We spent the weekend doing all things Christmas. We decorated the tree. Okay. Really we decorated two trees. We listened to hours of Christmas songs. The girls had hot chocolate and watched a Christmas movie. We wrapped presents and practiced our piano recital duet. We made Christmas crafts. We went to church and then to our eldest's school choir performance. Goodness. We packed an entire month's activities into two Christmas filled days. Honestly, I spent most of the weekend with a joy filled heart and a lump in my throat. Memories of last year's painful Christmas and the loss of my beloved mother-in-law kept threatening to spill over into the fun.
Ever notice that Christmas is like an amplifier? Everyone works hard to have a perfect time, but sometimes in the midst of joy, sorrow can feel sharper. The first Christmas was no different. I can’t imagine that spending the night in a barn watching his fiance’ give birth was exactly what Joseph had in mind for the start to his family. Mary was clearly in physical pain due to childbirth but I imagine she was also relieving some difficult conversations with friends and family about her baby. And Jesus? The Baby? I'm sure was feeling His first moments away from the glory of heaven in a fragile and helpless position. Painful. Lonely. and yet There were angels and choirs and visitors and gifts and promises and hope. Jesus, fully God and fully man, also knew even at that time what the end of the story was about. Redemption, peace, great joy. For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the greatness of his government and peace there will be no end. He will reign on David’s throne and over his kingdom, establishing and upholding it with justice and righteousness from that time on and forever. The zeal of the LORD Almighty will accomplish this. Isaiah 9:6-7 Our society doesn’t know how to deal with sadness very well. Sometimes I think the best thing to do is accept it, have a good cry and get back to the party. John Piper, in his book Taste and See talks about how to deal with times of commingle joy and sadness in a section called “The simultaneous sound of laughter and weeping”. I loved this line; My prayer for myself and all of you is that our weeping might be deep but not prolonged. And while it lasts let us weep with those who weep. And when joy comes in the morning let us rejoice with those who rejoice. That first Christmas had to be overwhelming. I think Mary had the right approach to the balance of grief and amazement. The Bible says in Luke 2:19 that “Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart”. The amazing truth is the Joy of Christmas is all about good news in the midst of sorrow. If there was no sorrow or sin or death there would have been no need for a saviour. No baby. So this Christmas let me invite you regardless of your situation to ponder. Slow down. Take a moment. Sit in awe at the baby who came so we would not be alone in our sorrow and loss and consequences. He came so we all may have abundunt and joy-filled life. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. Luke 2:10-11
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Most of the year I stay out of the kitchen. Thanksgiving I move in. The resident chef braved the grocery stores for me this year. I told him to buy a lot of butter. I think we're gonna be okay. I love the pre Thanksgiving rituals. The cranberries are beautiful. Combined with nutmeg, cloves and cinnamon on the stove creates my all time favorite scent. My kids chattered away as we chopped and cleaned and sorted. It makes me grateful. For food and shelter and family and friends. For the faithfulness of God. Tomorrow we will have a house filled with laughs and treats and boisterous hugs. Football and pie. Turkey and ham. Lots of butter. My husband read a story tonight to the girls and I about Abraham Lincoln's Thanksgiving proclamation.
Right in the middle of the civil war the president called the people to thanks. Read his words. Seems like a timely reminder to us all this year. The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God. In the midst of a civil war of unequalled magnitude and severity, which has sometimes seemed to foreign States to invite and to provoke their aggression, peace has been preserved with all nations, order has been maintained, the laws have been respected and obeyed, and harmony has prevailed everywhere except in the theatre of military conflict; while that theatre has been greatly contracted by the advancing armies and navies of the Union. Needful diversions of wealth and of strength from the fields of peaceful industry to the national defence, have not arrested the plough, the shuttle or the ship; the axe has enlarged the borders of our settlements, and the mines, as well of iron and coal as of the precious metals, have yielded even more abundantly than heretofore. Population has steadily increased, notwithstanding the waste that has been made in the camp, the siege and the battle-field; and the country, rejoicing in the consciousness of augmented strength and vigor, is permitted to expect continuance of years with large increase of freedom. No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and one voice by the whole American People. I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity and Union. It is November, one of my favorite times of the year. There are lots of family birthdays, including my grandson's 1st birthday and my husband's 60th.
