Keep Battling

I’m sitting here on a Wednesday night watching my Washington Nationals play baseball. It’s September and every game counts in the much heated run to play in the post season. Relatively new as a baseball spectator I have spent this low scoring game yelling at the screen and criticizing the players I call my own. “Why is no one hitting?” “They just don’t want to win! They aren’t giving it their all!” I am after all looking for the showy stuff; all homeruns and double plays. As I listen to the commentators, a/k/a people who know what they’re talking about, the game takes on a whole new dimension. They explain subtleties of gamesmanship that are completely lost on me: players covering other positions to make clutch plays; a stolen base – successful because the player knew what pitch to run on; a sacrifice fly allowing the go-ahead run to score. I also see the Coach who, by the way, is not panicking or screaming, but calmly talking to his players; giving instruction, making adjustments, providing encouragement.

It is then a pattern emerges. When I look at the game we’re all in, everything seems to be going wrong. It’s chaos. But if I’m paying attention I see God there, being the Coach. He is talking to His players, encouraging us, making adjustments and substitutions, etc. And sometimes there are commentators, explaining the rule book and clueing me in to complexities I would otherwise miss.

A simplified picture to be sure. There are many more comparisons to make and I know I will continue to ruminate: about relief pitchers and closers and people who are built to be catchers or short stops. For now though, this is enough. I am reassured that God is there overseeing everything and He really does have a handle on what’s going on so I can relax. And unlike the game I watched tonight, I am confident that the winner in this crucial match has already been decided. Wherever I fall short (and I do), when I drop the ball (and I will), I’ve got a ringer named Jesus who takes up the slack. Amen to that. My job is to keep battling. When I fall down, I need to get up, dust myself off and get ready for the next play – and whenever possible, assist the other players. This is, after all, a team sport.

Moldy But Goody

I discovered something yesterday, completely by accident, if you believe in such things. Fortunately for you blog readers, I do not. I see everything through the eyes of a lesson, that’s just the way my lenses are crafted. I was sitting in my living room preparing to review this past year’s small group materials. I picked up my woven bag which was sitting next to an accordion file leaned up against my bookcase when, lo and behold, as the pile was removed I was confronted by a nasty smell and an outbreak of mold! It was a wholly unpleasant discovery for several reasons; first the smell, as I mentioned; second that everything touching the mold was soppy and ruined (not to mention utterly gross!); and finally, I knew there were limitations to my ability to thoroughly clean it up. I was immediately overwhelmed and the thought briefly crossed my mind to just leave it there -- throw a towel over it and be done. I didn’t do this of course as the consequences of that choice were far more unpleasant than putting forth whatever effort I could muster to get rid of it. And so I began, donning gloves (the fact that it was toxic and we’d all be dead soon crossing my melodramatic mind), throwing away infected articles, using a magic eraser on the thick layer of mold covering the bookcase and finally spraying Tilex on the wall and carpet hoping to kill active spores and prevent regrowth. That was what was within my power to do. But guess what, permanent damage remains in the form of a huge area of discolored carpet and a ruined bookcase. The solution to these problems: a carpet cleaner and a new piece of furniture. In other words, I need outside help. I need a professional for the rug and a group of friends to assemble the furniture and transfer belongings.

As my metaphorically-trained mind began to reflect on this scenario I saw a very timely, relevant truth forming. I have recently discovered a festering, mold covered area, within. God has removed the things leaning up against it and there it stands nakedly obvious presenting me with two choices. I can throw a rag over it, cover it back up and ignore it, or I can expose it and clean it up. While covering it up saves work now and what is a sure to be a painful excising, leaving the bacteria not dealt with will only bring about more damage, more destruction and a far more painful -- and certainly unmanageable -- predicament once the condition reveals itself for all to see (inevitable, by the way). The better choice? Open that sucker up! Expose it to the light and the air. Discard the damaged and destroyed parts, clean out as much of the “infection” as you can and allow God access to take care of the rest. Translation: EXERCISE HUMILITY! Stop doing whatever is causing the problem; confess whatever needs confessing; forgive and throw out whatever grudges or grievances have formed; and/or repair whatever relationships have been damaged – starting first with your best friend, greatest advocate and Savior. After that ask the great carpet cleaner in the sky to hose you down and kill off whatever remains. God’s healing will also, almost without exception, include the body of believers.

