Archive for the The Journey Category

I was driving home from work one evening, weary and mentally tired from a long day. I stopped by the grocery store and stood in the long line. I dreaded my arrival home for it only meant more work; preparation of dinner, the bearing up of screaming children, and a crabby, argumentative husband. I often feel like I’m subsisting on my last ounce of energy as I strive only to make it to the next moment. I make do with a gasp for the next breath and prayer to my God to help me. So it was that I climbed into my car with my meager assortment of groceries and sighed.

As I left the parking lot, I saw a man in a bulky jacket with a large backpack and bedroll on his back. He walked swiftly and with purpose. It struck me that he must be cold. I thought this because I had just experienced the bitter temperatures as I loaded my groceries into the car with stiff fingers. I had rushed the shopping cart to the holding bay, barely able to breath because the cold hurt my lungs. And there was this man walking out in it. I stared hard as I drove past him, awkward though he was, and continued my journey home.

A few minutes later I realized I could not get the image of him from my mind. I considered what I could do to help him, and realized my situation as a woman alone in my car and of not much monetary(or physical strength) means. I prayed that God would show me clearly if I should help him or go home. And then I stopped at the stop sign. If I turned left, I would drive straight home with a heavy burden on my heart for this stranger. If I turned right, I would drive back to the parking lot in search of the odd man and offer to pick him up.

Now you must understand that the words of common sense were screaming in my ears. You can’t pick up a stranger. You won’t have any means to protect yourself. What if he robs you? What if he steals your car? What if he does unspeakable things to you? But it occurred to me in that moment that nothing he did to me would be my fault because when we offer grace out of the kindness of our hearts, we are not responsible for the way people respond to it. Still, I knew my husband would absolutely never let me hear the end of it if he knew I picked up a strange man on the side of the road. So I planned to turn left at the stop sign. But my hands–guided by some higher power–turned right instead.

I figured I was completely crazy. Bonkers. Mad. So I prayed that I would not find the man in the parking lot if it was not God’s will for me to help him. And I breathed a deep sigh of relief when he was not there. And I started to drive home as I had before. Until I saw him there in the dark hiking on the side of the road. And so I pulled off and called to him, “Do you need a ride?” And he ran to my car and said, “Yes. Thank you.”

And my heart was beating so fast and with such complete terror that I thought I might pass out. If you think I’m being overly dramatic, I am not. I assumed that he would pull a knife from his jacket and slit my throat at any moment as I said, “I’ve never picked up a strange man before, but Jesus told me to stop for you.” As if using the name of God’s son would somehow protect me from malicious intent. And he said, “I’ll get in the back.”

“Where are you going?” I said.

“To Quick Trip.” He said. “I need to charge my phone.”

Quick Trip was only a half mile away at best. “Can I buy you dinner?” I asked.

“No thank you.” He said. Then he noticed my leather satchel in the back seat. “Is that where you keep your Bible?” He said.

“Yes.” I said. “Among other things.”(like my wallet and every single valuable thing I owned)

“My mother always wrapped her Bible in leather.” He said. “She was a missionary.”

“Really?” I said. “To what country?”

“To several different countries.” He said.

“What is your name?”

“Joshua.”

And then we drove on in silence for a few minutes.

“Are you sure I can’t buy you dinner, Joshua?” I said as we pulled into the parking lot at Quick Trip.

“No thanks, Ma’am.” He said. “But maybe you could buy me a cup of coffee?”

“Sure.” I said.

I finally got a good look at him as he climbed out of my car. He was a white man in his mid-thirties with a weathered face and a full auburn colored beard. His large green coat looked thin and raggedy, and he appeared tired. He set his backpack on the ground and began to plug in a pay-as-you-go cell phone. I proceeded to walk inside but when he did not follow me, I paused. He stood resolutely by his stuff, as if waiting for me to go inside and buy the coffee without him.

I suddenly felt compelled to forgo the coffee–realizing instead that maybe he had a greater need I was not aware of. Impulsively, I opened my wallet and pulled out a $20. I handed it to him. And even though he appeared extremely uncomfortable, I forced it into his hand anyway.

“This is not from me, but from the Lord.”

And he smiled, as if he might cry at any moment. And then I hugged him. Not a little hug, but a great big bear hug. The kind of hug that takes in a person’s whole being and says, “I accept you. You are precious and dearly loved.”

And as I got into my car I looked to make sure he had not stolen my leather satchel(he had not). And as I backed out of the parking space, I saw him standing there waving at me with this great big smile on his face. And then I drove away.

My heart was still thumping–as if I had just run half a mile–and I was shivering with fear. Because doing this thing had terrified me to the depths of my bones. What if he had thumped me over the head or worse? But in my heart I felt this peace I would not have had if I had listened to common sense and ignored him. So I prayed for Joshua. And I didn’t tell a living soul what I had done because I was afraid everyone would tell me that I was crazy.

“Let brotherly love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. Remember those who are in prison, as though in prison with them, and those who are mistreated.” – Hebrews 13:1-3.

