The Darkness has Not Overcome

Fear is sneaky.

Most days, especially when the sun is shining, I can function normally and leave the rest to God.

But then there are the times when the days have been gloomy and the girls have been testy and night falls and I'm left feeling like the locomotive of COVID-19 is barreling down the tracks toward my family and it's only a matter of time til it hits and all I can do is hunker down and wait.

On one such night last week, I actually did something right about my emotions. I talked to my husband (who's been a voice of calm in the insanity of the last few weeks) and then went up to bed and opened my Bible.

(I'm working my way through "The Story," an adaptation of the NIV that presents the words of Scripture, while in selections, as one continuous story. Reading it is much like reading any other book, with breaks for chapters rather than separate books with chapters and verses. While there are brief editorial breaks to explain themes or summarize missing sections, it's largely simply the Biblical text, and it's been a nice way for me to get a new perspective on passages that otherwise have become rote.)

I opened to my bookmark, and this is the first thing that met my eyes.

That's where the stirring of the Holy Spirit stopped me, and what I believe He impressed on my heart was exactly what I needed at that moment. I'd like to share it with you, in the hope that you may be encouraged, too. It's maybe not completely cohesive, but hopefully it's coherent!

In the beginning - As God was speaking planets and molecules into existence, He already knew that the year AD 2020 would find a pandemic sweeping the globe.

He knew it all: the beginning of COVID-19 in China; Italy's anguish; that hospitals would be unprepared; the steady creep of the disease from our continent's coasts toward its interior. He already knew every detail of what was coming, including the ones we don't know yet.

He isn't surprised; He isn't less good; He isn't less in control.

the Word - Jesus, "the Word," is the sum total of God's message to humanity. He's the culmination of everything God had said before the New Testament, everything God has promised to say to His people, and everything God is ever going to say. Think of it! All this embodied in one 33-year life on planet Earth. (Spoiler alert: His life and teaching still have ramifications for us today!)

Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. - Seventh grade science tells us humans are made when an egg and sperm fuse to become a zygote. This mono-cellular carrier of a complete genetic code has all the information necessary to bring into being a fully functioning adult man or woman.

John, the writer of the above passage, tells us that it is actually an egg, a sperm, and God who make each person (although maybe not in that order...).

Psalms says God knitted my children together within my womb.

This is an issue of personal workmanship!

If I take pains that the frisky cat not claw up the afghan I crocheted - if I delight in the art and craftsmanship of my hand and my husband's and our friends' - if I hang these things on my walls and store them gently when they're not on display - how much more does my God care for the two miraculous lives He designed, built, and brought to life? We're not guaranteed a pass on suffering or even on infection, but He knows. He understands. My fear, my attempt to trust, my weakness in the face of the unknown, all of it.

And He loves my daughters more fiercely even than their mommy and daddy do, and He will work all things to good. They are safe in the hands that made them. (And while I still pray that my husband and I will be allowed to raise our children to adulthood, I also thank God for allowing us to raise them this day.)

life/light - In this time of disease, we understand our need for life much like we understand our need for light only when in a dark room in the middle of a power outage. Jesus possessed the life that was the light of all mankind.

And we killed it.

The darkness in you and the darkness in me rose up and extinguished Him. (We spend a lot of time talking about the good in everyone, but why would we put so much effort into proclaiming our goodness if there wasn't actually darkness - sin - there, too?)

He was dead.

Gone.
Kaput.
Laid in a grave.

(Have you been to a funeral? Looked in a casket? Seen it prepared to be lowered into the ground? How many of those people do you see walking down the sidewalk a week or two later?)

And for two days, it looked like the darkness had overcome.

But.

But then?

Then came Easter morning.

Eve and Me

Eve gets a bad rap.

Centuries of church tradition lay a heavy portion of the blame for the first sin at the feet of the first woman.

I always thought that was a little rough. After all, where was Adam? Shirking his duty? Watching passively? Going along to get along?

A few years of marriage, however, have caused me to reevaluate my position.

I think Adam was a fairly ordinary guy (apart from the whole firstfruit-from-God's-hand thing).
A gentle man (the original gentleman!).
Content in the world God gave him.
Blissfully happy with this "woman" creature - one like him, yet so unlike.
Enjoying a happy life.
A nice guy.

Maybe something like my own husband (on a really good day. This is Eden we're talking about, after all!).