It is also approaching the first anniversary of when I received my first cochlear implant. I am truly thankful for this amazing technology. There have been some funny incidents with the thing. For one, I have discovered that the magnet that attaches the cochlear to my head is very powerful. As I was getting into someone's car one day the magnet jumped off my head and attached to the door jam of the car. Thankfully it is easily removed and placed back where it belongs. I also had the magnet attached itself to a rod of clothing at Once Upon A Child where I work. I told the staff that if they ever walked down an aisle and found me attached to a rod, just to pull me off. There were lots of sounds that I was missing and did not realize it. Within the first week or two of getting the implant I could hear birds singing. Then I noticed Mark's whistling, frogs croaking, and precious words from the grandkids. I was sitting at Mark's desk yesterday. The window was open as we were trying to dry out carpets that had just been shampooed. I could hear the rain falling on the roof and water running in the gutters. There was also the day that I noticed a swishing sound as I walked. I finally figured out it was the noise that my jeans make when my thighs rub together. Sigh - that was one sound I could do without. Count your many blessings - name them one by one - and it will surprise you what the Lord has done.
This is the view from 103 floors up from the SkyDeck in the Willis Tower in Chicago. 1353 feet above the concrete, hot dogs, mob history, music glory, murder capital and art haven that is Chicago. You get up this high and you can see it all. It puts the details in perspective.
The book of Job is the 1353 feet up Biblical view of suffering.
The book starts with a description of the good man Job. Blameless and upright. Blessed in family and wealth. Next the book describes a scene in Heaven. God points out to everyone around the good of his servant Job. Satan is among those listening and he begins to taunt and accuse and state that the only reason that Job loves God is because Job's life is perfect. (Please note, when you hear whispers of accusation and hate in your soul, it's not Jesus talking). So God allows Satan to test Job to prove if his faithfulness is true in the midst of suffering. And so the questions begin. It's easy to hurt and ask and sulk when you read this section. Why? God let Satan hurt Job? Why? Deep, painful, honest questions. In perhaps one of the most beautiful sacrifices of praise in the entire Bible Job sidesteps the why question and simply worships God. Then Job arose and tore his robe and shaved his head and fell on the ground and worshiped. 21 And he said, “Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked shall I return. The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” Job 1:20 Backing up away from the moment of great grief and choosing to trust and sit in the heavenly perspective that God simply IS can help. In my moments of greatest pain the only way forward was to trust.
Most of the book of Job consists of conversations that Job has with his wife and then with four different friends who come to console and comment and frankly blame Job for his suffering.
The conversations Job has with his friends remind me that the best thing I can do for hurting friends is to sit quietly. Or bring food. Words can't even touch deep grief but sometimes quiet sitting can. It does clearly cross out some of the common answers. Your suffering is because of your sin. NOPE Your suffering is because God's not powerful. NOPE Your suffering is because God is not just, does not care. NOPE So if the answer is not justice or punishment or apathy then what is the answer? Job gets sick of listening to his friends and goes straight to God. Which by the way is an excellent plan. When in doubt quit listening to people around you. Turn off this blog. Unplug your phone. Ask God. God doesn't answer Job's question of Why. He turns the questions to Job. And asks, were you there when I started the earth? Were you there when I laid out wisdom? Do you keep things in check? 1300 feet up in the air isn't even close. Do you have an eternal view? Do you know the end story? God's big answer for Job's suffering is simply I AM. That's it. God is the end answer. Someday when we are in heaven my guess is we'll see more clearly.
"We shouldn't act surprised when we don't understand what a
God who says He surpasses all understanding is doing". Bob Goff
God's big answer for Job's suffering is simply I AM. That's it. God is the end answer. Someday when we are in heaven my guess is we'll see more clearly. In the mean time, gratitude and trust and forgiveness and love are the tools we are given to fight suffering and to heal wounds and to move forward. The more we get stuck in the WHY conversation the deeper the chains will tie.
Resources
If you have deep water questions about pain and suffering, don't give up. Read CS Lewis. No easy answers in this book but you will see truth.
The Bible Project's Read Scripture series is a wonderful tool. Take the time to watch and learn.
Just like Job we all have a choice. Do we choose despair or do we choose Joy? Kay Warren's book Choose Joy is a gorgeous invitation to move beyond your circumstances into all that God has for you in Joy.
Tree63's version of Blessed be Your Name comes straight from the book of Job.
Mary Beth Chapman's story of finding hope after the tragic death of her daughter is inspirational. If you need a light to follow through grief you can dig through this one.
