Ann Voskamp's Blog, page 102
April 29, 2019
To all the Introverted Moms Who Feel Like they’re Not Enough
Jamie C. Martin added three children to her family in less than three years, and found herself living her motherhood dream. Except some days felt more like a nightmare. Always having been a calm person, she suddenly battled frustration, anger, and guilt, wondering what had happened to her. Slowly she discovered that she wasn’t a bad mom, she was an introvert. And that understanding began to change everything. It’s a grace to welcome Jamie to the farm’s front porch today…
“Mommy, sometimes do you not want to be with me?
Because sometimes I feel like you don’t want me with you.”
The little voice rose up beside me on the brown leather sofa, the end of a looooonnnng day that still wasn’t over.
I looked down into the wide eyes of my son Jonathan, feeling like I’d been punched in the stomach.
“Sometimes I feel like you don’t want me with you.”
All my failures rushed over me—all the things I wished I could be but wasn’t. All the energy and patience I wanted but didn’t have. With childlike wisdom and bluntness, he saw the truth and spoke it.
And it was the truth: I didn’t want him with me.
What kind of mother admits that?
The desperate, introverted kind, whose husband left several days ago on a work trip.
The kind who’s settled countless sibling squabbles, made countless meals, read countless books, and counted down countless hours until bedtime’s arrival.
The kind who’s just been completely called out by a nine-year-old as she’s nearing that glorious home stretch.
I knew all about an introvert’s strengths and weaknesses, knew the theoretical reasons why I felt exhausted and drained, but none of that mattered.
My little boy felt unwanted, and it crushed me.
I blundered for a few minutes, reminded him about the difference between introverts and extroverts, prayed with him, then watched as he scampered upstairs—looking for all intents and purposes like he hadn’t been scarred for life.
“Not enough: this fearful refrain tormented me that night.”
I thought I might be, though.
While the kids drifted off to a full night’s sleep, I tossed and turned for hours, wrestling my inner demons and my own nature, which once again seemed inadequate.
Not enough: this fearful refrain tormented me that night. I had given the kids my best during the challenging day prior to Jonathan’s bedtime declaration. Yet he still found it lacking.
When the stress of real life comes our way, it won’t be perfection we offer our kids, but it’s our best all the same.
What more can we do?
My friend Lisa Grace Byrne, an inspiring writer and encourager, describes it like this: In certain seasons of our mothering life, it’s as though we walk through a flat, grassy field. The terrain is smooth and comfortable; the scenery lovely.
We cover a lot of ground that way, making measurable progress one step at a time. But then we reach the edge of the meadow and find a steep rock wall towering in front of us.
“God’s Grace + My Weakness = ENOUGH”
Turning around and going back isn’t an option, and the only way to continue moving forward is to climb—one slow, shaky grip and foothold after another. It’s still progress, of course, but it looks nothing like the open countryside.
The best we can offer our families in the meadows of life differs wildly from the best we bring when we’re scaling walls—when Daddy gets deployed, when the doctor delivers a scary diagnosis, or when we’ve once again reached the end of our reserves.
I finally understood this on a deeper level with a life coach’s help, when I mentioned to her that my mind rang with “not enough” loudly and on repeat. She sent me on a hunt for a Scripture I could use to combat this lie.
I landed on Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 12:7–9: “…I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger from Satan to torment me and keep me from becoming proud. Three different times I begged the Lord to take it away. Each time he said, ‘My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.’ So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me” (nlt).
I had read this Scripture dozens of times, but now a new meaning jumped out. If God’s power works best in weakness, it’s better to have weaknesses! Better to be “not enough,” because then he can work without me getting in the way.
“Even your biggest failures and shortcomings can be used by God”
Suddenly I saw this verse as an equation that literally adds up to enough for those in my home:
God’s Grace + My Weakness = ENOUGH
It’s my new life mantra; the one I repeat to myself when, again, my best isn’t the best.
When I’m drained, overwhelmed, and “don’t want them with me.”
Can you get a hold on the freedom found here, fellow introverted mom?
It means that even your biggest failures and shortcomings can be used by God, transformed via His miraculous alchemy into gold that enriches your family.
It means you are free.
Jamie C. Martin is an introverted mom of three, who loves books, tea, and people (not always in that order), and avoids answering the phone when possible.
Life as Mom is LOUD, but you long for quiet. When the volume of family life clashes with your personality, frustration, guilt, and overwhelm naturally result. In her new book Introverted Mom, Jamie C. Martin lifts these burdens from your shoulders, reminding you that your steady strength is exactly what your family needs in this chaotic world.
Jamie shares vulnerable stories from her own life, letting you know you’re not alone. Her practical suggestions and creative inspiration are enhanced with quotes and insights from four beloved authors: Louisa May Alcott, Jane Austen, L. M. Montgomery, and Laura Ingalls Wilder. Together, Jamie and this band of fellow introverts gently point you toward hope, laughter and joy. Preorder before the book releases on May 7th and receive four “introverted mom” bonuses!
[ Our humble thanks to Zondervan for their partnership in today’s devotion ]
April 27, 2019
Only the Good Stuff: Multivitamins for Your Weekend [04.27.19]
Happy, happy, happy weekend!
Some real, down in the bones JOY to celebrate today! Links & stories this week 100% guaranteed to make you smile a mile wide & believe like crazy in a Good God redeeming everything — and that there’s love everywhere & for ((you))!
Serving up only the Good Stuff for you right here:
Matt Trivett
Matt Trivett
Matt Trivett
he captures our world in extraordinary ways — go and enjoy the gift of today
96 years old? #JoyGoals
so who knew?!? 9 facts about librarians you probably didn’t know
huge smile
just brilliant: LEGO Designs Braille Bricks to Help Visually Impaired and Blind Children Learn How to Read
we circled ’round this one
Messages in chalk that will make you cry:
YES, this: “… I think in today’s busy world, sometimes we just need to see messages of hope and encouragement. We need reminders that we are loved and our best is good enough…”
are plants the new pet? come meet the orchid expert
A Happy & Beautiful Life, rhondajones__
A Happy & Beautiful Life, rhondajones__
A Happy & Beautiful Life, rhondajones__
Joy isn’t ever in a season, but in the way we see. Grace and mercy saturate everything. #1000gifts
amazed: they’re on the hunt … for disappearing languages
it would be a grace to meet you!
Join me in Buffalo, NY – May 3-4 for Fresh Grounded Faith with my dear friends:
Jennifer Rothschild, Laura Story, and Shaun Groves.
why this hummingbird comes back to visit this many every spring? wow
the importance of reading to our children! YES, yes, yes!
This designer is doing his part to raise mental health awareness
“…there’s nothing to be ashamed of when we suffer, but there’s still a long way to go”
Ginny Sheller
Ginny Sheller
Ginny Sheller
too beautiful not to share with you…
Tim Tebow and his amazing story around John 3:16… this ever, ever gets old
thank you, Randy Alcorn… Does Grace Still Amaze You?
standing ovation only: Military Amputees Cross Boston Marathon Finish Line
Self-Loathing Almost Ruined My Easter – And I’m Glad it Did… , thank you, Scott Sauls
…I’m as real as real can be, call me Velveteen
how one decision to ‘make room’ changed their lives
so many tears…The Missing People Choir: lifting their voices — out of their depths of despair
Post of the week from these parts here:
The Secret to that Battle You’re Facing
Suffering Can Be An Answer to Prayer
on repeat this week: Best News Ever
…yeah, you’re so not alone: the battle’s hard… but here’s the secret to winning: “Stay alert, with your eyes. wide. open. in. gratitude.” Col.4:2MSG
No matter what’s coming hard these days, the thing is:
No amount of regret changes the past,
No amount of anxiety changes the future,
And any amount of gratitude changes the present.
