When the rain falls and the floods rise

Into every life a little rain must fall.

These words paraphrased from a Longfellow poem have been ringing in my ears today. It isn’t raining here, actually it’s been kind of a dry week. But I feel the rain.

Many of my friends and family are also feeling the rain today; this week holds many shades of sorrow. Friends are literally still digging out from storms that blasted a month ago. Family are tending to grief and memories of loved ones lost long enough ago that others are forgetting and still so fresh as to prick tears from those close by. Other friends sit freshly wounded at the loss of life, too soon, too sad, too shocking to describe.

Grief is so common, it could provide the one universal human experience. Everyone who loves eventually feels the pain of loss. Longfellow says it is inevitable. Into every life a little rain MUST fall. But why must it?

I want to reject it. Wall it off, don’t let it in the gates. Ward off loss at every turn and with all my defenses, I’d turn myself into the loneliest woman in the world.

I don’t have the answer to the question of why.

I don’t know why it has to hurt so much to love.

I don’t know why life ends too soon.

I just don’t know.

There is little comfort in the knowledge that others hurt, too. Surely the answer to my pain is not the pain of another. Still, Jesus said we are blessed when we mourn because we shall be comforted. Perhaps the answer is not in avoiding our pain, but in seeking to comfort each other in what we all will come to experience in time.

Comfort each other with the same comfort you have received.

-St. Paul

Finding ways to empathize may connect us in ways that heal the other rifts that divide us. If I can see you as one who grieves, I can perhaps overlook ways in which we differ. I can find a way to love those I find unlovely.

Longfellow is awfully optimistic, promising the sun is still shining behind the clouds. Sometimes it hides for so long.

I have seen the sun after a storm, its brilliance brighter than before. It is not a guarantee that the rain won’t fall again, but perhaps enough to remind me to believe.

The Rainy Day
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

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My Red Glasses

I wear them everywhere, in fact I wear them so much it has become how friends of mine find me in a crowd. I wear them on my head and they serve a great function of keeping my hair out of my face or calming that one unruly curl that wants to go in its own direction. More than a fashion statement, my red sunglasses with sparkly hearts on the earpieces are a vital and necessary part of my migraine coping system.

What many who see me and many who know me well would never suspect is that my red glasses have a secret super-power.

They are my light shield.

Light is such a great thing, it helps us see by bouncing off of things in our path and gives us pleasure in revealing different hues of paint splotched on canvas in breathtaking works of art. But light is also my nemesis.

I have chronic migraine. There are very few days when I am completely symptom free, most of my hours are dominated by either prodrome symptoms or postdrome symptoms, with migraine attacks in the middle.

My triggers are many and varied, which makes it difficult to anticipate or avoid them. Here is a partial list:
flashing/strobing light
changes in barometric pressure
change in sleep patterns
over-scheduling
food additives
food combinations
too much sugar
too much caffeine
not enough caffeine
Mondays…just kidding, but sometimes it is hard to pin down the cause.

The strategy is to avoid as many of these triggers as possible while still living a semblance of a normal life with a job, a spouse, and three beautiful children. I exercise to increase endorphin levels which helps lessen my symptoms. I try to sleep at regular times, but I also struggle with insomnia. I keep my schedule at a bare minimum whenever possible so that if something unexpected arises I will be able to absorb it without immediate breakdown. I avoid rich desserts and high-sugar foods, but I crave sweets hardcore when I am headed toward an attack. I keep my caffeine consumption at a steady level, and regularly go completely off of caffeine for periods of time in order to prevent a dependency on it to function.

Some triggers I simply cannot avoid. I live in northeast Kansas. We have weather systems that roll through regularly that send me to bed with fatigue, dizziness, and a complete inability to keep a thought in my head. I am a mom and a pastor, which means there are times that people need me that don’t fit nicely into my schedule. Sometimes I do too much. Especially on days when I feel good.

And sometimes I eat the pizza anyway, because life is short and what is one more migraine when I am going to have one later anyway?

