Devoted to the Downhearted

Starting a thank you note with an excerpt from a manual on drowning seemed strange but I did it anyway.  December was a difficult month and I was grateful God sent people to love on me. I wanted to send a thank you note that meant something.  A sermon by Pastor Tim  Dilena on faith convicted me so deeply that I find myself writing about it for the third time.  As 2013 comes to an end, New Year’s messages abound.  Pitiably, New Year’s resolutions are being dragged off the blood sucking heap of futility, to be recycled, repolished and reattempted.  It irks me. 

Truth be told, I am looking for a New Year’s message that holds more significance than slender thighs.  Despite my deep desire for the aforementioned appendages, there is something I needed  more in 2013.  Hope.  Though I pray 2014 will be radically different, I suspect I will need hope again.

Until recently, I would not have looked for the desperate and drowning in the pews of our churches.  I spent my life in the church and grew up believing those within its walls were safe and happy and those without were lost and hurting.  Not quite.  The life of a believer is fraught with trials.  God fearing saints often experience painful circumstances and can become overwhelmed at their intensity. 

Paul writes,

 ^8-11 We don’t want you in the dark, friends, about how hard it was when all this came down on us in Asia province. It was so bad we didn’t think we were going to make it. We felt like we’d been sent to death row, that it was all over for us. (2 Cor 1:8-10 The Message)

An article in the Coast Guard’s On Scene magazine describes drowning.  (This is difficult, stay with me, we will end up somewhere positive I promise.)

Except in rare circumstances, drowning people are physiologically unable to call out for help. The respiratory system was designed for breathing. Speech is the secondary or overlaid function. Breathing must be fulfilled, before speech occurs.

The mouths of drowning people are not above the surface of the water long enough for them to exhale, inhale, and call out for help. When the drowning people’s mouths are above the surface, they exhale and inhale quickly as their mouths start to sink below the surface of the water.

Drowning people cannot wave for help.  Physiologically, drowning people who are struggling on the surface of the water cannot stop drowning and perform voluntary movements such as waving for help, moving toward a rescuer, or reaching out for a piece of rescue equipment.(Source: On Scene Magazine: Fall 2006  : On Scene Magazine: Fall 2006 (page 14))

Do you know Dear Heart, that as you worshiped this morning; chances are strong that someone near you was drowning?  If you asked them how they were doing, they would have been unable to explain for the hundredth time, what the Lord is doing with their family.  Someone in church was without the strength to respond to one more altar call having gone forward three times in a row without seeing their prodigal return. Someone fasted for a loved one only to have their prayers lay wet and unanswered at their feet.  The breath to read scripture and believe it had gone; eclipsed by trials and suffering they never anticipated.   At times we are frightened, overwhelmed and needing a helping hand.

Let me now quote a far superior lifesaving manual,

                ¹⁹ So shall they fear the name of the Lord from the west, and his glory from the rising of the sun. When the enemy shall come in like a flood, the Spirit of the Lord shall lift up a standard against him. Isaiah 59:19

I think unanswered prayer is one of the most difficult trials to experience within our North American churches.  To hold onto faith, I scoured the writings of Christendom and found the writings that helped me most were written before the 1900’s.   There I found reassurance that spirit filled believers struggle and are faced with trials they are unable to overcome on their own.

How wonderful God promises to rescue his children. 

The righteous person may have many troubles, but the LORD delivers him from them all; Psalm 34:19

Paul goes on to explain,

As it turned out, it was the best thing that could have happened. Instead of trusting in our own strength or wits to get out of it, we were forced to trust God totally—not a bad idea since he’s the God who raises the dead! And he did it, rescued us from certain doom. And he’ll do it again, rescuing us as many times as we need rescuing. You and your prayers are part of the rescue operation—I don’t want you in the dark about that either. I can see your faces even now, lifted in praise for God’s deliverance of us, a rescue in which your prayers played such a crucial part. (2 Cor 1:8-10 The Message)

I wish I were a real writer.  Then I could share with you the sense of dismay at having followed God into a dark and frightening place.  Perhaps my words are not necessary, because you visited this valley yourself.  If I could explain the tears I cried over unanswered prayer, you might understand the relief that comes when someone brings a word of encouragement.  The hours spent wrestling over the sovereignty of God, His ability to redeem, His plans when human hope is extinguished; even these monsters sing God’s praise when help arrives. 