Any amount of gratitude changes the present & wins back some ground — even for one very small thing.
So that’s what we’re doing here today: simply being grateful for that one small thing… & one more small thing… & one more small thing — just taking back ground one grateful step at a time till the battle is WON.
Gratitude wins our wars. Because gratitude isn’t only a celebration when good things happen; Gratitude’s a declaration that God is good no matter what happens. #1000gifts
[excerpted from our little Facebook family … come join us each day?]
That’s all for this weekend, friends.
Go slow. Be God-struck. Grant grace. Live Truth.
Give Thanks. Love well. Re – joy, re- joy, ‘re- joys’ again
Share Whatever Is Good.
April 26, 2019
When the bitterness of failing the ones you love is outmatched by the sweetness of forgiveness
We each hope to be able to stand firmly for truth and righteousness when the pressure is hot, the spotlight is on us, and the world makes us feel that our viewpoint is old-fashioned and outdated. For years, this is the mantle that Elisabeth Hasselbeck has carried from her roles on Survivor, The View, and FOX & Friends. In her new book, Point of View, she shares how she gained a reflective perspective to discover what it really means to see life clearly in faith, at home, and in the workplace. It’s a joy to welcome Elisabeth to the farm’s front porch today….
guest post by Elisabeth Hasselbeck
DDuring the fall of 2017, I threw my kids a party. It wasn’t a birthday. It wasn’t a holiday. It was just a Monday.
I didn’t throw the party because I’m a perfect mom. On the contrary, I threw it because I’m not perfect at all.
The week before that Sunday night was tough. The pressure of having more things to do than I had time for had gotten to me.
“In a moment of weakness, I chose losing my patience over finding my grace.”
In addition, the week was filled with tears and heartache, mourning for two little children we had come to love. Both lost their battles with sickness here on earth.
My mom tank was brimming with stress, weariness, and emotional pain, and by that Sunday night, I was running seriously low on patience.
As our family sat around the kitchen table that night, in the midst of chicken nuggets, a ketchup bottle, and my emotional reserve tank on low—it happened.
Someone hurt someone’s feelings, and someone hurt someone else’s arm. And I had had it.
After a brief attempt to use my calm, patient mom voice all that came out of me was the plain old ugly loud voice. In a moment of weakness, I chose losing my patience over finding my grace.
As words tumbled out of my mouth at greater speed and greater volume than I would ever be proud to re-enact, I stopped right in my tracks.
I fell to my knees next to the kids, “I am so, so very sorry that Mommy lost her patience. I love you with my whole heart, and there is nothing that should steal my patience. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”
And do you know what? They forgave me fully and joyfully.
They didn’t have to. I didn’t make them—I couldn’t make them.
They didn’t wait for me to be perfect before they extended their forgiveness. They just did it. And the night got a reset.
The next morning, I woke up, loved on the kids even more than my usual goopy ways, and got them to school singing along with our favorite songs. All the negativity of Sunday evening was gone. Or so I thought…
I can still remember the thud of the car door that morning as the kids hopped out for school and waved goodbye and offered one more smile.
As each child exited the car, guilt, shame, and condemnation invited themselves into the car, buckled their seat belts, and annoyingly decided to ride along with me everywhere I went.
I could not see them, but oh, could I ever hear them:
What kind of a mommy would have to ask her kids to forgive her?
How hard would it have been for you to be just a little more patient?
And the sarcastic jab, Way to go, Mom of the Century!
“I thought I had moved on, but the lies kept nipping at my mind.”
Shame, guilt, and self-condemnation stayed in their seats, intent on making me feel bad about something I thought I had already dealt with.
I thought I had moved on, but the lies kept nipping at my mind.
A fresh wave of disappointment over the situation on Sunday evening washed over me. Despite their tireless efforts to gain occupancy in my mind, they could not because no matter how they pursued me, my God pursued me more.
I could feel this happening. A battle. And God was going to win.
So I prayed: God, I know You lightened our hearts yesterday. Please help me forgive me again. I know it was just an impatient night with the kids, but it feels like I am still the worst person right now.
For years I read the Bible as a remedy after a challenge came up—or a hardship, a mistake, a disappointment—and surely after failure.
Now I read before, during, and after the challenges!
“Putting on the armor of God before something happens—because it will—is a great thing.”
Here is the deal: the good, the bad, the ugly, the horrible, and the wonderful will happen. Putting on the armor of God before something happens—because it will—is a great thing.
It will not take the challenge away, but you will feel ready for the battle that is coming your way.
An everyday example of preparing for the battle is the habit my husband has of getting his coffee ready for the next morning the night before. He sets a timer on the coffeepot so that the coffee is already made when he gets up. He knows that his cup of coffee will help him feel more awake and ready for the day at hand.
In this same way, we can arm up and prepare for what is coming next. Since I know I will face difficulties, shouldn’t I prepare my armor of God as well? Shouldn’t I have it ready to be put on the next day? Shouldn’t I get Scripture percolating through my mind?
As I remembered the words of Romans 8:1 and John 3:17, God gave me the words to cover the lies of guilt, shame, and condemnation. His words began to crowd out the lies with truth. Soon there was no room in my car, in my mind, or in my heart for lies.
And by the power of the Holy Spirit, guilt and shame took a hike for the day.
Filling up on God’s truth, His Word, leaves little room for the lies of anyone else to occupy real estate in our hearts. But it is up to us to read and protect ourselves with truth.
“And by the power of the Holy Spirit, guilt and shame took a hike for the day.”
We need to get into the truth early and often.
I recalled how our three children forgave me, extended grace to me when I lacked it, and loved me even when I was far from loveable. I was so excited that I thought about picking up all the kids from school and giving them a half day off. With a fresh heart, I went with my backup plan: A party.
An ice cream party. But not just any party. When they got home from school, I would throw them a forgiveness party! Our family favorites—black raspberry chip, mint chocolate chip, and Graeter’s Buckeye Blitz.
When I returned home, I made notes that said, “The only thing sweeter than Graeter’s ice cream is forgiveness” and “We forgive because He forgave us first.”
When the kids came home from school and dropped their backpacks, they saw the full party mode in our kitchen and asked with a mix of curiosity and excitement, “What’s this for!?”
With a smile, I answered, “It’s a party. Because you forgave me.” The only thing sweeter than my absolute favorite ice cream is the forgiveness my kids served me that day.
“We need to get into the truth early and often.”
Reflecting on the party helped me see so much more clearly how God sees me in those situations.
I don’t have to be perfect because He is. The joy that comes with trusting that we have a forgiving God is worth a party too!
If you are struggling to move forward under the weight of something you have done or said, some way you have hurt the people around you, or maybe some regret you simply cannot get past, the invitation to this party is for you.
You can be forgiven and free—free from the guilt, embarrassment, and misery that come with making mistakes.
It’s as simple as confessing the sin, asking for forgiveness, and believing you are forgiven—because the Bible says you are.
Elisabeth Hasselbeck is an Emmy Award–winning talk show host, former broadcaster, and New York Timesbest-selling author of The G-Free Diet and Deliciously G-Free. Her new book, Point of View: A Fresh Look at Work, Faith, and Freedom details her journey as God taught her how to see clearly – through His lens, not her own.
In this illuminating book, Elisabeth walks through the times–from her national celebrity days to her newest role as CBO (Chief Breakfast Officer)–where she saw something differently than how God wanted her to, and the path back to His point of view was sometimes rocky but always revealing. Sometimes God’s intentions for her were clear, yet other times she encountered situations so uncomfortable and blurry that she could only ask for His wisdom.
Elisabeth welcomes you into the many different, and often divergent, points of view that she has witnessed and learned from along the way. It is a journey that brought her to the ultimate point of view that she discovered in the Word of God–that until she sees herself as He sees her, she is not seeing at all. As you read through the pages here, she invites you to make the same discovery for yourself.
