Tag Archive | god

A Different Kind of Black Friday

Mar29

It’s Friday in Holy Week. Peter has denied Jesus three times, the rooster has crowed. Judas is overcome with enough remorse that he has hung himself. Altars are stripped of anything celebratory or covered in black cloth even. This is a dark day.

Around the third hour (roughly 9am for us), Jesus has withstood false accusations, endless beatings, and has been sentenced to crucifixion. For what crime? He committed none. Even Pilate agreed with that. Jesus was literally headed to die for the crowd that chose to spare Barabbas. Why? I love the way The Message answers the why for this part of Jesus’ story.

But the fact is, it was our pains he carried—
    our disfigurements, all the things wrong with us.
We thought he brought it on himself,
    that God was punishing him for his own failures.
But it was our sins that did that to him,
    that ripped and tore and crushed him—our sins!
He took the punishment, and that made us whole. (Isaiah 53: 5-6, The Message)

Jesus takes on the worst form of capital punishment because of my sins. Yours too. He’s spit on, tormented, has a crown of thorns pushed into his skull, and then gets to carry His own cross. A wooden cross. That’s what he’s hung on, between criminals. Only faultless man to ever exist and He gets to die between two criminals. Most of us would say the two on either side deserved it. Jesus didn’t deserve it though. Jesus is hanging there exhausted, bleeding out. And He’s there out of LOVE.

And, because He is love… He asks God to forgive us. “Forgive them for they know not what they have done” (Luke 22:34). Forgive them he says. Where were the people who had been following Him around for years? Where were the people He had healed? What about the children? Oh, please tell me they weren’t around! Luke tells us that “anyone who knew him, including the women who had followed him from Galilee, stood at a distance, watching these things”.

About 3:00 in the afternoon, Jesus takes His last breath.

I imagine that’s when even those closest to Jesus went home. Maybe there are women hurrying up to prepare meals for Mary and Joseph for there’s been a death in the family. Maybe there are friends crying in kitchens together or men shaking their heads in solitude.

And then there’s Joseph of Arimathea, a member of the Council, a good and upright man. The NIV says “He had not consented to their decision and action. He came from the Judean town of Arimathea, and he himself was waiting for the kingdom of God.  Going to Pilate, he asked for Jesus’ body.  Then he took it down, wrapped it in linen cloth and placed it in a tomb cut in the rock, one in which no one had yet been laid.  It was Preparation Day, and the Sabbath was about to begin.” (Luke 23:50-54)

Things are dark. Jesus is laying in tomb. Everyone believes this is the end for Jesus. The world feels incredibly dark.

It’s so tempting to hide out today, isn’t it? To be part of the crowd that denies Jesus. We sure do live in a Good Friday kind of world. Today, my prayer has been for you and me. Maybe a little bit of “forgive us, we don’t know what we’re doing, Lord”. I think, mostly, though it’s been “help us not to be quiet at the cross”.

When Grace Sneaks In With A Face

Nov9
I hadn’t given it much thought until I got asked about it last night.  How had I previously written it off and not considered it?  Could I get beyond it if it turned out to be true?  And why on Earth was I dignifying any of it with this kind of physical response?  It doesn’t even matter, right?  Right?!?  I kept waking up all night feeling literally sick to my stomach as confusion and disappointment from the Enemy continued to close in on me.
 
Even as I sat at my desk today, my mind kept wandering as I thought about how much consideration this whole ordeal should even get from me.  Is that something you can just come right out and ask?  Does it matter?  Would it change things?  It’s not something you’d just bring up in casual conversation, right?  Right?!?  Or can you?!?
 
And then she snuck into my office, all smiles and glowing.  She who travels in humility and patience and joy.  We shared in celebration that, not only was it Friday, but it was a three day weekend too!  As crazy as this week had been, we weren’t sure it would get here.  And then she did it.  She spoke Truth with a ton of Grace and reminded me that when God said He could make all things new, He meant ALL things.  She was able to remind me that He is not the Author of confusion and fear.  And she encouraged me to take heart because it’s coming.  It won’t be my definition of “soon”; that’s been obvious in how slow it’s all been moving up until now.
 
