Thankful Thursday~Precious in the Sight of the Lord

My sister's husband died last Friday. He's free from cancer's rampage on his body, and he knows a peace that he never knew while on this earth.

My heart is overwhelmed when I think of what it means for my sister to be a widow. But, oh, how the Lord has sustained her in the past week! I'm full of such joy when I hear her voice, because it reflects God's faithfulness and provision and mercy and grace. All of it.

There are many hard days ahead, including their anniversary, his birthday, and her son's birthday, all happening in the next several weeks, so we praise God for the truth that His grace is sufficient and His mercies are new every morning and that His dosing of affliction is perfect.

In the midst of the sadness of not having my brother-in-law with us, it is a gift of His grace to see His mercies abound.

1) That Pete knew the Lord.
2) The favor God has given Catherine in the sight of others.
3) The calm spirit He has given her and the ability to focus and do what needs to be done.
4) The tension He has relieved in certain relationships.
5) The joy of bearing one another's burdens and having in our hearts His truths to speak to those who are deep in the valley.
6) The prayers of brothers and sisters in Christ.

 "You see, when death (came)...it came by an 'arrow sharpened with love'....Every Christian ought to contemplate his own death along those same lines. It is not that death is now pleasant. Let us not pretend that it is. But the wonder of the Gospel is that grace has conquered and enlisted even the dreadful things of the curse to advance the Saviour's cause. Death is still rightly called 'the last enemy' (1 Cor. 15:26), but for the believer the last enemy has already been transformed thanks to the grace of our greatest Friend."
~Paul Wolfe, My God is True

With love,
Trisha

Thankful Thursday~Patterns of Mercy and Trumpets of Praise

In just over a week's time, I attended a wedding and then a funeral. The contrast was sobering, and yet beautiful, too, for God was glorified in both the new lives joined together and in the honoring of a saint who had run her race well. And as I move through days that are rich in the wonder and laughter of children, my sister cares for her husband in the quietness and heaviness of a home that smells of death.

As I watch little bodies grow and get stronger, she watches her strong husband, her protector and provider, get weaker. As I contemplate not growing weary in faithfully training up our children for His glory, she begs for grace to get through a day without falling apart.

A haunting awareness of the difference in our days clings to me, and I often swallow hard and pray for supernatural strength for my sister. For me, I ask for the grace to live fully present in each moment He's set before me, to be grateful for "normal" and "ordinary."

And in the midst of all of this, God is great, and God is good. 

I'm thankful to the Lord for a pastor who faithfully reminds us of the Gospel every single week.

I'm thankful for the fine job Emma did in sewing her first drawstring bag. I'm thankful for little children who delight in play dough, who think it's one of God's greatest creations.  I'm thankful for the good works that God works in us, that He might be glorified.

I'm thankful for colorful flowers that brighten up desert landscapes, and for children who squeal with excitement when they get to water Vincas and Petunias. I'm thankful for a yard full of puddles and mud because that means God has given us RAIN! I'm thankful for breathtaking sunsets that leave me in awe of the Lord.

I'm thankful for big sisters who love babies and for babies who giggle at the silliest of things. I'm thankful for healthy children.

I'm thankful for conversations with my sister and for the ways this affliction has deepened her walk with the Lord.

I'm thankful for difficult relationships that push us to examine our hearts and remember all that Christ has done for us, to die to self and be clothed with compassion and humility. I'm thankful for friends who patiently love me when I'm hard to love.

I'm thankful for difficult people who push us to know what we believe and why and be bold enough to say so. I'm thankful that conflict teaches us how little we fear God and how much we fear man. I'm thankful God's grace is sufficient for it all.