[ Our humble thanks to Waterbrook for their partnership in today’s devotion ]
April 24, 2019
The Secret to that Battle You’re Facing
W
hen the woman reached out to hug me just before I got to the door, she whispered it in my ear and I barely heard it through what was leaking down her cheeks, “I don’t know if I’m going to live through this.”
She pulled back and looked me in the eye:
“How do you keep taking one step after another — when you want to be on another road?”
“Maybe it’s — I just don’t know how — to live through this?”
I read her eyes and she reads mine and how do you hear the voice of the Shepherd still calling your name when the lies from the pit keep calling you names, and you can’t breathe for the shame?
How do you live through this hard thing — that’s effecting everything? How do you keep finding a way forward — without losing your hope along the way?
How do you keep taking one step after another — when you want to be on another road?
Our Favourite Farmhouse #FreeTrade Resource: The Grace Crafted Home 
Our Favourite Farmhouse #FreeTrade Resource: The Grace Crafted Home
Our Favourite Farmhouse #FreeTrade Resource: The Grace Crafted Home
The woman brushes her cheeks with the back of her hand.
And I don’t know what grief that’s got her cornered at every turn, or if it’s a prodigal child she’s begging to make a u-turn, don’t know if it’s a mountain she’s got to take, or if it’s something that’s trying to take her — but I know that I know that overwhelmed look in her eyes and I feel the cracking ache in her brave voice and the details of our hard may be different, but all our need for courage is the same.
“the details of our hard may be different, but all our need for courage is the same.”
The scale doesn’t move a digit, but your determination doesn’t budge an inch.
The acceptance letter doesn’t come in the mail, but you don’t accept that this any dead end.
The job offer doesn’t come through, but you don’t offer to back down from life one iota.
The knot in your gut that was there last night, is right there strangling you a bit tighter as soon as you open your eyes this morning, but you grab hold of that rope and you just tie it to the next thing and the next thing and you make that knot in your gut into a knotted lifeline from one moment to the next.
And I cup her face in my hands. And I nod, because I feel it too:
Everyone is fighting a hard battle — but there are a lot of us fighting hard battles after losing a whole string of other battles.
It’s one thing to be fighting a hard battle — and it’s another thing to be fighting a hard battle — when you’ve already lost a lot of battles, when you’ve lost the biggest battles, when you have to keep fighting this battle even though you are clearly losing this battle and you will have to keep fighting this losing battle today and tomorrow and the next day.
Life is one hard battle — and there’s no walking off that battlefield, no escaping from that battlefield, no way out of this battlefield called life.
You have to show up, and not give up.
You have to find a way, and not walk away.
“Everyone’s fighting a hard battle that they’re losing — and winning is staying in the battle.”
You have to keep hanging on, when you don’t know how to go on.
You can’t lose hope — because you have to keep breathing hope.
Sometimes it’s not even about battling to win, or about battling forward. It’s about battling to breathe.
I look her in the eye and only want to tell her:
Everyone’s fighting a hard battle that they’re losing — and winning is staying in the battle.
You’re winning the battle — when you stay in the battle.[/pullquote]
And I tell her that I’m with her, with her, and I nod and I mean it.
The battle you have ahead of you is won — if you just keep your heart in the battle now.
And she nods and squeezes my hand.
Because what we all need in our battles is with-ness and witness.
Brokenness needs with-ness and witness — someone to stand with us and someone to see us.
And she smiles the bravest and I whisper, “You will live through this.”
Because the truth about every blasted battle is:
What you don’t know how to live through — Jesus died for.
Where you don’t how to go on — Jesus already went through.
What feels hopeless — is where you meet more Jesus.
And that’s what ended up following me all the winding way home under a smattering of spring stars. What they call the dark night of the soul may feel as endlessly black as the limitless cosmos — but darkness isn’t God, darkness isn’t infinite. Darkness has limits, darkness has an end, darkness has borders.
“All darkness has shores and there is always laughter on the other side. You have to believe this.”
And sometimes you exhale like the expanse of a night sky, like even your breath calls your Father’s name, YWHW.
And you breathe: All darkness has shores and there is always laughter on the other side. You have to believe this.
And when you can’t believe— just breathe. Next breath, next thing, next step — and you will get through now.
He knew: He made your every breath to be the sound of His name, the endless song that comforts your only soul.
Just before dawn this past week, we wake early to stand in the dark and witness the Lyrids, part of the comet Thatcher, shower across the night sky. We have to wait in the dark, wait for our eyes to adjust to the pitch black, wait to see the cascading light.
And when it comes — there is this catching of breath:
Nothing is ever too far gone for hope to come find you.
And we watch how the meteors live through the dark and win the night and on the other side, there’s the rising dawn.
April 22, 2019
On World Earth Day: What Trees Reveal About God, Faith, Resurrection & the Future of Everything
What can trees reveal about God, nature, and the future of everything? Friends, it’s more than you maybe could ever imagine. And when it comes to biblical insights, I could listen to Dr. Matthew Sleeth all day. He’s the real deal, a wise and truthful voice for our times. Matthew has written an achingly beautiful, groundbreaking book, Reforesting Faith — which helps me see the story of creation, the fall, and redemption with fresh eyes. Read, pray, and then share this book as a bridge with a neighbor who loves creation but doesn’t (yet!) know the Creator. As a former ER doctor, Matthew’s compassionate bedside manner and winsome humor will open the door for life-changing conversations. It’s an honor to welcome our very kind friend, Matthew, to the farm’s front porch today….
One February evening, years ago, while vacationing on an island off the coast of Florida, my wife and I sat outdoors on a second-floor deck.
There were no cars, roads, or people about. Our children were tucked into bed. A gentle wind blew over the water, and palm trees rustled in the breeze.
In the stillness Nancy turned to me and asked, “What do you think is the biggest problem on earth?”
Her question came out of nowhere, but I gave it some thought.
“The world is dying,” I said. “There aren’t any elms left on Elm Street or chestnuts on Chestnut Lane. I don’t think humanity can do business as usual for the next hundred years and expect that things are going to turn out all right.”
Then Nancy asked a follow-up question: “If the world is dying, what are you going to do about it?”
I had no answer.
Corey Petrick
Chuck Summers
Matthew Sleeth
Ann Voskamp
Chuck Summers
Corey Petrick
Chuck Summers
Corey PetrickAfter we returned home from vacation, life stopped flowing from one good thing to another.
During our annual family reunion, Nancy’s brother heartbreakingly was pulled down by an undertow and drowned. Around the same time, a mentally ill patient stalked me and was stopped only when police discovered he had murdered his mother and then hid her body in a closet.
The harder I worked to pull things together, the more our lives unraveled. The darkness would not lift. My supply of optimism ran dry.
One Sunday morning at the hospital, I found myself with no patients, so I went looking for something to read. On a coffee table, I found a Bible. I had never read one. Although we had thousands of books in our home, we didn’t own a Bible. So… I stole it.
A few pages into the Gospels I was presented not with answers but with the Bible’s great question: “What say you of Jesus?”
Right away I recognized that Jesus was unlike any person I’d ever met. He was both more human and more godly than anyone I’d known. Over the next two years, my family came to believe like I did in Jesus as our Savior and Lord.
Finally, I was able to answer Nancy’s second question: “What are you going to do about a world that’s dying?”
I told her I wanted to quit my job as chief of staff and head of the emergency department and spend the rest of my life serving God and helping to save the planet.
Concerned about putting food on the table, let alone paying for college for our two teenage kids, Nancy replied, “Honey, are you sure we need to do that much?”
We sold our home, gave away half our possessions, and moved to a house the size of our former garage.