So there you have it: God’s lesson to me through mold.

Psalm 90:8 (NIV):  You have set our iniquities before you, our secret sins in the light of your presence.

 

Micah 7:8(b)-9 [or thereabouts] (The Message):  I'm down, but I'm not out.  I'm sitting in the dark right now, but God is my light.  I can take God's punishing rage.  I deserve it—I sinned.  But it's not forever. He's on my side and is going to get me out of this [!!!].  He'll turn on the lights and show me his ways.   I'll see the whole picture and how right he is.

 

Acts 26:18 (CEV):  I want you to open their eyes, so that they will turn from darkness to light and from the power of Satan to God. Then their sins will be forgiven, and by faith in me [Jesus] they will become part of God’s holy people.

 

1 John 1:7 (NIV):  But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin.

To God be the Glory!

In an effort to get into the consistent habit of writing I have made a pact with a friend to post one blog a week. Granted it is supposed to be completed by 9:00 am Sunday morning, which, as you will notice was approximately 18 hours ago. But today finds Verbal Girl in a bit of a state; I have nothing to say. Alert the media. The earth must be spinning off its axis.

Why the uncharacteristic clam up? Depression mostly I guess; listless from dealing with a schedule dictated by chronic illness and apathy. My inability to motivate towards something healthy or useful (like spending time with my maker) finds me wasting another Saturday planted in front of the tv – eyes glazed over with a lackluster stare. I flat out hate days like this; knowing well the path to something fulfilling is just a choice or two away, but choosing instead to slide down the well-worn rut of defeat and subsequent self-loathing.

So, did something change? I am guessing, dear reader, you are hoping to see something other than several more paragraphs of the same blah, blah, blah. I’ll end the suspense - yes, it did. A friend came over tonight. A wonderful woman who has taught me more about humility and being authentic then she probably knows. So we talked. We talked about life for a couple of hours. And in that sharing with each other, we spent the evening gabbing about God and extoling his goodness. We examined his character and his tenderness. We shared stories about his love and the personal way he speaks to us. And you know what? Suddenly my weekend had a point. It was no longer fixated on poor me and my pitiful life; it was instead focused on light and life and blessings and mercy - and the wonderful joys of friendship.

Malachi 3:16: Then those who feared the LORD talked with each other, and the LORD listened and heard. A scroll of remembrance was written in his presence concerning those who feared the LORD and honored his name.

Here are some words from Sheryl Crow's I Shall Believe that seem particularly appropriate -

Open the door
And show me your face tonight
I know it's true
No one heals me like you
And you hold the key

Never again
would I turn away from you
I'm so heavy tonight
But your love is alright
And I do believe

That not everything is gonna be the way
You think it ought to be
It seems like every time I try to make it right
It all comes down on me
Please say honestly
You won't give up on me
And I shall believe
I shall believe

Packaging or Contents?

There's something I've noticed about living in America. We are obsessed with our appearance. I know this will not make CNN as new news, however, I have been struck recently with just how much of our energy is devoted to this pursuit (a preoccupation most of us will swear on a stack of catalogs we don't have).

