How to Solve the Unsolvable Problem

On August 17, 2018   /   The Journey   /   1 Comment

Have you ever had a problem you were unable to solve? X plus Y did not equal Z. The paycheck did not cover the rent. Your emotional umbrella was not strong enough to withstand the downpour of pain. The worry was more persistent than the faith needed to extinguish it. Dear Friend, take heart. The problem may seem unsolvable but there is hope.

Jennifer, Cole, & Eric Shannon

I watched a video update today from a friend who has undergone tremendous pain in recent years. Jennifer Shannon and her husband, Eric, exemplify strength and courage in the face of adversity. In the course of 7 years they lost their son, Cole—shortly after he was born—and their second son, Caleb, in the womb. Jennifer never speaks of her boys without tears.

Jennifer said, “Even though it’s been a really hard journey, having and losing Cole and then losing Caleb, we trust God. We have learned more and more to trust Him because we have seen his faithfulness in our lives. He has never deserted us. God is good.”

The puzzle of losing a child is not one easily solved. Those who have walked this particular path of pain can attest to the questions that sprout around ones feet from the rocky soil. “What if?” thistles scratch at the ankles. “Why me?” thorns grab at unsuspecting pant legs. “God, where were you?” limbs fall from the sky and knock us to our knees. Sometimes we can do nothing but lie down and weep. But I would propose there is courage even in that. Facing our problems with tears is a very brave place to start.

How can God be good when there is so much pain?

The finality of death casts a dark shadow over those who are left behind. Death is frequently not only the end of a life, but the end of hope. We stop praying for healing for the patient who was fighting cancer because we know that humanly speaking, once air has left the lungs, there is nothing else to be done. God has answered our prayer, just not the way we wanted him to. So what do we pray next? What do we pray when the pain is, well, unsolvable?

Hear, O Lord, when I cry aloud; be gracious to me and answer me! – Psalm 27:7 ESV

When faced with unsolvable pain, King David made a choice to seek the face of the Lord. Why? Because God is beautiful. He said, “One thing have I asked of the LORD, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to inquire in his temple.” Psalm 27:4 ESV

This seems like a strange request. Shouldn’t he be angry at God for the pain in his life? Shouldn’t he curse the God who has allowed so much suffering? But he does not. He says, “I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living! Wait for the LORD; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the LORD!” Psalm 27:13-14 ESV

Now maybe you are thinking King David was a crazy person, but if you take the time to read about him in the bible (beginning in 1 Samuel 15) you will find a man of strong character. He was just a young boy when he faced a giant on the battlefield and killed him with a slingshot and a stone. He was anointed King over Israel when that nation was yet ruled by another King (Saul) whom God had rejected. David and Saul spent years in a game of cat and mouse while Saul tried to kill David even though he had done nothing worthy of his hatred. But David experienced the faithfulness (and beauty) of God over and over again. Some examples of this were his friendship with Saul’s son, Jonathan, and through various victories on the battlefield against incredible odds. David learned that every good thing comes from God. He learned that it might not come immediately, but it will come eventually. David learned through suffering that he just needed to wait for it.

How does God’s beauty solve our problems?

And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. And God saw that the light was good. And God separated the light from the darkness. Genesis 1:3 ESV

Have you ever been into a cave on a tour? Our family visited Mark Twain Cave in Hannibal, Missouri a few years ago. It was fun to see the lights on the rock formations and to hear all of the stories about Samuel Clemons adventures there as a boy. But there is a moment during the tour when they give you an idea of how heavy the darkness is when they turn out the lights. The one comfort you have is that they will turn the lights back on so you can see, but during those few minutes of darkness, you come to realize you have never experienced a darkness so deep in your whole life. In that brief window of time you may even ask yourself, what would I do if the lights never came back on? How would I escape?

Death is like that. Death is a terrible darkness. It is darkness devoid of hope. But the bible makes clear that God has defeated death forever through Jesus death on the cross. Jesus died for the sins of the world and then rose from the dead to conquer death forever. Isn’t that beautiful? Why is it beautiful? Because it is true, and truth is always beautiful.

