Not the End of this Story

Our walks throughout our neighborhood usually (depending on the route) require walking uphill for most of the first mile and a half. At the top of the climb I pause and look out toward the ocean. Sometimes the marine layer lies waiting just off the coastline, hovering out over the Pacific Ocean. When the marine layer comes in the early evening it brings the cool air and blocks out the evening sunlight. It’s a bit like pulling down a shutter to block out the sunset.

There are times when the marine layer comes like bits of fluff torn from a pillow, disguised as clouds. The pieces eventually join together and form a great, gray mass dulling the light. This misty May gray quietly moves off shore before I have taken my last sip of coffee in the morning. It is a bit unusual for May to be so sunny in southern California. Usually the morning feels sluggish as if the sun had overslept. But it hasn’t, it never does. The sun climbs high above the cool, gray warming the air and pushing the marine layer back and out over the water until it looks like a great gray wall floating over the ocean.

Things aren’t always as they seem, are they? Though I may not see the sun until late morning, it rose above the marine layer hours before. Nothing is as it seems. Even when we move through life with great certainty we are in control, we are not. God is in control. Things don’t always go as planned. God’s plans are good and perfect, and we stand in the midst of it all without seeing – like the sun behind the gray. But we must hold onto hope – hope in the midst of uncertainty, in the midst of confusion and in the midst of a darkness blocking the SON. Keep looking up; He is always there.

Leanna Tankersley described hope this way in her book Brazen, “The invitation I kept hearing over and over was to identify an area of my life that needed a resurrection and then BELIEVE that a resurrection could be possible. In other words, hope. Not the noun hope, the verb hope. To hope. Actively. The ability to hope comes from the idea that what we believe is the end may be only the beginning.”

Some days the light seems snuffed out. But His light is never overcome by the darkness. In the Gospel of John chapter 1:4-5 we are told, “In Him was life, and that life was the light of men. The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
The Light of Christ always shines in the darkness. We may not recognize His light. We may not see how any of this can be under His control. We have doubts but His plans “stand firm forever, the purposes of his heart through all generations” (Psalm 33:1).

We may wonder how God will manage the insanity of this world and how things will come right in the end. But remember Jesus’ words in John 16:33, “I have told you these things, so that you may have peace. (Oh, do go back to John 16 and read all those things He told them.) In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
It may seem everything has gone all wrong but remember things aren’t what they appear to be. “Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe, for our ‘God is a consuming fire.’” It will all come out right in the end. We have not been forgotten and His Kingdom will not be shaken.

I choose to believe the Word of God. Are you with me? How much more life-giving is His truth than the words of man. I choose to keep turning my face back towards His when I get side tracked. The darkness cannot overcome the Light no matter how dark it seems. And those who believe in Jesus are always in the Light even when surrounded by darkness. Hold onto hope!

I love these hope-filled words spoken by Samwise the Brave:
“I know. By rights we shouldn’t even be here. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were, and sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. They meant something. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. Because they were holding on to something. That there's some good in the world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for.” – J. R. Tolkien

I am writing today to encourage you to fight for the good. You and I have a choice. You and I can choose not to despair, be angry, bitter or to fear. Of course, we’re human and we all become afraid now and then when we forget Who is really in control. I encourage you resist giving your energy to the confusion, the fear, the darkness, the hopelessness. This is just a rumbling, it’s a reminder that things aren’t what they seem. God has a plan and He claims victory over the end of the story. We don’t know the outcome of our current troubles but we do know the end of the story. Pray, absolutely. Pray for the lost to be found. Pray for courage and reorient your thoughts toward the Light.

In her book Begin Again, Leanna Tankersley writes these words, “Luckily, our image-bearing soul cannot be crushed in the same way other parts of us can. It can’t be wrecked—by us or by others. It’s that part of us that God ‘created . . . godlike, reflecting God’s nature,’ so pain only serves to wake it up, if we will allow ourselves to awaken to the discomfort instead of dulling it.

“We are allowed to escape. We are given the freedom. But those who have sat in the discomfort and listened and waited know that an even deeper freedom awaits those who will discern an ending instead of devise an escape.

“Escapes are almost never in our best interest (unless we’re talking about a burning building or an abusive relationship). Endings are about surrender. Escapes are about control. Discernment is belabored and holy work. Devising is a quick-fix territory.”

You and I have a choice. Whether or not we believe the sun is above the dark clouds doesn’t change the fact that the sun still shines. And whether or not we believe God’s got this; He does and He has even given us a hopeful ending. Hold onto hope and fight for the good.