So while my Newsfeed is blowing up with what people are thankful for on this ninth day of November, I am so thankful that sometimes Grace sneaks in with a face…

I’ll Drink To That

Oct29
Evening gowns and high heel shoes.  Black ties and shined shoes.  Multiple place settings and dimmed lights.  Flower shaped butter and sweet tea in champagne glasses.  “Let’s Do Dinner” the program read as we took our seats for the evening’s Plated Banquet.
Our presenter walked us through all of the proper etiquette techniques while having both Business Meeting Luncheons and Professional Ballroom Dining experiences.  She talked about how to know which fork to use and that when you cut your meat, cut away from yourself.  She showed us how, the way you leave your napkin when leaving the table, sends a message to your server as to whether or not you’ll be back.  (I’ll admit, it was quite entertaining seeing one guy take his with him and then watching the waiter silently freak out when the table wasn’t uniformed.)  The guest of honor is seated to the right of the host and the next most important guest is on their left.  She spoke of who drinks when during a toast and demonstrated how to give a proper toast.  Then she had everyone practice.
Rebecca, the hostess of our table, raised her glass and said, “I would like to give a toast to Stephanie Brown.  We don’t know why you’re here, but we know it’s important.”  We all laughed because it had quickly become the joke of the weekend.
Lately, I’ve been wanting to see all of these random pieces of my own story fit together so badly that I couldn’t help but feel that toast on a larger level.  I couldn’t help but think that I have no idea why I’m here; here, as in this place of my journey right now.  But I know it’s important…

When Grace Begins to Fill the Cracks

Oct24

Note: the names have been changed to protect the innocent guilty ones needing to go unidentified.

I don’t know about you, but when the phone rings in the middle of the night—I automatically assume that something is terribly wrong; even when I was a kid.  My first question was always “who died?” when anyone would call our house after 9:00.  So, when my phone rang about 8:15pm—I just assumed it was someone looking to make a Cook-Out run or something.  I wasn’t ready for the news on the other end of the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”  I could hear the fear in the quiver of his voice.  “You need to come to the hospital.  It’s bad.  I don’t know if he’s gonna make it this time.”

“What? If who is going to make it?”  I was grabbing my keys and trying to make sense of the broken details.  It didn’t really matter who.  I heard it in his voice that I needed to come and come right now.

“Joseph.”  I almost dropped the phone.  “His little body.  I just,”

“I’m on the way.”

Joseph.  A competitor who rarely lost, but this was a battle he could have never trained for.  Yet, it looks like his opponent never stops practicing on his face.

I was in the ER sooner than I probably should have been able to arrive, but when that name shows up on my phone—I drop what I’m doing and go as fast as my car allows.

“Can we see him?”  I asked while he hugged me like, if he let go, it would only mean that this was all really happening.

“Two at a time.  It’s bad.”

“Go with me?”

He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and my heart sank as I considered what all of this could mean.  How on earth would we talk about God’s love and healing when the person who first taught this little man about God and the person who put him in this hospital bed are the same?

Black.  Blue.  Bruised.  Bleeding.  Bad.  Yes, it was really bad.  The foundation of his whole world was cracking.  His safety, his home life, his faith.  Our champ looked frail.  And small.  And my friend was right.  This was bad.  I didn’t have to find the right words to say to this little guy; he never woke up while we were there.  We stood there crying and praying and knowing.  Knowing that we felt certain how Joseph really got to this bed in the Emergency Room, despite the story being shared.

“There’s gotta be a special place in you know where for a parent who does this to their own kid.”

“Nope.  There’s room at the cross for them too, if they want it.  Jesus loves that parent and you the same.”

“Yeah, really good thing God loves us in ways we don’t deserve.  And that he doesn’t ask my opinion when it comes to how to handle people like those parents.”

What on earth were we gonna do?  How would he sit next to them in Sunday School next week?  How would I help him to teach this kid about forgiveness and a Heavenly Father when the word father probably made him scared for his life?  The foundation of his entire world is crumbling beneath him.  Lord, show us how to be there when Grace begins to fill the cracks…

When A Shower Cleanses More Than Normal

Oct23

I do some of my best thinking in the shower.  I don’t know if it’s because that’s one of the places in our house where you are truly by yourself or what but a good shower usually helps me think better.  Normally, I shower in the morning.  I don’t think that’s even pertinent to my story, but in case anyone ever asks you– I typically shower in the morning.  Last night, I’d had a really long day and I guess thought a good, hot shower would wash it all away.  I’m not sure, but I do know that as the hot water fell over my tense body– everything began to feel okay. 