I read that verse this morning as I sat at home suffering with my sick tummy. And I remembered Joshua. We are all fighting something. It may be a situation beyond our control–like joblessness, or an unexpected bill we cannot pay. We might have a relationship in crisis or a health issue that makes us weak. In retrospect I realized something; we are all Joshua’s. And it occurs to me today that sometimes we must step outside of ourselves and our situation to see life on this planet as it really is; utterly hopeless, intangibly futile, and in need of extreme grace. We must do this because we are in need of it ourselves. And even though we might get hurt when we offer grace to people, we should extend grace anyway, and by every means available.

Pain is the only constant in this world. Everyone experiences it. And it is the work of Jesus to relieve it.

I wrote this for Joshua. He showed me that sometimes I need to risk everything to extend grace, especially when it is most uncomfortable. Because that is what Jesus did for me.

I sat there with my arms folded over my stomach–as the ache swelled and lulled–as my heart beat furiously within my chest. And all I could think, while my body was bending and breaking, was this: The joy of the Lord is my strength.

Now maybe you are reading this and thinking, “Boy, that Margaret sure is full of crap. I mean, seriously. Who could possibly think about joy in such a moment of pain and desperation. She should be full of curses. She should curse a god who would allow her to suffer like that.” But the thing is, I keep thinking about Job and his boils, and how even in the midst of the worst suffering of his life, he did not curse God. He questioned him, sure. Who wouldn’t? But he didn’t curse him. And that is important.

Anguish is real. The sense of losing hope is real. Pain is real. And sometimes we have this idea that God watches in blissful oblivion while we ache and moan. Andrew Peterson has a beautiful song called, “The Silence of God.” He says, “It’s enough to drive a man crazy, it’ll break a man’s faith. It’s enough to make him wonder if he’s ever been sane.” And I have felt that “crazy” so many times. The lines from the strain of it etch my face. And if I let myself get lost in that emotion–if I go swimming in the depths of my pain–all I will ever find is more pain. Because when I search myself for relief, I may as well be digging a hole to China.

This week has been a great big bundle of hard. Physical pain. Emotional pain. And a stint in a traffic jam(when the highway got shut down) that had me in a panic free-fall(there are no toilets on the highway!) And then there is the anxiety that wakes me up at night, where my heart won’t stop racing and it feels like it’s going to pop out of my chest and start dancing to Harry Belafonte’s “Jump in the Line.” And the thing is, I really LOVE that song. And I want to jump in the line! But not at 2:00am. I like to reserve my heart palpitations for running and meaningful glances at my husband.

So how did I get across the bridge from anguish to joy? Because I’ll be honest, it’s kind of a scary bridge. It’s one of those rope bridges with a few boards missing. And the boards I can see look spongy, as if one footfall is going to send me plunging into the gaping river below. And yes, there are crocodiles down there. I see their teeth. And they are smacking their lips at me. So yeah, that bridge is pretty daunting.

Yesterday morning I made a pretty simple decision to read 5 paragraphs in my devotional book. And I didn’t want to. Because sometimes reading about God feels empty. Like, okay, I get it. He loves me. Blah, blah, blah… And I don’t read my devotions every day because of this. And you know what? Today I’m glad I don’t. Because if I did, I wouldn’t have read these words by Edward Welch from February 21st.

“When we suffer what seems like endless pain, it is hard to believe that God loves us, but Jesus’suffering proves that it can be true. Second, “he who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all–how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?”(Romans 8:32) {like joy!!}

And some days this just feels like a whole lot of God talk, but yesterday it felt like a walnut shell cracking and a little green sprout poking out. Because I read in those words the hope of my salvation. The love of my life, nailed to a cross, with my name on his lips. He suffered pain and anguish–worse than what I am experiencing now–to ensure that I would never be alone when I experience mine.

“For I know that my redeemer lives, and at the last he will stand upon the earth. And after my skin has been thus destroyed, yet in my flesh I shall see God, whom I shall see for myself, and my eyes shall behold him, and not another. My heart faints within me!” -Job 19:25-27

Joy is so much different from happiness. It’s the difference between a splash of euphoria and the slow, steady burn of abiding peace. The peace of God truly does transcend physical pain. I know this because yesterday I felt it. And it was like a great big hug from a friend I haven’t seen in 20 years, only better–sweeter somehow. Jesus hugs my soul. And I have never experienced anything like it outside of him.

Today I feel really good. That is how life works sometimes. One day pain. The next day relief. And I’m sitting here in my workout gear because when I type the last period, I am off to take in the sunshine with a nice walk/jog/hobble. And today I don’t mind the funny looks I get from the “professional” runners. They have perfect form and perfect muscle tone and their bellies don’t jiggle like mine does. But today my pain is less. And I have Jesus in my heart. And His resounding peace echoes through my broken frame like a cheerful whistle in the empty chambers of a dark and lonely cave. Somehow that whistle makes the cold and damp bearable. And so I follow it. That’s what joy is for me, plain and simple.