Soon after, we joined a church which became like family. But when I volunteered to plant trees around the church’s grounds, one of the pastors said I had the theology of a tree hugger. This was not a compliment.
My first reaction to the pastor’s comment was, “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe God doesn’t care about trees.”
“After Jesus was resurrected, he was mistaken for a gardener (John 20:15). This was not a mistake.”
Back then, our whole family was new to Christianity.
My daughter hadn’t yet married a pastor. My son wasn’t a missionary pediatrician in Africa, and I’d yet to write books on applied theology or preach at more than a thousand colleges and churches around the world. What did I know about the theology of trees?
But ever since I encountered the gospel for the first time in my forties, the Bible has been my compass. So when I was called a tree hugger, I turned to Scripture to get my bearings.
I read from Genesis to Revelation, underlining everything the Bible has to say about trees. And here’s what I found: God has an astounding fondness for trees.
Other than God and people, the Bible mentions trees more than any other living thing.
There is a tree on the first page of Genesis, in the first psalm, on the first page of the New Testament, and on the last page of Revelation.
“Other than God and people, the Bible mentions trees more than any other living thing.”
Every significant theological event in the Bible is marked by a tree. Whether it is the Fall, the Flood, or the overthrow of Pharaoh, every major event in the Bible has a tree, branch, fruit, seed, or some part of a tree marking the spot.
Moreover, every major character in the Bible appears in conjunction with a tree.
In the Old Testament, Noah received the olive leaf (Genesis 8:11), Abraham sat under “the oaks of Mamre” (Genesis 18:1), and Moses stood barefoot in front of the burning bush (Exodus 3:2–5).
The same pattern holds true in the New Testament. Think of Zacchaeus climbing the sycamore fig (Luke 19:1–4), the blind man seeing people as if they were trees walking (Mark 8:24), and the disciples gathering on the Mount of Olives (Luke 22:39).
Jesus Himself declared that the kingdom of heaven is like a tree (Matthew 13:31–32).
The only thing that Jesus ever harmed was a tree (Mark 11:12–14, 20–21), and the only thing that could harm him was a tree.
After Jesus was resurrected, he was mistaken for a gardener (John 20:15). This was not a mistake.
Jesus is the new Adam (Romans 5:14) who has come to redeem all of creation (Colossians 1:20). Heaven is a place where the leaves of a tree heal all the nations (Revelation 22:1–2).
Despite trees serving as God’s favorite metaphor in Scripture, most people today have never heard a single sermon on trees in the Bible. This was not always the case.
A glance at Charles Spurgeon’s sermon titles indicates what people were hearing from the pulpit during the mid- to late 1800s. From “Christ the Tree of Life” to “The Trees in God’s Court,” Spurgeon, the “prince of preachers,” had no difficulty seeing both the trees andthe forest in Scripture.
More recently George MacDonald, J. R. R. Tolkien, and C. S. Lewis—three of the most beloved and influential Christian fiction writers of all time—championed trees. Their good guys live under, in, and around trees. They value, protect, and even talk to trees. In contrast, the bad guys such as Lewis’s Tash and Tolkien’s Sauron are clear-cutters of trees—even talking trees!
Why have trees gone missing from our faith?
Lying at the heart of the explanation is the resurgence of a first-century heresy called dualism. Dualism calls God’s creation evil, assigning merit only to things of the Spirit. Of course, no part of the Bible supports this heresy. And the incarnation of God as a man named Jesus clearly is at odds with this false dichotomy.
The most dangerous consequence of this heresy is that it prevents us from hearing God speak to us through our everyday interactions with His creation.
The problem with subtracting trees from our theology is that God put them in the Bible for a reason.
There were two trees at the center of the Garden of Eden. One (the Tree of Life) represented humanity’s connection to the divine and the eternal. The other (the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil) represented human agency—and possible rebellion.
When Adam and Eve ate from the wrong tree, they tried to cover up their crime by undressing the very trees they were charged with “dressing” (Gen. 2:15; 3:7). Their next move was to run and hide behind them (Gen. 3:8). Chapter three of Genesis concludes with Adam and Eve being banished from the Garden.
What is the Bible, then, if not a story of God meeting humanity’s need for a Savior to reunite us to the Tree of Life?
Today — is World Earth Day, a day to celebrate the Creator handiwork in His creation.
Walk through a woods today, stand under a tree and pray with Spurgeon:
“See to it that you are rightly planted, and then you may depend upon it that you will really flourish…. [A}sk the Lord to make you thrive, and bloom, and fructify. Your leaf shall not wither, and He will cause you to prosper if you are planted in the courts of the Lord.”
Go for a walk today and stand under a tree and marvel at our Maker:
Trees are God’s investment in humanity’s future. They are the only living thing to which God gives a ring on each birthday. Only He knows the exact timing of Christ’s return. I hope it is tomorrow morning.
But, in the meantime, I’ll plant trees that will take a century to grow — and I’ll try to spread the gospel like there’s no tomorrow.
Matthew Sleeth, MD is the executive director of Blessed Earth. Recognized by Newsweek as one of the nation’s most influential evangelical leaders, he has spoken about the biblical call to be good stewards of the earth at more than one thousand churches, campuses, and events, including the Washington National Cathedral. He is the acclaimed author of Serving God, Saving the Planet.
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Reforesting Faith is a groundbreaking walk through scripture, following God’s trail of trees. There’s a tree planted on the first page of the Bible, with roots running from the first Psalm, to the first page of the New Testament, and on through to the last page of Revelation. Every major biblical character and every major theological event has a tree standing by it.
Engaging us with stories from his early life as a carpenter and later as an ER physician, Matthew Sleeth illuminates what trees can teach us about the nature of God and His love for us. Your walk through the woods and your Bible will never be the same– a perfect, Biblical read for Earth day…
[ Our humble thanks to Waterbrook for their partnership in today’s devotion ]
April 20, 2019
Only the Good Stuff: Multivitamins for Your Weekend [04.20.19]
… on the in between day between Friday and Sunday —
we’ve made a place for your heart right here…
Take time to breathe right here:
Mary Anne Morgan
Mary Anne Morgan
Mary Anne Morgan
“Got lost in the beauty this morning. I used beets, purple cabbage, turmeric and yellow onion skins to dye our eggs this year. I am swooning over the depth and complexity that God puts into everything He makes.” ~Mary Anne Morgan
Forever: He is glorified
… when the most recognizable church in the world ignites in flame on the Monday of Holy Week? I mean: God wants our full attention & we are here for it because who can afford to miss out on the point: (with a Free Printable)
for everyone: The Story of Easter
Just — why we can’t rush past today, the Other Holy Day, Maundy Thursday. Because this is what your broken heart, the world, the church needs most. Yeah, Hard Holy Week?
You’re so not alone… The World, The Church & Your Heart — needs what’s at the heart of Maundy Thursday.
Let’s watch through Mary’s eyes…
World Seems Kinda Ripped Apart & You’re Tired of Feeling Torn?
How Good Friday Meets All Our Hard
As Jesus Christ lies in the tomb, tomorrow is coming!
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
… whatever you’re facing, whatever you’re walking through?
This story is especially for you right now…
When I heard this story my heart split in two — it’s all realer this weekend than you could even hope:
… on the night that He went to the Upper Room,
He was ready to go to the lowest
to reach every single one of the bruised & battered.
On the night He wrung sweaty, bloody prayers out of His soul in the garden,
He wanted the heart of us broken and the will of the Father
more than He could stand being without any one of us.
” ‘And on the night He was BETRAYED…
He broke bread & lifted it up & GAVE THANKS.’ (1Cor.11:23)
And, I’m telling you — If Jesus can give thanks IN THAT?
Then, even in this busted & hurting world, we can look to Him
& give thanks in EVERYTHING.
