Stasi Eldredge's Blog, page 4

I Want

Yesterday my son was holding his 15-month-old daughter when she made her desires known.  Her desire was to go into our bedroom and the door was closed.  It was shut for a reason.  For the time being, it was closed particularly to her.  She erupted in frustrated screaming/crying, her face turning crimson.

“She can go in there”, I say to my son, my grandmother’s heart caving to her cries.

“She doesn’t get what she wants by behaving that way,” he replied.  Oh. Right.  

Then my son calmly spoke to his daughter, “Honey, you don’t get to talk to your Dad that way. What do you want?”

She replied with the sign language that says, “More.” (I get it.  I want more too.)

“More what?”, her father asked, “Show me”.  He picked her up and she pointed to the kitchen next, asking for more fruit.

Wow, I thought.  Watch and learn.

I thought of my Father. Sometimes I pursue what I think I want, what I think will satisfy me and God blocks my path.  Nope.  Not this way.  And I explode within with my own version of an unhappy temper tantrum.

He does not leave me there. He asks, “What do you want?”  He invites me deeper into my heart to really become aware of what it is I am after.  What do I want?  I want soothing.  I want refreshment.  I want to not feel so tired.  I want a break.  I want…I want….I don’t know what I want.  He waits. He pursues.  He helps me to really name what it is I am after and then asks me further…”Show me.”

What I needisrest.  What I need is soothing.  Oh.  What I need is Him.  What I need is more of His Presence.  I will find that in the quiet.  In prayer. In worship.  But I won’t find it if I continue to run from my own heart. He picks me up and invites me home to Him, home to myself.  And my yearning, my tears, my frenetic drive is quieted.

Fires

The fires of summer have destroyed La Veta Pass.   Eden beauty incinerated.  The fires this season spread and pop up like measles all over the western states. News came they have engulfed the home of friends.  Nothing left but smoldering ash.  The air is thick with smoke this morning; no deep breaths can be drawn today.  The view is obscured by haze.

Fires take all forms and shapes and sizes in our lives.  We cannot at times help but choke on what was meant to be clean fresh air but has become ash filled oxygen.  Our family is currently walking through heavy losses that weigh our hearts down.  Tears come frequently.

I have sent my husband fishing.  A gift. A guided trip.  Scheduled weeks in advance.  A time of respite and joy is now to be had under a canopy heavy with burning.  Will the perfect fly find the hungry mouth of a wild brown trout sleek with the markings of a leopard? Will he be able to enjoy the freedom and beauty of the perfect cast thirty years in the making with loss heavy on his heart?  Will the water be clear enough for the fish to rise? Will the ministry of Jesus be able to break through the smoky haze that surrounds life right now?

Fresh, clean, deep breaths are meant to be ours for the taking.  Even when licking flames have drawn too close.  Even if the water that was meant to be clear has become muddy. Because of Jesus.

He is the friend of fishermen.

He is the source of clear, Living Water.

His Spirit is the wind that clears the air of all harming debris.

He has rescued the faithful from fires that destroy.  Just ask Meshach when you meet him.  Jesus has rescued my heart from flames that would like to engulf many times.  So many times.

We live in a fiery and dangerous world.  Jesus doesn’t just fight them, He overpowers them.  He is victorious over them.  They can destroy what we can see but they cannot touch what we cannot.  The weighty eternal world of the unseen is a balm of unending truth and beauty to our lives covered with ash.  

Loss is real.  But so is the resurrection.

The Grand Restoration is coming.  Jesus IS coming.  He is coming on His white steed one day.  The horn will sound.  It will friends.  Take heart. And Jesus is coming today to the scorched earth of our souls that need Him so desperately.

Jesus is faithful to rescue. To intervene.  To heal.  To restore. Oh praise Him my soul.   Our God creates beauty from ashes.

From Isaiah 61: 1-3

He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,

    to proclaim freedom for the captives

    and release from darkness for the prisoners,[a]

2 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor

    and the day of vengeance of our God,

to comfort all who mourn,

3     and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty

    instead of ashes,

the oil of joy

    instead of mourning,

and a garment of praise

    instead of a spirit of despair.

Do you need Him to come? Then ask Him to come.  Ask Him to come.  Ask Him to come for you.