"Fall upon your knees, break forth into a thankful triumph of praise; let your hearts be ten-stringed instruments, to sound forth the memorial of God's mercy. None so deep in debt to free grace as you, and none should be so high mounted upon the pinnacle of thanksgiving. Say as the sweet singer; 'I will extol thee, my God, O King; every day will I bless thee, and I will praise thy name for ever' (Psalm 145:1,2). Those who are patterns of mercy should be trumpets of praise."
~Thomas Watson, All Things for Good

With love,
Trisha

10 Ways to Comfort A Grieving Heart

I'm not an expert on grief. While I've known the heartache of four miscarriages, and I've had family members die, my life's canvas isn't dominated by dark strokes of loss. Of course, grief is not borne out of death alone. Divorce, loss of health, aging, severed relationships, empty nests, barren wombs, and many other circumstances evoke grief. This means it will be the rare time in our lives when someone we know isn't grieving.

As a child I was insulated from death and from grief. The first funeral I attended was just four years ago, when my father-in-law died. The second was just a little over two years ago for my Dad. I didn't have my first miscarriage until I knew the joy of four children.

I can only guess what a poor comforter I was prior to those times, for experience is often a master teacher. Our own trials let us taste the comfort of God, which then allows us to better comfort others. (1 Cor. 1:3) Here are just a few of my lessons learned:

1) Listen. This is essential. Let the grieving heart share its memories and regrets and questions. Let the grieving heart tell you how great God is even in the midst of unspeakable pain. Don't listen with an agenda of telling YOUR stories. Just listen to the stories being told. 

There will be time for you to relate later how you might know what the person is feeling--that's part of comforting others with the comfort we have known-- but initially, pure listening ears are a beautiful gift to a grieving heart.

2) Banish the "But" or "Be careful little tongue what you say." While standing in the receiving line after my Dad's memorial, a woman I've never met came up to me. "I'm so sorry about your Dad, BUT it's a blessing." I'll spare you the rest of her comment and say that her idea of it being a blessing had nothing to do with the fact that my Dad was released from his body of sin and present with the LORD.

"I'm sorry your baby died, BUT at least you have other children."
"I'm sorry you lost your job, but at least you have money in the bank."

When the grief is so fresh, "I'm sorry" works just fine.

3) Remember no act of kindness is too small. As I watched people come in and out of my Mom's home after my Dad died, I was struck by the fact that each person simply did what he could. Some acts of kindness were small, and some were big, but they all were a comfort. Don't convince yourself that your offering of compassion won't matter. It does, and it leaves a soothing impression on that grieving heart.

4) Remember time is standing still for the grieving heart.  Life moves on for everyone else, but the grieving heart often struggles to put one foot in front of the other and do the next thing. Ask if you can take care of phone calls or little tasks that can't wait on grief. And because time seems to stand still, remember that two years can seem like just yesterday to one who is mourning.

5) Pour out grace and patience. The grieving heart can be snippy or forgetful. It can be easily overwhelmed and tearful. It can find it hard to make decisions or commit long-term to something. Don't add to the pressure by burdening the grieving heart with YOUR expectations. 

6) Don't judge what the grieving heart does or does not do. How the grieving heart spends its time is not a proper gauge of grief. We all process the pain differently. Just because the mourner goes out to dinner, spends time on the computer, or has a "good" day, or buys a new dress, doesn't mean she's not struggling or hurting.

7) Pray, and remind the grieving heart of the tender, limitless compassion of Christ. Is there a better gift to give the grieving heart? How precious is the question, "How can I pray for you?"

8) Send a card, a real card. In an age of e-mails and texting, we've forgotten what it means to read real words across a page, words written by loving hands. This type of comfort is special joy. And cards are great months, and even years later, when others have forgotten, but the pain is still there.

9) Customize the comfort. All too often, we comfort only in a manner that appeals to us. But how is the grieving heart most comforted? With silence? With much talking? With a surprise? With planning visits ahead of time? With gifts or with words? With a meal in or a meal out? Ask "How can I best help you during this time?"