May I encourage you, as you consider the New Year, to join the Lord in is work to lift up the downhearted?  It is not as difficult as it sounds.  How many times has the Holy Spirit laid a person on your heart, for you to find out later they were struggling?  Have you ever heard of an unsettling incident befalling a friend, only to realize the Lord brought them to your mind just days before?  Did you send a note, text, email or card?  Such acts may seem small and insignificant but for one in the dark night of the soul it is life and relief.

Be extravagant with your encouragement this year and stingy with your critiques.  Send a quick note, offer a loving word, and tell someone you were praying for them.  You could well be the answer to someone’s prayer.  Instead of focusing on egg whites, caloric content and chubby body parts in 2014 seek first the kingdom of God and focus on the body of Christ.  I assure you, you will be more blessed devoting yourself to her beauty rather than your own. 

May God bless you richly this coming year,

KB
Pastor Tim Dilena's sermons are on the Brooklyn Tabernacle website.  He speaks about ministering to those around us who are drowing.  Anything here that seems insightful definitely came from his work.  

Peace or Pirates

I think there are a set of rules for blogs.  I don’t know any of them, but I figure that at the very least, people who write “Christian” blogs don’t write about their friend’s mistakes.   They are holy people who confess their own sins knowing that the Lord is watching their behavior and reading their blog entries.

Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.
James5:16                                                                                                                                                                                    

But, I am convinced that sharing my friend’s mistakes helps develop their character. Where is the fun in exposing myself as a twit if I can’t have company? At this point, I want to introduce you to my dear friend, Lydia.
 
I love Lydia deeply.  She is a wonderful human being and a desert friend.  Do you have a desert friend?  Someone who has seen you through a crisis, whose heart is knitted to yours?  No matter when you last spoke, you can still pick up where you left off with no complications?  That is my Lydia.

Lydia has been through more trials than I in the past three and half years, which is saying a lot.  Her extended family is a collection of dysfunctional individuals who try to force her into the role of ringmaster.  Though she turned down their job offer, she has followed the Lord into the valley of the shadow which has meant following the circus and cleaning up.  She has fulfilled every task Jesus laid at her feet.  It has been breathtaking to watch. 

Faithfully, she has cared for an incapacitated relative, ailing parents and her own family.   She has spent more time in hospitals than any of my other friends combined.  Over two years she has endured three major medical procedures, one month bed rest, lost two parents, five cup sizes, one herniated disc and half of her sanity.  There was a  partridge in a pear tree somewhere, but I suspect he was eaten.  

My profound affection for Lydia might be why we were both shocked when I started screaming at her.  To be fair, I did warn her I was going to yell and she didn't leave me a lot of options.  I received her email two seconds before I called her mobile.  “An email,” I shrieked.  “You are sending me information like that in an email?  And why didn’t you tell me sooner?  I was at your house at least three times in the past two weeks.  What are you doing, taking risks like that?  You know better. I am really angry at you!”  The conversation went something like that, you could ask her yourself, but then I would have to tell her about this blog post.

Let’s wait a bit.

My friend scared me.  Her email stated, two weeks prior, she noticed she was losing her vision.  Dark spots presenting in her visual field weren’t leaving.  She began chatting with the Lord about the problem.  Immediately she thought, “I bet this is the sign of a detached retina.  I bet that is exactly what I have, just like my Aunt.  She had this at my age.”  Talk about a rapid response.  Within hours, after prayer and some searching online, my friend had a pretty good idea what was happening to her eyes.  But it was what she she did next that alarmed me.

She did nothing.

