I Need Thee Every Hour

     March 25th was one of the better days I’ve had in awhile. Actually, it was the best day of my life thus far. March 25th, my sweet Seth asked me to marry him. I don’t recall with any precision my response, though I believe it consisted mostly of ecstatic screaming and hopping. Regardless of the exact exchange, we decided to get married October 17th of this year. With a not-so-far-away date, we* immediately jumped into planning mode (*may be translated as “I”). The last month has been a swirl of celebrating with loved ones, emailing vendors, and trying to remember that normal life still needs to be lived. The adrenaline hasn’t equalized yet, and I don’t expect it to any time soon.
   
       Weddings are one of my favorite celebrations to attend, so I was thrilled at the opportunity to plan my own. However, I quickly noticed it’s not what I imagined. Rather, I’m not the person I imagined I would be while planning a wedding. I’m not saying I’m a bridezilla, though that may come later, but I’m something more destructive. This planning process has exposed how stony and untrusting I’ve let my heart become. I’ve heard myself whisper, Well what’s the point of doing that or asking for this when it’s not going to work out anyway? Rather than being excited and positive, I tend to despair when the logistics of an October wedding become complicated: All the best venues are booked? Well, I guess I’ll be a troll bride and get married beneath the 71 overpass. And why not serve goat for dinner while we’re at it?  Why do I immediately drain my wedding of all hope? I’m sabotaging myself and making my fiance and family miserable.
   
       Unfortunately, my negative attitude is rooted in something deeper than my being a zealous planner or a perfectionist. Instead, my negativity is motivated by my lack of trust that Jesus wants to take care of me. I find myself believing He doesn’t want me to be happy. Yes, I know He wants me to find my joy in Him and Him alone, but I often translate that into meaning He’ll punish me if I’m “too happy” or “too excited” about my wedding. If I’m excited about this it will become an idol and then He’ll take it away from me, says my fear. I have to keep my excitement in check or I’ll end up with no wedding or husband at all. I coach myself to expect the worst so anything I receive is miraculous. I drive myself to the bottom to avoid potential disappointment.
 
       But this doubt doesn’t align with what I know to be true about God. Certainly, I am capable of glorifying any good thing in my life above my Creator, but that doesn’t mean He doesn’t want me to enjoy the good things. They are gifts from Him, given freely and with love. Not enjoying them means not trusting His goodness and generosity. When I peer at God’s gifts suspiciously, as if they are a test for me to pass or fail, I don’t view them rightly. His gifts are reflections of His character, meant to direct my heart to Him. So while I shouldn’t be happy merely in the gifts themselves, I have the freedom to enjoy them because Jesus purchased that freedom for me. He gives me spiritual life through Himself, and in the same way, He fills my physical life with wonderful reminders of who He is and what He has done. Yes, I will have struggles and sorrows in my life, but that doesn’t mean Jesus doesn’t care for me or doesn’t desire my happiness. God isn’t a God of tricks, but of truth.
  
       So then, if God exists in truth, my thought process must change. Instead of asking, Am I too excited about getting married? I ought to ask, What truth about Himself is God revealing through my marriage? Through my wedding? Through choosing the perfect linens? In the same way I must also ask, Will everything be OK if I don’t get the perfect linens? The most beautiful wedding? The most peaceful marriage? Of course, the answer is always Yes! God has already secured all that I truly need through the blood of His Son. For this security I am most thankful, and because of this security I am able to accept God’s blessings without skepticism or fear.

 
    Even in my rejoicing I need redeeming;       
    My best days still require Jesus’ cleansing blood.
    Through lowest and highest His saving is steady
    His care never wains, His truth never less true.
       

Bite-Sized Community

       Today has been full of people. Full of strangers with quirky wisdom and full of friends with stories to share. As much as I dislike chaos, there are few ways I'd rather spend a Saturday morning that sitting at a cramped table at Succotash, chatting, observing the collection of characters buzzing about with steaming coffee and heaping plates. These moments remind me that other people exist. Actually exist. They're not mere obstacles in my life, obligatory conversations to be had when I order or small-talk generators when I stand in line. They have lives much like mine with hopes and fears and families and struggles. I'm saddened that I need this reminder. Of course, I know people are people, but I fall into a rhythm of disregarding their souls and hurting hearts. I'm not rude, but I simply forget that people have the power to impact me and I them. Thankfully, God uses many methods to remind me of this truth.
     