Hear Him?

Stop for a moment. Stop reading even and listen. Just give it 30 seconds.

I did and heard the low sounds of the television. The World Cup was on and my husband was catching up on highlights. I heard the occasional call of a nearby bird and the song of one a little further off. I also heard the drumming in my ears as the blood flows through. It’s a gentle hum, the underlying purr of the motor of my life.

What do you hear?

It’s good to be quiet.

It’s good to train our ears to listen.

Remember Elijah? God told him in 1Kings 19:11 to go out and stand on the mountain for “the presence of the LORD is about to pass by”. Elijah did as he was told attentive both to the LORD’s command and His soon coming. First came a great and powerful wind that tore the mountain apart and shattered rocks. The presence of God was not in the wind. Then came an earthquake but God was not in the earthquake. Then came a fire but God was not in the fire.

The presence of God was not in these loud; grab your attention mighty acts.

It was in what came next: Then came a gentle whisper. It was the LORD.

God whispers still today. Very rarely does He shout at us. His Word may strike us like a lightening bolt but His invitations for us to come closer to His heart come to us when we stop our running, disengage from the frenetic pace of the world, turn down the volume of our lives and quiet ourselves to listen for His voice.

It is there. He is there. He is here. And He is constantly, quietly inviting us to come closer. “Come to Me all you who are weary and I will give you rest.” (Matt 11:28) He speaks His love. We do not need to fear rejection. He will not and does not reject us. He accepts us. He wants us. He pursues. He invites. He calls. Be beckons. He says, “You are welcome here.”

Today He is coming for me through John Chapter One and the intermittent call of songbirds.

I love you, He says. He says it in the stillness and the quiet inside. He says it in a gentle whisper. Hear Him?

Giraffes

I love our zoo.  The Cheyenne Mountain Zoo at its elevation claims to be the highest in the States and it certainly is one the best.  Yes, I’m probably biased.  We were members when our children were young and now they are members themselves.

Recently the 200thgiraffe was born there to its mother “Mizuki”.  The precious little (5 feet 8 inches) baby was born without incident but after birth was not standing up in the normal time frame it should have.

Concerned, the zoo staff lured the mother into another cage and then went to the new baby to help it to stand.  The staff gathered around her and held her up until she became steady on her legs. Once she was steady, they left her pen. After a bit, she fell down again. In came the staff once more.  They picked her up, surrounded her and held her until they could feel her wobbling stop and her legs come into their own. They left her again and she began to walk exploring her new world.

And isn’t that what the body of Christ does for each other?  Or is meant to?

I become weak.  I forget the truth.  Doubt of the goodness of God begins to creep into my heart and I’m no longer standing strong on the firm ground of the Rock.  A friend either notices or I tell them and they come to my aid to speak the truth to me.  To remind me Who God Is.  To tell me who I am to Him.  To ground me once again on a solid foundation.  And my wobbly legs, my wobbly faith is strengthened once more and I stand.

We need each other.

It’s how it’s meant to be and it’s a good thing.  Being wobbly sometimes isn’t a sign of failure, it’s a sign of our humanity.  To need sometimes is not to be weak.  It is to be real.

We are blessed when someone notices or we have someone to ask for help.  Oh dear ones, if no one notices, ask.

And let us be ones to grow in seeing and come to the aid of others who need to borrow our strength.

https://www.facebook.com/CMZoo/videos/10156635443861019/

It's Raining

A friend of mine wrote yesterday of the various trials that she is currently under.  Her list was long and weighty.  They say that when it rains, it pours and this dear woman is in a deluge.  I bet you’ve been in them yourself with no umbrella in sight.  What saddened me was at the end of her email she wrote sarcastically, “And you say God loves me?  Right.”

I wrote her back that it’s raining over here too.  The transmission went out in our truck.  An unwanted delay and unplanned for expense.  My hip repair from two years ago has left my right leg one inch shorter than the left. Every step an unbalanced one.  I am thrown off.  My other hip is in need of repair as well and each movement is a painful one.  It’s discouraging.  I used to love to go for walks.  I am still trying though they are much shorter than they used to be.  I used to burst forth at times with dancing.  I still do but much less frequently, my moves limited.  I wonder if I will ever be that woman who took freedom of movement for granted again. No, I know I won’t.

