Destination Discipline

“Our circumstances are not the window through which we understand His love, but rather we must view our circumstances through His love.” – Janet Linton (after the death of her baby 3 weeks before she was due to give birth)

Have you ever been crushed beneath the weight of your circumstances? Did you pray to God for help only to experience the brick wall of silence? Did you finally decide faith was a foolhardy enterprise for simpletons, and throw yours away like an old security blanket you had outgrown?

I recently learned the story of Leon Terblanche via a movie called, “Born to Win”. This semi-autobiographical account of his life details his earnest question: Where was God when terrible circumstances happened in his life?

As a young white boy living in South Africa, Leon was subjected to verbal and physical abuse by his family and then abandoned by his mother. A dark-skinned, African woman he called Mama, took Leon home and cared for him for a time and taught him about Jesus—even though caring for a white boy was inherently dangerous. Leon loved Mama and her son very much and was crushed when he was ripped away from them and returned to his real mother where the abuse continued. He cried to God to help him, but God did not answer. So, he grew up feeling disappointed and cynical about anything faith related.

As an adult, Leon became a teacher who worked with children with special needs. He married and had a daughter, but bitterness and resentment festered like an unhealed wound in his heart. He drank to mask the awful pain and his marriage suffered because of it.

I have often wondered why God allows evil and suffering. I am not alone. Leon’s gut-wrenching cry to God at a pivotal point in the movie caused my husband to say, “Do people really talk to God like that?”

I said, “Yep. It’s called ugly prayer.”

Have you ever ugly prayed? This usually involves clenches fists, sobs, and screaming. Did you know God hears and cares about your pain?

I have a several women friends who have been sexually assaulted. When they share their stories, I silently ask God, “Where were you? Why didn’t you stop it? Why didn’t you break down the door—like Superman—and throw those guys on their ear?” I have other friends who were betrayed and abandoned by their spouses. I know children of alcoholic parents, sisters and brothers of murdered family members, cancer survivors who watch friends with cancer die horrible deaths while they live with survivor’s guilt. If you hadn’t noticed, this world is seriously screwed up! And if you haven’t experienced excruciating pain yet, just wait—you will!

In the heat of human emotion, I tend to look at my present circumstance and think whatever bad thing happened was probably the worst thing that could happen. Conversely, I tend to think every good thing that happened was probably the best thing that could happen. I find as I age that these extremes are seriously short-sighted. Feelings—like circumstances—come and go. There is a whole world that exists outside of my experience, especially when I consider my neighbor who has MS, is on disability, and struggles to pay her bills.

My narrow perspective widens when I read the bible. This important historical narrative tells me human beings are immortal and created in the image of an immortal God. But while immortality holds a specific charm for some, it holds a notion of horror for others.

No one captures the themes of eternal life better than Peter Beagle (of “The Last Unicorn” fame). I recently picked up a book of short stories titled, “Immortal Unicorn” because it had his name on the cover. This collection of short stories addresses the beauty and terror of immortality. One such story titled, “Gilgamesh Recidivus” (P.D. Cacek) tells the tale of a man who tracks a unicorn through the barrens of Siberia to beg for death because—as it turns out—he is immortal. He has grown weary of the pain of watching the people he loves grow old and die.

Death is a significant part of the human experience, but the bible makes clear that human death is not the end of the story. The choices we make this side of death determine how we live on the other side of the door. God gives us the choice; life with Him in Heaven or an eternity of separation from Him. Some people relish the idea of an eternity without God. They think “no God” is a great thing. But “no God” also means none of the good gifts he gives to us. If God is the creator of everything “good”, what does eternity without Him look like? The bible is clear. It says when we choose to reject God we will live in a place of “weeping and gnashing of teeth.” Forever. And in that story, there is no unicorn to set us free.

God is the lover of our souls.