But I digress. I was talking about my glasses. My red sunglasses that hold my hair so nicely and go with everything I wear, who possess a secret super-power. They cover my eyes when the sun is too bright on a cloudy day. They cover my eyes when someone installed a ceiling fan under a light and I have to stay in that space but want to avoid the instant nausea and dizziness. They cover my eyes when the light is the wrong frequency or has a short and blinks randomly. They are my shield against pain when I have a migraine but I have to function anyway.

Fun, cute, fierce, and one of the many coping mechanisms that make my life with chronic migraine just that much more bearable.

Coping where I can.
Honestly.
ReFreshing

Justice & Mercy Depend on a Humble Heart

A message given at Friends University Chapel, February 9th, 2017

I was born here in Kansas in a very small town south of Greensburg. If this were a joke, you might ask me, “How small was it?” To which I would reply that it was a town so small that I was born the New Year’s Baby on the first day of May. That is how I promptly lost my 15 minutes of fame, just hours after I was born, by being mentioned on the national news.

I grew up in a home where my parents were active in ministry. My dad was a pastor, my mother a pastor’s wife, then they transitioned to camping ministry where we spent the next 8 years living on the grounds at Camp Quaker Haven, just South of Arkansas City, Kansas. We moved to Wichita when I was in 3rd grade, and I attended Wichita public schools until I graduated from East High in 1997. (Go Blue Aces.)

I was always a really good student, and I left High School, and even college feeling like I knew a lot and had a good understanding of the world around me. I can’t tell you how much less I know now than I did when I graduated from High School 20 years ago. That isn’t anything new, I am sure lots of older people give you a hard time about not really knowing anything because you are young. We joke about it, but it really has been true for me that the more of life I experience, the more I learn that I still need to study and grow.

I started at my church 10 years ago. The first week I was serving my congregation, a man went on to hospice care and died. His funeral was 10 days after my first Sunday. I didn’t perform that funeral, thank the Lord there was a former minister who the family had already planned to come do the service. I got to wait a whole 9 months before my first funeral. I have now officiated at over 30 funerals. But that first death taught me something. I had no answers for this grieving widow who was old enough to be my grandmother. I had nothing to say, and wasn’t even sure how to pray or how to help. I went to her house and just sat on her couch saying nothing for almost an hour. I felt like a complete failure. She saw it differently. In the 10 years since, she has often remarked that she felt so loved and cared for because of that time I spent sitting in her living room.

I also serve as a birth doula, supporting laboring women encouraging them and helping them stay focused, to move, to breathe so that they can make progress toward their goal of having a great birth experience. Birth is such a fluid thing, it is different every time, there are no hard and fast rules of what to do or what will help every woman. What they really need is someone to be with them. Years of ministry, of walking with people through death and new life, I am convinced that one of the most important things we can do to support our fellow humans is simply to show up and be present for those life-changing moments. Presence is something that characterizes my approach to ministry. It is how I make a difference in the world.

How many of you want to make a difference? I don’t meet many people who are 100% satisfied with the way the world works, with the way people treat each other, with the health of our families, communities, and churches. There aren’t many rallies where people chant “Keep things the same! Keep things the same!” We all want to make a difference, and it can be so difficult to know how to make our mark, how to impact the world in a way that only we can as individuals.

As Christians, we want to impact the world for the kingdom, it is in our most basic prayer: your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as it is in heaven. That prayer begins to be worked out in our hearts first. Let your will be done in me as it is in heaven.
I love the verse that has been chosen for your theme this year. Micah 6:8 was one that I learned in high school and I knew it was important. In my mind as a minister, as a follower of Jesus, as someone who wants to make a difference in the world, this verse sits alongside Deuteronomy 6:5 that instructs us to love God with all our heart, soul, and essence, the verse Jesus quotes alongside Leviticus 19:18 which says to love your neighbor as yourself. These are what Jesus used as his ruler when applying the rest of the law and prophets. Love God, love neighbor as you love yourself. The same two things are emphasized in this verse.

There are three things in Micah 6:8. We are instructed to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God.

I want to talk with you this morning about humility. That doesn’t sound like a very fun topic, but I believe it is critical to understand, to practice, to possess humility if we are going to make a difference in the world.