       While waiting on my nails to dry at the salon, I sat across from a woman who immediately began relating her whirlwind wedding story. She planned a wedding in three weeks, bought a dress for $300, and held the ceremony outside in the middle of December. "All girls should get married between Thanksgiving and Christmas because everything is on sale," she instructed me. I nodded in agreement, knowing I would imitate none of these practices if were to plan a wedding. But before I completely disregarded her story, Jesus gently reminded me that this was her life, her most special story, and she wanted to share a bit of it with me. I suddenly realized I should be honored to hear what she had to say. I tell stories so others can participate in my life. She was doing the same. To experience others' excitements and sorrows, even if seemingly inconsequential, should be a joy. How often do I view it as a bother?
    
       Though my salon experience was far from life-altering, it's those kinds of proddings that make me thankful we have a personal God who made us personal beings. He draws us to Himself and puts people in our lives to which we can draw near. How disrespectful of His design is it for me always to wish people would leave me alone? God created us for togetherness with Him and one another, and I selfishly prefer silence and solitude much of the time. Small encounters with strangers are gifts for me to enjoy and learn from. Through others I learn more about God and His children, His care for them and His creativity in their design. God is a good and patient teacher, and I'm thankful He uses Saturdays for such sweet lessons.

Yesterday and the Many Tomorrows

       Love is pretty silly until you know what it is.

       Growing up, I didn't think about boys much. I had my tomboy years of flannel shirts, black jeans, and braided leather belts, but even when those passed I didn't notice not having a boyfriend. High school brought interests but nothing serious developed. College brought dating but nothing lasted. I began to think I'd be single my entire life. For me, that wasn't a despairing thought, but more an avoidance of hassle. Boys are tough, and relationships with them are tougher. I was fine on my own, and it was easier for me to rely on myself and do what I wanted than have someone else to answer to and care for.

       But in my first year of grad school I met one of my brother's goofy friends. The first time we hung out his hair was disheveled from a nap and he was wearing an old sweatshirt. Not trying to impress me, I noted. We drank coffee and probably laughed about movies or discussed our favorite beers. We had fun. And I liked that he was weird and I was weird, and our weirdness didn't bother each other.

       Tomorrow that goofy guy and I will celebrate two years of dating. That's weird. Sure, two years isn't that significant when shuffled into the rest of life, but the last two years have been life-altering. I have lived in more extremes than I knew were possible, and I have seen glimpses of the much deeper extremes to come. I've felt more happy, angry, loved, frustrated, and cared for than I knew I could. I've seen unconditional love demonstrated more tenderly and fiercely than I thought possible from a person. That's what's been most incredible: actually experiencing what love does to you. Seth doesn't love me because it's easy. I'm a handful, and he knows it. He doesn't love me because it's fun. I'm a brat, more often than not. He doesn't love me because he gets anything out of it. On many occasions I return his sweet words with sarcasm. No, he loves me because he chooses to. He loves me because God empowers him to choose my good every day. This is amazing.

       While I'm still a handful, a brat, and a sarcastic sourpuss, I see the way Seth's love has changed me. I'm able to trust him better. I'm able to hope in good things more fully. I can empathize with others more sincerely. Seth's love has changed me because in it is freedom. Freedom to be messy me and know I'm still loved. More than anything, Seth's love points me to God's love. God loves us so well, so perfectly, and though Seth is far from perfect, God has blessed him with a great capacity to love as He loves. Through Seth, I have learned that some of the sweetest joys and heaviest sacrifices come inside a loving relationship.

       So, after two years of dating, I've decided that love is worth the hassle. It has to be worth it. Seth is worth all the arguing and misunderstanding and hurting that comes with relationships. He's worth it because we are better people together. We are stronger workers for the Kingdom together. We witness God's grace more vibrantly together. I don't think love is silly anymore. I've seen what it can do, and I have the greatest hope in what it will do.
       