I need to stress that my girlfriend’s response was so out of character it was astonishing.  She is one of the most godly, caring, conscientious people I know.  She had been through a season of consulting doctors almost daily for about 3 months; there was no good reason why she neglected to tell someone what was happening.   No reason, except the glaring fact that her life had been so stressful for so long that she didn’t want to cope with one more thing.  She was at the end of her rope.  As a result, she stepped square into denial.  

Denial is defined as a. A refusal to accept or believe something, or b. Psychology An unconscious defense mechanism characterized by refusal to acknowledge painful realities, thoughts, or feelings (Webster's Dictionary).  Lydia isn’t the first person to use denial as a coping mechanism.  In fact, I have a fabulous story of my own involving denial and behaviors so daft they resulted in surgery and permanent muscle damage.  Remind me to tell you about it one day... but not now… we have more important people to discuss at the moment...

After two weeks, my friend finally went to the doctor.  Her unofficial diagnosis was confirmed.  The retina was detached and needed immediate attention.  You need not be a doctor to understand the word ‘detached,’ when used as an adjective, is a bad thing.  Try placing 'detached' in front of any body part and listen to how it sounds.  The picture it paints is never pleasant.  The treatment for a detached retina is not as enjoyable as it sounds either.  My darling friend had to undergo needles being inserted into her eyeball, then endure laser sessions that left her weeping.  It was awful.  When she reached the end of her ordeal, the blessing was two-fold: no permanent damage and a legitimate reason to dress like a pirate.

Wounding hundreds, damning many, denial is a deadly foe.  Strangely, denial is at the bottom of many of the prayer requests I receive.  I will ask, “When did it start to become a problem?”  Or, “how long have you been fighting this?”  Many times the answer will involve an inexcusable delay between the conviction of sin and action needed to resolve the problem.  Time that could be used constructively is instead handed to the enemy of our soul.  With delight, he sows fear, muddying the waters with excuses and justifications.  A simple problem rapidly becomes a Gordian knot that requires the sword of the Spirit.  It becomes a monster in the mind of its owner, demanding allegiance or annihilation.
 
At Christmas, we celebrate the coming of Jesus.  He came to open [our] eyes and turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to God, so that [we] may receive forgiveness of sins and a place among those who are sanctified by faith in [him].’ Acts 26:18   And so Dear Heart, while I am shining the spotlight on my girlfriend, I wanted to ask you a question.  Do you have anything marring your vision today?  Are there any dark spots clouding your eyes?  Has the Holy Spirit convicted you of a sin that needs your attention?  Are you trying to cover up a situation that needs to be uncovered? 

 

Why walk in denial at Christmas?  Why not celebrate the fact that light has pierced the darkness?  Pirates wear eye patches, carry parrots and display poor dental hygiene.  But primarily, they come to rob and steal.  Sound familiar?  When Jesus left glory and condescended to enter the human race, He came bearing gifts.  He came because He loves you.  He knows your frame and does not despise your weakness.  This Christmas come to Him and receive the gift of forgiveness and the presence of Emmanuel. 

 

Joy to the world, the Lord is come!
Let earth receive her King;
Let every heart prepare Him room,
And Heaven and nature sing,
And Heaven and nature sing,
And Heaven, and Heaven, and nature sing.

Joy to the world, the Savior reigns!
Let men their songs employ;
While fields and floods, rocks, hills and plains
Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat, repeat, the sounding joy.

No more let sins and sorrows grow,
Nor thorns infest the ground;
He comes to make His blessings flow
Far as the curse is found,
Far as the curse is found,
Far as, far as, the curse is found.

He rules the world with truth and grace,
And makes the nations prove
The glories of His righteousness,
And wonders of His love,
And wonders of His love,
And wonders, wonders, of His love.