[excerpted from our little Facebook family … come join us each day?]
That’s all for this weekend, friends.
Go slow. Be God-struck. Grant grace. Live Truth.
Give Thanks. Love well. Re – joy, re- joy, ‘re- joys’ again
Share Whatever Is Good.
April 19, 2019
Why It’s all Realer This Easter Weekend Than You Thought: Why You Can’t Miss The Actual Deliverance Story in Your Bones That’s Meant To be Fully Experienced & Shared
W
hen I meet a guy in the desert who tells me that he killed a lamb to puts it’s blood over his door four times a year, I stop dead in my tracks.
Wait.
People — in 2019 — putting the blood of a lamb on their doorposts? Standing right here in front of me?
“It has to be a perfect lamb, without blemish.” Joshua holds onto the reins of this camel behind him that has a stack of boxes lashed to its back. Sometimes I can hardly breathe for my blemishes and bustedness.
“It has to be a lamb?” I step a bit closer, try to keep leaning toward the Truth. Go ahead and substitute different names and stories and cultures — but maybe deep down, we all know that we need a substitute for our brokenness? I hurt through to my bones.
“It has to be a lamb, slaughtered in front of each house. Four times a year. To cleanse you of your sin. And the blood is put on our camels.”
“All we ever need is the need of help, of a hand, of a Savior’s heart.”
And over your door.
The guy gestures toward the Rendille village of stick huts, where every firstborn son rubs a “holy stick” on the back of a sacrificial lamb while saying Sorio, Sorio, Sorio, Sorio. Which means “Give us peace.”
God, peace — please.
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
When the guy’s fellow tribesmen tell me that for centuries these Rendille people have passed on to their children a story of coming to these desert lands by walking through a lake that spilt right into in two so they could walk through — I’m a gaping canyon carved wide open.
“We needed to get to the other side of an immense lake here in Kenya, but it was too large for us to walk around.” All around me, everywhere I look, all the Rendille women in this village, all ringed in beads stacking up necks, rattling with coils of color.
All I can think: When your people have walked through walls of water, do you become a rainbow of hope?
“The old men said it was too hard for us as a people to find a way around the lake in time — but if a boy would enter the waters…. He may drown in the waters — but His sacrifice would make the waters separate.”
My heart feels like it’s physically enlarging across the full span of me in slackjawed awe, and I’m enlarged heart pressing against lungs — I have to remember to breathe.
An African people — who have their own Passover ceremony, their own —— Red Sea Road story? A people group who doesn’t have the Old Testament, has never read the Old Testament — who tell their own Passover Exodus story?
“The old men said we need a Saviour — who can save the people.”
Need — a Saviour? Breathe.
“Only being in need is the only thing you really need. When all I have is need — I have all I need.”
All we ever need is the need of help, of a hand, of a Savior’s heart.
Haven’t the ancient ways always said:
Only being in need is the only thing you really need. When all I have is need — I have all I need.
The secular world not only seeks the sacred — the secular world never stops seeking a saviour — never stops looking for a saviour in status, in security, in self-sufficiency. I’m fighting raining grief in the desert:
Nothing saves at all
But the One who gave us all.
“To get through the waters, we needed a boy who will sacrifice himself to the water. And if the boy sacrifices himself? The water will separate.” I split. There are times you are so moved — you can’t move.
“And — this happened.”
I can hardly whisper: “The boy sacrificed himself?”
“Yes — the boy went into the waters — and the waters parted. And we, the Rendille people, walk through the waters on dry ground.”
I’m standing amidst a tribal people who tell a traditional story of a son who sacrificed himself to the waters to make a way through the waters.
I’m standing amidst an African people in the desert who for centuries of generations have been making a Passover-like sacrifice for their wrongs because they know in their souls a perfect lamb is what’s needed to make things right.
The Story is the Story is the Story.
It doesn’t matter what you know of the Story, the soul still knows:
Either live a life of perfection — or you need another’s life of perfection to be your substitution.
Either there’s no way through — or you need the Son to make a way through.
“Either there’s no way through — or you need the Son to make a way through.”
The Story is the Story is the Story.
The guy holding the camel tells me he stopped sacrificing a lamb for his sins.
But his mother said she desperately needed him to do the Sorio passover for their family: It’s only the firstborn son who can take the blood of the lamb and mark it over the doors, on the camels, mark peace over their coming and going.
“I had to tell my mother, I can’t. I can’t keep doing Sorio.” Before I can ask him why, he’s there with words:
“I now have this Perfect Sacrifice.” He’s pointing to the heavens.
Jesus.
The desert man tells me he met Jesus around a campfire on the other side of those barren hills.
I feel marked, found.
You stop looking for your perfection in other things when Jesus becomes your everything.
The only perfect you actually need is the actual perfection of Jesus.
“The only perfect you actually need is the actual perfection of Jesus.”
The only way through the impossible and imperfect is the Way Himself.
There is a Lamb who hangs on a Cross, who makes a way across anything.
“I had to tell my mother: I don’t want to be disobedient to you, but I now have a master I have to obey. And that is the Word of God and Jesus Christ. I had to tell her, I’m now a changed man: If anyone is in Christ, the old has gone, the new is here — and we now lived changed.”
My eyes don’t leave the desert man’s:
When you claim the Lamb of God as your complete sacrifice, He becomes the Lord of your life and you completely sacrifice everything for Him — because this is what it means to claim Him.
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed CompanyHe grew up to be the Bible translator standing in front of me.
For over 20 years, he pours over the Story so that despair can Pass Over his people. And in those boxes strapped to the back of camel behind Joshua, lamb-sacrificer made into Word-of-The-Lamb-translator?
The first Bibles in his Rendlille language in those boxes.
The Word of God is coming riding in on the back of a camel.
“If we aren’t ravenously hungry for the Word of God, have we claimed the Lamb of God as ours? If we only have a passing interest in the Word of God — how can expect to have a Passover Lamb?”
It’s like a kind of modern day Palm Sunday in Northern Kenya, the nomadic Rendille people waving hundreds of worn shepherding sticks instead of palm branches.
And I’m kinda wild to peel my boots off in the desert. Could anything be more holy than the heart of God coming for the first time to wash a people’s hearts and make them holy?
It’s like the shekinah glory of the Word of God itself coming for the first time in bound cardboard boxes, lashed to the hump of a swaying dromedary, and when God comes for us, how can we not come to Him?
Any direction I turn there’s the God-anticipating Rendille coming anxious to hold the Story, ready smiles and raised hands: They’ve relentlessly sought the relief of peace from centuries of slaying unblemished lambs under the scorching African sun, generation after generation — and this day is nothing short of a resurrection coming. I’m laid low in the dust.
Who wants a Lamb like this? And if we aren’t ravenously hungry for the Word of God, have we claimed the Lamb of God as ours?
If we only have a passing interest in the Word of God — how can expect to have a Passover Lamb?
Stirring the desert dust with the beat of rhythmic feet, thousands of beaded necklaces rattle like stirred bones rising.
More than 1000 Rendille — and hundreds of distant neighboring tribespeople — gathering in the stifling heat to witness the arrival of the completed New Testament in their own mother tongue and I am small and undone and I want this Story, need this Story, cling to this Story.
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed CompanyWherever you are: The Story is the Story is the Story.
“The Story has a hero — and it’s not us — it’s Him. A Hero who nailed it by letting Himself be nailed, a Hero who crushed it by letting Himself be crushed, a Hero who killed it by surrendering Himself”
Whatever you are facing, whatever you are walking:
This is the Story we carry in our DNA and this is the Story that carries us.
The Story has a hero — and it’s not us — it’s Him.