Blood Speaks a Better Word

       One of my greatest sins is allowing myself to believe that my insufficiency is more powerful than God's love and forgiveness. This mindset is something I've fought against for as long as I can remember. It's manifested itself in different ways as I've gotten older, but it's always present in some form. When I was younger I was terrified of God's punishing me for being disrespectful to adults or speaking harshly to my siblings. In middle school and early high school, I sobbed after reading Jonathan Edwards' resolutions because I knew I could never be that good. I could never want those things or love Jesus as passionately as Edwards. In college I felt guilty for not being as open-handed with my life as those who were going into foreign missions. And now I find myself looking at my selfishness in my relationships, my easily agitated temperament, and my overall self-absorption, wondering why I can't be patient, giving, loving. Wondering why God would want anything to do with me. But that thought is what discourages me most. How proud am I to believe that my sin can keep God from working in me and through me? How much do I cheapen His grace by declaring I am beyond help and outside of His righteous reach?

       I've been constantly ruminating on these questions, these worries, the last several weeks. I've been sad and horrified with myself. But God has always refused to leave me to my lies. He proved this once again while I was reading Hebrews one evening. I got to chapter 12 and He gently unfolded the truth:

18-24 "For you have not come to the mountain that may be touched and that burned with fire, and to blackness and darkness and tempest, and the sound of a trumpet and the voice of words, so that those who heard it begged that the word should not be spoken to them anymore. (For they could not endure what was commanded: 'and if so much as a beast touches the mountain, it shall be stoned or shot with an arrow.' And so terrifying was the sight that Moses said, 'I am exceedingly afraid and trembling.') But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, to an innumerable company of angels, to the general assembly and church of the firstborn who are registered in heaven, to God the Judge of all, to the spirits of just men made perfect, to Jesus the Mediator of the new covenant, and to the blood of sprinkling that speaks better things than that of Abel." 

       Yes, I am riddled with sin. But God has not left me to that. He has not left me at Mount Sinai to suffer under the yoke of the Mosaic law. He does not demand I live in fear and vulnerability of His glory, which may strike me down at my next selfish action. Rather, He has led me to Zion, the city of His Son. Not because I earned it, but because I'm His.

       God further confronted me with this truth last Sunday at church. We sang "We Come to Jesus," which is based on the Hebrews passage above. I swear the song was written by an older and much, much wiser me. The song speaks so directly to my fears, it's uncanny. The first verse begins, "We have not come to the mountain of dreadful awe to tremble in darkness/But to the city of Zion, the house of God, the city of Jesus." I have exchanged trembling as an outsider for welcoming as a son. I reside no longer in the shadow of the fiery mountain, but rest and rejoice at the foot of the empty tomb. Jesus bought me that freedom. How can I still live in my fear?

       The song gets even better. The best comes in the second verse: "I turned to see my Lord/ . . . /And He spoke with power/'I am He who is alive/And behold I died/To save the ones I love/To raise them up to life/Now you are Mine/And I am yours/Night has passed/Let us go to greet the bright eternal morn/ . . . /Come stand with Me at last/Alive forevermore.'"

       Whoa. Just, whoa. What else can I say? Jesus Himself died to save me, whom He loves, for no reason that I can see, so I can be alive with Him. Whoa. This truth changes everything. I am His. I don't belong to sin anymore. How can I hear that and not rejoice? How can I wonder if God still accepts me when I wrong Him? He just told me He bought my life so I could be alive. That doesn't leave room for believing I am outside the power of His grace.

       God has been tossing pebbles of truth at my window: "Hey, I'm the one in charge. This isn't about how greatly or frequently you sin. This is about how radically I can change you and use you for My glory. Stop crippling yourself with doubt. It's time to come outside and see what I can do. It's time to live freely in My love."

       This invitation isn't one I plan to pass up. With his constant gentle coaxing and encouraging, God is showing me He's trustworthy. He's powerful and He's not letting me go, despite my shortcomings. I'm beginning to see more of Him and less of me. This is a good thing.

Stones and Shadows

       Sometimes I forget how to live. My body still breathes and moves and creates energy, but my mind refuses to hurdle obstacles or climb to a higher vantage point. When I encounter struggles or discomforts, my tendency is more often to freeze and crumble than to fight through. This bent has manifested itself fiercely in recent months. I have met hard things, and I have grown rocks into impossible mountains. The more I build my steep ascents the more I realize that I am the one crippling myself. My fear and hurt become too heavy for me to attempt the climb. Then I’m stuck, wallowing in self-loathing. It’s a dark and lonely place.