We have closets full of clothes that we choose because they flatter our shape. We have “slimming” garments that pinch and bind so much that were we to put them on an animal we’d be brought up on charges by the ASPCA. We are fanatics about our hair and get it colored, styled, cut, straightened, curled, shellacked, etc. Travel ten feet and you can’t help but run headfirst into a day spa, where we get manicures and pedicures, facials, peels, injections and a host of things I don’t even understand. We wax, wage war on our cellulite, spend thousands of dollars on crèmes and potions, and hire gypsies to curse the day the little crows started roosting in the corners of our eyes. Even with my limited energy, rarely is the day I don’t get makeup on and comely attire pulled together before I go to work or to an event. Plastic surgery is at an all-time high; as is liposuction, fad dieting, and the list goes on and on. So engrossed are we in the packaging, it’s remarkable we don’t witness people regularly dining on cardboard ice cream containers or chewing on kit kat wrappers.

This post is not to condemn any of the things I’ve listed (well, plastic surgery, maybe). Wax and peel to your heart’s content. Apply crèmes until your skin resembles a baby’s touché. My point is this. We spend so much time preening and perfecting our outside; how much time is spent decorating and cultivating the inside?

I have some thoughts on the matter. (I know, that’s so unlike me, right?) We don’t want to give a sideways glance to our insides for several reasons, the most important being we don’t like what we see. Stop and look at your heart, what lies in there? When I look at mine – and am honest – I see all sorts of ugly little creatures; I see pettiness and jealousy, arrogance, self-righteousness, vanity, envy, anger, malicious intent and self-promotion – just to name a few. Whew that’s a mouthful. And I know I am not alone. All of us – again be honest with yourself – are prone to these qualities. Truthfully, there are millions of people more devoted to good causes than I am; organizations brimming with those dedicated to the good of others – and still, if you could inject them with truth serum, I’m sure they would proclaim the same bag of snapping turtles as me. Before you bellow, I am not promoting self-flagellation; simply taking truthful stock of what lies beneath. And so we go back to the surface; how much easier and less unsettling it is to overhaul the outside than the inner man. Slap another coat of shellac, put up new curtains; thicker ones so no one can see inside, least of all us.

Matthew 23:25-26 details what Jesus said about this very thing to the religious leaders of his day:

25Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence. 26Blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup and dish, and then the outside also will be clean.

It just doesn’t get much clearer than that. Jesus is not impressed in the least with the outwardly show. He gets straight to it. How many of us cringe when we read this passage because we know our tendency is to do the same. I am wired no differently than a Pharisee. He goes on:

27Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead and everything unclean. 28In the same way, on the outside you appear to people as righteous but on the inside you are full of hypocrisy and wickedness.

Ouch!

So, the dilemma becomes, if all of us have this proclivity, what then is the anti-proclivity? I believe there is only one way to quiet the goblins of the dark side. The forgiveness and blood sacrifice of Jesus Christ. But there’s a catch (yeah, isn’t there always?) To take away the power of these pesky weaknesses, we must believe we are no longer condemned by them. That’s right – the catch is BELIEF! Romans 8:1 states, “1Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus . . . .” What? That’s it? I don’t get it. Well, here is the Message version of verses 1 and 2 which I think help make it plain as day.

1-2With the arrival of Jesus, the Messiah, that fateful dilemma is resolved. Those who enter into Christ's being-here-for-us no longer have to live under a continuous, low-lying black cloud. A new power is in operation. The Spirit of life in Christ, like a strong wind, has magnificently cleared the air, freeing you from a fated lifetime of brutal tyranny at the hands of sin and death.

That’s what allows me to look inside and not turn away. I am accepted wholly by the one who died for me. I am free! Free to change, to examine, to atone and very importantly, to move on!

So the next time you find yourself obsessing about your appearance, see it as a red flag and ask yourself why. Go ahead, I double dog dare you! In the meantime, take a cue from the one that formed you.

1 Samuel 16:7 (NIV) But the LORD said to Samuel, “Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The LORD does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.”

John 8:36 (NIV) So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.

John 8:34-36 (The Message) Jesus said, "I tell you most solemnly that anyone who chooses a life of sin is trapped in a dead-end life and is, in fact, a slave. A slave is a transient, who can't come and go at will. The Son, though, has an established position, the run of the house. So if the Son sets you free, you are free through and through.

