It is tempting to forget that there were three long days and nights between the crucifixion and the resurrection beause the way we observe this season rushes us past the pain to embrace the promise.
But it’s not hard for me to imagine how the disciples felt when they saw Jesus was dead. It was neither what they expected nor what they prayed for.
Read the rest here: Living Between the Crucifixion and the Resurrection
I’ve studied it many times over a lifetime-beginning with fun “coat of many colors” crafts in preschool and ending with an emphasis on remaining faithful in trials.
Joseph’s story is typically told from his point of view.
But I’ve never considered it from Jacob’s perspective. Until now.
Because on Jacob’s side of the door, Joseph was gone, gone, gone-beyond reach, out of sight, nowhere to be found.
All the while Joseph was very much alive, God was working and Joseph would (ultimately) flourish and Jacob would (ultimately) be reunited with his son.
There was no way for Jacob to know this so, of course, he was heartbroken:
Then Jacob tore his clothes, put on sackcloth and mourned for his son many days. All his sons and daughters came to comfort him, but he refused to be comforted. “No,” he said, “I will continue to mourn until I join my son in the grave.” So his father wept for him. Genesis 37:34-35
Jacob’s grief was real. His loss was devastating. His heart was shattered and there was no substitute for the son he was missing.
I understand that now.
I glossed over these verses in the past-rushing to the “happy ending” promised a few chapters later.
But Jacob didn’t have that option.
He was living these years-one day after another, one foot in front of another, one sunrise, one sunset-never knowing he was making his way toward reunion with a living son.
I share Jacob’s heartbreak.
My son is out of reach, out of sight, unavailable to my arms and eyes.
But I have something Jacob didn’t have-I know the end of the story. I have the Bible and its promise that this life is not all there is, that while this body dies, the soul lives on eternally.
And for those who choose Jesus, the soul lives for ever and ever with Him.
Hallelujah!
While I too, mourn deeply for Dominic, there IS comfort.
I cannot ignore the pain of separation, but I will hold steadfast to the promise of reunion. I cry for what has been lost, but cry out for faith to cling to what will ever be.
This earthly journey is dark, but there is assurance that light will triumph.
Bifurcate: 1. to cause to divide into two branches or parts; 2. my life.
Before Dominic ran ahead to heaven I led a fairly unified life.
Our family was unusually close, our goals closely aligned, we shared the same faith, had developed routines and even all liked creamy peanut butter.
That changed when Dom left us-suddenly I was forced to live with one foot HERE and one foot THERE.
I didn’t get to choose, it was decided for me.
Paul’s words took on new meaning and great relevance:
We know that if our earthly house—a mere tent that can easily be taken down—is destroyed, we will then live in an eternal home in the heavens, a building crafted by divine—not human—hands. 2 Currently, in this tent of a house, we continue to groan and ache with a deep desire to be sheltered in our permanent home 3 because then we will be truly clothed and comfortable, protected by a covering for our current nakedness. 4 The fact is that in this tent we anxiously moan, fearing the naked truth of our reality. What we crave above all is to be clothed so that what is temporary and mortal can be wrapped completely in life. 5 The One who has worked and tailored us for this is God Himself, who has gifted His Spirit to us as a pledge toward our permanent home.
2 Corinthians 5:1-5 VOICE
Groan–YES!
Deep longing can only be expressed with low, gutteral sounds-there are no words!
I am in this earthly tent but want desperately to be free of it and clothed with the eternal-where joy unspeakable will reign and sorrow and death will be no more.
So this Lenten journey is helpful to me-it acknowledges the struggle between flesh and spirit. It encourages my heart to walk by faith and not sight, to grab hold of that which counts forever and let go of that which is doomed for destruction.
The truth is, all of us who follow Jesus lead a bifurcated life.
It’s simply that some of us can ignore that truth. Until death touches our bodies or our families, we can pretend that the earthly tent’s not so bad, that it might be somewhere we’d enjoy staying quite awhile.
I am not at all thankful for Dom’s death. I will never be thankful my son left us in the prime of life, full of promise and without saying good-bye.
But I am thankful that I am unavoidably confronted with the truth that this life is fleeting, this world is only a moment and this body temporary housing for my eternal soul.
Paul goes on to write:
In light of this [our understanding that our life here is temporary], we live with a daring passion and know that our time spent in this body is also time we are not present with the Lord. 7 The path we walk is charted by faith, not by what we see with our eyes. 8 There is no doubt that we live with a daring passion, but in the end we prefer to be gone from this body so that we can be at home with the Lord. 9 Ultimately it does not matter whether we are here or gone; our purpose stays fixed, and that is to please Him.
2 Corinthians 5: 6-9 VOICE
My eyes see one thing, but my heart knows another.
Part of my Lenten observance includes reading the book of John.
The words are not new to me, I’ve read them over and over-probably dozens of times in the past 30 years. So I decided to use a different translation this time around in order to shake out some new insights and cause me to pay closer attention to what God might have for me right here, right now.