      But Jesus always parts the clouds so I can see that my mountains are stones and my weights are shadows. His most recent sunbeam came in the form of a recklessly powerful duo: the Apostle Paul and Keith Green. These two favorites of mine are faithful tools of my Savior in my sanctification and encouragement.  This past Sunday I heard a sermon on Galatians 2:15-21, a passage to which I turn frequently. Verses 20-21 resonate strongly: “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me. I do not nullify the grace of God, for if righteousness were through the law, then Christ died for no purpose.” Such encouragement to hear that I am not my own. My life and salvation are in Jesus, and I can’t destroy that with my shortcomings. One comment from Sunday’s sermon that I particularly liked went something like, “We work from faith and not for faith.” Any good I perform is motivated by the salvation freely provided from faith in Jesus and not by a need to gain that salvation. Jesus has secured my life, and that security moves me to action. I don’t have to be intimidated or weighted by difficulties because Jesus has taken care of those.

       Following Paul’s theme, Keith Green’s song “When I Hear the Praises Start” begins with the lines, “My child, My child, why are you striving?/You can’t add one thing to what’s been done for you/I did it all when I was dying/Rest in your faith; My peace with come to you.”  I can’t help but stop and rest when I imagine Jesus asking me that simple question: “Why are you striving? You know it’s pointless and exhausting. Just be still.” I too often forget that Jesus invites me to enjoy Him and not work for Him. The chorus of the song is also arresting: “For when I hear the praises start/Oh, and I want to rain upon you/Blessings that will fill your heart/I see no stain upon you/Because you are My child and you know me/To Me you’re only holy.” God doesn’t see me as the filthy sinner I am, but because of Jesus’ blood I am holy to Him. I am justified, free from guilt, cleansed of shame.  I find it miraculous that God sees me as holy. So miraculous that I can’t stay in a depression. God’s grace lifts me up and carries me through my obstacles. Jesus continually reminds me that because my life is in Him, I can live it well. My shackles are gone, and He has equipped me for much through faith in Him.  

 

       Jesus  always reminds me how to live.

A Furtherance of Hope

       The last several days have been difficult. Really, really difficult. The aftermath of visitations, endless pound cake, and seas of black have left me overwhelmed and ragged. I know I should say I feel overwhelmed with people's kindness, and I do, but today I am left wanting to avoid most human interaction. I won't let myself be completely emotional around others, and today has been my first slice of solitude since I received the bad news. Therefore, today has been the most tearful day I've had. But today has also been a day of learning what comfort looks like. Being a Christian does not make me numb to loss or blindly happy in the midst of hardship. I don't believe God promises that I will always be happy, and I don't believe He commands that I should always be happy. Rather, to feel the full weight of sin in the world I will be sad and I will hurt. Never being sad would be ignoring reality. However, I do believe God calls me to be joyful in every situation because my joy is rooted in Him, not in my circumstances. God is constant; therefore, my joy can be constant.

       I was reminded of this truth today as an instrumental version of a Natalie Grant song floated through the Christmas district of Hobby Lobby. I'm not generally a Natalie fan, but her song "Held" took on new meaning when I recognized the melody and sang the words to myself. I stopped my rummaging through the faux holly berries when I realized how much the message spoke to my current situation. I stopped and I cried in Hobby Lobby amid twinkle lights and jolly Santas and giant red bows. Through the song, God reminded me that He doesn't promise a perfect life free of heartache, but He does promise to be present through that heartache. He promises to hold His children. He promises to be their strength. That's what I felt more fully today--God holding on when I had nothing. Feeling His complete hold freed me to experience the full sorrow of my Uncle's absence. I didn't have to be strong anymore because I knew God was strong for me.

       Another way God has ministered to me over the weekend is through 2 Corinthians 4:7-12:

              "But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh. So death is at work in us, but life in you." 
                
