Destination Discipline

“Turn to me and be gracious to me, for I am lonely and afflicted. The troubles of my heart are enlarged; bring me out of my distresses. Consider my affliction and my trouble, and forgive all my sins.” – Psalm 25:16-18

I stood weeping on the bank of the river while my children splashed in the water. Their effervescent spirits were directly juxtaposed to the well of suffering I was drowning in. They leapt. I sobbed. They laughed. I mourned. Still, I praised God for His glorious creation, even as my tears gave way to sighing.

What enables the grieving person to praise God as tears drip down her nose? What mysterious power saturates the senses with pure joy even as heartache throbs in the chest? What kind of “crazy” religion comforts the mourning person in the midst of crippling sorrow?

I have not discovered a magic potion, nor have I stumbled upon the perfect pill to erase suffering. I cannot make light of the throb that comes when the hammer falls on the heart. If you are reading this and think that I offer you a makeshift splint when you need a plaster cast, please reconsider. I do not write this to offer a little distraction from the pain. I am in the pain and I have joy, and I want to share with my dear reader the reason why.

I have never experienced such a swell of emotion in response to memories. When one loses a loved one, the tidal wave of sorrow is utterly overwhelming. I stood on the bank of that river where we once played and saw my grandmother. The woman who I loved so deeply was etched in every ripple. I heard her voice calling my name and speaking such tender words of affirmation and care. Wave after wave washed over me and I struggled with how to reconcile the terrible aching loss with the beautiful memories that made her so special. I have personally found great comfort in nature when life goes awry and so finding no solace in the trickle of water or the sway of the trees, I grasped hopelessly to find solace and meaning after her death.

I suppose everyone responds to grief differently. I have seen charts that map the stages of grief but they aren’t especially helpful to me. First, the knowledge of what should happen doesn’t mitigate the pain. Second, what do I do when my symptoms are all out of order? All the charts taught me is that something must be wrong with me because I’m not doing it right.

All of the little pleasures that were once easy distractions have lost their appeal. The frivolous idioms that acquaintances have offered as condolences don’t console. Food has lost its savor and sleep has offered no respite. Worse, I find myself apologizing for my weariness. Why am I so doggone tired? I force myself out of bed and through my workouts because I must, not because there is any semblance of pleasure in waking or walking. And when I scan the heavens, tracing the clouds with my eyes in search of some kind of sign from my grandmother that she is looking down on me, I despair when I find none. All I feel is the restless echo my broken heart makes as it continues to beat like a lonely drum.

A few days ago when in the grasp of that sad stupor, I finally collapsed beneath the weight of my grief onto the only place that offers any kind of cushion; God’s word. Once there I found the sprout of something lovely, precious, and uncommonly fragrant.

“There is none holy like the Lord: for there is none besides you; there is no rock like our God.” 1 Samuel 2:2

As I read I remembered that my grandmother was a great bandager of wounds, but God is the great healer of broken hearts. I remembered how gladly my grandmother listened to me as I shared all of my emotional ouchies, but realized God can actually take them away if I offer them to Him. As a kindness to her family, my grandmother liked to bake sweet treats, but God offers his words and they are like honey to my soul. My grandmother loved to cuddle babies but God creates the babies to cuddle and cherish. As I pondered all of the attributes that made Ruby Allen so unique and lovely, it occurred to me that God created her that way. My grandmother was a gift from God to me (and so many others). And as I fully realized this, it felt like flowers, not unlike Surprise lilies, began to sprout from the dark and lonely soil of my heart.

So what does one do when thinking about a person who has had such a tremendous impact on ones life? How does one respond when contemplating each kiss, each handmade gift, and each unwarranted “I love you”? If you think that I responded by saying “Thank you” to God, you would be correct. And with that expression of praise I felt a measure of peace. Not to say all the pain was instantly removed, but the sting of death was certainly mitigated. My grandmother was a gift and her death is the not the end of the story.

Gratitude is a beautiful thing. A grateful heart has no space for anger, bitterness or regret. A heart that is thankful sings songs even when tears are forthcoming. A grateful heart can look into the chasm of death–see beauty–and smile.

God is always good. His words remind me of that time and time again. And while my feelings do not always match that great truth, it is nice when the grace of God intervenes and reminds me.

“Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted.” Matthew 5:4

“You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?” Psalm 56:8

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.” Romans 15:13

“So keep to the old roads and you’ll find your way.” – Andrew Peterson

The arms that once held me have gone limp. They faded into glory on Saturday, May 19th. And with them, the rare kind of generous and lifegiving love that I can only ever hope to aspire to. My grandmother, Ruby Allen, was that kind of beautiful soul that is such a precious gift, so honestly good and lovely, that one gasps to think of life without her. Indeed, I struggle to think of what will come even as I ponder on what was.

