Sometimes people outside our experience toss Scripture at us who are suffering like confetti in a parade-as if we are heroes who only have yet to take the podium and declare the victory.
But what if there IS no victory in this life for some of us?
What if there is only endurance–which is a sort of victory but one not highly valued?
Read the rest here: What if My Testimony is Endurance?
It’s a hard, hard lesson to learn.
It’s even harder to carry it like a precious burden in the bosom of your heart.
Because while it is oh, so true, it does not take away the pain when circumstances just don’t change no matter how hard you pray, how long you endure or how much you wish they would.
God’s ways are not my ways. His thoughts are not my thoughts. He is not required to fit into whatever box I wish to place Him.
I came to child loss with what I thought was a pretty good understanding of Scripture, of theology and of Who God is.
What I realized was that no matter how much HEAD knowledge I had, it was only HEART knowledge that could sustain me in the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
He [Christ] said not, ‘Thou shalt not be tempested, thou shalt not be trevailed, thou shalt not be dis-eased,’ but He said, ‘Thou shalt not be overcome.
•Julian of Norwich•
Some people live lives that make sense. They connect the dots-even of the hard and tragic things-into a picture that looks like something. They emerge from the ashes like a phoenix, wings outspread in victory and rising to new heights.
Not me.
I can’t figure out what God is doing with my life.
I don’t feel victorious.
Mostly I feel tired.
But I am absolutely convinced that God loves me and that He is doing SOMETHING. What that is and how He is doing it are hidden from me.
I don’t understand.
I can’t trace His hand.
But I trust His heart.
If there is anywhere on earth a lover of God who is always kept safe, I know nothing of it, for it was not shown to me. But this was shown: that in falling and rising again we are always kept in that same precious love.
•Julian of Norwich•
“Those who wait for Me with hope will not be put to shame.”
Isaiah 49:23c NLV
We love stories of overcomers. We invite testimonies that end in victory.
We applaud members of the Body who have a “before” and “after” tale of how Jesus plus willpower took them from the dust of defeat to the pinnacle of spiritual success.
But we hide the strugglers and stragglers in the back pews.
Read the rest here: Not Ashamed to Wait
We live in a culture where we see death often but experience it rarely.
Movies, video games, cartoons, news stories all flash images of death across the screen so frequently that most of us either ignore them or they register only as numbers, not as human beings.
Of course many of the images are manufactured-the actors don’t REALLY die, the characters in video games are not real-but how often do we wait for a news report to tell us how many AMERICANS died in a plane crash or terror attack?
As if only those affiliated in some way with our own heritage “count”.
But when death comes knocking at your own door, walks in and settles down, that changes everything.
I can no longer sit and consume death like a meal, meant to feed my appetite for entertainment.
And every single time I hear a report listing casualties I think of the families ripped apart by the absence of a life they loved.
Death is the enemy.
When Satan tempted Adam and Eve he said, “You shall not surely die.”
He was wrong.
A single sin ushered in all kinds of sorrow and woe and the ultimate sadness was death. It meant separation from breath and life, separation from those we love and, without the atoning blood of Christ, separation from God in eternity.
My ninety-nine-year-old aunt died this week. She lived a long, useful and fairly healthy life (until the last couple of years).
You’d think that in light of my own son dying at only twenty-three I’d be more OK with her leaving this life and moving to Heaven.
But I’m not.
Somehow her death-more than all the other souls I’ve known and loved that have left us since Dom ran ahead-has knocked me to my knees.
Maybe it was how hard and how long she fought against our common enemy.
Maybe it was just the time of year.
I don’t know.
But she reminded me again that death is always sad.
And that Jesus is the only One Who can save us from death’s power.
I call my parents pretty much every morning.
It was a habit started years ago after my mother had a bad spell and ended up in the hospital. I like to start my day knowing how she and my dad are doing.
The other day Papa and I were talking about the movie, “Unbroken” we saw a couple years ago.
There’s a scene where the main character was forced to hold a heavy beam over his head in a Japanese POW camp for hours. If he let it fall, he would be shot and his torture over. Malnourished, mistreated and disheartened, he somehow found the strength to do it.
He endured.
His courageous example lent courage to the others in that camp. His victory was in not giving up or giving in, though he bore the scars for the rest of his life.
These past months have been difficult ones for both of my parents. Mama’s fall, heart attack and multiple hospital stays have left her very different than she was last summer. Someone needs to be with her all the time.
That means my dad-who has no physical limitations-is as housebound as she.
Papa is absolutely committed to caring for Mama and he’s doing a great job.
But it’s hard on a heart to be confined when you are surrounded by so many chores that need doing and so much wide open space that begs you to get out in the sunshine.
He is enduring.
And I am thankful for his example.
So few of us will have an opportunity to do really grand things that make headlines. But most of us will have a chance to be faithful in hundreds of small things that make up meaningful lives.
Quiet, everyday commitment to not giving up when life is hard and rest seems so very far away is victory even when it doesn’t feel like it.
It speaks courage to other hearts to hold on.
Truly.
Always.