A Hero who nailed it by letting Himself be nailed, a Hero who crushed it by letting Himself be crushed, a Hero who killed it by surrendering Himself to be killed by those who direly needed a revolution of their whole trajectory because the only Hero of any Story is the surrendered servant.
There is a Lamb who leaves the 99 to find the one in need to become all we need. Lay your head down on His soft side and rest in the rhythm of His heart.
There is a Lamb who lays with the wounded, who bleeds life into our wounds, and by His wounds we are healed. Lay your wounds on His open wounds and feel the healing.
“There is a Lamb to make the broken-hearted into the lion-hearted, and in a devouring world we will roar with fearless hope.”
There is a Lamb who is stripped naked, disrespected, rejected, ridiculed, reviled, and slain with disdain — and He enters into your shame and He carries your blame and He gives you His name and by His death pangs, even us broken and busted are reclaimed.
The Lamb didn’t come to only make the lame walk. He came to make the dead rise, the broken heal, the hopeless trust, the self-loathing forgiveness-filled, and the overwhelmed overcomers.
There is a Lamb to make the broken-hearted into the lion-hearted and in a devouring world we will roar with fearless hope.
There is a Way through only because the Son let His heart be split in two.
Every exodus begins with the Story.
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed Company
Esther Havens for The Seed CompanyThe day after the camel strode in with the God’s New Testament Story strapped to it’s back?
A neighbouring Samburu woman, who had traveled more than 400 dangerous kilometers down bandit-lined roads to witness how God is now spoken by her Rendille neighbors, she walks to the front of the Rendille church to confess:
“God forgive me, I was jealous yesterday — I was jealous that you had God’s Story in your language — and I want God’s Story in my language.”
The secular world still seeks the sacred. Clutching their brand new red New Testaments, Rendille men, women and children, nod their deep understanding.
Just over 2,000 languages are still waiting to have God’s Word spoken in their mother tongue. It’s like a divine realization: Every people group on the planet could have God’s Story within our lifetime, this could happen and we could be part of parting their waters.
I keep turning to look at Judy, the radiant Rendille woman clutching the Story hands outstretched, welcoming God, welcoming the shekinah of the Story. And I am rain in the desert:
The veil is torn in two, the waves have been ripped into a Way, the Lamb has split His heart to heal ours, and the way to the Promised Land is a Story worth sharing.
And when I watch the Story-hungering Samburu woman walk out of the Rendille church — I can hear the seed-like beads of her necklace rattle like the hope of more resurrections coming.
More exodus deliverances following the Lamb into the Promised Land.
If the Story Matters to You this Easter, Share It:
Help Us Translate 1,000 verses into another language by Easter
Just $35 for one verse & you share The Lamb, The Way, an Exodus Deliverance.
This is the story worth actually living, actually sharing.
Be part of The Story this weekend & have the courage to share the Story that delivers us all into the Promised Land.
April 18, 2019
World Seems Kinda Ripped Apart & You’re Tired of Feeling Torn? How Good Friday Meets All Our Hard
Our Pastor calls one year to ask if I’d write a moment through the eyes of the mother of Jesus? So I write down words… and imagine the mother of our Lord… fingering the bloody tunic of her Son.
Son…. Son of God… Son of mine…
God.
Why?
From the beginning I have watched and I have listened and I have pondered all these things quiet in my heart — but now I have to ask:
why?
Why didn’t You come down from that Cross in all Your power and Glory?
Why didn’t You blind the chief priests with Your divine radiance?
Why didn’t You still all their blasphemous tongues with the army of the heavenly host, with Your burning holiness, with Your flaming sword?
Isn’t that who You really are?
Oh Son — why?
I know… I know.
Only Your blood flow can extinguish the flames of hell.
There was no other way.
How could You let a lost world burn?
You took fire so we could walk free. You took violence so we could be victors. You took hell so we could be healed.
Sin hurt You far deeper than the spikes.
And You let the horrors of satan take a swipe at You so that all horrific sin could be wiped clean.
And You knew it all along.
You were conceived into skin for the Cross — the cave of that manger beginning glimpsing the cave of Your Messiah, martyred endings.
You who had no beginning, You were born for this, for the blood —
that we might be reborn to life.
Oh Son….
I know… how could You have been our Saviour if You hadn’t known suffering?
How could we have worshiped You if You weren’t wounded?
How could we bow to You if You were not bruised?
We could only believe in You because You have lived in us — in our mangled world, in our aching pain, in all our hurting humanity.
You alone are the God for us — because You alone are the God who has been one of us. You felt what we feel, You touched the death that we know, You came to us as Immanuel: God with us.
I remember when Joseph first told me… that the angel had told him that You would be called Immanuel… God with us.
I started weaving your robe right then.
The loom work was soothing, the shuttle slipping back and forth, like rocking, a lullaby. And I dreamed of You and holding You and how someday You would wear this cloth…. this tunic without seams.
It’s tradition, what all Jewish mothers give to their sons when they leave home: a seamless robe.
A one-piece robe.
And I began Your one-piece before I even beheld You and I wove late through the nights, under that circle of moon and I thought of You who has no beginning and no end, You from which all things are from and through and to… and I gave you the robe and I watched You walk this sod and I was there.
I was there at Calvary and I stood near that Cross with my sister, Mary, the wife of Clopas and with Mary Magdalene and I saw you heave breathe.
And I saw the blood trickling down from the iron pierced holes in your feet and I saw the soldiers take Your clothes… this one-piece robe… and I hardly breathed… and I heard them say, “Let us not tear it.”
And when they already had tore you right through…
“This all happened that the Scripture might be fulfilled.”
And I heard you say, your voice gurgling blood, “Dear Woman… here is your son.”
And I went home with John, my mind thinking of you torn and your one-piece robe still whole…
How You let your side be ripped open that our lives need never be split into sacred and secular.
How you were slashed that our lives could be seamless — all holy.
That the veil in the temple rents in two because of You, and there is no longer a divide between the common and the hallowed and the whole earth is full of your glory and You are the continuous, unending, divine thread that weaves through all of the world, holding all together… even when you, Son, are rent apart.
And hanging naked and blood smeared and dirt defiled, You nodded slow and You said yes — You gave us your one-piece robe of seamless holiness and You clothed us, the filthy ones, in all your white righteousness.
Your blood wasn’t enough.
Your buying us back wasn’t enough.
Your being our brother wasn’t enough.
Nothing short of dressing us beautifully and calling us Beloved would be enough.
O Son…
That I’d take up this cloth that You give me and be who You name me — Beloved.
That there’s no more being torn in a million directions — that no matter what pulls, I have a one-piece life life in You: One direction, One purpose, One audience, One Love, One Joy — a one-piece life — all holy, all meaningful, all offered to You.
That I’d wear a One-Piece life and see Your face in a thousand faces, in a thousand humble and unseen places, and all my life would be all with You. And the moon will shine round and the threads of all my moments will shine with Your glory. And this one-piece life — that it’d be all be for the One and True God alone…
I swaddled You in the beginning…
And now You hold us and robe us in You.
April 16, 2019
Holy Week: How to Rebuild & Rise from the Ashes (How a Family, Church, Civilization can Experience the True Story of Restoration this Easter)
On the Monday of Holy Week, in one of the most secular countries on globe, in the midst of a fire hungrily devouring the planet’s most famous gothic church — a chain of humanity forms, to pass from one hand to another hand, what is believed to be a nail that held Christ to Golgotha’s Cross, the piercing thorns that pressed His brow, and a piece of the Cross itself.
Regardless of the veracity of the relics, this is what matters: that people think that any of this still matters.
There is a Story that survives fire.
There is a narrative that is formative and it forms the essence of us and it will raise from flames.
“There is a Story that survives fire.”
There is Truth we are tethered to and it’s an anchor for the ages that steadies civilizations.