But worse, one I love intimately, called asking for prayer because she, four and a half months pregnant, had begun to bleed.  Oh Jesus. Oh no.  Oh please.

Does God love us? Does He love us who lets such things plague us or come against our well being, our very lives?  Does He love us who allows much more horrible things happen to us, to those we love, to those around our broken and hurting world?

Yes.  Yes, He does.

His love is not up for grabs nor subject to scrutiny with every wrong that occurs.  If it is then we are tossed back and forth on the sea, our hearts sea sick and vulnerable.

God proved His love once and for all.   He paid the ultimate price to win us back to His heart by spending His own life to save ours.  Remember. He has chosen us.  We are His children.  We are loved beyond telling.  He is for us.

God never promised a life without pain.  In fact, Jesus told us it would come.  “In this life, you will have suffering.”  (John 17:33)  It seems that the One who is the Light of the world is prone to understatement. When suffering does come, as it will, we can either blame Him for it or invite Him into it that we might bear it together.  

Our Father is mercy. He is strength.  He is grace.  He is the Comforter.  We may not understand – ever – beyond a theological explanation of the effect of the freedom to choose bestowed upon us at creation.  We may not understand what befalls us save for the fact that we live in a fallen world and God calls us to love us and trust Him in the midst of it. We may not understand except for the truth that God hurts when we hurt, He weeps when we weep, catching our tears in His sacred bottle and in it all yearns for us to trust His goodness in the midst of sorrows.

And we can.  Oh dear friends, call out to Him in the sunshine and in the rain.  Press into His heart in the clear weather that you might know Him as the anchor of your souls when the wind howls.  Ask Him, our Divine Helper, to help you.  

He has saved us once. He is saving us still.  Save us now, Lord Jesus, Savior of the world.  We need You.

Holding Hands

I always warned my sons not to hold a young woman’s hand until they were very serious about her and their relationship.  It may seem a simple thing, I would tell them, but it’s an intimate act that conveys a sense of being a couple.  A togetherness if you will.  A belonging.

I remember the first time a young man, a boy really, held my hand.  I was young and teetering on the edge of falling in love for the first time when he took my hand.  Shivers ran from his fingers to mine and up my arm to my whole body.  What was this feeling, I marveled?  That handholding toppled me over to a free fall.

I love holding my husband’s hand.  There’s a way that we’ve done it for 38 years.  My right in his left.  When we switch it up it feels unnatural and I quickly dash to the other side.  We fit together.  His hand in mine.  Mine in his. It’s a holding on that conveys much more than the lacing of fingers.

I read this morning in John, chapter Ten, verses 28 and 29 where Jesus was trying to explain to his unbelieving listeners that He and the Father are one.  One.  In complete union.  He says that those the Father has chosen He holds in His hand and nothing can take them out of His hand.  Jesus too says that they are in His hand and nothing can take them out.  He is holding on with an unbreakable love.

He is not merely holding hands with us; He is holding all of us.  We are together.  Intertwined. Intimately held.  We belong to Him and with Him.  His promise that we are held forever and that nothing can take us out of His hand conveys His faithful, unchangeable heart of love.  He’s very serious about us.  He’s very serious about you.  He’s committed.  And he’s never letting go.

https://youtu.be/WdOv0_T7BKY

Mislabeled

On a recent trip where I was going to be away for 9 days, I arrived safe and sound but my luggage did not.  It was however, one of the rare occasions where I had actually kept my sticky part of the baggage claim along with my ticket so the baggage man could look it up.

 

He came to me shortly and said, “Your bag is here.”  “It is?!?” I replied in relieved wonder.  “Yes.  It’s right here.”  He was standing next to a bag that was definitely not my bag.  This one was hard shelled.  Mine is soft.  This one had no distinguishing ribbons on the handle.  Mine did.  Additionally, this one was pink and mine is black.   Let’s just say I recognized it as not mine right away.

 

“That is definitely not my bag”, I told him.  He refused to believe me.  He took my portion of the claim ticket, held it up to the one on the bag and lo and behold they both said, S ELDREDGE.  He was adamant that it was indeed my bag and it took a few minutes for him to understand that the bag had been mistagged.