Consider the dynamics of your marriage. You know, and I know, that if there is something that we really, really want, there are ways to get it. When we set our heart on something, we could probably get our way over just about anything (whether or not it's good for us) given enough time and persistence. I don't have to tell you the tricks to wear down a husband's resolve. I don't have to list the arsenal we have at our disposal - seemingly since birth! - to influence the man next to us. It is positively frightening when you think about just how much sway we hold. Think of the line from "My Big, Fat, Greek Wedding": "The man may be the head, but the woman is the neck that turns the head!"

We can return, triumphant from the fray, with his "agreement," but as discerning women, we have to be aware of the cost of our "victory."

I've seen it. I've felt it. In my own marriage, primarily. In others' relationships, some.

Think about it. What happens when you've pushed and prodded and begged and huffed and cried and given the silent treatment?

Either he holds to his guns and keeps saying no, or he gives in and says yes.

What anguish of spirit there is in a man who desperately loves his woman and desires little more in this world than to please her, yet who cannot, in good conscience, give his wife the one thing she asks! Let's face it: most men like to please their wives. They don't go looking for ways to frustrate us or foil our goals. So when a godly man has reservations about a scheme that is a pet of his wife, it takes some serious mettle for him to hold his ground, even to the grief of his own heart. Then, we're angry, he's dejected, and we think we've both lost. If he would just give in already, we want to scream, then I would have what I want and things would be good again!

So what if he says yes?

If he really feels that to give me something would be wrong, and he says so, and I then corner him long enough that he caves, I get what I want! That was the goal, after all, wasn't it? To get the object of my desire?

A mere five and a half years of marriage have taught me to fear this outcome more than the abandonment of the object of my desire. Why? Because of what it does to my man and our relationship.

When I ask P for something that he feels he cannot, for the good of our family, our marriage, my own good, whatever, give me, he may attempt to tell me "no." If, after I pitch a fit, I get him to cave, I can see his spirit deflate.

He has set out to protect me, and he has failed.
He had desired to do the best thing, and he caved.
He was going to stand, but he's crushed.

His very manhood takes a hit, and unless I wise up quickly and repent, there will be lasting repercussions for his willingness to lead, my relationship with him, and his relationship with God.

Think of Adam: he goes from walking with God, for goodness's sake, to hiding in the bushes with shame.

We have that power, ladies!

You are a driving force in your husband/fiance/boyfriend/brother's life! You can be a source of anguish and shame for him, or you can build him up into the man you envisioned when you chose him to walk through life with you.

Don't think I'm letting Adam off the hook completely. He had some heart issues that caused him to go along with Eve's desires rather than God's. But I'm not writing to our men. I'm writing to us, ladies! Adam's short-comings don't hold the message for us today.

Oh, my sister, be very careful what you ask of your man!

And if, as you read this, you feel the stirrings of the Holy Spirit in you, listen closely.
You may be thinking of the way you've "won," but things haven't been the same between the two of you since.
You may be in the middle of an argument right now, and you can't believe he's being so stubborn about it.
You may be feeling vaguely guilty over the manipulative habits you've allowed yourself to indulge for years.
Don't wait another moment to make things right.

Give up that thing that you've elevated to a higher place than your spouse, your marriage, and the good of your family.
Repent.
Go, and be reconciled.

It's not too late.
But go now.

Don't wait til you're in a pickle like Esau: "when he desired to inherit the blessing, he was rejected, for he found no chance to repent, though he sought it with tears" (Hebrews 12:17 ESV). But rather, "now is the favorable time; behold, now is the day of salvation" (2 Corinthians 6:2).

Run - run! - toward forgiveness and blessing.

Life & Death

Proverbs 31:8
"Open your mouth for the mute, for the rights of all who are destitute." ESV
"Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves; defend the rights of all those who have nothing." NCV
"Speak out for those who cannot speak, for the rights of all the destitute." NRSV
"Open your mouth for the speechless, in the cause of all who are appointed to die." NKJV

I've avoided my Facebook newsfeed over the last week or so. With a new baby staring up at me and postnatal hormones washing over me, it's too heart-wrenching to read over and over the implications of New York's new abortion law. Then, yesterday, I read Proverbs 31, although I really only got as far as verse 8.

How do we speak out for the unborn half a continent away? Even in a democratic republic like ours, it's hard to know what to do.