The thing that intrigues me about the gospel message is that not only is God present during our painful circumstances, He participates in them with us through the personhood of Jesus. He is not a monster! He is our savior! God recognizes that the most horrible thing that has happened to humankind is the curse of sin and the possibility of permanent separation from Him. His son, Jesus, extends his hands in hope that we will surrender our lives to Him and be saved from eternal death. He proved this way was true by allowing God to heap on Himself the sin of all humanity. Jesus took our punishment and died in our place on the cross. Three days later God raised him from the dead. The second half of the bible is eye-witness testimony to this fact.

The bible is a real “guts and glory” kind of book. From start to finish it explains the inception of humanity, where everything went sideways, and what God is doing to fix it for the best possible outcome—promoting His glory! One thing it is not, is boring.

Eventually Leon Terblanche’s daughter convinced him to go to church with her and he learned God was present during the worst moments of his life. Leon is now a pastor who offers this message of hope to people from Sedgefield, Western Cape, South Africa. When I reached out to him on Facebook to tell him thank you for sharing this message of hope, he asked me to make sure to share it with all of you.

Today, if the painful circumstances in your life make you question God’s character, I encourage you to read the bible. God is not defined by us. He is infinitely more than we can think or imagine. And incredibly, Dear Reader, He condescends to love you!

You can stream the movie, “Born to Win” online and I wholeheartedly encourage you to do so.

In conclusion, I want to share the words of Maltbie Babcock from the beautiful hymn.

“This is my Father’s world. Let me never forget. That though the wrong seems often so strong, God is the ruler yet. This is my Father’s world. The battle is not done. Jesus who died will be satisfied and earth and Heaven will be won.”  

“I never knew lonely could be so blue, I never knew lonely could tear you in two, I never loved someone like I love you, I never knew lonely til you.”  – Vince Gill

The stars come out when the sky grows dark. I forget this sometimes in the summer because the days are so long I don’t experience true darkness. I usually crawl into bed as dusk settles over the house and close my eyes as I prepare for the inevitabilities tomorrow will bring. But there are times when the sadness’s of the day are not ready to retire. My eyes won’t close, and I can’t find rest. There is an ache that defies definition—an ache that sets my mind to wandering for a remedy.

Jesus once said, “Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.” (Matthew 6:34) So what does one do when the trouble of the day doesn’t want to end?

No one wants to be lonely. Loneliness feels like a curse. If we aren’t lonely today, we fear that we will be lonely in the future. When we open our hearts to love other people, we open the door to the possibility of loneliness. Sometimes the people we love don’t love us back. Other times they love us for a while and then walk away. Worst of all, we may grow to an age where everyone we love has died. It is usually about this age that we discover sleep is no longer a friend. That is when we learn the true meaning of darkness. Then, not even the light from a picture window will brighten our hearts.

“O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer, and by night, but I find no rest.” Psalm 22:2

I ponder loneliness when I stand in my front yard at 2:00am. The solitary whistle of the train as it rattles down the tracks reminds me I am not the only one awake, but I still feel alone. I look up into the heavens to find my favorite constellations. There is comfort in the sameness of the stars. I say, “There you are” and I smile. The stars never disappoint me. They don’t say unkind words. They don’t neglect or ignore me. The nature of their work is to shine light into the darkness and that is what they keep on doing. Sometimes they peek through fluffy clouds and other times they are completely obscured by rain. But I know they are there and their faithfulness comforts me. We all need something faithful to anchor our hearts to when we ache.

Have you ever stood in the wreckage of horrible circumstances and wondered what happened? Have you cursed the gods for allowing such all-encompassing annihilation? Have you cried, like Job, “He breaks me down on every side, and I am gone, and my hope has he pulled up like a tree” (Job 19:10)? The loneliness of those moments surpasses anything approaching manageable. These “unfixable and uncontrollable moments” (Zack Eswine) wring the sorrow from our brows. These moments solidify the knowledge that we truly have no control over the trajectory of our lives. We grasp for something—anything to steady us. We just need something solid to grasp. Something faithful—more faithful than even the stars.