This is the message we have heard from him and proclaim to you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all. 1 John 1:5 ESV

Jennifer and Eric Shannon believe that Jesus has power to raise the dead. This means He has power to raise their two boys. They believe this so fiercely that they can say, “God is good” even though they cannot hold their boys in their arms at this moment in time. They have joy in hope that one day they will be reunited with their children because of the promises. And they know God never breaks his promises.

So also you have sorrow now, but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you. In that day you will ask nothing of me. Truly, truly, I say to you, whatever you ask of the Father in my name, he will give it to you. John 16:22-23 ESV

We live in a world of seemingly unsolvable problems. Down Syndrome. Gastroparesis. Autism. Chronic fatigue. Amputation. Still birth. Depression. Anxiety. Murder. Rape. Human trafficking. Starvation. Slavery. Death. Our bodies ache and mourn in this terrible in-between place. But this moment is not the end of the story. This moment is only the middle of the story. But, Dear Friend, the light has come into the world and the darkness has not overcome it. You can take hold of his beauty now if you cry out for help. The promise is that you will always be heard and comforted.

Jennifer and Eric Shannon are heroes of mine. I wrote about them today because I was despairing over some unsolvable problems in my own life and, when I saw their video and heard their words, “God is good,” I took heart. Our stories matter—especially the painful middle parts. But the good news is we know the end of the story. Then, we shall see Him and experience the fullness of this beauty that we can now only imagine. Pain is a problem that can only be solved by our beautiful God who is the light that shines into the darkness. Take hold of Him, Dear Friend, and you will find peace for your soul.

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Reflections on Grace

On July 30, 2018   /   The Journey   /   1 Comment

If you were sick and knew the sickness led to death, how much money would you be willing to pay for a cure? If your heart was broken and there was no chance of repair, what would you give to stop the ache?

It was very cloudy today, and cool. I got up early to take my dogs for a brisk walk. It was a real treat since warmer temperatures have made regular walks impossible due to overheating. We bounced and jolted as my puppy followed her nose and my older dog tried to maintain a steady gait. I wasn’t feeling particularly excited about my jaunt around the neighborhood but I always feel better after a little exercise so I pressed forward. There was no pretty sunrise because of the clouds and therefore it was a little gloomy. But that didn’t bother me. I had turned on a talk a friend of mine gave on the promise of grace and I found myself lost in the glory of his words.

For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation for all people. Titus 2:11

Sometimes the clouds are filled with grace. They hide the suns hot rays. They make it possible for rain to come and water a parched earth. They billow and curl in majestic sweeps of vapor that tantalize the imagination. But unfortunately, they also hide the sun when we most feel like basking in it.

I arrived at work and proceeded to stock the fridge with my salad fixings for the week. One of the gentlemen I work with was filling his coffee cup when I said to him, “Happy Monday! Isn’t it a beautiful day?” You see, I was all filled with light from my reflections on God’s grace before work and, to be honest, I was just so glad for the clouds and cooler weather. He said, “It’s interesting that you say it’s a beautiful day outside when its so cloudy and gloomy. Margaret, why do you say that?” I know Eric well enough to know his question was sincere so I refrained from sarcasm. I said, “You know, even when the clouds hide it, the sun is still shining.” And he smiled. “I like that,” he said. “I’m going to use that today.”

It was a typical Monday; frenetic and challenging. There was more work to do than hours in the day to complete it. Right before I planned to eat lunch I was asked to stay in a two hour meeting. Worse, I was wearing tight pants.

I wore them because I wanted to look stylish. I promised myself when I put them on this morning that I would stand at my desk all day so I could breathe. So when my boss asked me to sit for two hours to run the technology for a meeting, I died a little inside. Two agonizing hours of trying to find a position that didn’t cut off the circulation to my bowels was an exercise in futility.