10) Sometimes a rebuke is necessary. I know. There will be those who chafe at this, but when grief consumes us, when our loss becomes the focus of our lives, then we are sinning. To stop living because we no longer have a family member in our world or because we can't have that one thing we've been praying for for years is to say that our treasure is not found in Christ, that He's insufficient, that our hope and purpose have been in something other than the God who's made us. Directing a grieving heart back to the truth of who they are in Christ is true comfort. Of course, these hard words require wisdom and prayer and come best from those closest to us, who have been beside us in our grief instead of  just showing up one day and telling us to "get over it." 

May God grant us tender hearts that honor God and love others as we weep with those who weep, pouring out real compassion that lasts longer than our initial whispers of condolence.

With love,

Trisha

**revised from a previous post written for my A Multitude of Mercies blog

A Case of Reversed Punctuation

"Exposing our misguided expectations is not pessimistic. On the contrary, 

it is a first step in the direction of real, biblical optimism. False hopes add up to so 

much spiritual debris that gets in the way of our seeing what 

God has truly promised. The debris has got to go."

~Paul Wolfe

****

My sister's husband is dying of cancer. As in, hospice is now their friend. And as they all ponder Pete's stepping into eternity, the question that frequently comes up from friends and family is, "But you haven't given up hope, have you?"

Of course, when we know Jesus, we know our hope is in Him, not in temporary things, including our time here. But, what people often want to know when they ask this question is, "You haven't accepted this dying stuff, have you? I mean, God can still do a miracle." We want to tie our longevity to whether or not we believed hard enough, had enough positive thoughts, or drank enough green smoothies.

So, my sister and I discussed this tension--the tension between knowing God can heal while seeing the ugliness of a body wasting away right before our eyes or bad lab reports that shout, "The winner is: Cancer." The tension between knowing nothing is impossible with God, while affirming the truth that we are all dying-- sin's curse is real.

And the truth is that we often doubt God's promises while we declare assuredly things we have no assurance of. Paul Wolfe, in his most wonderful book, My God is True, Lessons Learned Along Cancer's Dark Road, calls this tendency "spiritual punctuation reversal."

"We put exclamation marks after the uncertain things because we have managed to convince ourselves that they will certainly turn out in our favour. Even we who repudiate the sort of health-and-wealth prosperity nonsense peddled by some popular preachers may find that those lies have found a lodging in our own hearts. Even if we would never come out and say it, deep down we may be thinking, 'Surely my loving heavenly Father would never make me suffer disappointment and disaster.' This amounts to putting promises in God's mouth.

Conversely, we put question marks after the promises of the gospel because we struggle to believe that something so wonderful--and so unseen--can really be true. Or if it is true, can it really be worth all this? The ancient lie began with 'Has God really said,' and deep down we are prone to treat even his most precious promises that way."

Is there a place for optimism in the face of devastating life circumstances? Of course! We're all living out stories that include amazing providences. But optimism, Wolfe reminds us, is not the same as gospel certainty, and our hearts must guard against confusing the two.

Because the result of mixing up our questions and our exclamations is a life, Wolfe explains, that looks like this:

"Our picnic will certainly be a smashing success!"
"I will definitely get that job I interviewed for!"
"But will God really abide with me in everything I go through, including death?"
"Is heaven a real place, and am I truly destined to arrive there in the end?"

It's living like this, reversing the certain and uncertain, that truly drains our hope. And this is the temptation of all of us, whether we're facing cancer or not. There are endless questions in our lives to which we must answer, "God only knows." But, praise God, there are so many questions that demand the answer, "God said..."

With love,
Trisha


***I cannot recommend Wolfe's book enough. It is a beautiful declaration of the truth of God's sovereignty, and all will benefit from it, cancer or not. Also, my sister covets your prayers and gave me permission to share her story here. Prayers for family unity. For peace and calm in this midst of this very hard providence. For God's spiritual and financial provision. That Christ would be their treasure and their hope would be firmly planted on His promises. Thank you.