“Righteousness shall be the belt of his waist, and faithfulness the belt of his loins.” Isaiah 11:5

Though we cannot see him with our eyes, He is real. Though we cannot smell Him with our nose, He exists. Though we cannot touch him with our hands, He is authentic. Jesus, the lamb of God who was sent to take away the sin of the world, is our faithful Savior. If we trust in Him, He will deliver us.

I have recently been learning from a friend what it means to follow Jesus. Yes, sometimes I forget. Pain has a way of obscuring the truth. Especially if I turn to religiosity and ritual rather than to the personhood of Christ. I collapse into the temptation to believe He is an uncaring monster who wishes me harm rather than a man who took my sin and was tortured to death so that I might enter the most joyful relationship known to mankind.

In His book, “Sensing Jesus”, Zack Eswine reminds me that “Jesus doesn’t see victory in this world the way I wish he would.” These words comfort me because they remind me that I am not God. I am not omniscient or omnipresent. I am just Margaret. And this comforts me because it takes all the pressure off performing tasks I don’t feel capable of completing. If I allow God to be God and myself to be me, I can just relax. I can throw up my hands and cry out in pain, “God, I can’t figure this out. I need you to help me.” Or I can simply weep. And in those moments of perplexing pain I have experienced the hand of grace as it catches me—not unlike a little bird with a broken wing—and whispers to me, “Margaret, I am here. You are precious in my sight. I love you and I will save you.”

Zack describes it this way. “There is a kind of power that Jesus gives. It goes where other kinds of power will not. It does what other kinds of power cannot.” But one cannot experience it until we fully surrender to Him. We must relinquish control of our lives. Besides, we don’t actually have control anyway. And if you think you do, just wait until the doctor says, “Stage 4 pancreatic cancer”.

I sat in the unrelenting loneliness of pain last week. I cried out to God and He answered me. On this occasion it was to remind me that I have an old pair of roller skates in the basement that I haven’t used in several years. I brushed off the dust and laced them up. Then I started to glide up and down the street in front of my house—just like I did when I was 12. We don’t have any sidewalks so I had to skate in the street. I waved at the cars that drove by and talked to the neighborhood children who were riding bikes and scooters. And I laughed at the looks of the people driving past as they gawked at me or simply smiled. Because how often does one see a 44 year old woman rolling around on white roller derby skates and waving her arms? I suppose some will think this is a strange response to pain but my loneliness definitely dissipated. I found laughter and happiness, but I also found deep joy. Because Jesus was roller skating with me. I can’t remember the last time I felt so happy and carefree.

“The afflicted shall eat and be satisfied; those who seek him shall praise the Lord! May your hearts live forever!” Psalm 22:26

Today if you are suffering from the loneliness pain and suffering brings, cast your cares on Him who cares for you. He is faithful.

The sparkling waters of the Meramec River dance over rocks and silt as they filter through Missouri. They begin as springs east of Salem and are aqua blue as they shimmer in the sun. By the time they reach St. Louis they are distinctly darker as they pick up mud when they join the Bourbeuse River near Moselle. Still, some people would argue that they never shone brighter than they did on the shores of Times Beach in the years before heartache flooded the town.

I recently toured what is left of the resort town. I stepped inside the Route 66 state park museum and read a little bit of history and saw a few photographs. I reviewed the giant plat map which looks not unlike a big green piece of pie situated close to Eureka, Missouri. I am in the company of my friend, Stefanie, who once lived there and who has filled my heart with wonder for the tiny town that is no longer there. This small “mausoleum” is not sturdy enough to hold all the love each resident had for that small slice of heaven. No one can truly capture with words what that place meant to them. For my friend, it was simply home.