Do we rant on Facebook? Sign petitions? Write blog posts? Get out to vote in the next election?

Do Facebook posts change anyone's mind? Can a list of names really sway a politician over such an agenda-driven piece of legislation? What can another piece of cyber writing do that all the ones before it haven't? What good will my future vote here do for the babies who are dying today over there?

Maybe there's another way to open our mouths.

We can mourn.
We can be broken over the wickedness in our land.
We can grieve, privately and corporately.
We can, like Nehemiah, confess our people's sin.
We can ask God's intervention for the lives of the babies, yes, but also for the women and even the men who will be destroyed by one decision.
We can pray against the deceit of the enemy in the halls of capitol buildings as well as in the consultation rooms of abortion providers.
We can gather with other believers to pray for our children and for the children of our nation. (Any takers?)

We can live lives that value life.
We can reach out to the poor and homeless.
We can support the single mom or dad near us.
We can foster and adopt.
We can be patient with the mom ahead of us in the checkout line whose toddler begins to melt down.
We can teach our children of the intrinsic value of every single human being.
We can love the special needs individual.
We can adopt a zero-tolerance policy for bullying behavior or belittling words, spoken or typed.
We can make it our business to encourage the people we come into contact with each day.
We can be courteous to the fast food worker behind the counter and to the customer service rep on the phone.
We can care for the elderly neighbor.
We can take time for family dinner.

Because this isn't just about life in the womb. This is about life in all its forms. This is about fighting tooth and nail against the devil who "comes only to steal and kill and destroy" (John 10:10 ESV). (Heaven help us if this is what it takes for the American Church to realize that... Heaven help us if the American Church doesn't realize it after this.)

This is about the kind of life that only Christ gives and only Christians can offer to a dying world - abundant life.

A Death

We had a tragedy recently in our small hometown. During a thick fog, a pedestrian was struck and killed by a motorist.

What shock for the family.

I know the breath-grabbing numbness I felt when my grandma passed away suddenly on April 21st, and she a far cry from healthy. But this was a grandmother, quite healthy, who never came back from a walk around town.

But I think I really feel for that motorist.
Imagine being the cause of such tragedy.
What agonizing heartbreak.

And in such a small town, only a few thousand people, what would it mean to rebuild a life? I don't know the legal repercussions which may yet play out, but wouldn't it be nearly impossible to start again when everyone in town knows that you are that person that hit and killed so-and-so? Even if they weren't angry, even if they viewed you with pity, wouldn't you feel forever defined by that one moment of obscured vision, of inattention?

So would you move away? Would you leave town and try to start again amongst the anonymity of the crowds of a larger city? But then, wouldn't there be that looming thought over every friendship, that once it reached a certain depth, you would need to tell them about that part of your past?

I was walking along our city sidewalks and pondering this shortly after Easter. What if, I thought, the people of this lovely city were able to reach out, not in pity or in sidelong glances, but in a realization of our own sin - both of omission and commission.

What if we all realized that our sin has caused a death, too?

That little white lie? killed someone.
That snide remark? murder.
That vengeful thought? a direct cause of a death.

Whose?

The very Son of God.

Tough Stuff

I know I haven't blogged in ages and I have been wanting to before the summer really picks up speed again. I would like to write something perky, but that hasn't been what has been going on lately, so it's hard for me to write with any heart when my mind is elsewhere. So, I've been putting it off (which isn't hard, considering everything I could be doing rather than sitting here typing). But, I guess it's time; I know I probably won't get another chance to blog for a while.

We've been walking through some tough things lately.

It's one thing to be hurt by someone who doesn't profess faith or hold to anything I hold dear, but it's a whole different sort of sucker punch when the offender is among the ranks of my Christian family.

It's one thing when it's just a single incident and I can forgive them and let it blow past, but it's a different sort of betrayal when it is ongoing, without remorse, and repetitive.

It's one thing to gather the courage to approach someone and experience reconciliation, but it's draining to have to decide again if I'm going to tackle a new offense again when I know that they won't listen, won't admit fault, and won't change again.

And it's one thing to be upset with someone far away whom I never see, but it's a different sort of beast when I see them frequently, for extended periods of time, and am under their authority.

One transgression on top of another as they proclaim Christ and his ways, and preach humility and submission to authority, and I know what's going on behind the scenes. And I watch them hurt others. And I see God's work compromised. And I can't do anything.

