Category Archives: Hope
Light Pink Puffs of God’s Creation
Sun breaks today. Through the clouds. And, I see the beauty of the cherry blossoms. Light pink puffs like cotton candy set gently against the branches.
Such beauty.
How can I—how could I—ever doubt your existence, your faithfulness, your presence?
Chickadees settle on the branches, soft voices singing. Petals fall like tears, soaking the ground with pink polka dots fragrant with God’s creation.
Such joy.
How can we look upon the Earth and not weep at the beauty or know joy? How can we not know there is a creator?
I breath in and reach toward beauty and joy. I reach toward the creator and celebrate His creation.
Counting my blessings of gratitude with Ann Voskamp at A Holy Experience.
#102 – 120
Gratitude for…
A crisp spring morning
the grass that needs mowing
the son sleeping too long
warm tea and flannel
a gentle smile from my husband
good work for the day
words
more words
moments of silence
a short text message from daughter
a calendar that says she’ll be home this week
cooking a meal with my son
sharing that meal as a family
a week to walk toward the cross
time to reflect on that walk
unfathomable sacrifice
His loving arms
Stacks of Unspoken Words
I look around my home and see the stacks and piles. Stacks and piles of things. Mail sits on the end of the black granite countertop. Leaning precariously, as though anticipating that it will slide to the floor, unopened. Stacks of books. Not neatly stacked. Just stacked. Waiting to be finished. Or started. Or just waiting to find a permanent spot on the bookshelf. And then, there’s the dust. The dust colors everything like a winter fog. Dulls those things around me. The dust, piling up, particle by particle, on everything, not left by anyone, but just settling there. I notice it, even if no one else does. But I’m sure they do.
Mom would have. She noticed everything. Everything that wasn’t put away. Every mess. Everything I never finished. Every crumb left on the counter after making toast. Every sock hiding under my bed. She noticed the things.
But somehow, she never noticed me. The scars. The pain. The loneliness. The heartaches of a young girl growing up. Or, maybe she did but she just didn’t know how to catch her daughter’s tears. Maybe she just didn’t have the words. Maybe she couldn’t help me heal because she had never healed herself.
Despite her flaws, I loved her, as little girls love their mothers. And, I miss her, even after all these years. Today, if she were here, I would sit down with her and gently ask her why she couldn’t be there for me when I needed her most. Why I needed to look elsewhere in my life for shelter from the storms. And, I would look into her eyes and seek to know her heart.
And, I would tell her that it was okay–that I had found comfort in the loving arms of my heavenly Father. I would tell her that despite the stacks of unspoken words and unopened hearts and the grey haze that dulled our relationship, that love prevailed.
In my home, the dust on the hearth piles up, the mail sits unopened on the counter, and the books sit patiently for shelves or pages to be turned. And, I try not to notice socks hiding under beds or crumbs gathering around the toaster’s edge. They remind me of the piles and stacks of words unspoken in my childhood home.
And, so, instead of tidying up the house, I look into the eyes of my children, searching for their hearts. I hope they know that I notice them–every aspect of them. Every tear. Every heartbreak. Every moment of loneliness. And, I hope they know that their tears, and heartbreaks, and loneliness are mine, too.
Today, I hope that the piles and stacks for things go unnoticed–at least for one more day.
A Book Review: Half the Church by Carolyn Custis James
“Into this world of breathtaking opportunities and shocking atrocities, the church attempts to speak with relevance to women. But the message often fails to address the opportunities, changes and contingencies of life in a fallen world. It is not far-reaching enough to encompass every woman’s whole life within this multicultural, rapidly changing world.”
– Carolyn Custis James, Half the Church: Recapturing God’s Global Vision for Women (Zondervan 2010)
I spent Friday evening and part of the day Saturday reading Carolyn Custis James’ new book, Half the Church. The quote above, printed on the inside cover, caught my attention. I often have felt short-changed by the message sent to women in the church—the message that we are to be wives and mothers first and that we are to submit to our husbands and take a backseat to the work of men in the church.
I’ve longed for more. I’ve longed to engage fully in the community.
Part of my longing and my inability to engage fully in the community is because I’ve bought into that message, at least partly. I’ve bought into the message that draws a line “establishing parameters for how much or how little we are permitted to do in the church” and that what I have to offer is “restricted to appropriate zones within the church” (p. 48-49). I haven’t bought into it intentionally—in fact, I’ve resisted it—but I let it seep in through the chinks in my armor and interfere with my identity as a woman Christ-follower. And, because I perceived that other women in the church willingly submitted to the message, I slowly conformed to the message.
Half the Church is refreshing. Using beautiful images of several women from Scripture, James paints a beautiful picture of God’s plan for women. She seeks to answer three questions:
(1) What message does the church offer women in the twenty-first century?
(2)What will the church do to address the rampant suffering of women throughout the world?
(3) What message are we sending to the world by how we value and mobilize our own daughters? (p. 41).
Candidly, I did not walk away with solid answers to those three questions. But, I’m not sure they were the questions I needed answered. Instead, I walked away with a refreshing view of God’s vision for women as His image bearers and ezars (warriors). That He desires me to be a vital contributor to the community—that He is counting on me to share the gifts He blessed me with. Only when I share my gifts do I enter God’s kingdom and carry out things I could never imagine.
So, as I reflect on the identity that I have through my relationship with Christ, I hold a beautiful, transformed, image, as God intended. Perhaps within the church I will still struggle to share my gifts if they are not welcome—if the role the church continues to offer women is limited. But, I don’t want my identity to be dominated by a debate about the role of women. Instead, I will seek to make my identity in Christ dominated by loving God and sharing the gifts He has given me in the everyday kingdom.
If you want a refreshing look at the vision God has for women in this broken world, I encourage you to read Half the Church. You might be disappointed that James doesn’t expressly address what the church can do to address the suffering of women in the world. But, I don’t think that is what she intended when she raised the question. Rather, I think she leaves that to us and our response to Christ. As we lean into Christ and engage in the kingdom as image bearers and warriors for Christ, He equips us to respond to the suffering and injustice in the world.
The Arrival of Hope
I wake in the darkness. The house is still. Only the sound of the furnace kicking on and the light tap of rain on the roof. I find comfort, as I reach my right arm over the covers and find my husband resting peacefully beside me. I find comfort, knowing that my two young adult children are home for the holidays.
Quietly, I slip out of bed, fumbling for my glasses. It’s cold, but I tiptoe out to the family room for my morning quiet time.
This time of year, we wake in the darkness and go to bed in the darkness. The days are short. I think, I’m not fond of winter. I don’t like the darkness. In the darkness I am alone, even when others are near. In the darkness I know only fear. Isolation. Lack of clarity. My mind races, listening, but not for the voice of hope. But overwhelmed by the sound of fear. And, I struggle to keep from drowning in the murky waters of the depths of darkness.
But then, the light creeps in. Light brings hope, like a hand, stretching out to me, lifting me from the depths. And I begin to see in creation the image and voice of the Creator. Small pink buds on the tree branches that sat naked and exposed all winter. The song of birds out my window singing His praises. And life is restored. My fear melts away like the snow and I am free from the clenches of darkness.
At least for now.