I struggle with writing. Not because I don't like it. Precisely because I love to write. Anything that we love can become demanding. Writing has a voracious appetite for time. I have a husband, two kids, a job, lots of volunteer projects, a precious list of friends and extended family and a cat. They all have priority over my writing. Hence the struggle. Writing tucks into stolen moments on the edges of my life. Right now I'm listening to Annie Dillard's book "The Writing Life". It's beautiful and calls part of me to find a quiet island and spend long days with a pen and pad of paper. How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. -Annie Dillard Hmm. A review. Today: I checked off tasks from my list. Hugged a grieving friend. Practiced a piano duet with my eldest. Colored a picture with my baby. We used Sharpies. Chatted with my parents. Ate pizza. Paid some bills. Prayed. Went to lunch with someone who has always told me the truth. Finished a project with my sister. Ironed out a misunderstanding. Got cussed at in a parking lot. Took a bath. Read a book. The dedicated life is the life worth living. You must give with your whole heart. -Annie Dillard Oh. But to give your whole heart can hurt. Last year was hard. Too many days spent in hospitals and doctors and court rooms. A heartbreaking loss. One difficult yet miraculous recovery. Grief and numbness and relief and gratitude all mushed together. Writing is helping to sort it out. Writing is not life, but I think that sometimes it can be a way back to life. Stephen King, On Writing. As I write tonight it occurs to me that there are a lot of ways to write. Every time I color with my daughter I'm writing a message on her heart. I'm telling her she matters and her space in my life is sacred. When I practice with my eldest I'm writing out a memory which she'll remember when she's a mom. When I talk through a problem with my spouse or when our eyes meet in laughter over the heads of our children I'm writing a love letter. Jesus spent most of his time on Earth in normal activity. He fished. He made breakfast for friends. He cleaned up messes. He told stories. The miracles and healings and sacrifice were certainly divine. But so were the ordinary moments of love. It's a life worth copying. It's worth writing and living. But her story isn't finished, and for once she's picked up a pen.
-Kelsey Sutton Some Quiet Place Good morning! I am taking a one week break from That's the Book. I have wrestled with the book of Job all week. I don't want to rush posting something which I haven't finished....so I'm taking my own advice and giving myself some grace. Grace to catch up from travel and work and life. Grace to sit with the tough topic of suffering and not say anything. Which honestly is part of the point of the book of Job anyway. When faced with great suffering, quiet sitting is possibly the best option.
I had the great privilege of hearing Dr. Lori Salierno from Teach One to Lead One speak yesterday. If you need an encouraging message today on living out loud take a listen. CLICK TO LISTEN If you've already heard this message consider sharing it with someone else. I would also love to hear your thoughts. Agree? Disagree? What did it move you to do?
Ever get in a bad mood? Sad, angry, bitter? I do....these ten things help move me back to a better attitude. Post your ideas in the comments. I'd love to hear what works for you!
I've spent the last 48 hours in Chicago. I flew in on United Airlines. I scored a free upgrade to the exit aisle. Extra leg room. My lovely cousin picked me up from the airport and graciously shared her beautiful city with me. We went to Portillo's and I had a Chicago hotdog. Tomato, pickle, relish, mustard and hot peppers. I normally only eat hot dogs in the summer and only with ketchup. When in Rome I order what's the local specialty. It's fun trying new things. Sometimes you are surprised you like it. I got to my hotel where I'm staying for a work conference. I was given a free room upgrade. Corner room. Full windows flank two walls and I have a view of the city. Last night I sat in my room and listened to the police sirens and news helicopters buzz a couple blocks away at the Trump Tower. There was a protest. Peaceful. When I had enough of the view I pushed the button on the wall and the electric blackout blinds closed. Today was a full day of continuing ed classes and sponsor booths and catered lunch. Good meetings. We talked about the fallout from the election, about rising regulation and profitability. I found some new tools for employee training and grabbed some trade show giveaways to give my kiddos at home. At lunch I hoofed down the street to Millennium Park and took a selfie with the bean. Hustled back to the hotel, grabbed a bandaid from the concierge for my new blister and made it back to class with one minute to spare before the break was over. Halfway through the last session of the day I could bear it no longer and I purchased my online fast pass to the Chicago Institute of Art. I grabbed my Nikes and quickly walked down city streets to the nearest entrance. I was a little giddy. Rodin, Seurat, Manet, Van Gogh. Georgia O'Keefe, Picasso and Monet. Rooms of Monet. Visions of Ferris Beuller. I love art. If I am ever sad, you could put me in a room with art and my soul will recover. My cousin got off work and met me at the art museum. I tried to convince her that it is her duty to come view this art on a regular basis because it's here in her gorgeous city. She grinned. We took another selfie, this time with the Chicago lions sporting giant sized Cub's hats. Then we went to dinner. We ordered a Tomato and Spinach deep dish pizza. And we talked. Of books and art. We talked of parents and siblings. Of work and play. Of roommates and love stories. We talked of children. Her friends in West Chicago, my friends in Rwanda. We talked about hope and pain. About poverty and privilege. I listened to her heart. She listened to mine. We talked about Trump. Here's the deal. I know walking around in my skin and my life I am privileged. I get free upgrades and catered lunches. My kids get trade show giveaways and museum souvenirs. Some of the kids here in Chicago get moved out of their homes into neighborhoods where they wake up in the night to gunshots. I stay in a hotel with electric blackout blinds. What would I write if I was not afraid? I voted for Trump. I struggled all year long about that decision. I do not like the man. I'm disgusted by his vulgar and angry rhetoric. I hate that my ten year old looks at me with sad and questioning eyes and asks why. In the end, I voted for Trump because I was more concerned about Secretary Clinton's corruption and policies. About healthcare and regulation and abortion and jobs and ISIS. I'm heartbroken by Syrian Refugees and hopeless kids and deep divides in our country. I don't believe more of the same is a solution to any of the mess. I'd still vote the same way. I am afraid that telling the truth and attempting to have the hard why conversations with people I love will mean I lose people. I hate losing people. Author and speaker Eric Metaxas (author of Veggie Tales and Bonhoeffer) sent an email today in which he wrote "one friend actually emailed me 'You helped make this happen. Our friendship is over'. That hurt. But then I thought about how much he must be hurting to have written that". Now I sit in my hotel. Watching the city lights. The news helicopters are back across the plaza to Trump Tower. I read a news story that just this afternoon a white man wearing a Trump hat was beaten as people watched and chanted "don't vote Trump". It happened just down the road from here. The beaten man looked a lot like my father. Even as I write this, fear of assumptions is making me want to point out my dad also does not like Trump. At home the protests have continued four days and have been declared riots after extensive damage occurred. Clearly not a legitimate or legal or helpful way to protest. Someone said "what would you write if you were not afraid?"
