When Lament Lingers

June's art:  she used to draw stick men.

They were equally as awesome.

Hello Friend!  

What are you doing on this quarantine Sunday?  My eldest just brought me fresh baked cookies and a cup of tea (best thing ever) so I am taking another run at writing you.  I have been sitting at my laptop for an hour now and all I have to show for it is one lousy paragraph and a head ache.

Today, I want to talk about well-meaning church folk, but if I write from my own life experience, I’m bound to make someone cross.  So in a refreshing bout of self-preservation, I would like to introduce you to 2 lovely women, whom I respect and admire for their tenacity and perseverance. 

I met June when she was 3 months old.  Cute, bald and bright eyed, she was a precious little thing.  Not surprisingly, it was also the day I met her mother Jamie, a friend of a friend who had come over for prayer. The way I remember it, I was curled up on the right end of the couch with a pillow on my lap.  Within half an hour, this young woman was lying across the couch with her head on the pillow and I was stroking her hair.  She was sobbing.  I was praying.  After an hour of heart breaking conversation, I was imploring the God of heaven to help, to do something, anything to bring hope to this crushed soul.  Abandoned by an abusive husband, left with two small children, this young woman had no idea how she was going to survive the evening, let alone the next 20 years.  I remember pressing Kleenex into her tear soaked hand and asking, “What on earth do you want me to do, Lord?  What are we supposed to do now?”  Looking at the car seat where June slept quietly in her pink pajamas, I remember sighing, I had no clue.

If you have ever experienced the joy of discipleship, you know how many hours it takes to teach and train a willing heart.  Add to that poverty, single parenting, and limited resources and you will have an understanding of my last 17 years walking alongside June’s family.  My hours on the phone with Jamie have been endless.  We have prayed though fevers and friendships, fatherlessness and firsts, family and feuds.  We have prayed through it all.  We have wept, screamed and laughed late into the evening and in the early morning hours, shivering outside as we talked where children couldn’t hear.  I have prayed for June as she grew up without a father, and said “amen” as Jamie asked Jesus countless times to “shore up the lack” in June’s life.  “Lord Jesus, shore up the lack,” Jamie would pray, “I can’t be a dad; I need you to cover that base for June.”

So the years have passed.  As Jamie went back to school, June’s life improved and then became strained due to sibling dysfunction.  Through it all, June persevered.  She put her head down and worked hard, kept her grades up and attended church, staying accountable when she could have tried on the robe of rebellion and caused herself a whole world of trouble.  But she didn’t.  She kept going, often on scholarships, known as the child of the single mum, which is code for second class citizen in many of our churches. 

Then something amazing happened.  June grew up.  She left behind a toxic school and graduated early with online learning. She realized she had brains.   She got a job in a new environment and found out she was hard working and competent.  Her hours behind her desk and keyboard have meant her artistic talents are developing. Her mum got a great new job and June is experiencing life in new ways without some of the limitations that plagued her childhood.   

It is all lovely to watch but from my viewpoint, some parts are simply astounding. 

Like this week, when June came home from being out with friends and found herself a bit blue.  The young women were church folk and were sharing church thoughts about their church lives. 

Which is a good thing: except when it isn’t. 

The friends were discussing deep truths about how a person needed to be filled in order to minister to others.  They discussed how you needed to overflow in order to reach those around you.  June sat and listened, until her heart couldn’t take the subpar metaphors anymore and she spoke from her experience and from scripture.  “It doesn’t always work like that you know. Sometimes, God shows up when you don’t have anything and you can still give to others.”  And June started to explain to her friends that she grew up without a father, but that Jesus covered that loss.  She explained how she had been given good role models and how God had provided for her over the years when she had no dad; ways she had been blessed and taken care of.  She explained that even though it was painful, God had provided.  It was then she testified to her friends, “I didn’t suffer lack.”

When Jamie recounted this I could have jumped from my chair and run around the block shouting “glory.”  “I didn’t suffer lack.” How many tears did that family shed the night before father’s day? “I didn’t suffer lack.”  Yet June felt the sting of poverty for over a decade.  “I didn’t suffer lack.” The hours her mum cried over the loss of stability and the death of a dream.

I did not suffer lack.