The very first reading did just that:
Before time itself was measured, the Voice was speaking.
The Voice was and is God.
2 This celestial Word remained ever present with the Creator;
3 His speech shaped the entire cosmos.
Immersed in the practice of creating,
all things that exist were birthed in Him.
4 His breath filled all things
with a living, breathing light—
5 A light that thrives in the depths of darkness,
blazes through murky bottoms.
It cannot and will not be quenched.John 1: 1-5 VOICE
What struck me fresh was verse 5-“A light that THRIVES….BLAZES….It CANNOT and WILL NOT be quenched.”
So many times I think of light as barely fighting back darkness. I carry my flashlight to check on the horses and its piercing beam burns through to give me limited visibility. It FEELS like darkness wins and I push it back only a little.
But what this rendering of John 1:5 declares to my heart is this: The light of Christ isn’t fighting the darkness, it thrives in the darkness. It’s in the darkness that its power is revealed.
It’s the darkness that makes light undeniably present.
Darkness can and will be vanquished.
But the True Light will last forever.
I know very, very little about astronomy. But I do know this: Light generated eons ago is still traveling through space. Light doesn’t end. It goes on and on and on.
So even though this part of my life is dark, even though I may have trouble discerning the Light, the darkness hasn’t quenched it.
The Light is coming.
It’s no battle of equals.
The darkness doesn’t stand a chance.
I’ve always been this way-careful as I walk through the woods. I don’t remember a time when I could crash unaware of what was underfoot.
So when springtime brings the violets, I find myself zig-zagging this way and that to avoid crushing them as I go about my daily chores.
Often obscured by last year’s leaves-I can make out the vibrant purple peeking from underneath-if I’m paying attention.
But there are plenty of folks who make it all the way through March and April without ever seeing them.
And that makes me sad.
They are so beautiful.
I consider them a gift.
It’s easy to race through life and never take note of God’s gifts. We get busy and distracted and overwhelmed by the need to make a living and we ignore the Lord of life.
If I am going to SEE what He’s doing, how He’s providing, where He is blessing, I have to open my eyes.
But once I do, I find that blessings pop up everywhere.
Just like springtime violets.
When I taught a young women’s Sunday School class, we were exploring the third Psalm.
David wrote this Psalm when fleeing from his son, Absalom. He not only feared for his life, but his heart was broken by the shattered family relationships that led to this power struggle.
It wasn’t the first time he had to rely on God to intervene.
Psalm 3
A Psalm of David, when he fled from Absalom his son.
Jehovah, how many are they that trouble me, many they that rise up against me!
2 Many say of my soul, There is no salvation for him in God. Selah.
3 But thou, Jehovah, art a shield about me; my glory, and the lifter up of my head.
4 With my voice will I call to Jehovah, and he will answer me from the hill of his holiness. Selah.
5 I laid me down and slept; I awaked, for Jehovah sustaineth me.
6 I will not fear for myriads of the people that have set themselves against me round about.
7 Arise, Jehovah; save me, my God! For thou hast smitten all mine enemies upon the cheekbone, thou hast broken the teeth of the wicked.
8 Salvation is of Jehovah; thy blessing is upon thy people. Selah.
DARBY translation
I will do almost anything to make a lesson come alive.
So I lay down on the carpet, forehead to the floor, arms outstretched and asked, “Can I defend myself in any way in this position?”
Of course the answer was a resounding, “NO!” because it was obvious that I could not.
I was at the mercy of whoever may intend me harm. I could neither see them nor stop them. It was a position of absolute vulnerability-the way prisoners knelt for execution in ancient times.
It was the position Esther assumed when she embraced very real danger to gain the opportunity to plead for the safety of her people.
And it reflects the inner truth that I am not in control and utterly reliant on the God Who made me to save me.
A friend posted this on her timeline and I really like it.
I would change only a single thing: Instead of “lift your head” I would say, “let God lift your head”.
Because I am unable to lift it myself.
I don’t have the strength, I don’t have the power, I don’t have the energy to raise my head above my current circumstances. I am bent under the weight of sorrow and grief. If left to myself, I will stay here and simply wait for the end to come-it sometimes sounds easier and more inviting.
But the truth is, it AIN’T over yet.
I don’t get to make that choice. God does. And as long as He keeps me here I want to rely on Him to lift my head and make my life a living testimony to His power, grace, mercy and love.
There IS salvation from God-not only eternal salvation but also salvation from the pit of despair and despondency that threatens to swallow my soul.
When He lifts my head, I can see it.
Exhausted
Worn out
Bone-tired
Ready to drop
Drained
Fatigued
War-weary.
I wasn’t created to carry this burden. I cannot do it.
Jesus invites me to lay it down:
Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Put My yoke upon your shoulders—it might appear heavy at first, but it is perfectly fitted to your curves. Learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble of heart. When you are yoked to Me, your weary souls will find rest. For My yoke is easy, and My burden is light.