I'd say "I'm listening. Will you?" I want to listen. I want to understand fully why people are scared and angry. I want to engage and find ways to move forward that we can all accept. I want to help bridge the gap between those hurting people's politics and my concerns for the future. Someone asked me how I got free upgrades in my hotel and flight. I grinned and glibly said it's because God loves me and likes to surprise me with joy. After my Chicago tour I pause. Hmm. Perhaps I get free upgrades because I'm privileged. My mama pointed out that the privilege is the fact I was on the flight or in the hotel at all. Some people never travel. Which is not a right. For the love. Some people don't have clean water. There are rights. Free speech. Right to assemble. Right to vote. To pursue happiness. Freedom of religion. For everyone. Not just those who agree with me. Truth is we are all privileged by those rights. Well. We don’t ALL have the privilege of those rights. Syrian refugees come to mind. So here is what I'd say if I was not afraid. I'm not sorry I voted for Trump. I believe given my options it was the lesser of two bad choices. However. I am deeply sorry that I did not use my privilege and resources in the primaries to ensure better candidate choices. I am sorry that I have not met my neighbors. I am sorry that I don't know the name of the pastor of the largest Black church in my community. I am sorry that I close my windows when the noise is disturbing my sleep. I am sorry I have been afraid. I shall do better. My cousin and I talked about some of our failings. When our passion for our projects was not enough to make a difference. When our privilege got in the way. When people tuned out because we did not understand. I agreed with Metaxas when he wrote "For a Christian, the first thing to do after something this divisive is to pray for those who disagree with you and show them some love. This stuff is complicated, and there are legitimate concerns. (I'm not talking about the people burning flags and cursing in public....). So please let's give each other the benefit of the doubt. I want others to give me the benefit of the doubt. So I have to do the same for those disagreeing with me. We need to assure those we disagree with that they are loved and respected as fellow Americans, and, more importantly, loved by God. This is the work of being a Christian. It's not extra credit Christianity. It's the guts of the faith at its most basic level." Can I suggest that rather than unfriend and block and close your windows and just put bandaids on your blisters that you respectfully talk with someone different than you? That you listen to understand, not to find holes in their argument. That you don't beat the man in the street. Or hate the man in the street. You don't break things, break friendships, break hearts. I love my cousin. She is different than me in many ways and the same in some. I'm proud of her. I'm praying for her this morning as she goes to work and to church. I'm praying for her friends and this beautiful city. I'm praying for Trump, like I pray for Obama and for Bush before. I'm praying the voters like me who plugged their nose and checked his box will not be afraid to hold him accountable to lead and protect everyone. I'm praying for those who were with Hillary and those who walked away from the whole mess. I'm choosing to ignore my fear and extend my hand. Will you? Will those of you who hate Trump and assume that since I voted that way that I must be a hateful bigot please drop your assumptions and listen? Will those of you who are horrified by burning flags and stopped traffic slow down and listen? I'm afraid of what will happen if we do not. More so, I'm hugely hopeful in grace. In breathing. In prayer. In kindness. In forgiveness. In this big beautiful diverse country. I'm more hopeful than afraid. Courage is not the absence of fear. I believe that honest conversation in a spirit of grace can help heal our national soul. What would you write if you were not afraid? I'd love to know. I'll take you out for dinner. Let's talk. I'll listen. |
About MeI love Jesus. I think my two daughters can change the world. I think you can too. Past Posts
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