It isn’t hard to get on board with the first two parts of that verse. Who doesn’t want justice? I want justice for myself, my family, my neighbors, my enemies. As a middle child, I am often accused of having an overdeveloped sense of fairness. I want everything to be fair. If there’s a box of 12 ice cream sandwiches, it only makes sense that everyone gets 2 in my family of 5, with 2 left over that obviously go to the parents. It’s only fair.

And we all can get on board with mercy. Who doesn’t want to be forgiven when we’ve messed up? Who doesn’t want to see the sick healed, for the world to be repaired? We like mercy, it’s something we see as a positive contributor in our lives and society in general.

Humility gets a bad rap, though, because we associate it with humiliation. We think that to be humble we have to think less of ourselves. Some very smart person once said that humility is not thinking less of ourselves, rather thinking of ourselves less! (Rick Warren)

Humility is not a bad thing, it’s just being honest about who we are and what we bring to the table.

Humility is basically this: recognizing our strengths without pride, and our weaknesses without shame.

Wouldn’t we all like this to be our state of being? Wouldn’t you like to be able to tell people about who you are without blushing or strutting? Wouldn’t you like to be able to offer your particular gifts to the world without worrying about people thinking you are being vain? Wouldn’t you like to be able to admit you are not equipped for certain tasks without being though less of? We get to that place by practicing humility.

Humility is a necessary ingredient in self-discovery, and in building true, lasting relationships. Humility allows us to ask for help as well as lend a helping hand. We can do both without worrying what people think about us. Humility takes all our anxiety about getting it wrong or being misunderstood and throws it out the window. Because humility helps us see that everyone has weak spots. Everyone gets it wrong sometimes. When you have gaps in your skills or you take a wrong path, you are not alone. It is the very definition of being human to not be infinite, to not be perfect, to fall short. The other side is also true: Everyone has strengths and something to contribute, you, your neighbor, the least of these has something to give.

That is why we have people included in the scriptures like the little boy who gave his lunch to Jesus. Jesus took his 5 dinner rolls and 2 little fish and fed 5,000. He wasn’t being proud or arrogant in offering what he had. He was just holding out the thing he possessed, with an understanding that it wasn’t enough, but he offered it anyway. When we are faced with need in the world, when we come up to a problem or a situation that needs our input, we don’t have to do everything. We just humbly give what we have and let that be combined with God’s grace and the obedience of others. We can trust God to be faithful to take what we have to give and use it for the kingdom.

There is a great children’s book by Max Lucado called Your Special Gift. It tells the story of a town of folks who have a special relationship with their creator. One morning they all wake up to find they have been given gifts. These gifts all have a function, one gets a hammer, another a pallet and set of paints, the Baker gets a spoon, the Florist a beautiful vase, you get the picture. Later that day, a family limps into town, their wagon broken, their spirits low. They had an accident while on the road to meet the creator. Everyone in town gets to work to help them, but they all just do the first thing they see. The mayor’s wife tries to cook the family a meal, the Baker tries to fix the wagon wheel, someone brings clothes that don’t fit. It’s a disaster. Everyone is yelling, nothing is working, the food is burnt and cold. Then they all start again, each one using their gift to help. The tailor uses his needle and thread, the artists paint the wagon, the Mayor’s wife tells the children a story, the Baker brings them food, and the guy with the hammer fixes the wheel.

The story comes to it’s peak with these words spoken by the creator: “Just do the most what you do the best.”

So much of our ability to make a difference hinges on our ability to know what our unique part is. Paul talks about the church as the body of Christ. It is one of his most used analogies for what it means to work together. He says that we can’t expect everyone to be exactly the same or serve in the same way. We are all different and have different roles to play, jobs to do if the body is going to function. How are we going to know what our role is if we can’t look objectively at our strengths and weaknesses? If we want to make a difference, and we want to be able to do that well, we need to start practicing humility so that we know where we fit!

Humility is a pre-requisite for both Justice and Mercy.