In the words of Dallas Willard, “The gospel means that this universe is a perfectly safe place for you to be. It means that the soul is simply not at risk. Not even from cancer (or pandemic, etc). What else could Paul have meant when he said nothing can separate us from the love of God? Why else would Jesus have advised us not to worry?”

Worth considering.

Changing My View

A streak of light slashes across the ceiling. A small spider travels around the light. This is my view as I lay on the floor nursing my tired back. I landed here on the living room rug weary; I’ve spent the whole afternoon working with people via the phone and computer. It is a privilege to pour into others and it is a necessity to take and receive these few moments of rest.

In my reading this morning I came across a portion of the essay “Sacraments” written by Andre Dubus. Andre lost both of his legs in a tragic accident and his daily tasks were accomplished from a wheelchair.

“Each moment is a sacrament, this holding plastic bags, of knives, of bread, of cutting board, this pushing of the chair, this spreading of the mustard on bread, this trimming of liverwurst, of ham. All sacraments, as putting the lunches into a zippered book bag is, and going down my six ramps to my car is. I drive on the highway, to the girls’ town, to their school, and this is not simply a transition; it is my love moving by car from a place where my girls are not to a place where they are; even if I do not feel or acknowledge it, this is a sacrament. If I remember it, then I feel it too.”

I have been thinking a lot about what it means to shelter at home. Here’s the number one thing I recognize: I have the luxury of always sheltering at home. I have a home. This is not true for everyone.

Here is how sheltering at home for me during the pandemic differs than any other time. I do all my work at home now, not just a portion of it. I don’t eat in restaurants or go shopping unless it is for necessities. I am unable to be with my church community in real time with actual bodies but I do have access to the Internet and can join church activities a number of times each week. I deeply miss being in the presence of people but I am so grateful for the luxury of having a number of ways to make contact.

The topic is redundant; I can’t seem to write about anything else right now. It is the main topic of conversation these days. It has taken over everyone’s lives and lots of people’s businesses. We are living dramatically different lives than before the pandemic. It has been tempting to wonder about what life will be like when we come out of this but I can only guess. I find I am doing better when my thoughts are pulled in closer to home and nearer my heart.

I was challenged by Louie Giglio’s question: “What are these days going to make of me?” How am I being formed by this event? I have a choice, you know. I don’t control most outcomes in this scenario but I do control whether or not I allow myself to be formed into the likeness of Jesus as I release life before pandemic.

That being said, here are some things I have discovered. In spite of the abnormality of the days in which we are living, I am learning to live more in the moment. In anxiety, I go from thing to thing, lost and without purpose. But when I choose peace the moments are enlarged with the invitation to let go trying to control and accept what is. These moments are filled with appreciation for little gifts around me. These are real time moments savored from day to day until we are free to roam the earth and congregate once again.

• Recognizing and enjoying the sound of lawn mowers. It’s a common thing but I am enjoying the sound of people doing yard work. It seems so normal. I am enjoying working in the yard more these days. Usually this task falls to Jim; I tend to find other things to do. It’s not like we aren’t busy but I find myself needing to connect with the natural world of my own yard more so right now. Being outside, weeding and planting, is a good break from sitting at my desk. There is great satisfaction at the end of the day seeing things taking shape and plants looking healthy. The joy of gardening.
• I smile at the sounds of children next door. The family east of us consists of a single mom, an adult daughter, a teenage daughter, an older uncle and an older aunt. The single mom just adopted a 3 year old boy and a 10 month old boy – brothers. Her niece was unable to care for them. All day long I hear children being taught, played with and calmed. All these grown-ups loving on two little boys, who nearly fell through the cracks of the system, and meeting their needs. I delight in hearing the joy of nurturing little lives next door.
• Noticing beauty. Making simple meals from whatever we have available. Scattering bits of joy via mail or home made baked goods hand delivered. Listening. This has become more important sans body language. Listening. People need to be heard. People need other people to care.
• The 3,000 piece puzzle my husband spread all over the dining table wasn’t a bad idea after all. At first I groaned. For days I gave up in frustration attempting to find pieces that went together. We are in a groove now and it is the place we go when we need a little down time.
• 
  I see eyes. Masked up for shopping, when we look at one another, all we see are eyes. I want to remember to look other people in the eyes. I want them to know I see them.

In the strangeness of our days, in the hardship of our limits, we can find the sacraments Andre Dubus wrote about. When we pray and breathe in the peace of God we find something worthwhile in the moments while confined. When peace washes over us and we choose our thoughts well, we can then see with great clarity the good in our limitations. We begin to recognize the sacraments of love when we shop, deliver, listen, let go and rest while we wait. Then we can make space to be present to God, ourselves, our people and to the gifts tucked into the moments. Truly there are losses but we have an opportunity to look for what we gain; to see the sacraments of love.