I Was Blind, but Now I See

Watching the countless balloons carrying messages of gratitude and love, and some, like mine, even kissed, be swept away by the slight breeze on a warm July afternoon, I found myself feeling as raw as I did the day my Daddy left this world. This day, was a Donor Celebration which I had the opportunity to attend. If I am being honest, I only wanted to attend to support my mom. Deep down I believed it would be a day of pain as I focused my attention on what I had lost just two years ago. For those of you who know me, know that my Dad was my everything. He was my hero and I unabashingly adored him with all that I am---still do! His passing has left an incredible hole in my heart. As the days have passed some of this rawness has given way to other distractions, but the hole has remained and not a single day has gone by without me thinking about what I lost.

It was not until this afternoon; as I sat and listened to a man read his thank you letter to his unknown pelvis donor that I understood what I had gained.  My heart was penetrated by his story, a story of immobility to one of walking, hiking, and rough housing with his grandkids on the floor. He had walked to the celebration and said, still after all these years since his partial pelvis transplant, he has never taken a single step without remembering “Fred’s” selfless act of donating his body to those whose life would either be preserved and/or made more sufficient because of his gift.

My dad’s last gift was to donate his body. We learned later that his body was able to help 22 people, though we do not know who they are.  As this man read his letter, he became the face, the voice of those 22, for I am sure they are just as grateful for the gift they received.  Quoting John 15:13 “Greater love has no one than this, than he who lays down his life for a friend”, this man opened my eyes to see another side to my emptiness since my Daddy’s passing. Nestled in these words is abundant grace, an extravagant gift-- the eternal hope I needed.  I lost my Daddy, but I have also gained. Though vastly, vastly different, his selfless act brought a new life to others just as my merciful Redeemer has brought a new, eternal life to those who were broken. Jesus was the ultimate donor!

As I was driving home, somber in mood the next day, I sat with my thoughts for some time before switching on the radio. The all too familiar song, “Amazing Grace” filled the air. It is a song most people, Christians and non-Christians alike are familiar with. The music and tempo have been rearranged countless times over the years, but the lyrics never touched. As the song began to play, I listened to the lyrics, pondering them, attempting to put myself into the equation and filtering them through the previous day’s events. When the song ended, my mind continued to play the song over and over again. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me…” What, I wondered, does grace sound like? I have asked myself that question countless times since and each day, I swear the answer continues to morph into a more complete understanding of what it both sounds and looks like in my life.

Grace is a personal gift. It meets you where you are. This day, grace came in the stillness, the quiet of the afternoon, whispering through the warm and gentle breeze, “I have come to bring life and life to the full” and Beloved, hear me when I say, “My grace is sufficient for you, my power made perfect in weakness”. This day, grace covered me completely, filling the hole left by my Daddy’s passing, liberating me, giving me new eyes to see what I have gained. Like the man who has never taken a step without remembering the gift he received, I too desire to live a life filled with gratitude for the eternal gift I have received. I received this gift countless years ago, but as time has passed, my gratitude has become mediocre. This Donor Celebration caused me to change my perspective, from the perspective of loss and hurt to one of peace and ultimate gratitude. I will lose the things of this world, but I have richly gained in Christ. This does not mean the pain of losing my Daddy lessens by any means. It does, however, mean that I can have an unexplainable peace where there once was incredible pain.

“For me, to live is Christ and to die is to gain” Philippians 1:21. I want to be intentional, purposeful, bold for Who I live my life for. If it was not for the greatest love story ever told, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whosoever believes in Him will have eternal life”, I would not and could not know the fullness of God’s grace for me. I have been made whole because of His grace for me.

A Wagon Full of Rocks

I recently read a story of a man whom God asked if he would be willing to carry three packages up the hill to a specific destination. The man briefly thought about it, but then decided that since the packages didn’t weight too much, it would be his honor to serve the Lord in this way. Along the way, he ran into a friend who asked, “Where are you going?” When he responded that he was bringing the packages up the hill for the Lord, his friend replied, “Oh that is so wonderful. I was planning to bring this package myself, but since you are going there anyway, would you mind taking it for me?” “Not at all", replied the man as he added it to his cart. The story goes on to tell that he encountered several more friends, which all added small packages to his cart. Before long, the slight load that he started out with became cumbersome. He worked with all his might, but eventually reached the end of his rope and shouted out, “God, why did you give me so much to take care of? This is too much.” God heard his plight, his frustration and came to his side. As God looked into the cart, he saw package after package piled among His. What are all of these?” asked the Lord. “Oh, this one is John’s package and that one is Sally’s. This one belongs to Nathan and that one belongs…interrupting, God asks, “Why are you carrying everyone else’s packages? I only asked you to carry mine.” With His hands on the man’s shoulders and his eyes looking squarely into his, Christ says, “My yoke is easy and my burden light. I will never ask you to carry more than you can bear.” The story ends there, but I identify with the man who has taken on far more than God has asked of him.