Without humility, our attempts at Justice and Mercy turn into well-intentioned ego boosters. We find ourselves engaging in justice and mercy because it makes us feel superior. It stokes our pride.

When we try to practice Justice without humility. We can find ourselves walking into a situation where things are out of balance, and we instantly become Judge, Jury, and Executioner. Without humility, we have no empathy or compassion. We are instantly above it all. It is up to us to solve the problem, without asking for help, without asking those in the situation what needs to happen.

When I talk about this, trust me I have experience. I have been a parent for 13 years. I am currently parenting a teen, a tween, and a preschooler. You can’t know how many times I have walked into a room where things were happening and immediately brought the hammer down! Without asking questions, I assessed the situation, I knew who the culprit was, I knew what they had done and how much time they would do as a result. And you don’t know how many times I have been dead wrong. It happens to the best of us. Maybe you don’t have kids, maybe you won’t ever have kids. That is great. But you may still find yourself in a situation like this where you have authority and need to use it wisely.

Humility is what allows us to practice the Servant Leadership that Jesus calls us to when we are in positions of privilege or authority. Jesus said “You know that the rulers in this world lord it over their people, and officials flaunt their authority over those under them. But among you it will be different. Whoever wants to be a leader among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first among you must be the slave of everyone else. For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve others and to give his life as a ransom for many.” Mark 10:42-45

If you want to make a difference, it means setting aside making a name for yourself.
Paul tells the church to submit to one another out of reverence for Christ, seeking the good of others over our own. He says, Look not to your own interests, but instead to the interests of others. Philippians 2:4

We need to serve others, but we need to make sure we aren’t doing it for ourselves. We have to be careful not to swoop into the room as the Rescuer! Acting in the role of rescuer puts all the focus on us and how we will save all those poor, poor people who can’t save themselves. When it is about us being rescuers, we totally pass right over the resources of people who we label “victim.” I have a very good friend, Sue, who told me a story a couple of weeks ago. She was at the post office and there was a man in a wheelchair who needed some help with his stamps. She took them and peeled them off their backing, placing one edge of the stamp on each of the envelopes, leaving the rest of the stamp for the man to stick down on his own. She recognized that he had the ability to smooth down the stamps and only needed help getting them in position. The man was tearful with gratitude that she recognized his ability and allowed him the dignity of doing what he was able.

If I were in her shoes that day, I would probably have stuck the stamps down and maybe even put them in the mail slot. It would not have occurred to me to leave him a job to do. Sue has an advantage over me, in this regard. She raised an autistic son, and works in advocacy for autism awareness and support for parents of special needs children. Sue helped me see that our good intentions don’t save us from making people feel like we don’t value them.

Humility empowers others.

One way to avoid making a complete wreck out of a messy situation is to take a step back and ask some questions.

Humility is required to listen, to learn, to see through the eyes of another. If we want to take real action that leads to justice, and improves the lives of others we need to take inventory. What do we really know about the situation? What do we still need to learn? What are our strengths? What is beyond our ability? What is missing?

We need to talk to those we are seeking to empower. What are their strengths? What do they bring to the table? Where do they need help? One big clue is: Where are they asking for help? Too often, we walk in with a solution in hand and never bother to ask those we are trying to help about their ideas for solutions. If we will do this simple thing of taking inventory then we can begin to piece together a picture of how our strengths might overlap with their areas of need. Then we can understand how we can work together and encourage or empower them to use their own resources. It takes humility to empower, cooperate and not simply rescue.

Robert Lupton wrote a book called Toxic Charity, in it he takes apart our typical Western Christian approach to helping those who are in need. He talks about why we often rescue instead of building relationships. First of all it is easier to swoop in with a solution and swoop out again. Second it makes us feel good about ourselves. The one we help is often left with no long-term plan to maintain what we’ve just brought into their life, and are left holding the bag when whatever help we have given runs out. Relationships have to supersede our instinct to rescue. It may require more of an investment on our part and it will take more time, but it will also produce more and better fruit in the long run.