What struck me about the statement was the reality of lament and victory, sitting side by side.  Without a doubt June’s childhood would have been easier if her Dad had stepped up to the role of fatherhood.  But he didn’t and June has cried over the wake of his devastation many times.  Yet still she sees the provision and the beautiful things God did in the emptiness.  She knows that although the cup was empty, Jesus met her there.

When June had finished her little testimony, do you know what her friends said?  Nothing.  They had no words.  It got awkward.  No one said, “That is amazing.  Jesus met you!  How encouraging.”  Nope.  Religion often doesn’t have anything to say when Jesus shows up.  That type of religion promotes victory only: suffering means you didn't pray hard enough.  So June came home sad and needed her mum to tell her she wasn’t crazy.  God does show up when we are low, hurting and in pain.  When we are weak he is strong. You can still win even though your eyes are filled with tears.

For many in this difficult time, the lament lingers.  Their hearts are saddened by their circumstances.  They are empty and they know it, unclear how to cope and what to do next.  All that seems certain is heartache and pain.  If that is you friend, may I reassure you that you can come to Jesus when your cup is empty.  Do not give up.  Do not lose hope.  There is a God who loves you, who is willing to work on your behalf.  He does not look at your pain as something that disqualifies you.  He doesn’t look at you as an empty cup.  He will continue to walk you through the darkness.  He has a plan though you have nothing.  He will shore up lack in the midst of your pain.

You weren’t wrong June. 

I have loved watching you grow up.

xoxKaren

P.S.  I first introduced you to Jamie 10 years ago!  My word I am so old.  It was before I knew how to export pictures.  She is responsible for so much of my grey hair.
Here is the link to that post.
https://itstartedwithalion.blogspot.com/2010/09/you-would-like-jamie.html

Dear Doughnut Friend

Happiness in doughnut form

Dear Doughnut Friend,


That is what I call you, is that okay?  Not being certain of your life accomplishments, I hesitate to reduce you to a baked good but your kind purchase has indelibly marked you as the source of sugary goodness.  It’s late, but I wanted to thank you for buying my doughnuts last month.  When I drove up to the window, debit card in hand, the young woman handed me a box and said, “Have a nice afternoon.”  “Wait,” I exclaimed holding up my debit card, “I didn’t pay yet.”  “You don’t have too,” she explained.  “The person in front of you paid for your order.”  “They what? Really? Oh how kind…”  The server smiled and waved me on, I smiled too, though she wouldn’t have known.  My face mask rendered me emotionless.   


I did the only reasonable thing to do after a stranger pays for your doughnuts; I sped across the parking lot as fast as I could in order to catch up to you.  I wanted to mouth “thank you” while donning a face mask and sunglasses.   It wasn’t a well thought out plan.  Unclear of what car had actually preceded me through the drive thru, I sped recklessly, swerved a couple of times until I realized I didn’t know who I was following. I decided to pull over, pretended to thank you in person and promptly burst into tears.   


I wish I could explain, Doughnut friend, how tired I was that Thursday afternoon.  I left the house at 10:30 and I needed to hit 2 stores: Costco and Home Depot.  Costco is always busy, but I wasn’t prepared for the socially distant line up to extend across the back parking lot onto the street.  Nothing moved very quickly but at that point I didn’t mind.  I was ready to shop.  Did I mention I carry a spray bottle of bleach solution?  You haven’t known me long enough to know that, but rest assured I am ready to bleach spray the corona off anything. The inside of my car is lined with plastic and towels, which sounds worrisome, unless you have seen me in action.  Car uncontaminated, anything coming into the vehicle is sprayed, excluding the children but I wasn’t shopping with them anyway.  I live with immune compromised people and am gravely concerned that I might do something to put them at risk.  It is an exhausting burden.


Needless to say my Cruller Companion, I get some looks.  However, I don’t let that stop me, head down I mind my own business, spraying every surface in front of me as groceries go from one area to another.  Once I was done with Costco, the sun came out in earnest and almost instantly my car reached 90 degrees, I was perspiring and feeling mildly nauseous by the time I drove over to Home Depot.  It was there that I started to lose it.


Maybe you saw me at Home Depot?  I was the middle aged woman with the boot cast, face mask and sunglasses on, hobbling across the parking lot.  When I exited the car, you would have seen a plume of steam and wondered if the swimming center across the street was shocking their pool that weekend.  They weren’t.  It was my groceries steaming in the sunlight, creating a fantastic hot box effect for anyone interested in getting stoned off bleach fumes. I like to think my mask mitigated any negative effects the bleach but it wasn’t true.  By the time I got a cart and made it to the front door, I smelled like I had been in tussling the back seat with Mr. Clean.