I’m also known to sing in the shower.  Put that on your list of “Useless Things to Know About Stephanie” too.  You know, right under the one that says I normally shower in the morning.  This one’s slightly more pertinent though, because it was in my seemingly random singing that God calmed my spirit and steered my heart a little.  And wouldn’t you know it was another Laura Story song…

Blessings

We pray for blessings
We pray for peace
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep
We pray for healing, for prosperity
We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering
All the while, You hear each spoken need
Yet love is way too much to give us lesser things

‘Cause what if your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You’re near
What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise

We pray for wisdom
Your voice to hear
We cry in anger when we cannot feel You near
We doubt your goodness, we doubt your love
As if every promise from Your Word is not enough
All the while, You hear each desperate plea
And long that we’d have faith to believe

When friends betray us
When darkness seems to win
We know that pain reminds this heart
That this is not our home

What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can’t satisfy
What if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are your mercies in disguise

I think God met me halfway on my prayer for a burning bush, because it was definitely hot in there but His move was quiet.  I’m really thankful, in the midst of what feels like utter and complete chaos in my world, that God continues to invade my space and remind me that He’s still bigger.  I’ve known that.  I have.  For years now even.  But in the midst of my Crisis of Belief, I needed Him to say it again.  And He did.  In a way that I heard Him…

The Questions that Wake Me Up

Oct21

Lately, I keep having this recurring dream where I’m standing in the middle of a giant, bright white room with black pieces of paper flying around me in a whirlwind.  On each paper, written in white chalk, are questions.  Here they are:

What if it doesn’t look like what everyone expects?

Did I hear God correctly?

Have I genuinely listened?

What happened to the girl who used to always smile like she had a secret?

What if I’m really bad at it?

 How can I call myself a believer but struggle with this much unbelief?

What if my heart can’t handle continuing to wait until he’s ready?

What if I’m really bad at it?

If I KNOW I’m right where I’m supposed to be, then why can’t I rest in that and just where is the peace that passes all understanding?

How did all that I know to be true get so jumbled?

Is something wrong with me to question this much?

Should I have said yes five years ago?

Am I enough?

Am I too much, overwhelming?

How am I supposed to know that I know if this is truly God’s best?

Have I bought into a really good looking lie?

If God often speaks in a whisper and I’m supposed to hush and listen for it, then is it wrong to pray for the burning bush instead?

I tend to wake up feeling incredibly overwhelmed, even though I know it’s just my heart being fleshed out before me.  While I also already know the answer to most every one of them, I’m longing for the day that I’m bold enough to say them out loud…

Crisis of Belief

Oct15
I packed my bags and drove to the middle of (what felt like) nowhere, then hung a right and drove another twenty minutes.  It was the closest thing to the “wilderness” that I could escape to.   I was in need of some answers.  Answers that I would be the one to verbalize, but that I needed the Lord to literally jot down in my journal, if He would.  I needed to know that I knew.  I was on a mission for clarity and discernment and in a lot of ways– I was on a deadline for an answer.
I threw myself into scripture.  Poured out every ounce of me and every question that had my heart so conflicted.  I laid everything out and then I got still.  I got still and I waited.  I knew God would move when He was ready and I knew that I did not want to miss it.  And then it happened.
I got the answer that I had been looking for.  It wasn’t an answer that I was particularly excited to get because I was certain I was giving up something I was sure I would later regret, but it was an answer and I could learn to be content.  Right?  Oh, I hoped so!  And then I got more than I bargained for.  Details of the plan began to be revealed.  Details that I had been praying about for literally fourteen years, almost daily.  A detail that was HUGE in my world!  A detail that would make it easier to be content with the previous “no” I had received.  He reminded me that He was in control and that I was going to love the ending to this story, but for now I needed to be okay with just the preview and I was excitedly honored.  Didn’t even see it coming, given what had happened just seven months prior.  In fact, I’d kinda written it all off.
Fast forward six or seven weeks to yesterday…
Sunday School with the kids was a blast!  We laughed hard as we helped each other make the final pieces to our Noah’s Ark mural.  I walked the fairgrounds in perfect weather, reminiscing past trips made with teenagers.  Now I’ve just topped the day off with an evening of Play-Doh, crayons, and a baby doll with my favorite kid.  We giggled, shared stories, and schemed future play plans.  It’s been a great day!
I’ve gone through my normal bedtime routine and now I’m laying in my bed.  A place that has always been a refuge for me, even when it hadn’t been in the same town that it is now.  Yet somehow, I feel very un-content.  I’m sweating but my room is cold.  I’ve flipped my pillow so often, there isn’t an obvious cooler side anymore.
I’m wanting to know why God would reveal details of the plan six or seven weeks ago, but still not let me see them come to fruition.  Did I hear Him wrong?  Did I even hear Him at all or did I just slap His name to my own dreams?  No, it was Him and I know it.  Well, if that’s true then why can’t I just be content in the waiting?  Because, what if I AM wrong?  What if I’ve wasted all this time and allowed my heart to be wrecked all over again? 
I’m playing mental gymnastics but in my own way– I’m in a wrestling match with God and I know it.  I know that if I discover I was wrong about this, I’m going to begin questioning everything else and that’s not a place I really want to be.  It’s starting to feel like a crisis of belief and I just want Him to show me what all of this is supposed to mean…

