Category: lessons learned

Cutting a Rose (Death)

There’s been a death in my family. A young man just 24 years old passed a week ago. He was the only child of my aunt and uncle, and they are rightfully devastated. The whole thing is pain on steroids–as awful as it gets. Shock and grief is saturating our family.

We’re all asking why.

A young man who’s just learning how to live is gone. He was in the springtime of his life. His faith in Jesus was just beginning, and he was starting to sort things out, just like we all do. He is gone, but we’ll meet him again.

“Who gathered this flower?’ The gardener answered, ‘The Master.’ And his fellow servant held his peace.”

I wonder if the shock will ever wear off. I suppose it will, but it will come little by little. Jesus must have time to heal and hold in the meantime. He promised us.

I find my words to his mom and dad are nothing more than Teflon. They don’t stick, and maybe they even hurt.

Grief on this level defies words of human comfort and consolation. I am frustrated to counsel pain on this level. I’m ashamed when I do. I keep my mouth shut and that’s not easy for me.

There’s terrible guilt, anger and isolation.

The Holy Spirit is strongly emphasizing prayer now. I realize that only He can heal, guiding their suffering and healing to an outcome they can’t see. I know, I am certain that Jesus will come and touch his parents, but perhaps our intercession is what it will take to make this happen.

We must stand against Satan and push him away.

In the olden days, medicine was dispensed in powder form, not pills. The pharmacist would measure out a powder to give to the sick. In a sense, this is what God does. He carefully gives what is needed and not a grain more than necessary. I believe this.

Please don’t condemn yourself for speaking trite and inadequate words. You must rest in God’s work now, and realize that only He can heal and comfort pain and anger on this level. Job’s friends were at their best when they said nothing.

Sometimes all you can do is pray fervently. And that is enough.

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”

Revelation 21:7

The Wonder of It All

My thoughts this fine morning:

There are some things that leave an indelible mark, deep down into our souls. For me, one instance I remember staying at Simpson College on Silver Ave. in San Francisco in June 1986. The dorms were empty and I had a whole floor to myself. The campus was gorgeous; the roses were in full bloom.

I found a little “mom and pop” corner market nearby which had an awesome deli. Here I could buy cold cuts, some excellent braunschweiger, and freshly baked sourdough bread. I returned to my room to build my sandwich.

I remember that the windows were open and there was a beautiful breeze. Food, warm sun, flowers in bloom and the Holy Spirit are just about ready to ‘intersect’ in my life. It would be a holy collision. I would come to Jesus in this bright new way.

It was simply a moment that I captured and savored. Everything seemed to coincide, it was magical in the best sense of the word. It was beautiful, that is all I can say. That time in that dorm room has become a crystalline moment that I will never forget. Right there, it seemed I fell in love, not with a girl, but with a moment in time and place.

That nostalgia lays thick on the shoulders of the writer of Psalm 84.

He remembers and savors those powerful memories of his visit to the temple. He was given something at that particular moment that would follow him for the rest of his life.

The beauty of that experience was inviolable and true and could never be duplicated. This treasure was his. As he aged he could tell his grandchildren, “I walked with God.” And he really meant it.

I personally believe God gives us these holy moments, wrapped in wonder and awe. When the Holy Spirit deeply touches in this way you will never, ever be the same.

The psalmist has the same hunger. These moments in the temple which are so blessed have also ‘ruined’ him. Often special times of God’s presence will result in a ‘sanctified’ dissatisfaction with the present status quo.

But when we finally make our way to Jesus (or He draws us), life takes on a special and curious wonder. When the rain finally comes to the barren desert, an explosion of life bursts out. In much the same way, our lives are ‘watered’ by Jesus. Things get very green and lush as we live in the Spirit. All of this is in contrast to our dry and desperate life without His presence.

I want to become hungry for His presence.

I so want to be in the center of wherever He is at. I admit that His grace and love has spoiled me. But the love of Jesus does this. Normal life seems to be nothing more than a boring journey into ‘black & white’, but somehow He turns it all into stunning color.

The psalmist practically begs to be returned to the temple. He wants to be there, more than anything else. It is now his true home. He will not be satisfied with anything less.

“I say to the Lord, “You are my Lord. Apart from you, I have nothing good.”

Making a List

This is a scary list. We’re told repeatedly that love is the evidence that disciples are to be identified. Love is the blood of the body. It’s that necessary. It’s critical. We’re called to love (one another) that proves we’re real and authentic.

Some of us are handicapped, either mentally or physically. Our issues are truly formidable, very few understand.

I pretty much live in physical pain now. I struggle with depression. I have some battles that few understand. And I get terribly self-absorbed by all of it. If love is the blood of the Christian then I absolutely need a transfusion. I’m anemic. I’m the proverbial 95 pound spiritual weakling! 😁

“Love one another.” I believe I’m missing this in my spiritual walk. For the most part I operate as “to tolerate one another.” It’s easy to love those who love me, but that’s not how discipleship to Jesus works. He wants us to find enemies to love. (At least I think it does.)