The line-up at Home Depot was long, too.  Making matters worse, in order to maximize how many people could use the store, they split the store in two.  This meant if I wanted to go to the garden center, I had to purchase my items and line up again.  Social distancing within the store meant the employees were giving patrons as wide a berth as possible.  To the extent that some were jogging out of people’s way as they shopped.  Problem was I needed help, which meant every employee within 50 feet instantly disappeared.  By the time I found an employee, 7 isles from where I needed help, I literally had to chase him down.  Don’t expect anyone to be able to read facial clues when decked out in Covid attire.  My mask meant my calls for help were muffled and the fact that I didn’t take off my sunglasses (prescription) meant I was giving off no facial cues what so ever.  The 17 year old male I was hunting did exactly what any normal person would do when being followed by a casted, mask wearing, sunglasses donning, 50 year old woman, smelling of bleach and carrying a spray bottle. He ran.  Maybe you caught site of this Doughnut Friend?  Did that spark compassion in your soul?  By the time I finally caught the fellow, my foot had started to hurt, boot cast be damned. 


It was exciting to repeat the same dance a second time in the garden center.  The problem over there was everyone in my neighborhood is gardening and needed horticultural assistance.  I was waiting to get into the store with 50 acutely and chronically indecisive friends, all whom had to rethink every item they purchased.  From rhododendrons to rooting hormone, every decision was painstakingly discussed.   I was in such a bad temper by the time I hit the cash register I groaned when a woman decided to change her mind on the type of lawn food she was buying.  I sighed and put my head down on the handle of my cart.  Realizing it was audible, I lifted my boot cast and shook it a bit in order to make people think my foot was giving me trouble.  If they knew how close I was to murdering Mrs. 20-20-10 they would not be sympathetic.   I felt horrible.  How did I hurt my foot anyway, you ask?  Gardening.  Oh the layers of irony were too deep.  I sprayed my face with bleach and took a deep breath.    


Back to the parking lot with my haul: more bleach was sprayed: car doors, keys, and gloves.  You name it, I sprayed it. Desperate to go home, I wondered if the day might be less painful for the girls if I came home with doughnuts.  By then I was tired, bleach stoned, and on my last $20. I fussed over whether or not there was money for something as frivolous as doughnuts.  I decided there was and bought a dozen, thank you Tim Hortons.


This, Doughnut Friend, brings me back to you and why I was crying in the parking lot.  My family hit trials 18 months before the pandemic and I cannot stress enough what a bad timing that was.  About the time I expected things to get better; they have gotten worse in ways I could not have imagined which was why it was so lovely to have something nice happen.  Thank you, Doughnut friend, for buying doughnuts for my family.  It was kind of you and it meant a great deal to me on a very tiring day. 


In truth, lately I have felt that the good times are gone and I’m going to remain awash in loss forever.  At times like these, it is good to remember that life comes in seasons. 

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: 2 a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, 3 a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, 4 a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, 5 a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, 6 a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, 7 a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, 8 a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace. 9 What do workers gain from their toil? 10 I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. 11 He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end. 

Ecc 3:1-11

The problem with many churches is that they tend to deny suffering exists.  That is until recently.  When the world ran into Covid, many happy, clappy churches have needed to review their theology: except for the nut bar ones that are blowing on things and declaring the end of the virus.  I’m not certain how we lost the message of suffering, but I’m certain that aspiring to new levels of breakthrough and declarations of victory have something to do it.**   Times of suffering cause you to wrestle with the sovereignty of God.  In moments like these, it is easy to forget that small, simple kindnesses make a world of difference to those in pain.  Doughnut friend, your gift was worth so much more than what you spent.  It was a boost of morale, a moment of being seen and I am very grateful.  I am certain that those doughnuts were, in fact, calorie free and my only regret is that I didn’t order an extra dozen. 


Thank you Doughnut friend, I pray you and your family stay safe, and that the Lord blesses you in return.


Wishing I could have shared them with you,


Karen


**Yep.  I said it.  I went there and there is more where that came from.