Sometimes not dying of tight pants syndrome is a reason to practice gratitude. So when I finally escaped the workplace and began to drive home I took particular delight in the fluffy clouds that clustered on the horizon. You see, I often watch the sky with hope, imagining what is to come; namely, Jesus. I believe that one day He will come with the saints that have died before me. They will cover the sky with shining armor and flashing swords. And then, my Savior will defeat the enemy (Satan) forever. I can’t wait for that day. The promise of it fills me with hope.

As I drove home, the sun shone through the clouds in sparkling rays of gladness. And then suddenly it began to rain. A great, big, dark cloud attempted to blot out the sun for a moment but with no success. And then I found myself driving through a beautiful rain shower that looked like a shower of diadems because of the sun streaming through the water. Everything sparkled in that moment like, well, magic.

Maybe you will say there is no God and I’m just full of silly fairy tales. But I see him on days like today. I sense his presence. Maybe that is why I came home and called someone I love dearly and began to talk to him about the Jesus I love and the grace he so freely gives. This grace is especially for people like me; those who least deserve it.

Grace is unmerited favor. It is love that cannot be earned. It is a gift–not unlike the rain–that falls when we least expect it and cools the hot flesh of our face. Grace removes the stain of sin and guilt. It promises me that we are not forsaken.

Waiting for our blessed hope, the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior Jesus Christ, who gave himself for us to redeem us from all lawlessness and to purify for himself a people for his own possession who are zealous for good works. Titus 2:13-14

The cure for all that ails us is Jesus, the God man.

The salve for all our heartaches is Jesus, the Christ.

Today if you feel you have lost hope, take heart! The heavens declare the glory of God and the sky above proclaims his handiwork. He is real and he is ruling in Heaven. One day he will return. Trust Him with your life and you will never be disappointed.

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Harvesting Wild Blueberries

On July 9, 2018   /   The Journey   /   Leave a comment

“Welcome everything broken and everything beautiful. Trembling and holy and drifting and brave.” Rebecca Reynolds

Have you ever felt broken? I’m not talking about blithe sadness, but rather the bone-crushing weight of disappointment. Have you ever looked at your hands and wondered if you would ever hold happiness in them again? You remember what it felt like. It was like caramel corn in your mouth by the seaside on a mild summer day. The breeze was blowing and your skin was warm and cool at the same time. But now your grasp is weak. The clouds have rolled in and the breeze is just like ice blowing through your heart. Have you ever felt that way?

On a recent trip to the country I sat down with a neighbor who spoke to me of this kind of disappointment. As she tried to clean her pool—a seemingly impossible task because there was so much algae and the filter kept clogging—she shared with me how weak were the fingers of someone she loves. She spoke of a series of familial suicides. She spoke about financial difficulty. She spoke about discord with another family member and the ache of daily rejection. As she exposed her wounds and talked about depression, I sensed a deeper despair she was not ready to reveal. Still, she spoke of the goodness of God.

“I wouldn’t be here today if not for His help. He has carried me through.”

We sat in a newly built cabin that was filled with her treasures. Her “peaceful enclave” contained an old wood burning stove, special antique furniture, and a bevy of plaques on the walls that pronounced the grace of God in flowing script. She had written peace all over the place and it certainly felt like an oasis from sadness, but I have yet to find walls that are truly strong enough hold out the tentacles of sadness and despair.

Our family had gone camping against my better wishes. My husband longed for a country getaway while I longed for the seaside. I said, “Can’t we just get in the car and drive to Gulf Shores, AL? We could be on the beach in a few hours’ time with our toes in the sand. But he shook his head adamantly and my heart fell like a stone into muddy water. My middle son voiced the soft thrums of my disappointment.

I don’t want to go camping!

“Mom, please don’t make me go. I don’t want to sleep in a tent. I don’t want to be in the woods with the ticks and chiggers and mosquitoes.” Because while we certainly love the country, past trips have proved stressful, uncomfortable and just plain hot. And then we come home covered in bug bites and scratch for weeks until they heal. Still, I tried to encourage my boy to find something positive to focus on, things like swimming in the river, catching toads and crawdads, and staring at the stars by the campfire. Still, he sobbed great big tears of disappointment and my sad momma heart ached with him.