The Real Christmas Tree

“Well, that’s different.” I thought to myself as I drove by the large cross stuck in the front lawn.  “Wait!  Is that blood?”  By the time I asked the question we had passed the house.  “That was strange,” I said to no one in particular.  Everyone in the car ignored me and the conversation turned to Christmas lights and holiday travel.   “Can we drive by that again?  Go around the block.” Straining my neck to see through the back window, I tapped my friend on the shoulder, “please?”  My friend sighed, “No Karen, let’s leave it, I don’t want to turn around.”  She looked at me apologetically.  “It was weird; you can see it next time.  It’s not hard to miss!”

My friend had a point.  It wasn’t often you saw a bloody cross posted on a main road.  I had never seen anything like it.  It was 1989 and I was spending my first December away from home.  Victoria was a beautiful city and I was enjoying watching it dress up for Christmas.  Lights, banners and ornaments were bursting from shop windows and sidewalk spaces.  Tinsel, ribbons and lights were everywhere; why did I care about one strange cross on someone’s lawn?  “Fine,” I sighed.  “But let’s go home that way if we can.”

 I made it back to the same spot a week later to ensure I had seen what I remembered.  I was right; it was a Christmas display unlike any I had seen.  To call it ugly might be unfair: solemn, stark and disturbing, but not ugly.   The cross was large and the wood aged by the island’s constant winter rain.  I remember the cross being draped in a white banner and red paint smudges where Jesus hands and feet would have been.  There was a white flood light at its base which caught the words, “And still He came.”  It was barren, simple and disconcerting.

I lived in Victoria for ten years and every Christmas I went out of my way to view that display.  It appeared at the end of November.  I wondered if the owner of the house on Shelbourne was tempted to scrap that cross and put up a Christmas tree instead.  “Leave the cross for Easter and decorate a tree buddy,” I thought. But every year, the cross would faithfully appear and to be honest, it brought a secret thrill to my soul.  I was unable to articulate it at the time, but I knew I was witnessing a form of rebellion.  This hideous cross was cramping Christmas’ style.  Something was screaming and I could not hear it clearly.

At this point in my story you need to know I love Christmas trees.  I do not love plastic trees.  If you have an artificial tree I can still love you, but while you are not looking I will lay hands on your tree and pray that next year your tree will live.  I am not put off by you telling me you hate pine needles in your carpet.  It means nothing to me that the plastic tree is the best thing that happened to your Christmas.  I don’t care if it was $3000 and you got it for $18 at a garage sale.  I am not fazed by the fact that you are allergic to trees and they make you sneeze.  I will still sit by your tree and agree with it in prayer, “Dear Jesus, next year make this tree a real boy.”

I tell you this darling friend, so that you are able to understand what I am going to say next. Would you walk with me a moment dear heart?  Could we use the language of pictures, memory and experience to allow the Lord to prepare our hearts for Christmas?

I have many precious Christmas memories.  I was given the gift of a childhood by my parents and I enjoy Christmas. But as I get older, I notice a battle brewing between the Christmas tree and the Cross.  I noticed the battle 24 years ago, when my friend on Shelbourne placed that unattractive cross on his front lawn.  He defiantly decorated it with red smudges and the words, “And still He came.”

Christmas can be difficult.   When the year draws to a close, the world of media starts it full on assault on our sanity.  The airwaves scream the message that a perfect Christmas is available for a price.  Satellites bombard the planet with messages of sales and sequins, trinkets and tinsel that will usher in great happiness and joy.  Decorate your Christmas tree, put presents under it, adorn your house with lights and the sickening loneliness of the season will disappear.  Worship at the altar of perfection and strive to belong to a class of happy folk.  Make the most perfectly, perfect Christmas tree and all will be well. 

The problem is the perfect Christmas tree doesn’t have room for me and many of the people I know.  My friends, who love Jesus daily with their weaknesses, don’t have lives that make perfect Christmas possible.  One has a mother who is a raging alcoholic, while the other struggles daily with a mentally ill brother.  One of my teachers is grieving the loss of her husband while another is in a season of such tempest, she fights hourly to hold on to faith.  Many of them are working hard to restore shattered relationships and set a good example for their children.  Grace, addiction, despair, unanswered prayer, hope, intercession, these are the words that decorate my community.  Thank heaven, thank Jesus, there is a tree for the likes of us to gather around and worship at this Christmas season.