She was so many good things… a gifted seamstress, a crochet queen, a humble cook, a delectable baker, a glorious gardener, a garage sale coinsure, a faithful wife, patient mother, doting grandmother, lover of babies and a true friend who never knew a stranger. And yet she was also a steel-willed maven–not afraid to nurse a litter of squirrel kits who had fallen from their nest one day and butcher our pet chickens the next. She was raised on a farm and one of the most practical people I ever knew. When I was naughty I never heard her raise her voice. The worst admonition one could hope to pry from her soft-spoken lips was the quiet “tsk tsk tsk” and a gentle, “Now, let’s be nice.” And so when I remember her, knee deep in the river, giving her approval to my collection of mussel shells, crawdads, and the tiny perch I just caught, or even providing an empty can of beans to put my peepers in, I weep. Because she was the only grandmother I ever knew and the loss of her presence leaves a tremendous wound.

The are some who will say there is consolation in the good memories and I do not disagree. But grief is a sword that slices to the bone. When we lose someone who gave their life to hold us up, we suddenly fall. We scrape our knees and our tears seep into the sidewalk. We grasp for those arms but they are not there to hold us and we feel that terrible agony of sorrow slicing through us. I hate death. It is unnatural, ugly and wrong. I rebel against it with every fiber of my being, and I suppose I will keep doing that until the day I join my Grandmother in Heaven.

As I have wandered through these last few days of shock and sadness, I have heard a small whisper in the back of my mind… “Lash your heart to the ancient mast.” It is from a song written by a father to his son. It is all of the wisdom he has imparted in life set to a tune he hopes will guide the lad when he is not able to be near him. The “ancient mast” is in reference to the “Ancient of Days” from a small passage of scripture in the bible.

“As I looked, thrones were placed, and the Ancient of Days took his seat; his clothing was white as snow, and the hair of his head like pure wool; his throne was fiery flames; its wheels were burning fire.” – Daniel 7:9

In the bible, God describes himself as a loving father for those who choose to believe in and love him. So when I think about “lashing myself to the ancient mast” I am comforted. I believe what the bible says about God is true. He is real, he loves me, and he cares about my sorrows. So in this moment of unsettling grief, when I am torn asunder by this terrible change in my life, I take immense comfort in the knowledge that God does not change. While change in this world is constant, he will always be the same.

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.” – James 1:17

When I clench my fists and pound the air with my wailing because I am so angry at death, I remember that our human death is not the end of our story. God created us as eternal beings and I believe we will go on living after we die. The bible clearly says that while the wages of sin is death, the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord. God is just; he punishes our sin (rejection of God/faithless hearts) with eternal death. But he sent his son Jesus to be the sacrifice for our sins and so in believing on His name we are saved from eternal separation from God (hell).

“See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are.” 1 John 3:1

My grandmother was so passionate in her love for her family that she insisted one of her great grandchildren be baptized in the river before she died. This is the way she lived her life, giving and loving and holding and healing and helping and saving and quietly teaching us to do the same. And so when I consider her legacy and the beautiful heritage she has passed down to her family, I rejoice! She exemplified the command Jesus gave to all of us when he said, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul mind and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself.”

Today the arms that held us have gone. My grandmother will be buried and the family will mourn. We will remember and somehow press forward without her. But we are not without hope. We have the opportunity to lash ourselves to the Ancient Mast and find our way home. And I take so much joy and comfort from the knowledge that Ruby exists now in her purest form; love personified, light and goodness, with no hindrance of pain or worry or weariness. I will miss her but I know I will also try to be more like her because I am so thankful for her example. Even though her light has dimmed, the Light Giver has not. And so I will gather strength from Him to help me in the sad and trying days to come.

I walk along the stony path. On one side I see flowers swaying in the breeze. The sun shines on their golden faces and I feel their joy. But one glance later, my eyes are drawn to the view to my right—the valley of bones. Death is there—and suffering. But something glitters there too, something shiny and tantalizing. The more I look at it, the more I wonder. The sparkle says, “Come and see!” Magic and mystery abound, and before I think to forcibly resist, my heart is inflamed with curiosity.

I pause on the path. I see the dead and rotting things around the glittering object. But surely it will not harm me. Maybe it is even worth dying for—this pretty thing—this sinfully sweet object of my affection. A centipede crawls over bones of a hand whose flesh has blackened in clutching it, but an irresistible longing for the object consumes me. I rationalize my need for it. No one will know. It will be my secret. I mean, it’s not as if I’m not hurting anyone.

I had the great pleasure to visit with a childhood friend recently. We grew up together in the church and both of us walked away from God in our youth. We rejected the rigidity of the Christian faith, especially in regards to all of the wonders we saw in the world and wanted to experience. We rejected rules and people who would rule over us. As I stood talking to him on his parent’s front porch and considered our journeys, I felt so thankful that we survived. Talking to him was like coming home, but the walls of that house are marred by the painful memories of so many things we regret.

At one point our conversation turned to the topic of addiction. The meth epidemic in his community is a real problem. He told me about the ruthless behavior a meth addict resorts to when in desperate need of a fix. “It makes me sick.” He said. “I hate it.”

I told him that unfortunately addicts are broken people just trying to satisfy the longings in their hearts.

He looked at me and said, “Yeah, but they do terrible things.”

I can’t disagree.

But I do sympathize with addicts. The overwhelming desire for that glittering object drives one to madness. They sacrifice beautiful, tangible things like family and friends for a fleeting physical experience and excrete only waste and heartache.