 

The only identification on the pink imposter was a name.  No address.  No phone number.  Oh dear.  The mystery search began without much hope.  Still, somewhere in the world a person was going to be experiencing the same thing but with my bag.  My hope was in the folks at the other end.

 

My bag was mislabeled.   It was mine but had another name on it.

 

It should have read “Stasi Eldredge”.   I have no idea what it did say.  All I learned later was that my bag had traveled on to Korea.  A few days later, it was returned to me intact.

 

Have you ever been mislabeled?  I have.  I am Stasi but I have been labeled many other things.  Things that are contrary to the truth.  I bet you have too.

 

We get labeled all kinds of cruel things.  Unwanted.  Too much trouble.  Disposable.  And many, many worse things.  All of which can be difficult to combat when in the face of someone – or some spirit – assigning it to us with such surety.

 

God names us beloved.  Child. Chosen.  Seen.  Wanted.  Sought after.  Holy.  Dearly loved.  And many, many other glorious things that are true.  Who are we going to believe?  We need to believe our Father.  We need to be so rooted in our true names that a mislabeling is spotted as a farce as easily as the pink bag was.  Our histories and those who populate it may scream a false identity over us but only our Father God has the right to tell us who we are – and to whom we belong.  We belong to Him.  We are His.  We are often mismarked but the Holy Spirit has marked you in the permanent red ink of our Jesus' blood.  He has set His seal upon you.  Claim it.

https://youtu.be/OjxwryxSrIY

 

 

Snorkeling

When our sons were between the ages of 8 and 12, we had the opportunity to introduce them to snorkeling.  I had only been recently introduced to it myself and I had just loved it.  Loved it like Scrooge loved money before that auspicious Christmas Eve. Just give me more!  Loved it like bighorn sheep love mountains.  I felt so at home there.  It was a physical representation of a spiritual reality.  Non-swimmers on shore had no idea of the very real world that remained unseen to them.  Venture in and the reality of an underwater realm was as true as the existence of a spiritual one if you would but choose to see.  I was beyond excited to introduce my sons to the wonders of a world they had never been exposed to before and one that I came so alive in!

 

The colors of the water.  The feel of the swell as it raised and lowered your body on the surface.  The beauty displayed in the mysterious fish.  The delicate differences in their shapes. The splendor of God’s creative handiwork there to discover with awe and joy.  AMAZING.

 

After the boys had their snorkeling gear on we entered the water and I warned them to stay clear of the coral.  The coral and rocks were sharp.  They needed to be certain to swim over them and not let the waves push them into them and thereby shred their tender skin.   On I went.  Coral cuts are really painful.  It would hurt.  Make sure there is enough water between you and it to swim over without danger.   Oh – I continued, sometimes you will see holes in the underwater rocks and you might want to explore them by sticking your hand into them.  Don’t do it!!!!!  An eel may live in that hole!  It could bite your finger off!

 

Eels?  They asked with horrified eyes.  Don’t worry, I lamely assured them.  You don’t bother them, they won’t bother you.  Eels? They asked again with undiminished worry.  What do they look like?  I calmed them down.  They look like snakes only fatter.  Now, let’s go enjoy this!!!!

 

In their watchful posture swimming with fear over coral and scanning every stone for a hole and making sure that every piece of waving seaweed wasn’t actually a snake coming to bite their finger off, I don’t think they saw a fish.  They didn’t like snorkeling very much.  In fact, it was years before they did.

 

And you’re welcome.

 

And whoops.  My emphasis on what to be alert for regarding danger overshadowed my emphasis on what to be on the alert for regarding beauty and goodness.   I had assumed they would be overwhelmed by the wonder.  The warnings were, to my mind, simply an important side note.  But my way of presenting it to them shifted their gaze from the beauty to discover to the threat to be avoided.  It is a mistake I have made in many areas stemming from my mother’s heart that wants to shield others from pain.

 

Spiritual warfare is as real as that underwater wonderland.  We are instructed to be on the alert, not unaware of the devil’s schemes.  We are to live prepared for battle wearing the full armor of God because we are living in the midst of the most important battle ever waged.  It is vital that we stay girded up, putting on love, vigilant against the enemy’s incessant lies and accusation. He is a divider who comes to steal, kill and destroy and he isn’t very nice about it.