Our Teacher, the Holy Spirit, knows how ignorant we really are. But He is patient and oh so very kind. He has lessons that fit us and our needs. I want to love (usually) and I’m counting on Him to tutor me. How do I do this?

You learn to love by loving.

A few things (I know it’s a terribly incomplete list):

  • To love you must walk in discernment. Learn to “see” the needs of specific people. Contrary to church opinion, discernment is not to pass judgement on another, rather it’s all about seeing needs. Not everyone can do this.
  • To love takes availability. You need to be “ready for use.” This takes a certain amount of skill. I’m a terrible kind of introvert. Sometimes I won’t answer the phone or go to a home group. I sorta resent it. The Spirit keeps putting me in spots that require interaction with others, and I hate it.
  • Love creates humility in us (which takes some doing). As I learn to love I find myself stripped down and washing somebody’s feet. I become a servant who is learning to scrub between the toes if that’s what it takes.
  • To love you must love others just like Jesus loves you. (Yikes!) “The extra mile,” all of that. So tell me, how much has He loved you? Isn’t that supposed to teach you something? Remember, love is a fruit of Him living inside of you.
  • To love creates growing joy. This joy will protect us from legalism. When joy is operational every burden is light–we do our tasks smiling. I heard a preacher speak about J.O.Y. Jesus, Others, and You. In order of importance.
  • To love is to learn how to pray. Intercession is like oxygen to a fire. It’s like one of those old fashioned bellows to a sputtering flame. It pumps air into the pile of twigs and wood to spread the fire and ignite a blaze. We pray and love starts spreading.

To live with hard mental and physical issues as an authentic Christian is profoundly difficult. We get so self-absorbed at times. But being a disciple of love isn’t just for healthy believers, it’s also for us who struggle.

Grace is increased exponentially to those of us with deep physical problems.

I totally believe this. God takes special care as He works on and in us. We can count on Him to give us the extra attention we need as we learn love.

I’ve found that suffering is like learning another language. Changed by His love we are speaking to others in a way they understand. We can communicate with others because we’ve learned how to “speak their language.” We have been taught by God to speak into broken lives because we’ve been broken too.

“We love because he first loved us.”

1 John 4:19

2 Corinthians 12:9

Getting a Grip on Boredom

Monotony can easily become an issue for many. I had been told to be on alert for it, but it seems like I’ve got to learn for myself.

With any chronic illness, there can be something tedious and routine about life. To have a physical or mental illness is acutely painful in many different ways. Afflicted people understand what I’m talking about. Pain can be intense and intrusive. Sometimes these things can become really depressing.

The sheer boredom of my illness can strangle my walk. It seems every day is the same and the foreseeable future holds little hope of it changing. Now I’m a reasonably sedate person. I don’t need a lot of excitement. (I like a good book and a cup of tea.) I’m not after adventure, but I don’t care too much for monotony either.

Brain-numbing existence is quite common for the afflicted.

Many people don’t understand this. Others do. And it’s not limited to us who struggle with illness. It’s seen in other people too. This brain-numbing life happens to many as well. Consider–

  • the single mom working as a secretary
  • the man mopping floors
  • the college grad frying burgers
  • the resident at the old folks’ home, every day is the same

These situations seem inescapable. We see ourselves locked into a situation where escape is not possible. We are consigned to do whatever our circumstances dictate. We’re all trapped. Pure and simple. We can find no meaning in our lives; we start to despair, “Will it ever be different?”

I believe the drabness of our lives can often be attributed to a lack of intimacy with the Lord Jesus. We are built for fellowship with God, and anything else is just “treading water.” Nothing satisfies, except Him present. I need Him desperately.

When I’m filled with hopelessness, I often find myself filling the emptiness with anything I can find. This usually leads to even more sadness and deadness inside. It’s a vicious cycle that destroys as easily as more gross and obvious sin.

When I ponder my hopelessness I feel like giving up. I simply don’t want to take another step into the doldrums of what my life has become. I despair that life will continue its suffering grind.

I must have joy in order to survive.

“The joy of the Lord is your strength” (Neh. 8:10). I don’t have to dwell in the grey drabness of hopelessness. My heart can find a reason to “sing to the Lord.”

“The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and I am helped. Therefore my heart celebrates, and I give thanks to him with my song.”

Psalm 28:7, CSB

The Psalms repeatedly tell me the incredible power of a life that sings.

The Holy Spirit understands our brokenness. Jesus is interceding for us at this very moment, and I can rise above this tedious mess I have made for myself. This is the only way out for me. Depression is a form of suffering.

I give it to Him. I take the strength and joy He gives.