Make Sure To Run Your Race

I have become totally enamored with the movie Secretariat. The telling of the horse that won the Triple Crown in 1973; a feat not accomplished since 1948. On top of that, said Equus Caballus still has the standing records for two of those wins, the Kentucky Derby and the Belmont Stakes, historically winning said Belmont by an unprecedented 31 lengths! Not to be unenthusiastic, but many would say so what? Cool horse, nice story, great athlete or some such musings.

First, I set about to confirm some interesting observations which lead to furious digging into newspaper articles and background information. As I should have expected Hollywood scriptwriters liberally rewrote the timeline and performed their customary massaging of the facts into a seamless fairy tale. At first this really bothered me, but I wanted to continue. So plowing through movie magic dust, I looked to the wisdom of God. The more the story rolled around in my brain, the more I saw a bigger truth, and this one infinitely more worthy. Yes, Hollywood has the luxury of painting its picture in smooth, colorful brush strokes where good triumphs and people are caricatures of themselves. But life isn't like that is it? It's splotchy with big, ugly blobs of paint thrown on and so many splattered colors it becomes mottled and messy with giant black smudges and huge chubby-fingered smears. I'm sure to the naked eye it clearly depicts the strokes of a near-sighted two year old (and at moments a psychotic blind man). Replacing the picturesque and serenely victorious are failures, bad choices, awful judgment, vain pursuits, lack of movement -- a colossal jumble -- but no less triumphant; in truth, more. Greatness is achieved in the midst of the mundane and victory strides on the track of tediousness. So despite the detail manipulation, every word in my opening paragraph is true.

Life is broken and gritty and miracles can still happen.

What set these people apart? What allowed them to share in this extraordinary spectacle? Several things come to mind. Every single partaker in this horse's legendary feats was quite simply carrying out their lives with authenticity. Penny was the right owner seeing this horse’s potential and refusing to yield to pressures to sell. Eddie was the best horse companion and groomer. Lucien was the perfect trainer, Ms. Ham, the loyal family secretary and confidante. Ronnie Turcotte the right jockey. Every one of them being the best that they could be at what they were created and gifted to do. They also demonstrated great commitment and fortitude. No matter how bleak the circumstances appeared, they did not abandon their quest. Lastly, they did not abandon each other - another rousing thumbs up concerning the importance of being in community.

How many times did doubt and despair threaten to overcome our bold owner Mrs. Tweedy? How many times was her marriage on the brink of divorce? How close had Lucien come to retiring before Secretariat? And because I am biased, how many times did Ms. Ham wonder how her life had impact - an unmarried secretary? All is purely speculation I know, but reality dictates there were probably more hopeless moments then this telling reveals. And to that I say AMEN!

I have hopeless moments. Despair surely knows my address and I go to bed countless nights wondering if I did, or ever will, use my God-given giftedness to count for something. None of that, though, bans me from the miracle, if I just hold on and trust in an Almighty God whose brush strokes create the ultimte masterpiece from our finger painting.

Ephesians 2:10 (NIV): For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

Isaiah 64:4 (NIV): Since ancient times no one has heard, no ear has perceived, no eye has seen any God besides you, who acts on behalf of those who wait for him.

Join me in singing, won’t you?

Oh happy day (oh happy day)
Oh happy day (oh happy day)
When Jesus washed (when Jesus washed)
When Jesus washed (when Jesus washed)
When my Jesus washed (when Jesus washed)
He washed my sins away!

He taught me how (oh, He taught me how)
To wash (to wash, to wash)
Fight and pray (to fight and pray)
Fight and pray
And he taught me how to live rejoicing
yes, He did (and live rejoicing)
Oh yeah, every, every day (every, every day)
(oh yeah) Every day!