We all globally witnessed it at the beginning of Holy Week: A post-modern culture may think it’s grown beyond the Story, but it’s the Story that stays in us and grows us beyond ourselves:
And a secular city’s streets, it fill with hipsters and millennials and mamas and weary old men and all these bystanders who couldn’t just blithely stand by, and all their grieving strains of Ava Maria — Hail, Hail, the Lord, The Lord is with thee — rise like incensed prayers, mingling with plumes of smoke.
A secular world still seeks the sacred.
Maybe we aren’t collectively lamenting the loss of a sacred space — as much as we are lamenting the loss of a sacred way of being.
“There must be those who rebuild on the Rock and the Cornerstone and we will only rise if we lay our foundation down in the Word.”
Maybe we all want to admit more of God into our lives — more than we all care to admit?
Maybe Notre Dame’s a burning bush in the wilderness of our collective Lent?
Maybe:
All this world is crammed with Christ
and Notre Dame’s our burning bush afire,
awakening us to His Presence and our pining —
and the woken take their flexing sneakers off feet
to kneel down and wash feet —
incarnating Christ,
instead of pontificating and picking each other apart.
That is the question: Which part of us? The deadened part of us that is blasé and non-committal to the call of God, the ways of God, the Living Word of God? Is this a burning off of our dross?
Or is it the marrow of our bones on fire, our veins burning with passion for the Christ, our lips ablaze with praise, our tongues on fire to tell the Good News, our arteries firing with the hope of glory, a passion for staying in the Story?
Or — is the edifice that’s burning down on our screens actually Judeo-Christian civilization as we know it?
Is the inferno of Notre Dame a metaphor of our post-modern era — and what does our collective grieving reveal about what we’re really missing — Who we are really missing?
One can grieve and wonder if it’s true:
We may want the scent of Christ in our streets — without any surrender to Christ in our souls.
So now is the time we gather the kids round, circle around the table, and light candles and open that which ignites and kindles the dry bone and places, because this is the week to Stay in the Story, the time to give the Story, the time to share the Story.
“We have to Stay in the Story to stay rooted enough to stay standing.”
Because as the world, hand in hand, grieves over a loss of sacred space, one wonders if we are all really lamenting leaving Him as our soul’s refuge, and we simply long to live in the Story, live out the Story, and come Home.
I read the Story straight through this week to the littlest, and am nearing the end of my own spending Lent reading right through all of the New Testament. My brother tells he too gathered his 4 littles under 4 and read every page of Tiny Truths to his tinies because what ultimately matters? Is that the Truth of this Story now matters more than ever.
The blaze-shocked world may have heard Macron say Notre Dame is “the epicentre of our lives,” and France may see the Dame’s steeples are a symbol of who they are, stands as the crux of their identity, but there is an epicentre of Word that is central to Believers, there is an unchanging identity found in holy writ, in “the true story of who you are and what you were made for.
The most important part of this Story is very simple:
Who God is — the One who made everything and everyone.
Who we are— His children, who He loves no matter what.
What we were made for — to love Him and everyone else.” (From the Introduction of Tiny Truths)
In a world that can burn down around us, in the epidemic of our age, this search for identity, we have to Stay in the Story to stay rooted enough to stay standing.
“We cannot afford to be careless keepers of incomparable things.”
And it is nothing less than a Holy Week miracle of global proportions: On the brink of Resurrection Sunday and the unfolding of the Story that raises all the razed things from the ashes to life again, Humanity has all turned toward a place of worship — and is determined to rebuild sacred space.
Exactly because we are wired to worship and to stay in the Story.
In the ashes that begin Holy Week, I am fiercely intentional and stack the Word around us like stones, open its pages like doors, find refuge in its structurally sound lines, rest in its interior.
We all know it in our bones: What we all need now, standing in the charred remains of Western civilization, is to stay in the Story, steep in the Story, soak in the Story, choose a saturation of Story — in the smouldering aftermath of the scorching flames.
Because there is a Cathedral for Christendom that will outlast the ages — and it is the sacred Truth of the Text, the nave found in Holy Narrative, the feasting altar of the Living Word, the safe arches of the Story.
We stand at the beginning of Holy Week with the stark realization:
These times need us: We cannot afford to be careless keepers of incomparable things.
“We rebuild with more than concrete — we rebuild with concrete Truths. We restore by more than sharing our resources — we restore by sharing the Story. We rise with more than inspirational words — we rise by incarnating the Word. “
These times need us: Who will be steadfast stewards of the Story if not us?
These times need us: There must be those who rebuild on the Rock and the Cornerstone — and we will only rise if we lay our foundation down in the Word.
We rebuild with more than concrete — we rebuild with concrete Truths.
We restore by more than sharing our resources —
we restore by sharing the Story.
We rise with more than inspirational words —
we rise by incarnating the Word.
In the face of the conflagration engulfing Western Civilization, there will only be restoration, if there is a people who will pass on the torch of the only Story that can shelter the generations so there is a hope of regeneration and cosmic salvation.
On the evening of the Monday of Holy Week, there are images broadcast around the world of the wicks of tiny prayer candles flickering fearlessly in the dark, while high above in the nave, the spire of Notre Dame goes up in a roar of flames.
And when I turn to open up the true Story, there’s igniting light on every page, a brave fire that burns in the Story and those who stay in the Story, to restore and rise, defying the dark or the ashes.
Because this is the week to Stay in the Story, the time to give the Story, the time to share the Story.
And what better way to help to hide big truths in little hearts than these free printable finger puppets! They are designed to coordinate with multiple stories from your Tiny Truths Illustrated Bible, giving you a meaningful way to act out and retell the stories over and over again with your little ones. Please click here for this free printable.
With whimsical illustrations and engaging storytelling, The Tiny Truths Illustrated Bible presents all your favorite stories and diversely represented characters from the Old and New Testaments.
Uniquely presented in a way that connects each individual story to the next, this book introduces children to the most important ideas and characters of the Bible while also making clear how everything fits together to tell one big story––the story of God’s love for his children.
Perfect for this Easter season: Kids will want to return to these joyful, memorable stories again and again, building their understanding of God’s Word. And the practical lessons, reminders, and truths found throughout the stories make this an invaluable resource.
Who will be steadfast stewards of the Story if not us?
There must be those who rebuild on the Rock and the Cornerstone and we will only rise — if we lay our foundation down in the Word.
Introduce your children to the incredible story of God’s enormous love for them with The Tiny Truths Illustrated Bible and be the people who Stay in the Story.
[ Our humble thanks to Zondervan for their partnership in today’s devotion ]
April 15, 2019
Heart Surgery before Holy Week: When You Need Answers for Your Broken Heart & the Suffering of the World
I am scared to whisper here.
What do you dare say when you’ve been sleeping beside a hospital bed for the last 12 days, been sleeping alongside the brave 300 children curled and splayed in stacked floors of beds under the sign: Hospital for Sick Kids.
How many times have the hallways buzzed with Code Blue, Code Blue?
How many times have a child’s cries and begging no’s seized us down these hallways and we cracked wide open with prayers for all these caught in the land of the suffering?
They cut through her sternum before dawn on the third Friday of Lent. You do whatever you have do to get to a broken heart.
I sang “Jesus loves me” into the curl of her ear till the very last second, till they took her from us, till they rolled her into the operating room, sang that one line over and over again: “Little ones to Him belong, they are weak but He is strong,” kept singing it after I thought my legs would give out.
“The very heart of our pain is the things that keep us apart from God.”
How many caffeine-drunk prayers can you murmur for the surgeon who is holding your daughter’s half-heart in his willing hands — while you keep pacing, climbing, the hospital’s atrium stairs — rising and ascending 8 flights, rising with hope, descending into aching questions, turning and climbing upward again.