 

AND.  The beauty of God is vastly more breathtaking than the ugliness of Satan.  The power of the Almighty is immeasurably more so than the attempts of the enemy to usurp Him.  God is a warrior.  He is our Victor.  He is matchless.  He is supreme.  He is unrivaled.  He has won.  Love trumps hate.  Goodness smothers wickedness.  Mercy triumphs over judgment.    We are to live alert to the moves of the Holy Spirit, following and obeying Him wherever He leads.  Our gaze is fixed upon His beauty with breathless anticipation while at the same time we remain alert to snakes in all their many guises. 

 

The joy of the Lord is our strength.  Love overcomes fear.  Stay clear of the coral but with eyes open to truth and wonder, enjoy the swim. 

 

 

Stolen Things

It’s been quite the week. The crisis’ that have come this week have come as crises do – out of the blue.  The week began with me finding pools of blood on my carpet, which led me to my 10-year-old golden retriever.  He had somehow sliced his back paw open in such a deep way that he required surgery.  And wow was that an expensive fix.  (Though he needs a couple weeks of tender care, he will fully recover.)  The next day the brakes went out in the car.  The following day brought more unexpected bummers.  I need this week to be over!  Then this morning I got the call that my newlywed son’s motorcycle had been stolen in the night; his wife sobbing out the request for prayer.

 

I drove to their apartment as soon as I could and once inside, my now very calm daughter told me that she was praying for the person who stole their bike.  Their insurance is limited.  They were actually selling the motorcycle relying on their one car to get them to work because they need the money in this tight economy.  And here she was, not even an hour later, praying for the one who had violated their sense of safety and robbed them of much needed income.

 

“I have compassion for him.  When you steal something, you are feeling pretty desperate”, she said.

 

I have an amazing daughter in law.

 

We have an amazing God.  He is the Healer.  He is the Restorer.  He heals hearts and wounds.  He restores lives, relationships and stolen things; including stories, innocence, joy and years. 

 

We have a mean thief who loves to steal, kill and destroy.  And he has lost.  He has already lost.  He lost again today.

 

 

 

 

I Can!

I was supposed to be strong again, the massage therapist told me with a bit of accusation in her voice.  Yeah, I know, I thought.  My children had pulled together and given me a massage for my birthday.  It was luxurious and wonderful.  The masseuse was amazing and skilled.  But when she tried to move my leg and hip a certain way, she turned corrective.  My hip replacement surgery was a year ago.  My recovery was to take 3 – 6 months the doctors said.  At six months, I was nowhere near my pre-surgery condition.  I was so relieved when the doctor confessed that with a unique and long lasting injury like I had, recovery would take more like 18 months.  I was relieved because it freed me from the accusations of failure that were haunting me.  Accusations reinforced by a well-meaning masseuse.

 

In the meantime, my focus had turned from what I was unable to do.  Lift my leg very high.  Be bendy.  Get up off the floor with grace.  Straighten up from bending over without pain.  Walk long distances.  Jog.  Etcetera.  I’ve been looking down.  I’ve been focusing on my clay feet and my weak hip.

 

God grabbed my attention the other day and asked me to shift my gaze from what I couldn’t do to what I can do.  I can walk without pain.  I can bend over.  I can grocery shop.  I can do short hikes.  I can swim.  I can garden for short periods. I can water plants. I can arrange flowers.  I can cook.  I can set tables and create beauty.  I can dream.  I can invite people over for a time of encouragement and good food.  I can enjoy life.  I can laugh.  I can clean my closet and other crazy things that I don’t actually want to do. 

 

I can do so much more than I can’t.

 

And when I look to Jesus and his life in me, there is so much more that I can do together with him.  I can forgive hurts.  I can worship Jesus.  I can grow.  I can pray.  I have access to all the resources of Heaven!  I can know peace.  I don’t have to live with fear taunting me as if it holds the future rather than my good Father.  I can love people.

 

The list is long.  It is a good and life-giving list.  So I am shifting my gaze from my weakness to Jesus' strength, from my failures to his victory, and from my clay feet to his glorious face.

 

"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."  Phil 4:13