I have reprinted an excerpt from a letter Penny Tweedy’s youngest son, John, wrote commenting on the movie:

"The movie does, indeed, glamorize and improve on my family's situation in the early 1970s, as it sanitizes the cultural context of that era. In real life, we Tweedys were more riven and frayed by the large and small conflicts of the time, and by the pressures of celebrity into which we were suddenly thrust. The wars between our parents were more bitter, the marriage more broken, and we kids were more alienated and countercultural than the movie depicts . . . . And on that day in June 1973, when he [Secretariat] blew away the field in the Belmont Stakes, he transcended argument, rivalry, even transcended sport itself. In that moment Secretariat gave my family, and gave the public, something like grace." [My personal comment – something exactly like grace!]

Here kitty, kitty. Niiiiiice kitty.

I have recently acquired another cat. The whys and wherefores of my choice are boggling to the mind considering the fact that I am moderately to severely disabled with m.s. Maybe I was a quart low on chaos. This is not a kitten. She is a 14-year old, one-eyed cat who has had only one owner since a fluffball and lived in the same house. She's lovely and was in desperate need of a good home, and since kitties come here to be spoiled, it seemed the reasonable choice. I want to love and help her, she needs love and help.

It's been about a week now and at first things seemed to be rolling right along. She and my cat hissed a little, but nothing major and I started to feel fairly positive about the whole situation. And then . . . I came home one night this week, walked in the room and began the new ritual with the new houseguest – I bring the food, she comes out for dinner and a pet, when . . . WHAMMO – ATTACK CAT came out to play and I found that my hand had become the main course. I don't know if I rushed things with trying to integrate living spaces, or if the desperation had worn off my new charge and the fear of the unknown had settled in, but something went haywire. Contemplating the situation (as I cried and soaked my hand in hydrogen peroxide), I started to think about the picture as a whole. Here was this little fuzzy thing that had spent her entire life with one person. She had a home she knew, a territory that smelled like her and nothing was a surprise or presented any fear given her limited sight. Now here she is where NOTHING is familiar; new house, new caretaker, new sibling (that hisses and growls her welcome), new smells, news food, new litter accommodations, new, new, new, new! I can only imagine that she is terrified. Terrified and defensive and suspicious; about me, about everything.

It was then I started seeing the parallels in my relationship with God. My health seems to be deteriorating at a very rapid rate. I'm losing abilities right and left; even the simplest of chores is fading into the background; a severely diminished social calendar. A hazy, not altogether pleasant future looming ahead and I, like kitty, am terrified, defensive and suspicious. I began recollecting how many times I have bitten the hand of God recently. He is the bringer of my sustenance, my caretaker; in fact my very survival depends on Him. And yet, when I let the fear of the future, the “why me” self-pity, or the jealousy and often anger that lurks just beneath the surface directed at everyone who can do what I can't, I snap and lay it all on God – biting and scratching, kicking and screaming. “Why won't you help me?” “How can you say you love me and watch me struggle like this?” “Why won't you rescue me?” I'M SCARED!

I know with kitty it will take time. I have to prove to her I am trustworthy. I am sure I'm not much different. I stopped to consider the massive collection of times God and the love of Jesus Christ has proven they are trustworthy. My provision is whole and complete. I live in a lovely place, have the support of amazing people, have a job where they like me and I like them – a steady paycheck being a huge blessing alone in today's economy. I have health insurance, and the list goes on and on. God is present. God is living up to His promises every moment of every day. He is here with me. Whether I need guidance, protection, comfort, friendship, unconditional love, forgiveness, grace. He offers them all and more with overflowing hands.
My responsibility is to constantly remind myself of that truth through His word and His actions, so that when the waves of change and difficulty come I am filled with confidence and praise instead of fear and distrust.

Genesis 28:15 (NIV): "I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you."

Isaiah 41:10 (NIV): "So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."

Jeremiah 1:8 (NIV): "Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you and will rescue you," declares the LORD.