I’ve strived and struggled for many things in my life-most of which have little eternal value.
I am striving now for the only prize that really matters, to enter the Presence of my Saviour and to hear, “Well, done, good and faithful servant”.
When the days are long and the nights are longer, I try to remember that.
“To win the contest you must deny yourselves many things that would keep you from doing your best. An athlete goes to all this trouble just to win a blue ribbon or a silver cup, but we do it for a heavenly reward that never disappears.” [emphasis added]
~ I Corinthians 9:25 TLB
I remember one particularly grueling semester in college. I had foolishly stacked five upper level political science classes on top of one another thinking that taking them together would be easier.
That was a dumb idea.
Read the rest here: Eye On The Prize
It’s hard to watch since winning a medal is off the table. They lost their place in front when they took that awful tumble.
But we cheer them on-the limping athletes that manage to cross the finish line.
And we should.
Read the rest here: Not Giving Up-A Victory Worth Cheering
So, what keeps my heart tied to this weary world when what it really wants is to go Home and be free of pain and sorrow? What anchors me to the sod when my soul longs to float away? What compels me to stay?
Last week it was bluebirds and hard work.
Washing up dishes from a morning cooking frenzy, I raised my eyes to look out the window and there-looking down the chimney of our smoker-was a bluebird.
Unconcerned with me he rested for some minutes where I could drink in the vibrant hue of his feathers. There’s just nothing like that blue anywhere but on the back of those beautiful birds-no matter how long I look at one, I always feel it’s not long enough. Then off he flew to join another on a branch.
It was a gift.
And I tucked it in my heart to pull out later when I needed a reminder that there is still beauty and life in a world that also includes pain and death.
About an hour later I joined my youngest son at his house just a few miles from the farm. It’s an older home on main street in our little town and needs some work before he moves in.
It was carpet day.
So for the next few hours we worked together and by the end of the day we had done it! Carpet laid. No major mistakes.
Success was sweet!
I was really just a go-fer and cheerleader but it felt oh, so good to have something work out just as planned.
It felt absolutely victorious!
We sat in the finished room and drank it in.
Someone else may have just moved on to the next task in the long list of tasks needed to finish the house. But when life has gone terribly wrong, you learn to relish those moments when it goes right.
THIS is what I hold on to.
These slices of beauty and victory are treasures I tuck inside.
Our family watched the movie “Sully” the other night.
I cried when they showed the real people whose lives were spared hugging and thanking Captain Sully for his choice to do what was necessary to save them.
Because I know that each life saved also saved lives of others–saved them from the awful burden of grief and sorrow that would have become their daily experience.
I’ve written here a great deal about the need for friends and family and the church community to “mourn with those who mourn”.
The ones who have no choice to but to walk this Valley of the Shadow of Death need faithful, compassionate companions.
My heart has been forcibly expanded by sorrow until it literally breaks again when I hear of another family that must bear this burden.
But tonight I realized that this deep grief I carry has created an equally strong and proportional reaction to the great joy others experience when lives are saved.
Because I know, know, know exactly what it feels like when the outcome is disastrous, I can feel a joy that those who merely escape it will never know.
I know by terrible experience what they are spared.
Not only what they get to keep-
but also what they will never be forced to understand.
They rejoice because they imagine what might have happened. I rejoice because I know what it feels like when it does happen.
When death is thwarted my heart dances.
I sing the song of victory over the forces of darkness.
Remember when the Eternal brought back the exiles to Zion?
It was as if we were dreaming—
Our mouths were filled with laughter;
our tongues were spilling over into song.
The word went out across the prairies and deserts,
across the hills, over the oceans wide, from nation to nation:
“The Eternal has done remarkable things for them.”
We shook our heads. All of us were stunned—the Eternal has done remarkable things for us.
We were beyond happy, beyond joyful.Psalm 126:1-3 VOICE
It’s hard to watch since winning a medal is off the table. They lost their place in front when they took that awful tumble.
But we cheer them on-the limping athletes that manage to cross the finish line.
And we should.
Because getting up and going on is a victory worth cheering.
And it’s a victory I strive for every day.
Just showing up with a broken heart is hard. Not giving in to despair is a daily decision that requires continued commitment to face the morning light.
On other days I can use the tools I’ve crafted over time to screw down the lid on the box of emotions I keep hidden inside.
But opening my eyes to Christmas Day takes extra effort.
It would be so much easier to sleep the hours away, safe and secure in the cocoon of my warm bed. Not because I don’t want to share in the food, fellowship and fun. But because every sight, sound and smell of Christmas pierces my heart and reminds me of the widening gap between when I saw Dominic last and right now.
So when you feel a little frustrated that I’m crying “again”, when you wonder when I’m going to “get over this” or “be back to my old self”-please picture that limping runner gunning for the goal.
Jump down from the comfort of the bleachers and take my hand.
Cheer me on.
Offer a cup of water or a chair so I can catch my breath.
Don’t turn away in your discomfort at my pain. Choose to be a witness.
Speak courage to my heart.
Help me make it to the finish line.
thelifeididntchoose 