to compare her love to the moon with its fluctuating cycles. Her love is like the sun––steady and constant. “The more I give to thee, the more I have,” says Juliet. “For both are infinite.” What my friend has tapped into is that kind of love. The love of God. When you give love and grace to someone, God will fill you with more love and grace than you thought you could hold. Only in the Lord’s economy do we find more than we can contain when we give out what we already possess. 

I pray that in the days to come you will find infinite grace, love, and Truth for those in your sphere. Listen well. Speak in love. Pour out hope on a parched world. Remember that we are all growing as we go. May we clasp hands as brothers and sisters in Christ and grow towards the greatest Truth and hope. 

A Dream Deferred

What do you do with a dream deferred?

Langston Hughes

By now, we have all seen the gifs of the multitudes flocking to their hairdresser’s once quarantine is lifted. And, frankly, we all feel that about one place or another. It’s funny because I can’t think of many situations where I feel like I am dying to be physically present. Honestly, I have been more connected with friends lately than I normally would because we are using technology to connect with each other. All of sudden, we realize we have more than just the few relationships right in front of us. And, in total confession, my intimate community is fairly small and spread out to begin with so the loss of connection has felt less severe. Don’t get me wrong, this extrovert is still ready to climb the walls most days; but, already acclimating to long distance relationships has made it more tolerable.

The reunion I am anticipating is the return to my church. When the pandemic began, I was leery as to whether or not it would interrupt our Sundays. Nothing ever had so far, so why now? Sure, I had played the board game Pandemic but nowhere in there did my disease outbreaks affect daily life. I was too busy finding a cure or quarantining a city to worry about their church services. Unfortunately, this pandemic is simultaneously frightfully similar and horribly different

to the board game. This pandemic rudely, and abruptly, cut off my physical connection to my church body. There was no goodbye, no warning, just … seperation. 

We haven’t been together for over a month now and I can sense the loss. It’s almost like this phantom pain in my heart. Many amputees suffer “phantom pain” in a limb they have lost. Their brain says it is still there and it hurts even while their eyes can gaze down and see the truth of that lie. I never realized how interwoven my soul was in the body of my church. In the lives of those I love and who love me. The building still stands but what is a church building without a congregation of broken saints? Where are the smiling faces who greet me at the door? The abounding hugs that come from friends I often only get to see on Sundays? Oh how my heart aches to worship alongside my dearest earthly treasures. To hear their voices praising the same God I am praising. To hold their hands during prayer. To be present with those I know almost better than myself and some I know not at all. We come to worship one God and in one spirit. 

And yet … we face more weeks of physical isolation and separation from one another. Day after day, we are reminded as believers that this is truly only a physical separation and not a spiritual one; but, I often find that hard to remember while I spend Sunday mornings watching a live stream from the couch. Sure, it is wonderful to worship with roommates. To see names of friends pop up as they too join in. But, their name isn’t the same as their presence. I try to be positive, encouraging, and joyful. And, 99% of the time these emotions are completely sincere and of the Lord; but, there is still the 1% that is grieving.

It’s strange to grieve something when you don’t know when the mourning will end. This isn’t a permanent separation but that doesn’t make it any less painful. As I have mulled on this, it struck me that this grief is no different than any other grief as a Christian. A Christian grief is merely a “dream deferred” to use Langston Hughes’ beautiful words. Hughes asks what happens to a dream deferred? He takes a few simple lines to point out all that can occur when these dreams are left unfulfilled and none of them result in visible good. But, I think there is more beneath the surface of a deferred dream and his poem as well. While the ramifications of a dream deferred appear to be damaging, is there more than damage that meets the eye? For me, that ache, pain, and heartbreak of a deferred dream draw me ever closer to the Truth of why I am here. This life is merely a dream deferred in and of itself. I wasn’t made to be in this broken reality. My heart knows it. My flesh knows it. My soul yearns for the eternity it has tasted if only for a moment. 

We have all had a taste of eternity. Like something that sneaks in and arouses your senses then, as elusive as it appeared, it slips away. A moment spent with those you love looking at the midnight sky ablaze with diamonds. Seeing a bird on wing with no one around and wondering if that beauty was given just to you. Holding the hand of a loved one who is but a breath away from entering into that eternal glory we all crave but cannot always name. And as much as we wish to cling to these moments, to keep them would be to trap eternity in a place it does not belong. We get a taste. 

This pandemic will end. My momentary grief will die away as I am reunited with my church body. It will be a celebration with many hugs, boisterous laughter, and conversations that last long after we should be seated for worship. Through it all my eternal ache will continue. But, what a picture of when the Church will ache no more. What a microscopic reflection of our greatest reunion yet to come. When my feet will touch eternity. My hands caress the faces of loved ones long lost. My ears hear the voices of the angels. My eyes land on the face of the One who has loved me before the dawn of time. Imagine that celebration. Oh how our temporary distance as the body will lead to glorious reunions that will only be rivaled by the final celebration. We will dance and sing and laugh … forever. 

So, when you sprint to your hairdresser, or children’s school, or even your friends, remember that feeling. Cling to it and know that a greater reunion is coming. Savor the simple taste of eternity and praise the One who planted that ache in your heart.