The trouble with Uzzah

For a long time now I have had difficulty reading the story of Uzzah. In practice, I have actually started skipping over this text. I figured I could ignore it and stick with the parts of the bible I like. The thing is, God didn't give me his word to make me comfortable, He gave it to me for instruction, and so has seen fit to lead me right back to the passage. I believe for two reasons. One, to understand what it has to teach me about God's character, and two, to get to the root of my distaste. For those of you not familiar with Uzzah, let's travel back to the 2nd book of Samuel, chapter 6, starting with verse 3.

(3) They set the ark of God on a new cart and brought it from the house of Abinadab, which was on the hill. Uzzah and Ahio, sons of Abinadab, were guiding the new cart (4) with the ark of God on it, and Ahio was walking in front of it. (5) David and the whole house of Israel were celebrating with all their might before the LORD, with songs and with harps, lyres, tambourines, sistrums and cymbals. (6) When they came to the threshing floor of Nacon, Uzzah reached out and took hold of the ark of God, because the oxen stumbled. (7) The LORD's anger burned against Uzzah because of his irreverent act; therefore God struck him down and he died there beside the ark of God.

Shazzam! How's that for the final word! Ok, time to dig. Let the burrowing begin!

In an effort to be totally honest, I admit my reaction upon reading the tale of Uzzah is to see a perfect example of a God who can be enormously displeased with me and, at the slightest provocation, choose to wipe me from the map. This, then, leads my mind to conclude that God is capricious, prone to violent mood swings and his favor cannot be trusted. I mean, really! All poor Uzzah was trying to do was save the ark from slipping off the cart into the mud. This begs the question, where is the fault in that? It says Uzzah was irreverent. Irreverent? At this my human mind balks. It seems (at first glance, anyway) that Uzzah was being quite the contrary. That, in honoring God, he could not bear the thought of the ark being tarnished with mud. So here I'm stuck. How do I reconcile this mental picture of an impatient and impulsive God with other passages in the word that clearly share He is slow to anger, abounding in love. Time and time again I read of the grace He extends to his children even when we are clearly wrong.

So what happened here?

Well, that’s a good question. In an effort to answer it I went back to Numbers to acquaint myself fully with how the ark was made, the specifications, who would care for it, etc. I won’t take the space here to cover all I read but the fact that grabbed me was Uzzah’s heritage. There is some disagreement, however, I believe with the majority, that Uzzah was a Kohathite, a separate branch of Levites (the priests) entrusted solely with the special care of the most holy things. In that context, Uzzah would have been schooled in the proper care of the most holy things from birth. It would be his life's pursuit, and so would have been instructed ad nauseum on every last detail of God’s commandments concerning the ark and its handling. In addition to which God very clearly states that “they shall not touch any holy thing, lest they die.” So here we are. The reasonable conclusion. Uzzah grabbed the ark directly and he died. So why do I get bent out of shape when the precise consequences God has warned will happen, happen?

I let this truth sink in. That first and foremost, God knew Uzzah’s heart from the moment he stepped out of the womb. If God says he was irreverent than he was irreverent. Second, one of the very things I truly need from God is his immutability. I need for the words from his mouth to be unchanging. Not subject to back door promises or bribes. No different set of rules for his favorites. In this world of transience and shifting sands, praise God that he is the immovable rock.

And now for the thoughts that surprised me.

What if in grabbing the ark, Uzzah interfered with God’s opportunity to perform a supernatural act. Now that’s worth pondering. I mean would an all powerful God not have been able to keep his own ark from falling into the mud? Did he really need man to intervene? Of course not! God could have caused the ark to float. Or it could have gone into the mud and then come out without a spot of dirt on it. Or those around might have witnessed angels from heaven holding the ark in mid air. Any number of things could have happened. But one thing would have for sure – God’s supernatural involvement. Well, this leads down a whole new rabbit trail. It got me thinking, what if? What if Moses had thought “Great Scott, the Red Sea! There’s no way around it! We have to get to a boat!" And so upon procuring a boat, the Israelites crossed the sea and went about their business. Weeeeeeeel, that's noteworthy. And what if David had decided to arm himself with an enormous sword instead of tiny little stones and a slingshot. And feeding the five thousand? What if the disciples had called a caterer? Okay, far fetched, but you see where I’m going with this. Every time I think I am helping God accomplish what only God can do I take the “super” right out of the equation. And you know as well as I do - there is nothing eye-catching about ordinary. For it is in the “super”natural that God resides. Every great leap of faith; every time the risky road less traveled was taken; yes, at the end of human ability there is God.