A Boy Called Rusty

Oct9
I used to curl up in the living room in front of our television with the rest of the family for The Closer every Monday night.  Mainly because of the fact that the main character was Chief Brenda Lee Johnson, played by Kyra Sedgwick.  I have a high respect for the lady who would not only close most every single case but win and allowed chocolate to be her side kick.  As the TNT series was coming to an end, we were introduced to a boy called Rusty.
Rusty is a teenage boy who was found in downtown Los Angeles by the Major Crimes division of the LAPD when it was determined he was the key witness to a murder.  By the series finale, Rusty was needing to be kept in protective custody.  Therefore, he went home to stay with Captain Sharon Rayder.  Cue the opening music to the spin-off show Major Crimes.  That tradition of settling in and turning the tv to TNT has continued with Major Crimes.  For the most part the cast is the same, but Rusty’s story is now the common thread that ties each week together.  Rusty is the reason that I tune in!
Over the past couple of weeks, we have learned that Rusty was abandoned by his mom when she left him for her boyfriend.  The same boyfriend who used to pound Rusty’s face until the day that Rusty beat the crap out of him.  The very next day is when mom and said boyfriend took him to the zoo and never came back for him.  My blood is boiling even while I type this!  I cannot fathom a mom choosing her abusive boyfriend over her son.  Since the night we learned Rusty’s mom wasn’t coming back, Captain Rayder has had folks on the search for Rusty’s dad (whom Rusty had never met).  Last night, after only two episodes of Rusty’s dad being in the picture, Sharon came home to find Rusty with black eyes and a busted lip.  When she asked him what happened, we learned his dad had done this to him.  WHAT IN THE WORLD?!?!  Again, I cannot fathom what it must feel like to be Rusty.
There I sat, curled up on the opposite end of the couch of my own dad.  My dad who has been the spiritual leader of our house my entire life, Jesus in the flesh.  My dad who loves my mom and all three of us crazy girls.  My dad who has empowered me to think for myself and supported my decisions, even the ones he did not necessarily understand at the time.  How is it fair that I hit the jackpot when it comes to dads and there are kids like Rusty all over the place?  I come home to sober parents, who have created a safe home for, not just the three girls born to them but, all of our friends too.  It’s not unusual to walk in and find our friends visiting with our parents when we weren’t even there, but there are other kids who have never heard the words “I love you” or “I’m proud of you” come from their parents’ mouths.  That’s not okay with me!
I know God is stirring up something in my heart, something that’s going to allow me to stand in the gaps for kids like Rusty.  I’m not gonna lie, it freaks me out a little because I know it’s probably not going to make sense to a lot of people.  It’s not going to allow me to be safe and I like to feel safe.  Like, a LOT.  Parts of it are a little scary and I can’t stand to be scared.  I love Christmas, not Halloween.
The thing is though, I’m also being reminded that the heart of God is not always a safe place to be.  In fact, it’s usually pretty unsafe.  If I want to go with God, I have to be willing to build an ark and ride it for forty days and forty nights with snakes, spiders, and mosquitoes.  If I want to go with God, I have to be willing to lay my son on the altar knowing God will provide the ram.  It’s not all adding up to me, but faith usually doesn’t…
Right?
RIGHT?!?