What is the Christ-like thing to do?

He prayed for forgiveness for His enemies from the cross.
But what does forgiveness look like in a case of unacknowledged sin? Is it acceptance? But then they are surprised when I say that something is amiss. I cannot pretend that everything is fine; it's not. But I am so tired of pushing back. I don't want to be the trouble-maker! I want things to go well; I want to be friends; I don't want to fight. I have turned the other cheek - over and over and over.

Besides, Jesus also turned the moneychangers out of the temple.
A head-on confrontation? Been there, done that. It meets with finger pointing, reversing the blame, claiming authority, and a willingness to only address the most superficial of issues. And afterwards, nothing changes.

I have wondered if maybe I was at fault.
If there were something that I could mend to make things better, I would. If I could apologize in order to fix the situation, I would. (I have.) But I can't believe with any sort of intellectual integrity that this is my fault. I've examined myself; my motives aren't always pure and I have at times responded out of anger, but this isn't to be laid at my feet.

And I watch it continue, and I see others being hurt by the same situation, and I ask God to intervene in a God-sized way.

Because I can't.

Because I have bled, labored, and wept.
But it isn't enough.
And it won't be until God shows up.

Meanwhile, I read Psalms 61, 62, and 63 and am reminded that He is the rock that is higher than I, that He will be my help, that I shall not be shaken, and that I will sing for joy in the shadow of His wings.

Self-Talk

This morning, I was leaning over, looking through my bottom cupboards for a tupperware, when the cereal box on the counter above me tipped over and rained its contents upon my head. I've sat in a waterfall, and now I've been under a cereal-fall, I guess.

But, as Honey Nut Cheerios poured forth upon my head, I realized in a single moment that I had a decision before me:
I could either be angry at the inanimate box for maliciously making a mess for me first thing in the morning,
OR
I could laugh at myself, standing there in my bathrobe with little cereal rounds plinking on the kitchen linoleum.

It reminded me of a time last week when my husband and I were in the midst of a misunderstanding and the options seemed laid before me in a similar manner - a moment when the question crystallized:
Am I going to make myself vulnerable and tell him what I'm thinking and feeling in a bid for reconciliation,
OR
Am I going to play the dramatic, wounded heroine who bears her injuries silently (albeit sullenly)?

It's hard, in a world so me-centered, to consciously push myself to the side. Yet, invariably, it's better, at least in the end.

When the idea for this blog post started to percolate in my mind, I thought it was going to be culture-directed . . . addressing the ills of the self-esteem movement, going after the poor psychology of pop-culture psychology.

But that's not the real issue.

The real issue is that I am desperately wicked.

Not flawed.

Flawed sounds nicer, but it points the finger in the wrong direction.

Think about it: if you buy a product that is flawed, whom do you blame? The manufacturer, of course. You're not going to blame the product for being made in error; you're going to take it back to the store or write the company and ask for a refund (or just complain and not do anything about it, but that's a topic for another time).

If I am flawed, then God gets the blame for making me this way. But I know that everything He makes is good, so His workmanship can't be the problem.

There's another word, not as nice as "flawed," that sheds some light on the issue.

"Sin."

Sin isn't a popular word today. In fact, I may have just gotten branded as part of the radical right for using it. But give me a second; acknowledging sin may be the kindest thing we can do for ourselves and each other.

Consider the current concept of self. We live in a day when teachers are not allowed to reprimand students or use red ink because of the harmful psychological effects it might pose. Spanking is going out of vogue as the idea of shaping and molding children gets pushed to the out-of-date column. We are told to accept people for who they are, to allow the free expression of individuality, and to affirm each person's unique bent rather than to suggest that they might be wrong or in need of change. God made us like this, we are told; appreciate it!

But, what if we are not flawed, and God didn't make us like this? What if we are sinful?

If we are sinful, we can be forgiven.
If we are sinful, we can learn to live differently.
If we are sinful, we can learn how to draw near to a holy God.
If we are sinful, we are not without hope.

I am sinful. I sin. But because I know I sin, I can ask forgiveness.

(Who asks forgiveness for sin they haven't committed?)

The most gracious (in the truest sense of the word, that is, filled with grace), hope-filled, loving thing we can do for ourselves and others is to admit that we sin, that we are in the wrong, but that God has made provision for us through Christ.
And because of all this,
we
can
change.

That's what I'm thankful for this Thanksgiving.