I want her healed, I desperately want us all healed, I want to walk out of Lent and into the rising.
But I know: There is no healing until you get down to the heart of your heartache.
I stop short, mid-riser, somewhere between the 3rd and 4th floor. Under the lights of the OR on the 2nd floor, there’s a surgeon bent with a scalpel over our daughter’s pulsing inferior vena cava and there’s this cutting through everything down to the heart of our being:
Suffering is not our main stress. Estrangement is.
It feels brazen to believe it standing there in the Hospital for Sick Children, in the midst of all kinds of suffering children:
The cause of our deepest distress is all that keeps us estranged from God — more than the stress of any suffering.
Jesus got down to the heart of our heartbreak: The very heart of our pain is the things that keep us apart from God.
God, do surgery, just do whatever it takes to heal our hearts and everything that keeps us apart.
Humanity’s greatest problem — is not the problem of suffering — but the problem of sin. And Jesus completely solved that problem with His own suffering on the cross.
Jesus could have just healed our bodies — but in this broken world, our bodies would have just broken again, will keep breaking again — so Jesus came to completely heal the deepest aloneness and brokenness in our souls.
Six interminably long hours of a surgeon working painstakingly in the chest cavity of our daughter, six hours of pacing, six hours of praying through this moment — and then the next.
When I see her surgeon walk into the waiting room looking for our faces, we are on our feet again. He’s smiling, reassuring – talking about a fenestration and lateral tunnel through the heart versus an extra cardiac Fontan but I just keep staring at his hands: His hands held her broken heart. Those hands.
“What feels like the woundings of God can be the healing of God.”
When you need to see God’s hand, look at the hands all around you.
When you can’t see God’s hand, close your eyes and rest in the rhythm of His safe heart.
When the surgeon says this final surgery was a success – the final surgery to finish rerouting the blood flow of her beating, single ventricle heart – should last us decades before the next step of a heart transplant, I brim, find the Farmer’s hand, murmur a choked thank you to the surgeon who took a sharp scalpel to our daughter’s heart, to try to heal her heart.
I believe: What feels like the woundings of God can be the healing of God.
After surgery, all the days bleed into streams of nights, the Farmer and I keeping unmoveable vigil beside our daughter’s bed in CICU, refusing to take our eyes off her heart rate, her oxygen, her heart beat pulsing across a screen.
Every recovering breath through her oxygen mask sounds like raspy hope.
Tubes from her chest bleed and drain away in all this surgical aftermath. Hope is always painfully messy, unbelievably hard, fiercely resilient. And every fighter deserves a witness.
When anyone has to bear pain, they deserve someone to at least bear witness to it. We’re here for it, here for all of it. We’re but one of the bleary-eyed huddle of parents barnacled to the side of a child’s bed in ICU.
“A God who is beyond great, must, by definition, work in ways that are beyond our understanding.”
In a world of suffering, the believers really believe:
A God who is beyond great, must, by definition, work in ways that are beyond our understanding.
I watch her tracking monitors, her dripping IVs, through the night watches and trust the ways of God:
For our Father to have created a world without suffering — would our Father then have had to create a world with different children? For a world without suffering to exist at all — would humans get to exist at all?
Maybe a world without suffering changes the DNA of everything that would leave a world without us?
Isn’t a life of suffering that can still lead to eternal life better than creating a world where there may be no human life as we know it at all?
Tucked into the corner of her bed is her hand-crocheted, long-haired superhero doll, SHEro, the doll my mama’s sister made for her, that my mama stitched a heart on to mirror the same rare side our girl’s heart is on. Her SHERO rolled into surgery with her.
“It’s scars that mark a soul with otherworldly strength.”
If God had created a world without great suffering — would this be a world without great souls? Suffering is the ink of all the unforgettable stories. Eliminate adversity and you obliterate bravery. Take away overwhelming suffering from the world and you take away the overcomers of the world.
Virtues are only visible against a backdrop of adversity.
It’s forging through, that forges greatness in you.
It’s scars that mark a soul with otherworldly strength.
When her surgically-traumatized heart jolts into a wild gallop of an arrhythmia, and her room fills with a dozen of the cardiac team just after midnight, explaining to us the risks of this arrhythmia… the risks of the medications to reign it back into its steady pace, I keep stroking her hair back, keep hoping for morning with her here.
“There is a world of suffering out there, but there is a world of indestructible hope within us.”
Slow and steady, Braveheart. There is a world of suffering out there, but there is a world of indestructible hope within us.
They track her rhythm with EKGs, measuring beats — and five times throughout the night, they administer medications through her IVs, trying to shock her relentlessly racing heart into slow and steady, slow and steady. My heart aches with praying.
This is a broken-hearted world but we are a lion-hearted people.
We roar prayers and love large.
And the Lion of Judah Himself enters into the suffering with us, staying with us, forever living to intercede in prayer for us.
Even Friedrich Nietzsche has to concede that “the only satisfactory (answer to the problem of suffering)” is that “the gods justified human life by living it themselves.”
And I believe it here beside her with heart pounding hard at breakneck speeds, here with hundreds of Sick Kids struggling to breathe, to sleep:
“He who names Himself “God with us” never stops suffering with us.”
He who names Himself “God with us” never stops suffering with us.
Suffering has to have enough purpose in the world if God Himself daily purposes to endure suffering with us.
And the night before the nails, as Jesus approaches the cross, the God Man confesses, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow, to the point of death” (Matthew 26:38). Whatever unbelievable suffering crosses our path, Jesus suffered through that and worse at the Cross — so we can believe the problem of suffering is solved by the plan of salvation.
Our estrangement is solved by the strange grace of the Cross — and we are saved from purposeless suffering by our Suffering Savior. The God with us feels all the suffering that walks with us.
“Mama?” She whispers, reaching for me from the hospital bed. “How we get there?”
I think she’s asking about how, in the midst of monitors and leads and oxygen, to get to down the hall to the playroom?
“What if our problem of suffering in the world is really our problem with the sovereignty of God?”
“We can just walk to the playroom, baby? One step at a time?”
But she puts her hand on my cheek:
“No, how we get there? How we get out of here and get home?” She looks so fragile, her eyes begging mine.
“As soon as your heart is stronger, I promise — we will go home.” My eyes try to calm hers.
“Can you make it all go faster, Mama?” Her eyes keep searching mine. I kiss her forehead gently.
What if our problem of suffering in the world is really our problem with the sovereignty of God?
When I don’t understand God’s timing, my heart will keep time with God’s heart.
On the evening of the 13th day, when her cardiac team feels sure she is safe, this brave beating heart rerouted and healing – this new beta-blocker medication which will hold our girl’s post-operative heart in a steady rhythm, and we’re discharged to walk out the hospital door — I stop at the bottom of the stairs, her grinning, and the Farmer holding her the tightest, and I brave a smile through everything brimming.
Home. She gets to go home.
It’s true – this heart journey of hers is a story that never ends… a warrior road that will always be hers to bravely walk… but she smiles. This chapter is now finished and she gets to go home.
How we do all survive the survivor’s guilt?
Why do we get another morning, why do get the grace of days, why do get to breathe at all? We got yesterday — how do live through the miracle that the hope of tomorrow becomes the reality of now? We got the last hour — why do we get more?
Why in the world did we get the miracle of now — and how do we steward the miracle of more? Is the only way to survive survivor’s guilt — is to help more survive their suffering?
And how can we not be overwhelmed, not with the question of suffering — but with the question of amazing, saving grace?
When we walk out of the hospital doors, feel the sun again on our faces — I lay my hand over her scarred heart and I am undone with the mystery of His ways and the poetry of the ordinary and I can feel the beat of the coming Holy Week and all these holy moments:
This is a broken-hearted world but we are a lion-hearted people and there is nothing now to fear.
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