Matthew 11:28-30 VOICE
Invincible made vulnerable,
Lord made lowly,
Not above me
Not below me
Beside me-
Emmanuel–God With Us, God with ME.
Love took on flesh to walk among us barefoot over the broken shards that bruise our hearts and make our feet bleed.
He knows my pain
He knows my frame
He loves me.
He didn’t have to do it. He could have decided that it wasn’t worth the cost. He could have wiped the slate clean and begun anew-He made the world the first time, He could have made it a second time just as easily.
But the God of the universe chose-He CHOSE-to purchase the broken and battered, the weary and worn, the wounded and limping for His treasure.
He’s still here. As near as your next breath.
Are you empty?
He will fill you.
Are you broken?
He promises to restore.
Are you weary?
He will give you rest.
Open your hands, open your heart and receive the Real Gift of Christmas.
Last week I wrote how my well-laid plans for setting up the Christmas tree and decorating had gone awry.
I thought I was ready to pull out the old ornaments with the old feelings and forge ahead.
I was wrong.
But yesterday, after gazing at the “lights only” tree for all these days, I decided to make another go at it.
I packed up the tear-inducing decorations and stored them safely away. I pulled out the box of ornaments I used last year-mostly new things I bought or made since Dominic left for Heaven.
Each group of ornaments was chosen because it helps me hold on to hope.
I have hearts-stuffed, handsewn hearts, papier mache hearts, corrugated cardboard hearts.
Lots of hearts.
Hearts to remind MY heart that it was Love that brought Jesus to earth. It was Love that kept Him here. It was Love that took Him to the cross even after He had begged His Father in the garden for another way. And it was Love that broke the chains of death and raised Him from the grave.
That same Love is keeping Dominic safe until we are together again.
Stars to help me remember that Jesus brought Light into darkness. They help me hold onto the FACT that His light will not be extinguished. They speak truth to my spirit that even though this Valley is dark, it will not last forever.
I made some balls from little scrappy bits of fabric wrapped and glued in place. The pieces are useless alone-not big enough to do a thing. But together they are beautiful and strong and have purpose.
My life feels like it’s been ripped to shreds. But even shreds are useful in God’s hands. I’m waiting to see what He plans to do with them.
In the meantime, I hold on.
Old Christmas cards turned decorations are strung together and hung as visual prayers. I save my cards from year to year and cut out the lovely and meaningful pictures and scriptures.
I made my own paper copies of the Names of Jesus and burned the edges.
I cling to the promises in each Name. I may reach heaven through the fire of tribulation and trial but no power on earth, above the earth or under the earth can stand against His Name.
I will be preserved.
Little drums hang as silent witness to Dominic. His heartbeat lives on in mine. His rhythm that thrummed through our lives and is missing now still matters. He is making a joyful noise in Heaven.
He is not silent.
One day I will hear him again.
So tonight I sat in the soft glow of the lights AND the ornaments remembering…
Remembering years past when life was very different-untouched by tragedy and gut-wrenching loss and also remembering the promise that this is not the way it will always be.
My children grew up surrounded by life and by death.
On our small farm they got to see puppies, kittens, goats, sheep and horses take their first breath. We watched turkeys and chickens hatch-struggling in that last great effort to throw off the shell.
And we also witnessed life’s end.
Every. time. it feels wrong. Every. time. it feels like defeat.
And it is–we were not made to die.
God didn’t create this world to be full of endings. He made it to be full of life and fellowship and love and for His glory.
But we live in a broken world.
When the first man and first woman looked away from their Loving Creator and embraced temptation, death came in through sin.
That longing we have, that sense that death is WRONG-that death is not the way things SHOULD be-that’s the spark of God’s Spirit speaking to us.
It’s the Father’s call to our hearts to turn to Him.
God the Father has made provision for eternal life with Him through Jesus the Son.
Yes, this world is full of death-it has touched my life in a very personal and awful way.
But my heart and God’s Word tells me that death is not what we are meant for-that there is MORE.
We who have known only futility, decay, homesickness, and exile, have found strong encouragement to hold fast to our hope because we are no longer helpless and alone. He’s already gone before us, trail blazing straight through exile and death into life as our Captain. Yes, I know this is true. I can hope even in the midst of doubt.
Through his death and resurrection, he has flung open the gate, torn the curtain that divided us from God’s presence, and done it all as the incarnate Son of Man. God has not forever abandoned his creation. Mankind is still his good work. In the body of Jesus, Man has gone into the presence of God, to his throne room, to the company of myriads of angels dressed for a party (see Hebrews 12:22). I’m in a form of exile now, but exile doesn’t mean abandonment. Jesus has made sure of that.
~Elyse Fitzpatrick, Home
As we move toward celebration of the birth of Christ, I pray we look also to His life, death and resurrection and the promise of hope He has placed in our hearts.
thelifeididntchoose 