She was there in the winter of 1982 when the flood waters rolled in and tells the harrowing story of barely escaping. Their house was surrounded by the churning Meramec as it swelled over its banks. They lost everything they had, which is how they ended up at Wal-Mart—wet and soggy—in search of dry socks and shoes.

We drove under the highway as we entered Route 66 State Park—what used to be Times Beach. Cyclists and joggers passed our car on pristine, paved roads. It was a sunny, blue sky kind of day and we were thankful for air conditioning. I scanned the swampy pools next to the road for frogs while my friend tried to find where her house used to be. I tried to envision what it once looked like while my friend described her childhood, running down the hot streets to the river to swim. It was the kind of place I would have liked to live—a small town filled with relatively poor people who knew how to spend the only real currency they had in abundance; love.

Stefanie asked if I wanted to take any pictures. I said no. Everything I wanted to see was torn down years ago. I tried to imagine myself in that place when I was her age, riding my bike behind the truck that sprayed oil on the dirt roads to keep the dust down. I tried to picture the stone and brick house she once lived in but had to abandon the year she turned 13. I tried to picture her friends—the ones she loved so dearly—and her brave parents who fought not only the murky waters but the media spectacle that blocked the only way out of town and forced them to abandon their vehicle in the rising water. I felt the anger, the disappointment, and the shame she experienced in the aftermath as they tried to find a place to live. I sensed the horror of losing all sense of stability—to the point that even though she continued to go to school, she failed the 8^th grade.

I could not help but think of the refugees who flee war torn areas in search of safety. Do they feel like my friend who had to grieve the sudden loss of her childhood? Do they cling to each other with hope in the face of tremendous adversity? Do they try to go back years later to try to rekindle the sense of home they lost even though there is no physical structure left to experience? For those who don’t know the story of that place, it wasn’t only the flood that ruined the town. Sadly, the former residents are still managing the pain and sorrow caused by disease and death of those they love. One of Stefanie’s close friends passed away two months ago—37 years after the floor—from a rare form of cancer caused by a terrible poison. She still cannot speak of the loss without tears.

When I think about Times Beach, I consider how God views men who prey on innocent people.

“As for the scoundrel—his devices are evil; he plans wicked schemes to ruin the poor with lying words, even when the plea of the needy is right.” Isaiah 32:7

God hates the wicked machinations of men. In fact, the bible is one long story of a God who loves justice and—finding none—stretches out his own arm to save the people he loves. I don’t intend to turn the story of Times Beach into a bible lesson. Forgive me if it comes across this way. It is only that as I crossed into that magical place, I could not help but think about what it will be one day. I was quietly clinging to the promise that Jesus makes—“Behold, I am making all things new”. (Revelation 21:5) The Apostle John’s vision of a new heaven and a new earth gives me real hope I can cling to. I believe that one day Times Beach will be a wholly clean and safe place to live. There will be picnics and hula hoops and people roller skating without fear as they embrace their friends knowing that the former things have passed away. The Meramec River will shine in exquisite beauty—a river we have never known this side of death. It will be free of pollution and trash and fear from drowning. It will be wonderful.

I suppose this kind of writing will make some people wonder about my mental capacity. Still, without the hope of God, I could not bear to think about the tragedies of this broken world. I know the Bible is just a book but I believe God is real and those really are His words. I cling to the promises he makes and hope with joy for a future where death and dying will be no more.

The sun still rises and sets over Times Beach. The Meramec River still flows over the banks and people can still fish and swim. But all the houses are gone. The streets are gone. And even the annual reunion of former residents can’t recapture the life they had in bygone years. But I take immense comfort in the words of the prophet Isaiah when he writes of this great God who created that wonderful place.

“I am the Lord, and there is no other, besides me there is no God; I equip you, though you do not know me, that people may know, from the rising of the sun and from the west, that there is none besides me; I am the Lord, and there is no other. I form light and create darkness, I make well-being and create calamity, I am the Lord, who does all these things.” Isaiah 45:5-7