Verses for the Day: Psalm 77:1-14 (NIV)

1 I cried out to God for help; I cried out to God to hear me.
2 When I was in distress, I sought the Lord; at night I stretched out untiring hands
and my soul refused to be comforted.
3 I remembered you, O God, and I groaned; I mused, and my spirit grew faint.
4 You kept my eyes from closing; I was too troubled to speak.
5 I thought about the former days, the years of long ago;
6 I remembered my songs in the night. My heart mused and my spirit inquired:
7 "Will the Lord reject forever? Will he never show his favor again?
8 Has his unfailing love vanished forever? Has his promise failed for all time?
9 Has God forgotten to be merciful? Has he in anger withheld his compassion?"
10 Then I thought, "To this I will appeal: the years of the right hand of the Most High."
11 I will remember the deeds of the LORD; yes, I will remember your miracles of long ago.
12 I will meditate on all your works and consider all your mighty deeds.
13 Your ways, O God, are holy. What god is so great as our God?

14 You are the God who performs miracles; you display your power among the peoples. [Can I get an Amen!]

I feel your pain.

Today's post is not for the fainthearted. It is not polished. It is not tidy. What follows is raw.

It is Saturday. An altogether beautiful Saturday. The first real Saturday of Spring in Washington, DC. It's warm but not too hot. It's mid-afternoon but not too late in the day. It's the kind of day you burst out of your house to do, well - anything, anything at all, because you can't stand being caged in, not for one more minute. It signals the end of the winter (even mild as it was) and for once, in what seems like an eternity, it's not raining.

So what am I doing? What plans do I have to suck the nectar out of this perfectly ripened flower? None. None whatsoever. I cannot, in the immortal words of Jean-Luc Picard, "Engage." I am stuck in my living room, or more accurately, my overstuffed chair. A typical day beginning as most of my days do. Yes, this post finds Verbal Girl "Unplugged." No painkillers - yet. Not rehydrated from a parched night - yet. No food, no shower, no laundry started or mail sorted through or bills paid or filthy carpet vacuumed. Uncomfortable, disagreeable, irritable and overwhelmed at the thought of performing even the simplest of tasks, which task is at this moment -- standing up. Totally preoccupied with my extensive to do list, I invariably start at the beginning, which is the aforementioned - standing up! I hiss a hurried, resentful prayer for the strength I need to accomplish it and as I begin to stand I lose my balance and fall with a thud. On the way down glass-fronted cabinets, coffee table corners and pointy objects swim before my eyes; wondering how much more pain I would be in at the fall's conclusion and would broken bones be included. All ends fine. My slow-motion pitch came to an end with no apparent long-term consequences save the shattering of my resolve. Tears of self pity stream down my face, mental fists flail at God, internally screaming "DAMMIT - WHY WON'T YOU HELP ME?"

And then it comes. For the briefest of moments I suddenly become plugged in to the tear-soaked fabric of all human suffering. Experiencing white hot mental flashes of someone losing a friend to a drug overdose; someone losing their mother too soon from cancer; parents whose baby's premature birth results in the loss of that child; a "terminal" diagnosis; a husband/father/son lost to war or more randomly, to a drunk driver. And a whole different pain: that born from fear and anxiety. I lost my job! How will I feed my family? How will I pay the mortgage? How will we stay afloat? The flood continues. I am overcome by those whose lives are debilitated by the black hole of depression or mental illness, trembling at the thought of making it through another day, paralyzing panic attacks or thoughts of suicide.