Humility recognizes that our resources have limits, we have our own weak spots.
Do you remember Jesus’s story about the man who was concerned about his neighbor? She had this problem, there was a speck in her eye. The man was so worried about her, about how the speck was affecting her family, her church, her community involvement. He worried about it night and day, until he decided to go help her. He took over a first aid kit with antibiotic drops and tweezers, surgical gloves, the works. When he rang her doorbell and told her his plan, she slammed the door in his face. He had a bigger problem, he had a tree branch stuck in his eye.

We all have areas of our lives where things are not right. We need to seek healing for ourselves before we can truly help others. When we discover areas where we need to seek justice or empowerment for ourselves. Just like before we need to inventory our strengths. What can I do about my situation? We need to look around and see who is near me that I can recruit to help? Have you ever been in a situation where you needed help and you were too afraid to ask for it? Why was that? Why are we so scared of admitting we are not perfect? Usually it is because we don’t want people to think poorly of us. It takes humility to admit we have a need and ask for help!

Without humility, it’s all about us. It’s all about ego. It’s all about pride.

Humility is the bedrock of mercy.

When we talk about mercy, I don’t know if we have a good understanding of what it means. In some cases, mercy refers to a person in a position of power not punishing a person who deserves it. In other contexts, mercy refers to binding up the wounds of the injured and tending to the sick. The definition really encompasses both of those meanings when we use our position and strengths to help others regardless of the reason they are suffering.

Many times when we think about mercy, we immediately associate it with forgiving those who have wronged us. When we have been hurt by someone, it is so easy to shut down the relationship or to become martyrs to try to save it. Neither one is healthy. We need humility to see the situation as it is. Humility helps us recognize our part in conflict, and to recognize what is not our part. If we can’t distinguish between what we are responsible for and what we are not responsible for, we can find ourselves taking on way too much or way too little of the blame.

It takes humility not to hate. When someone has wronged us, it is so easy to write them off and never talk to them again. But cutting someone off does not heal our hearts. Forgiveness recognizes that what they did was hurtful and wrong, but by forgiving, we decide not to make them pay for it. Sometimes we do have to put distance between the other person and ourselves, especially if there is a pattern of abusive behavior. We can still choose to forgive, but we also choose not to put ourselves in a place of being repeatedly abused. We can’t fix other people. It takes humility not to enable.

Humility is also required to seek forgiveness and mercy for ourselves as well. We have to step back and recognize that we didn’t handle that conversation, that interaction well. We need to apologize and ask forgiveness of the one we wronged. It is easy to come up with a list of things that other person did to provoke us, but as I tell my kids, just because they were in the wrong does not give you the right to join them.

Mercy toward the hurting requires humility in order to be healing.

Practicing mercy without humility can turn us into the martyr. Martyrdom looks really good from some angles. It looks really selfless, but reality sets in when we find ourselves talking about how much we’ve given up, how many sleepless nights we’ve spent tending to the needs of others. We may even brag about how we have worn ourselves thin and what we’ve sacrificed. When we do this we guilt everyone around us for asking for help. We guilt others over their sacrificial service that is less-than-ours.

Working in the church, I see this happen, and what it breeds is bitterness, resentment, and a sense of entitlement. This last one is really dangerous, because it leads to well-intentioned people making really bad decisions on how they will spend church money, how they will use church resources, and what vices they will indulge in because they have worked so hard, been so unappreciated, and they deserve a break. Service that should be done out of love becomes a score board where everything we do is measured against everybody else’s service, and whether we get enough recognition and applause.

These score boards show up in other ways when we try to practice mercy without humility. We find ourselves broadcasting our good deeds. Jesus talked about it by referring to men who would literally throw a parade with trumpets to announce when they were bringing their offering to the temple. Humility means not tweeting out that you are being generous. No Facebook posts or Instagram pics of our awesome service. Let’s face it, our service may not be much, but we will make sure everyone knows about that $5 we gave to the hungry or the hour we spent at the soup kitchen.
Once again, it becomes all about us, all about ego, all about pride. We need humility so that our service can be genuine, out of love, out of concern for the needs of others and not our own reputation.