At the heart of every temptation is a promise; namely that our souls will be satisfied. So why do we keep reaching for it once we find out they are not?

I had dinner with a friend recently who was despairing over her inability to lose weight. She exercises regularly but has not seen the results she longs for in part because she is compelled to overeat. She told me, “I can’t stand my body. I’m sick of it! I want to be able to move freely and feel better but when I start to eat something savory, I literally cannot stop. I have no self-control.”

So here is the good news I get to share with you today: You can stop. You can break free. “I can’t” is not the end of your story. At least it doesn’t have to be.

As I stood with my friend on his parent’s front porch, he said something that struck me as beautiful. “You know, Margaret, my parents really didn’t ask so much of me back then. They asked me to be home on time to eat dinner, to not drink and smoke, and they asked me to be respectful. I don’t know why I couldn’t do those things.” I silently pondered this, and because I am a parent I thought to myself that the reason they did this is because they loved him. They gave him rules to keep him safe because he was precious to them.

But he wanted the glittering thing. He rejected their love and chased after it only to find it did nothing but bring him and those who loved him, pain.

It’s strange how we can look back on our youth and see so clearly the mistakes we made knowing that without them we wouldn’t be who we are today. Still, we struggle when tempted to make the same or similar mistakes. We parlay with our vices, integrating them into our lives and justifying their hold on us. We choose to believe we are powerless. But we are not. And love is the only key that will truly set us free.
We must love something or someone more than our vices. It is the only thing that will save us.

I have recently been crushed beneath the weight of a terrible temptation. Every cell of my body screams out for it. I dream about it. I think about it constantly. Some days a weariness comes over me and I know I have no strength to resist it. Still, I cry out to God for help because I know His love can save me. This temptation would be the end of me. If I give in to it, my life will be ruined. But if I choose to love God more than this fleeting pleasure, He will be pleased to save me. I hesitate to write too much about it because it has been the great distraction of my life. I speak of it only because I know there are those reading this who can relate. But I would encourage you with these words; love can save you if you let it. It is not hyperbole. God’s love is real, and he longs for nothing more than to wrap you up in it and give you His peace.

There have been days lately where I was tempted to believe God’s love isn’t real or that he is not good because of this thing that is driving me crazy. My physical and mental anguish would eclipse these great truths, but not unlike the glittering object I want so badly to reach for, I choose to reject this lie. God is good, and his love is real. He proved it on Calvary and so I have no reason to doubt it. He sacrificed everything so that he could draw me close to his heart. All I need to do is lean into him and accept his love and grace.
And this is the heart of what I want to share with you today; dear reader, reach out to Him. Love Him more than you love anything else and not only will he save you from temptation, He will satisfy the deepest longings of your soul. This is the key—when any kind of temptation arises, we can run to Him and ask for help. If we are willing to submit to His rules, He promises to deliver us.

Now it’s curious to me how some people reject this kind of love. They say, “I don’t want to believe in or love God. For one thing, He’s restrictive. I want to do what I want to do.” In fact, someone close to me is struggling with a terrible addiction and when I asked him if he wanted help, he said yes. But when I told him he could give his struggle to Jesus to break the chains that were binding him, he got very, very angry with me. He said, “Margaret, you act like it’s so easy to just give it all to God and He’ll solve everything. It doesn’t work that way.”

But it does. I have chosen not to reach for that glittering object. I choose to believe what the bible says is true: “I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.” The only reason my friend is not saved from his addiction is because his faith is too small. I know it doesn’t always feel good to resist temptation, but I also see the end result of my sin if I give in and that is death! Instead I choose life in Christ!

The disciples cried out when the storm was raging, “Save us, Lord; we are perishing.” And he said to them, “Why are you afraid, O you of little faith?” (Matthew 8:25-26) They were in the boat with the creator of the waves, what in the world did they have to be afraid of?” They had a disconnect; a fundamental misunderstanding of who God is.

Why did the power of sin (addiction to food) hold sway in my life for so long? Why could I not deny my lusts and desires for it? Because I did not truly believe that God could deliver me from them. I did not trust that he was strong or mighty to save. Instead, I rejected his love and clung to my weaknesses. I thought God was punitively restrictive. He didn’t want me to do “fun” things. But when I chose those things I learned they were traps that tormented me and caused me to be a slave to them so that I served them at the expense of any real measure of happiness. It wasn’t until I realized that I wanted to be set free and desired the power those things had over me to be broken that I allowed Jesus love to save me. It is a beautiful thing to be set free from the power of sin, not just being forgiven for my sin, but the freedom to not sin when I am tempted to.

Jesus did that for me. And He can do that for you too.

What saves us from temptation? The knowledge that there is something better that will satisfy the deepest longings in our hearts. When we come to realize that the thing we are tempted by will never satisfy us, we have hope that we can find the strength to resist it. What breaks the chains of slavery to sin? Love. God’s love. When we come to know that there is a love so unimaginably pure that will wrap us up in joy that floods our senses, we will resist temptation. We will cry out to God, “Help me! Save me!” And by His grace, if we believe that He can and we let Him, He will.