My-Size Fairy Tale

Aug2

Call me crazy, but I really enjoy shopping!  Now I know that some of you have a mental picture of a car loaded down with bags and a wallet with nothing left but maxed out credit cards.  Nah, that’s not my style.  I much more prefer the one skirt that I can dress up or down, or mix and match it with what I already own to create several new looks.  I find great pleasure in walking around a department store just to discover the latest trends, then figuring out a way to re-create something similar but more modest.  It’s more than just clothes and fashion that I do this with too.  I like picking up an aqua picture frame and knowing that it could have been so much more, then figuring out how to add a little pizzazz to it.

I also find great delight in shopping for someone else.  I like knowing that I have picked something that they’ll enjoy, because I got to know them.  Right on down to the gift bag or wrapping paper.  I recently learned that my efforts aren’t in vain with that either, when I put Dove’s Dark Chocolate in a pink and orange gift bag and my friend replied “you know me so well”.

As much as I typically enjoy the entire shopping experience, you let me find something that claims “one size fits all” and you might as well had popped my birthday balloons, because that’s a sad moment.  One size does not fit all!  I mean, that claim is just outrageous.  It’s more than just clothes that don’t fit “all”.  I could have wrapped that same gift in a black and red bag, and I can promise you that my friend would not have been smiling and saying “You know me so well!”  Look around—we aren’t all the same; it won’t fit “all”.  So, what is it that makes us think relationships are all going to look the same?

Recently, I found myself beginning to struggle in ways that I never have before.  I was beginning to experience emotions that I still can’t even explain.  God was beginning to reveal things to me that have me excited and honored, but honestly a little freaked out all at once.  I wasn’t sure what to do with all of that and was honestly feeling rather emotionally sucker punched.  Many people tried to tell me what to do with all of that and were quick to share their own stories.  (Don’t get me wrong—that played a big role in my ability to figure it all out.)  It was what one friend texted me a couple hours after she heard me out that did the trick though:

Your talk about your fairy tale just made me think how they are all so different but with equally happy endings….Cinderella had wicked step sisters, Belle had to kiss a beast, Rapunzal was kidnapped.  You get the picture.

I read that and thought, You’re right.  One size does not fit all!  I cannot expect it to look a certain way.  God has already lovingly authored the story.  My job is to just remember to go patiently in the direction that the path leads and enjoy the ride along the way.  While there may be villains or scoundrels that I didn’t expect or pasts that I didn’t see coming or roadblocks to overcome along the way—happily ever after does await and it will come when it’s time for that part of the story.  It will not be one-size fits all, but it will absolutely be a my-size fairy tale.

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Is That Your Favorite?

Jun10

Yesterday, I got to hang out with one of my, if not my all-time, favorite kids.  She’s absolutely precious and has this way of just melting my heart.  She’ll either say something so darn cute or do something and you can’t help but just smile.  For example, she discovered my old teddy bear, Squishy, when she was here one time and now she can’t wait to take off running to my room to get him.  I explained to her that she was more than welcome to play with Squishy, but she had to be very careful with him.  She looked up at me, cocked her little head and said, “I be VERY gentle.  He’s old?”  “Yes, be very gentle.”  “You sleep with him in your yittle bed when you were a yittle girl?”  (I’m gonna miss her trading the l for a y!)  “No, I got him as a gift when I was a little older than that.”  “Squishy your favorite bedtime animal?”  “Um…. Sure.”

This little lady will be three soon and right now she likes to know if something’s my favorite or not, which has me wanting to discover all of her favorites too.  That conversation about Squishy is only the beginning of our “Is that your favorite” discussions.  While playing with Play-doh, we discover our favorite colors.  Favorite Disney Princesses are learned doing puzzles, Daisy versus Minnie is discussed during a game of Disney Match, and since we sing practically all day—favorite songs get shared.  She knows my favorite color is pink and I know that she’s a sucker for a Twix.  I admitted the sunflowers are my favorite yesterday, to which she claimed “mine too”.  (I seriously doubt if she knows what her favorite flower is yet, but it was a good reminder that I’m being watched.)

I got to thinking, as we arranged stickers in a Dora the Explorer book and chose the beach scene over the city scene, if this is really how showing favoritism gets taught.  And, if so, was I failing her during some of her most impressionable days?  If I teach her that it’s okay to like one color over the other, will that same notion spill over into how she decides who to play with on the playground?  Gosh, I hope not!  I hope she’ll let all of her friends play together, or even go play with the kid that everyone else has left behind. 

Do I think it is okay to like sunflowers over roses?  Man, I hope so!  But I do wonder if that’s where the idea that we can exclude and play favorites when it comes to people all begins…