Where can we go when the bubble of pain swallows us whole, its wall seemingly impenetrable? What stops hopeless from cleaning us out? Seriously! Is there anything powerful enough - and tangible enough - to get you through the unbearable moments in life? Where do you go when there is no where left to go? Some choose the numb oblivion of escape. My checkered past betrays that choice more times than I care to admit; when even the promise of short-term relief as your wounded heart blares: "Make it stop! Whatever the cost, please make it stop!" pushes you to do (or even contemplate) things you can't admit to yourself, much less a counselor or friend. And the mere whisper of taking it to the feet of the cross sends you shuddering. How can God help me? How can I face Him? What can He possibly do to alleviate this pain?

If it is at this crossroads you find yourself, all I can say is turn to the wounded healer. The more I study the pain of the flesh-covered God, the more I find incredible comfort. Why do I think He can't help me, or scarier still, understand? As I walk through the night before His most awful day, I see Jesus -- Emmanuel -- crying tears of blood in the garden begging His heavenly father for another way back. I see the Son of God/Son of Man who cried without reservation with dear friends who had lost their brother, Lazarus. Not once, but twice, in the relating of this story the scripture says Jesus was "deeply moved." Examining the 11th chapter of John, the focal point appears to be that Jesus came to raise Lazarus from the dead. In fact, it is clear that He purposely waited to come until he knew Lazarus was dead. On the surface that sounds oddly cold. Simply speaking, Jesus had a job to do, a miracle to perform for the amazement of all. But this passage takes time to share with us that Jesus wept. Which begs the question - why? Why on earth should Jesus shed one tear over the passing of this dead-soon-to-be-raised to-life-guy? In countable seconds, Lazarus would rise and walk out of the tomb, brush himself off and say, "dude I'm starving, let's eat" to all gathered. So why? Because his friends were heartbroken and Jesus would never, ever consider minimizing or invalidating someone's pain. To my limited knowledge, there is never a place in Scripture where God tells us to "Suck it up already!" But words of comfort and promises of his presence are plenty.

Allow me to change course for a moment and tell you what prompted this zig-zagged rambling. Philippians 4. Specifically beginning with verse 4: Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! I must confess that many times this very verse has annoyed me. When I am hurting and the imperative comes that I should rejoice in the Lord, I am want to grumble and shrug it off. And then I stop and consider who uttered this phrase. It did not come from a university professor, living in a comfy home, lecturing from a polished podium. It came from a guy who endured things we can't imagine - or maybe we can. Repeatedly beaten, shipwrecked, snake-bitten, mocked, starved, and, on occasion cast into dungeons doubling as raw sewage highways. It is then my heart sees a man - a mortal man, made from the same stuff as me. One who probably chanted this call to rejoice over and over again as his bloodless fingers gripped iron bars. It is there in those desperate moments he learned of a friend who was always at his side. He found a Savior who always heard his prayers, understood and had considerable compassion for his pain. Finally, he rested in the God who through it all was able to provide an unexplainable peace.

As a final word, I would challenge you dear ones, not to hide your pain. I will share a passage or two from Brennan Manning's book, Abba's Child: "If we conceal our wounds out of fear and shame, our inner darkness can neither be illuminated nor become a light for others." (And a page or so later after citing a passage from Henri Nouwen) "The Wounded Healer implies that grace and healing are communicated through the vulnerability of men and women who have been fractured and heartbroken by life. In Love's service, only wounded soldiers can serve."

Verses of Encouragement: Isaiah 43:1(b)-2, 4(a), 5(a) (NIV)

Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name;
you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames

will not set you ablaze.
. . . .
Since you are precious and honored in my sight, and because I love you[.]
. . . .
Do not be afraid, for I am with you[!!!] (emphasis mine!)