Our Christmas tree is the cross.   Those who love Jesus and are suffering during this Christmas season are welcome underneath this tree.  Fear not, your brokenness will not diminish its glow.  Your shameful relative has a place in the very heart of Him who bled and died here.  The God of this tree is big enough to deal with your anxiety and pain.  We worship here because Jesus decided to leave the glory of heaven and to condescend to become Emmanuel, God with us.  He came knowing we would fail.  He came knowing that you would despair.  He came because He loves you.  He came knowing that He would be betrayed.  He came knowing that He would die a gruesome death.  He came knowing….and still He came……

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.
 And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.
 And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.
And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.
 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,
Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. Luke 2:8-14

   xoxKaren

Happy Birthday Friend

I wasn’t planning on spending your 40^th birthday in the emergency room.  I was going to bake you a cake!  I cannot claim to understand your love of frozen yogurt but I view cakes as a birthday necessity.  The required ingredients were sitting in my refrigerator and I had hidden chocolate for ganache icing.  When my third hour in the emergency room started, I realized I couldn’t make you a cake.   My Sunday was consumed by caring nurses and a drugged seven year old in an arm cast.  I had to come up with plan B. 

My thoughts wandered to gift possibilities.  Nothing seemed appropriate and I got frustrated.  I came to the conclusion I couldn’t get you what you wanted most for your birthday. I would give a great deal to stroll to your mailbox on a sunny afternoon and hand you a birthday card from your Mom. These last few years have taught me a lot about longing.   It is like an ache that sits at the back of your heart and resides no matter how you try to dislodge it. I wondered if you felt that way.
            
My Mum has a favorite saying, “fools walk where angels fear to tread.” She would often quote it to me when she figured I was going to launch into a well-intentioned project that was apt to end in disaster.  With her words ringing in my ears, I am writing you a birthday letter.

I wanted you to know that you are different; a rough way to start a letter of encouragement I agree.  I’m not even talking about the fact that you are descended from the raphaim.  People who experience deep sorrow stand out in a way; you cannot experience loss and stay the same. I’m here to tell you though, that you look great in different.

You are kind, and generous.  You cause yourself a great deal of hassle because you have a soft heart. No child who crosses your path goes ignored. Though your indecisiveness can drive me around the twist, you take up the struggle to involve as many young people as you can, so no tender hearts get bruised. Ministering to prepubescent hearts is like being a high school band teacher; a seven year run is expected before insanity comes knocking. I am unclear of your odds but my money is on you regardless.

You discuss food like it is a person. When you first wanted to, “introduce me to a lovely little breakfast casserole,” I figured that you had experienced brain damage at the hands of the food network.  I made a mental note to be patient and to try not to mock you.  As my monthly visits to your dinner table continued, I realized your kitchen is an extension of your heart. The Lord alone knows how many hours you spend in the kitchen cooking and loving on people who come into your house.   It is amazing to watch you willingly do all of these things.  

You love your family deeply and can't speak your brother’s name without smiling.  You text, drive, fly, host and email them constantly, gluing your clan together in every way you can. It isn’t always easy, but when it is hard you keep trying. Your kids show the signs of being well adjusted happy hearts, with personality and depth. Despite your tendency towards radical growth, you are lovely people.

I wish I met your Mom, friend. I wish we had a piece of cake together that Sunday. Though I have only seen a faded Polaroid, I know without a doubt, that your mother would be proud of you.  She would be proud of the mother you have become and who you are, different or not.

I pray blessings on you my dear, through this your fortieth year. I pray that singing would greet you in the mornings and that peace would flow like coffee through your home. More than anything, I pray joy on you this year, God’s endless, amazing, powerful joy.

             Those who sow with tears
             Will reap with songs of joy.
             Those who go out weeping
             Carrying seed to sow,
             Will return with songs of joy,
             Carrying sheaves with them.

Psalm 126:4-6

Much Love,

xoxK