When people are hurting around us, we desperately need to be humble. Have you ever been suffering and had someone say something that was just so insensitive? Don’t be that person! I can tell you from personal experience that when you are hurting it is better for others to say nothing than the wrong thing. I’ve experienced pregnancy loss three times. People say things like “God needed another little angel in heaven.” Or they say “If the baby would have lived, it would have had disabilities.” None of those thoughts are helpful. It takes humility to say, “I have no idea what you might be feeling.” Or “I have no idea what you need right now, but I want to be here for you.” We need humility not to be trite or patronizing.

When we say these things, it is usually because we feel awkward and we’ve heard someone else say something similar. But patting people on the head and telling them everything’s going to be alright doesn’t make anyone feel better, except maybe ourselves. It is so much better to simply sit and say nothing. Just be there. It’s not about whether you have something brilliant to say that will make their pain better. It’s about your presence.

Humility is not a matter of putting yourself down. It is a matter of seeing yourself with the eyes of truth. Humility gives us the ability to practice radical honesty about who we are, about where we fall short, about where we excel. In every job interview you ever attend, you will be asked two questions: What strengths do you have? What weaknesses do you have? If for no other reason than this, you need to learn to look at yourself with some level of objectivity.

“The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”
― Frederick Buechner, Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC

If you are going to make a difference in the world you need to know who you are. You need to have a radically honest conversation with God, with those close to you about your strengths and weaknesses. You can’t do everything. No one can do everything. But you have something that you do well. What do you have to offer the world? When you answer this question, you can raise your hand to volunteer with confidence. You can say no to things that do not fit with your skills and talents with grace instead of excuses. You can take your unique talents and by playing the part designed just for you, you might just change the world.

An open heart in the face of grief

Pregnant women experience spotting all the time, and everything turns out fine. The voice of denial did it’s best to keep panic at bay. I struggled through prayers of bargaining, and anger at my body for the biggest betrayal I’d ever experienced. All the stages of grief cycled again and again, but I always came back to denial in those early days.

Not denial of facts, but denying myself the experience of emotions I was sure would overwhelm me. My heart was locked down tight.

What else could I do? I had just announced to my church elder board that I was pregnant the week before. I had responsibilities at church on Sunday. My family of three was headed out of state on Monday to our Pastor’s Retreat, which I still felt strange attending as just an associate pastor.

I didn’t have time to fall apart. I didn’t want to feel all the pain, and loss, and grief. Other people needed me to be strong. And it felt as though God wasn’t answering my prayers. I wasn’t particularly interested in anything He had to say, either, so I guess it was mutual.

The bleeding continued as I packed the car, as I preached in church, as we took family pictures of all things. One of the Elders, a woman, noticed something was wrong and asked me if I had lost the baby. I nodded. She cried. I didn’t.

We went to our Pastor’s Retreat, I pasted on a half-smile and determined not to talk to anyone about anything serious. Keep it light. Skim the surface. Bury it deep.

I’m not sure why it was that I wandered out into the common area during our free time. Husband and toddler napping, I thought I would try to journal a bit. As I sat, a woman I’d never met struck up a conversation. I don’t know how it happened, but I told her everything. Not sure what to expect, I certainly didn’t think she’d tell me that she had also suffered pregnancy loss, three times.

It was a comfort, knowing I was not alone, that life really could continue. When I went back to my journal, there was a prompt in my spirit that I needed to grieve. I desperately did not want to do any such thing. The impression was unmistakable “If you do not grieve this loss, you claim that it had no value.”

When we value things and lose them, we grieve. We may not like it, but that is the way life is. By refusing to grieve, we deny that what was lost had value. By refusing to be affected, we deny that what was lost had any impact on our existence. I could not allow that. This tiny life had lived for such a brief time, the only impact it could have was on me. I would not rob this life of meaning.

So I grieved. I opened the doors of my heart and let the pain in, and let the pain out.

And it was worth every tear, and sob, and sigh.

Brené Brown says that we cannot selectively numb our pain. When we shut down we shut out everything, including joy. It is better to live with an open heart and some pain than to live without pain and also without joy.

