I saw a Marine addressing a circle of friends who obviously weren’t in the military. By his gesticulations, I assume a story was being told. His animated gestures spoke of excitement and enthusiasm and experiences. By the looks on the faces of those around him, they were impressed but also a bit confused. I’ve seen that face before. I tell someone about an experience and it doesn’t connect at all. They try to be polite, but then silence ensues… and a change of topic. There will always be those who don’t understand.

There are things about my life that I wish were different, like that every-female-struggle with reality versus the airbrushed look on the cover of most magazines or the wish for the creativity of Joanna Gaines. There are things I wrestle with about my personhood and identity. There will always be struggles with measuring up when I compare myself with others.

But there are also more deeply rooted things like broken relationships and health struggles. There are regrets and desires and dreams. There will always be longings for more, for better, for wholeness.

Sometimes the messages that the world pushes are like waves crashing over me. I scramble to get out from under one only to be tumbled by the next, unrelenting in their consistency. I wish that I could stop my ears just for a moment and ponder what is true and good. There will always be longings for peace.

I know that those longings can only be fulfilled in one place. Our hearts find rest in only one way. Psalm 46:10 Be still, and know that I am God. Cease striving. Stop scrambling for all the things that this world tells you will fill your heart with contentment. This whole world will never be enough. Physical strength fails. Relationships disappoint. Beauty fades. Pleasures dwindle. But “we shall be satisfied with the goodness of your house, the holiness of your temple!” Psalm 65:4b And so I remember that there will always be hope.

It caught me off guard. Maybe it was because they were the few words that I understood out of the mass of Portuguese, or maybe I stopped trying to understand because those jumped out at me. “Good Father.” I know that to be true. He has shown me in so many ways His care for me and His mercy to me. But, there are still times that I forget. I think I am missing something. I think that things should be different. I think I know better.

When we come before God in prayer, so often it is with high sounding words. Almighty and Everlasting God… Omnipotent and Holy One… Lord of Hosts… Alpha and Omega… Risen Son… The Bright and Morning Star… Gracious and Merciful… Lord of Heaven and Earth…  All these titles are right and true, and it is so important to see God as such.

But He is also my Glory and the Lifter of my head (Psalm 3:3) And when I lift my eyes and see Him, I realize that He is also my Bom Pai. My Good Father. When I come to Him as such, I can trust that the things that I leave in His hands are well taken care of.

Photo by Derek Thomson on Unsplash

Thirty years ago, I fasted, prayed and cried out to God to heal my husband, Scott. He was dying, attached to life support, unconscious. So many in the church said, “Pray with faith for complete healing. God can’t possibly mean for your young husband and father of your three month old son to die. There will be great triumph and glory to His name when you see the healing!” Well, it’s a dangerous place to think you know what God is thinking and how he will act. It is presumption and arrogance.  Also, it hurts when He doesn’t do what you want him to. I put Him in a box and He didn’t fit. So the box broke. I, along with his parents, had to make the decision to take Scott off life support and watch him die.

After that time, it took a while to be able to pray. I didn’t trust God. I had been duped into the prosperity gospel-ish thinking that God owed me. I did all the right things. So He should keep up His end of the bargain. What a small God I said I was worshiping! In reality I was worshiping the image of what I thought God should be.

In his mercy, the Lord didn’t keep me in that place long. I kept reading the scriptures and my trust in who God truly is, that I learned by reading His word instead of just going by what other people said, began to grow. I saw Him as not just omnipotent and righteous but also good.

It’s funny how we humans tend to have to learn the same lesson over and over again. An engineer friend of mine once likened it to learning math. We start learning addition by learning that 1+1=2, but soon we add with more decimal places and then with unknown numbers and pretty soon it’s with polynomials. But at the core, it’s still addition. In the same way, we learn to trust God and trust that He is good. We learn to trust Him with different situations.

I am now facing another situation in which I feel like I have (mostly) done the right things, at least I have done the best I knew to do, but the situation seems hopeless. I struggle with feeling like God owes me, feeling like if I pray about this, will I get another “no?” But I am learning to pray and each time, open my hand and say, “Lord, do as you please. This is my heart’s cry, but You are Lord. And You know best.”

So yes, sometimes it hurts to pray. We want a particular answer and we don’t know if that’s the one that the Lord will give. But it hurts more to resent that I don’t always get things my own way. It hurts more to be mad at God. And ultimately, I don’t really want what He doesn’t want for me.

Psalm 84:11-12
For the Lord God is a sun and shield; the Lord bestows favor and honor.
No good thing does he withhold from those who walk up rightly.
O Lord of hosts, blessed is the one who trusts in you!