         This passage is a huge chunk to chew, and I won't delve into it as deeply as it deserves. However, I am exponentially encouraged by the fact that although I am imperfect in many ways, and although my body has been decaying since my birth, God has blessed me with the glorious knowledge of His Son becoming Man. God delights in putting this bright truth in broken, earthen vessels. His truth and power and love shine despite, and because of, my brokenness. This passage makes me think of dying in a different way.  Yes, I am dying every day, as is everyone, but in this dying I am being made more alive in Christ. My dying body resembles the death of sin and the death of Death that Christ accomplished on the cross and through His resurrection. I am dead to sin but alive in Christ. I am not under sin's power any longer, but I am free to become more Christlike everyday. Because of Jesus I have hope that one day Death's ultimate death will be manifested, and all will see the True King in His full majesty. What a day that will be.

       So though losing my uncle hurts, and though I know I will encounter much more sorrow in the years to come, I know that pain doesn't have to paralyze me. I have in Christ a treasure more powerful than any deadly scheme. To this hope I must cling, for I have no other.

        
              And as He stands in victory
              Sin's curse has lost its grip on me,
              For I am His and He is mine -
              Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

       

Hope in Hopelessness

       I don't know what to do with death. There's no answer for it, no remedy, no helpful platitude. Death is one of the few things that will not change. We don't live our lives with permanence in mind, rather we live seasonally. Most things we do have seasons. Teething, awkward middle school stage, college, the flu, pregnancy, some relationships. These are all things we know will end at some point. But not death. You don't think an absence can actually have a presence until you've lost someone. There's no explanation for someone you love dying, and it's hard, nearly impossible, to be content with that fact.

       These are the thoughts that have swarmed my family and I over the past few days as we mourn the loss of my Uncle Chris. He passed away unexpectedly Thursday, November 6. Though I'm not brave enough to speak at his funeral on Monday, the following is what I would have said in honor of him.

       I have always adored Uncle Chris, but Summer of 2013 I had the opportunity to live in Panama City and work for him at the family's Toyota dealership. Over the summer I witnessed Uncle Chris in many contexts: living with his family, joking with his friends, and interacting with his employees. I want to share the qualities that I was able to glimpse more fully while living in his world.

       One cannot ignore the way Uncle Chris loved his family. He and Aunt Kim had a precious relationship; they teased, laughed, argued, all with the most obvious affection for one another. As a visitor, I couldn't feel anything but admiration for them and the way they treated each other. Uncle Chris also fiercely loved his children, Kayla, Bronson and Mia,  and his granddaughter, Piper. He was always talking about Kayla's sweet and fun way with Piper, or Bronson's talent in his music career, or Mia's last cheer competition. He loved his children's interests because he loved his children, and he wanted them to feel supported in every way. His family felt the freedom of his love, and they loved him freely back.

       The love Uncle Chris showed his immediate family spilled over to his friends and extended family as well. I spent many lunch breaks with Uncle Chris, my great uncle, Mike, and one of Chris's best friends, Watson. The way those three harassed each other was always hysterical. Most days it was difficult to finish my meal between spurts of laughter brought on by their antics. Though the trio teased incessantly, they always did so with a loving undertone. Chris's love was also evident in his relationship with his parents, my Granny and Papa. I loved when he visited their house and we would sit and talk and laugh the whole evening. He always brought a pleasant presence into their home.

       Chris also extended his love to his employees. I would often see Chris walk through the dealership, headed somewhere to talk business, but stop and chat to one of the salesmen about surfing or sports or movies. He loved to talk. He loved to know and understand the people who worked for him. He was generous to his employees because he wanted to treat them well, not because he wanted applause. Chris worked behind the scenes because he wanted the good of everyone, not just his own good. I saw him give to charities because he wanted to make a difference. Chris wasn't in the business for the fame. He was in the business so he could change his corner of Panama City. And he did change it.

      Uncle Chris's absence is heavy on all of us. We will miss his humor, his zeal for surfing, his intellectual conversations, his nonsense conversations, and his love that he bestowed on so many. But God is good, as He always is. He has provided so many friends and family members who have been immensely supportive. My family and I have felt God's love so strongly through His children the past few days; it's been overwhelming. We are heartbroken, but we are not crushed. We are hurting, but we are not without hope because our hope is in something so much more permanent than our own lives. We look to Jesus, His life and death and resurrection, and we find our peace and eternal security.