This pregnancy loss happened in May of 2005. I had a subsequent loss in August of 2005, and another over Memorial Day weekend 2011. Each loss was its own journey through pain, acceptance, and healing. I had to choose every time to open my heart and feel the loss when by my own habit and nature I would have avoided and stuffed those feelings down deep.

If you are experiencing grief, or if you never gave yourself permission to grieve a secret loss, give yourself permission to open your heart. You will not heal with it closed off, and you will find that joy is dulled and life loses it’s color. It will hurt. But it will not hurt forever, at least not with the same sting.

I still feel sad when I think of the losses we experienced, of wanted babies. It does not overwhelm me, though, with tidal force waves of grief. I have walked on, and I have delivered two healthy babies since that first loss, for a total of three. I have had 6 pregnancies, and 3 live births.

Not everyone’s story ends like mine. I have a beautiful friend who is expecting baby number 8 in June, she has her own stories of loss. I have a brave and wonderful friend who, unable to conceive, has chosen adoption. I know families who have chosen not to have children, those who have chosen adoption over producing biological children, and those who are still charting their course. Wherever you are on this journey of life and family, I hope you choose to walk bravely forward with an open heart. You may experience loss and grief, but you will also encounter moments of exquisite joy that you may have otherwise missed.

An Open Heart
ReFreshing

The Question that Changes Everything

Most of us walk through life thinking what we see is a reflection of reality. Our opinions are based on real, factual, objective observation and they are right!

But wait…

What if you don’t have all the information?
What if you don’t see things clearly?
What if you are actually just picking up opinions someone else dropped in front of you?
How can you tell?

I don’t imagine that many of us wake up every morning ready to apply the scientific method to our daily routine. Do we research our toothpaste? What about that brushing technique? No, most of us wave off any thought of wasting our precious time on what we are sure is good enough, even if it isn’t perfect.

Have you fallen into a routine where you always drive the same way to work? Do you always order the same thing from that restaurant you always go to? Are you watching the same news anchors and commentators day in and day out? Maybe it’s time for a change.

I want to share with you one simple question that has made the biggest impact in my life. It has changed my opinions, caused me to do a little more digging in regard to things I take for granted, and it even changed the way I drive across town.

Are you ready?

(No that wasn’t the question!)

What if I’m wrong?

There it is, the question that changes everything. What if I’m wrong, about this toothpaste? About the situation in the Middle East? About my politics or my parenting?

I like to think I am always right. Who doesn’t? Admitting I’m wrong is uncomfortable, and really, let’s face it, I just hate it! But the truth is that I very rarely see the situation, the issue, the product, from every angle. There is almost always something I’m missing, and guess what–That is ok!

I’m human. You are human. We are limited in our understanding!

No one has all the right answers, there isn’t a cheat sheet to life. So give yourself a break and start learning to assume that there is a remote possibility that you are not 100% right all the time!

What if I’m wrong? What if you are wrong? What more do I need to know, see, do, experience in order to get a better handle on this?

Wisdom is not always having all the right answers, it is instead the ability to recognize both what information we have and what we still need to learn in order to make the right choices.

Seeing things clearly,
How ReFreshing!

Everybody Grieves

Today I officiated my 30th funeral.

It’s really a milestone I never considered as I started in my first solo pastor position ten years ago. As a 27-year-old mother of almost two at the time, birth was on my mind ever so much more than death. Regardless, I narrowly missed preaching my first funeral less than 2 weeks after my first Sunday in my new church. Thankfully the family had already planned for a former minister to come for the service.

I’ve had years of no funerals, and a 12 month period in which I performed 10. There is no predicting how many times I will serve in this way, nor whose family I will sit with next as we attempt to honor a 60, 70, 80 year life in a span of 30 minutes of memories, eulogies, scriptures and songs. It can be heart breaking.