What do you do when you feel like that? When (like my son) you are forced to walk a path you do not choose. When the earth shifts after a loved one’s life is cut short. When the doctor’s knife misses its mark and leaves you with permanent numbness or pain. When the Harley is repossessed. When you tear your SI joint while loading the truck with camping supplies. How do you respond?

This is not the beach!

We woke up that first morning in a haze of sunlight through the trees. It shone into the tent as if to say, “Wake up! The day is here and you’re missing it!” I stumbled through the morning routine; get dressed, spray on more insect repellant, rub my aching back, fumble for the coffee. Meanwhile my youngest son was gesticulating about exploring the woods while I wanted to sit back in my camp chair and let the ibuprofen take effect. I tried to ignore him—after all, the last thing I wanted to do was going exploring the woods at the height of tick season, but after a little nudge from the Holy Spirit, I reasoned it was probably right to go with him.

Gulf Shores, Alabama

He sprinted down the hill and into a dry creek bed while I leaned heavily on my walking stick. He hollered, “Mom, come look at this cool rock. Is that what the Indians made arrow heads out of?” I said, “No, dear one. That’s sandstone.” He said, “What’s sandstone?” I said, “It’s what’s on the beach in Gulf Shores, AL only harder and not as pretty.” Okay, I didn’t really say that last bit but I wanted to. Still, I tried to take my own advice to Randy, my middle son (who was still hiding in his tent on a rapidly deflating air mattress). I looked for toads and cool rock formations and listened to my younger son prattle on about acorns. And there in the midst of my wandering I saw them, the little purple berries growing on a green bush no taller than my shins. I recognized the leaves because we had tried to grow blueberries bushes in our yard for several years. Unfortunately, they all died. They berries were small but unmistakable. So I ate them. And guess what? They were very sweet.

Blueberries are my favorite fruit and there they were—on a dry and rocky hillside in Salem, Missouri, in the midst of a trip I had not wanted to take. And when I looked more closely, I realized that all of the low growing plants around me that I thought were just useless scrub brush were actually blueberry plants, I marveled at the goodness of my God. And then I sprinted back to camp for a Ziploc bag so I could start collecting them.

We spent the better part of that morning pulling the tasty fruit from the scruffy plants. And suddenly my disappointed fingers didn’t feel so weak. My heart was a little less achy and my hopes were a little less dashed. As we climbed up and down hills—bending low to capture the sweetness in a bag, I thanked God for his care and comfort. And my little son, Ephraim—whose name means “God has made me fruitful in the land of my suffering”—helped me to collect the berries even though he doesn’t like to eat them. He delighted to see me glad and I enjoyed his cheerful, exuberating, gesticulations. And when we picked all of the ticks off later and cooled ourselves in the Meramec River, I gave God the praise he deserves. For he made something sweet grown in a barren place that I never would have expected, and brought joy to a hope-depleted heart.

Are you walking a path today that is filled with sharp stones? Does your burden cause the shoulders to sag, the heart to dip low, and the back to ache? Give your disappointment to the One who wants to comfort you and ask him to come near. For if you love him, he has promised to never leave or forsake you. And maybe, if you look closely, you might find a harvest of wild blueberries.

My country neighbor was weighted with many worldly woes and so I showed her the wild blueberries growing close to her cabin. She has lived there for many years and never noticed them before. I also noticed the prickly bushes with bright red berries growing around her small pond and asked if I could pick some for her. I then brought a few pints of blackberries for her to eat or bake with, and then we sat in her air conditioned oasis for a while and talked. I think friendship is good balm for the broken heart and so does she. So when the time came to depart she hugged me and said, “Will you come back soon?” And I nodded enthusiastically. “I have to pick more blueberries.”

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