Photo by Brennan Martinez on Unsplash

Today I saw a young Marine standing at parade rest, because that was how he was most comfortable. He was standing a ways off from the rest of the crowd, his eyes scanning, hoping to see a familiar face. It eluded him. The others around him were laughing and hugging, congratulations flying back and forth, everyone together reuniting. He stood alone.

Those of us who saw him wanted to just hug him. We were all moms of different ages, some of us new moms with toddlers playing in the grass and some of us having adult children living hours away. But either way, there was a tug in every mama’s heart.

I don’t know the back story. I don’t know why this young man was alone unexpectedly. But I know he didn’t want to be. None of us want to be. We want to be part of something. We want to belong. That’s why so many join the military. But even in the midst of being a part of something bigger than ourselves we can still be alone, feeling all the more the lonely for the crowd around us.

Isaiah 49:15-16 Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. Behold I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.

Lord, help us to remember that You will never leave us nor forsake us. When I feel beaten up by the world and alone in the midst of the laughing crowd, remind me that, as your chosen one, You will always hold me in the palms of your nail scarred hands.

Photo credit: Free photo 109891121 © creativecommonsstockphotos – Dreamstime.com

In my past two houses, I really tried to have a bird feeder. It is a calming thing to me to have these little creatures flitting to and fro seeming not to have a care in the world. But they just wouldn’t come. So when I put up my not so new bird feeder at this new house, I was thrilled when one by one the birds started coming. First sparrows arrived, then a nuthatch or two. Chickadees and finches soon followed. And today I even saw two woodpeckers approach.

But most of the time, it’s just sparrows. Plain and brown. That is kind of how I have seen myself a lot of time. Plain Jane (that’s even my middle name). There is nothing so fancy about me, no special red on my head, like the woodpecker. I can’t eat upside down like the nuthatch. I have no striking color contrast like the chickadee. But the sparrows are always there, and I am noticing a bit more of their personality. They can be territorial and grumpy. They get puffed up and full of themselves. Well, maybe my analogy gets a little lost there. But they do puff up. And that reminds me that I puff myself up too. They like to eat (guilty as charged). And they like company. There are so many of them and again, so normal, so average, so plain… just like me.

I think Jesus thought them ordinary too. In Matthew chapter 10, he said that they are sold two for a penny. That’s not very valuable in a worldly sense. But He doesn’t see things the way we do. He goes on to say in verse 28 of that chapter that not one of them will fall to the ground outside the will of the Father. He says that the sparrows matter to Him. And how much more do we, the pinnacle of creation, matter. He counts the very hairs on our head! He sent his Son to die on the cross so that His children could be washed clean and share in the righteousness of the Perfect One. Why? Why this sparrow? The only thing I can do in response is worship.

Our society values productivity, independence and occupation. We see it in how we greet one another:

“How are you doing?”   “Busy!” or even “Crazy busy!”

That is the norm, the expected. This is a conversation starter. But it is more than that. It is an indicator of what we look to for our identity and worth.

But there will come a point in time in everyone’s life when “doing” stops, maybe sooner, maybe later, maybe for just a short stint or a long while. But one day we will have to be quiet with ourselves. When we are still and quiet, where does our mind go?

Past regrets? Future anxieties?

Who are we in the quiet when we don’t put on the mask for others?

Who are we when our productivity dwindles? Is our identity rooted in what we have been “doing?”

Where do we go?

May we, like Simon Peter, say, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.” (John 6:68)

Go to the Word, where we find the precious promises of God. If we are rooted and grounded in our identity as blood-bought children, beloved of our Father God, we can rest. And like Jean Sophia Pigott, the hymn writer who was born in Ireland during the Great Famine:

Jesus! I am resting, resting

In the joy of what Thou art;

I am finding out the greatness

Of Thy loving heart.

We can trust.

Simply trusting Thee, Lord Jesus,

I behold Thee as Thou art,

And Thy love, so pure, so changeless,

 Satisfies my heart,

Satisfies its deepest longings,

Meets, supplies its every need,

Compasseth me round with blessings,

 Thine is love indeed.

We can know that our situation and our worth don’t depend on career, vocation, relationships, acquisitions, productivity, physical prowess or beauty or any of the things we run to, the things that the world around us tells us will give us worth. But rather, when we discard the worthless rags of our own working and doing and are clothed in Christ’s work and righteousness, our Abba Father, Daddy God, looks at us as the apple of His eye and says, “This is my child, whom I love.”

And that is enough.