It can also be uplifting as I listen to family members laugh at their loved one’s quirks, smiling at their bossiness, forgetfulness, tardiness, or other trait that in life annoyed them. Now those family members cherish even the most irksome habits.

img_0095In a society that goes out of its way to ignore death, put it off, and pretend it only happens to other people, I need to tell you that everybody grieves. Sooner or later there will be a day when you grieve the loss of a loved one. I have grieved more than I could ever have thought possible in these past 10 years. I need to tell you that it’s ok to mourn.

There is no time limit on grief, no amount of days or months in which you are required to be over the loss you suffered. You will find that life continues to go on. Without your permission the clock still ticks. The sun sets only to rise again on days when you feel darkness would be a better accompaniment to your pain. But no one asks you if it is ok for light to come seeping in at the corners.

The waves of sudden sadness crash in at the most unexpected times, when you see someone who reminds you of the one you lost. A memory, a smell, a song might send you rushing from the room to dry your tears. Don’t listen to the voices in your head or from others who will say you are being ridiculous. Tears are a sign of love.

Pain from loss is a signal that you are missing something precious. You would not grieve if you did not cherish what was lost. If you felt no pain, would you be claiming they had no value?

Or perhaps the person died leaving pain of a different kind in their wake. They caused real harm, and never made amends. The hurt of that loss can persist even longer.

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If you grieve today, know that you are not alone. Grief is as much a part of life as the celebration of birth. It is inseparable from our human existence. Look at the people around you, either they have experienced grief or they will. And you can be guaranteed that it will not be on their preferred time-table.

So cry your tears, laugh at the memories, share your pain with people who love you.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will receive comfort.” – Jesus

Acknowledging our common experience.
How ReFreshing.

 

 

Empty Hands

We don’t know what to do with prayer sometimes. We’ve heard so many different perspectives from fatalistic ones that claim prayer is only an act of obedience that doesn’t change anything to entitled views that we can demand what we want and it will happen. I’m not that old, but I’m old enough to have experienced both unexpected abundant blessings as well as heartbreak following prayer that exhausted every cell in my body.

Right now this topic of prayer is so relevant to my life and the lives of people I love dearly. What do you say to the mother who has lost a child in a tragic accident? What do you say to the family in an ongoing battle with cancer? Or the friend who is staring death in the face? And how do you pray when you know that God heals, but not always.

Recently, I spoke with a friend with her own concerns who gave me her take on prayer. She said she prays to the God of miracles, recognizing that God is at work in the details, asking for faith both to trust and to act. I needed that reminder, and the conversation that allowed me to clarify my own thoughts on how to pray in the face of the impossible.

When Jesus prayed facing the impossible–a tortuous death, even with the promise of resurrection is incomprehensible–he first poured out his heart. He asked that if there was any other path, any other way, anything else would be preferable. God if there is any way for healing to come, if there is a way for you to supernaturally heal, if there is a way for this person to receive healing medicine, if there is any other way, let’s do that. Let’s walk the path of healing and restoration, please, that is my heart’s desire.

Then, Jesus says something else, “Not my will, but yours be done.”

When some read these words and pray them, it feels like a cop-out. It feels like giving up or not investing in the outcome, and it can be. Simply praying “thy will be done” can be a way for us to pass the buck, but it can be a supreme act of faith as well. We can say those words with a heart that trusts God’s perspective is greater than ours. We can trust that God’s healing sometimes comes in a release from suffering. We can trust that when our circumstances are full of pain, God is still good. “Thy will be done” can be “God I trust that you are good. I trust you to work good in this situation. I trust you to bring life where there seems only death.”

But I’m not Jesus.

Sometimes I have to follow that with “And help my unbelief.” My faith has room to grow. My trust has room to expand into areas that are unsteady. My belief is not 100% of what it could be. I won’t lie to you and pretend to have it all together. This is a struggle.

Paul didn’t have it all together, either, even as he penned much of the New Testament. He said it himself, “Not that I have already obtained all of this or have already been made perfect…” (Philippians 3:12) But his determination was to press forward into the circumstances that would bring growth.

This is where I stand: trusting, while asking for more faith; loving, when that love brings risk; praying my heart’s desire even when the outcomes are not guaranteed.

For me this honesty brings peace and rest in my soul.
And that’s ReFreshing.