So today if you are in the trenches of pain and suffering, don’t despair. Cry out to the One who suffered. He is there. He knows you are suffering. And He wants to give you joy.

Sometimes we encounter people that give us a clear perspective on the true state of our heart. But I find it rather curious that when I encounter one of these people, I instinctively justify my own response to their fundamental problem rather than simply loving them for who they are. If loving your neighbor sounds easy, it’s not. And I’ll be candid, I find it to be a very complex issue that deserves to be addressed. I’ll illustrate why.

Today I found myself stewing(again) over someone who continually displays a very arrogant attitude toward me. This person believes(or at the very least acts like they believe), that because of their title and position,(maybe even because they have more money) that they are entitled to treat me as less of a human being than they are. If you have never been treated this way, God bless you. For some reason I have encountered a lot of people like this in life, and they make me seriously crabby. Like fingers on a chalkboard or the smell of sewage on a windy day—these kind of people attack my senses. I often feel like there is nothing I can do to alleviate the aggravation other than to leave their vicinity as quickly as humanly possible. Which I do. The problem is, my thoughts go with me.

After encountering such a person today, I immediately stopped what I was doing, prayed for that person, and then forgave them for offending my senses. And if you believe that, I have a bridge to sell you in Brooklyn. Actually, my train of thought was something much more debased, and sounded something like this.

“What on earth gives Jimmy the right to think he’s better than me? I’m just as smart as he is. Heck, I work out! And Jimmy is fat. In fact, Jimmy is stupid too. But he’s SO stupid he doesn’t even know he’s stupid. He just walks around with this casual, “I’m so much better than Margaret attitude.” And I really hate Jimmy because his attitude toward me stinks. Because I am awesome! I mean seriously, how can he not think I’m awesome? Look at Jimmy. Sometimes he doesn’t wear socks. And a lot of times his tie doesn’t match his pants. And the thing is, the next time I see Jimmy, I’m going to stick my tongue out at him behind his back because I think it will be funny and that will make me feel better about his stinky attitude. And he will never even know, because like I said before, Jimmy is stupid. And obviously, I am so much smarter than Jimmy. (disclaimer: gender and name have no bearing on the real person and are–in this instance–used for illustrative purposes only)

Pride:
noun: a feeling or deep pleasure or satisfaction derived from one’s own achievements, the achievements of those with whom one is closely associated, or from qualities or possessions that are widely admired.

Pride is gross. It is definitely one of the nastier traits of the human heart. And what I realized today–as thoughts of “Jimmy” took up entirely too much space in my brain–was that my attitude was just as ugly–if not uglier–than his.

Why do I instinctively want to be a jerk to someone who has been a jerk to me? I suppose it’s because evil hurts, and my gut reaction to pain is to cause pain back. But what absolutely kills me in this instance is how my response to arrogance was in fact, an exaggerated response of the same exact nature. When I realized it, I was stunned. But that realization did nothing to make me have better thoughts about the person who makes my life miserable. Forgiving and loving people who disdain us is really hard.

When I think about the character of Jesus and what he calls people who follow him to do, it really is quite revolutionary. I mean seriously, he tells us to love our enemies and “bless those who persecute us.” But how do I do that? Sometimes I just can’t. And that is when I remember why Jesus came and took my sin to the cross–to forgive me for all the times I was an unrepentant, arrogant jerk. He saw all my pride and ugliness and he loved me any way. And I can’t even be nice to Jimmy the Jerk.

Everything that Jesus taught feels contrary to what the rest of the world says or does. After all, isn’t that what people go to court for? They are seeking justice for the wrongs that have been done to them. A good friend of mine put a post on Facebook a few weeks ago along with an inflammatory video and a caption that said, “I’m praying for justice.” Only, from my perspective, she seemed to be siding with people who were intentionally inflicting great pain on others in the name of(what I considered to be) a very flawed ideology. People often toss the word justice around like its a baseball to be thrown at monsters who prey on the innocent, but when I consider that I am the monster, and someone should claim justice for all the wrongs that I have done, I have a completely different perspective. Then I’m not crying justice at all, but rather, “Have mercy on me!” Because if we all got what we deserved, well… let’s just say it’s not altogether a very pleasant train of thought.

Today I realized I am not better than my jerk neighbor. In fact, I’m worse. And the only consolation I have is to remember the grace that has been extended to me in the person of Jesus Christ. He bore the brunt of my sin on Calvary so that I can write about what an arrogant jerk my neighbor is, and how I can be forgiven for the exact same behavior, and at the same time somehow learn to extend that love to others. It is perplexing and mysterious, and perhaps one of the most beautiful gifts so readily rejected by the mainstream because it seems “exclusive” when in actuality it was always intended to be a fully inclusive gift graciously given to the entire human race. Today I realized once again that without that incredible grace, I am utterly and desperately lost.

Thank you, Jesus.