If You Were Here

Dear Dad,

I'm amazed that the heart knows anniversaries. Mine has been especially heavy for the past week as I think on last year at this time when I watched you take your last breath.

What a gift from the LORD that I was able to see you in time and that you were able to take your first look at Jedediah in person. I'm glad his little hand was able to touch your arm, that arm that used to hug us or throw a baseball or work on an airplane or make homemade pizzas.

Our relationship those last several years of your life wasn't at all what I hoped it would be. And even though you kept me at a distance, I don't think it's what you wanted, either. But that's what living often does to us. It makes us think we'll always have tomorrow even though we know tomorrow never comes.

To watch you nod when I asked if you were glad I was at your bedside was a priceless gift that I hold close in my heart. It's one I'll tell my children, as I remind them of God's grace and how He loves us like a Father, tending to every detail of our lives. It's a moment that I'll repeat, too, to remind them that we don't want to hang a lifetime of loving on a nod of the head, but rather we have to be mindful to love well and fully every day.

If you were here, I hope God would have mended our broken fences. If you were here, I hope you would have been able to say you love me. If you were here, I hope you would have known anew just how vast the ocean of God's grace is.

If you were here, you would know the wonderful news that we'll, God-willing, welcome another precious son into the family in September. (I can picture you shaking your head, wondering how we'll manage it all.) You would know that Ink is enjoying three weeks in Mexico with a godly family. You would know that God has faithfully provided through a miscarriage last year, Michele's death, broken appliances, leaky roofs, strange objects in ears, seizures, jury duty, and a whole host of other trials.

If you were here, Mama would tell you about the latest adventures from the desert, including Jedediah's saying, "Bang, bang!" when I mentioned he'd be getting shots, or Ella wondering why, after hearing us pray for a relative's "wife to be", anyone would name their wife "tobe." And even if you didn't say a word, I know you'd be smiling inside.

I remember talking with you once and asking if there were things in life you had always wanted to do and never got to. I remember the sadness that colored your face, and at that moment I realized you were human like everyone else, that you had unfulfilled dreams, that maybe there were many things you wished you could do over.

If you were here, I'd say "thank you" for all you did for us. I'd remind you that God chose you to be my Dad, warts and all, and how grateful I am that He's made me a mother, though He knows so well what a wretched sinner I am. I'd speak of His providence, and the truth that He works all things together for good.

If you were here, maybe I could tell you I better understand how broken people live broken lives and are capable of the grossest of sins, how we don't do what we want to do and do what we don't want to do. And I'd tell you how His grace is sufficient for all of our brokenness, and that when we've been forgiven much, we can only forgive others much. Maybe I'd even look you in the eyes, gently grab your shoulders, and ask you if you knew this, really knew it. Maybe you'd listen when I told you the great news of the Gospel is for every moment of every day, no matter how long we've known Jesus. Even the oldest of saints sometimes forget this.

But, Dad, as much as I often wish you were here, so I could hear you say, "I love you," or watch you strain hard to see the dim outlines of your grandchildren, I know Here is the last place you'd want to be.

You knew so well how disease ravages the body and how exhausting the daily battle against our flesh can be. I know you were weary and wanted to be delivered from it all. You now know better than any of us here how sufficient and amazing His grace is.

I move among the days without you here, but I take comfort in the truth that when we see each other again, it will be even better than my memories of your doing science projects with me, singing those hymns so boldly at church, giving me chocolate for Valentine's Day, or my watching you slap your knee as you laughed so heartily. There will be no hearts broken by hard words and stubborn ways or hasty choices. We'll know what it is to perfectly reflect our Savior's love. We'll be consumed by His glory, worshipping Him for all of eternity.

What a day that will be.

Loving you and missing you,

Trisha

***Tomorrow marks one year without my Dad here on this earth. If yours is still with you, I urge you to love better, forgive more, and treasure, in word and deed, the gift of a father, warts and all.