I can hardly help myself! I love to work, I love to clean, I love to help, and I love to be needed….I find happiness, predictability, confidence there. I love making a plan and working it out to perfection---or at least as close to it as I can manage on my own strength. There it is: the rub—on my own strength.  I am pulling my wagon filled with good things---truly all of them are good things, but upon reevaluation, they are not all things that God has asked me to do. Some of these things He has asked other people to do and I have more than willingly stepped in to carry their load. I have unknowingly robbed them of the packages God had in store for them. Their packages, as beautiful and fun as they have been to carry for awhile, have also weighed me down, and taken my attention off the packages God had in mind just for me.  They, in a very real sense, have temporarily tainted my view of my own packages. Attention divided, I have not given Christ my best.  I have been more devoted to duty than to the Creator.

So I sit here today, humbly looking over the countless packages I have in my cart, realizing I have been pulling entirely too much weight, realizing that though all of these packages bring me happiness in and of themselves, the happiness also ends there. It does not fulfill. It does not last. Thinking more deeply about why I have piled more and more packages into my cart, I realize that what I am doing is looking for contentment, for true fulfillment and in the end I come to see that all my “good works” have left me still longing for something more.  It is a sad cycle, clearly spinning out of control.

The cycle stops now because I am in a place where I realize that although all my good works are…good, they are not all for God. I have stamped His name on much of what I do; saying that such and such is for Him, when in actuality I am doing it to gain some measurable accomplishment that I can hang my hat on at the end of each day.  “The Lord does not look at the things a man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”  1 Samuel 16:7 I desperately want the Lord to look at my heart and see my devotion to Him, not all the things I have accomplished.

The happiness and contentment that I long for and have sought after through good works is not always measurable this side of heaven. That is perhaps one of the hardest parts of this equation for me.  It reveals to me that my faith is not firmly rooted in the things unseen, but more on the things seen. The awareness of that crushes my heart, for I have been in denial for quite some time, focusing on the things of earth rather than the things of heaven. I, desperately, like all of us, have been searching for contentment, for peace, and happiness. I have attempted to find it through duty rather than devotion. I have missed my Lord for all the packages I have chosen to carry.

The key to fulfillment, the package that we seek, is found solely in intimacy with Christ. Intimacy can be scary because it is the place where you come as you are—unworthy, broken, sometimes with only an ounce of faith—we are exposed before God. There is a freedom here, however.  There is freedom because it is here that you realize you are loved unconditionally for who you are. You do not have to earn it. This unconditional love is one of the packages in your wagon. Perhaps, like mine, it has been tainted by all the extra packages you have piled on top of it or you have added to it, thinking it’s not enough on its own. Open this gift, breathe in the freedom it offers and let go of some of the extra packages so that you can truly find joy in what the Lord has given to you. This is a process. I struggle to let go of some amazing packages, but they do not belong to me. I desperately want to find my identity and my freedom in Christ, not in what I am doing, no matter how beautiful the package may be on the outside.

Who Am I Anyway?

Just a brief background: My youngest daughter, Meg, is the pearl of my oyster, literally. She is the essence of what Satan intended for evil, God intended for good. Though she is a product of rape, she is learning that her identity is not about her conception, or surroundings, or how she looks, or even her PDD diagnosis (on the autism spectrum), but rather who she is in Christ. The things she contemplates at 12 years old are some of the very things her 39 year old mother questions. I am humbled by the gift, the treasure of her life and that God chose me to be her mother. Indeed, she is a blessing.

Who Am I Anyway?

Struggling for the majority of her life to find her identity, my twelve year old, African American daughter’s tear stained face bitterly screams out, “Who am I?” Her tears reveal the sting, the hurt, the seeming injustice of her situation in which her heart attempts to mask on a daily basis. Her question; one that perhaps we, as Christians, are all trying to grasp this side of heaven. Her anger; warranted.  As I choose my words carefully, in hopes that they will completely, comprehensively answer her agonizing question and not cause her to spin into another unknown variable of this life, I simply say, “You, my daughter, are the daughter of the King. You were created on purpose and for a purpose. You are not an accident. You are not a mistake. You are precious. You are valuable…” Sobs interrupt my attempt to sooth her and once again I see that she does not believe my words. “I have no value” comes her reply to my questioning eyes. My heart, broken already, silently questions God, Why are you allowing this? Don’t you care about her?”

I hold her five foot two inch body in my arms, running my fingers through her curls, kissing her cheeks a million times over, and hold her close to my heart.  She quiets. Her tears stop. But the question remains and I have no idea how to answer it. Anger starting to take root in my heart, I fire question after question at God, not waiting for an answer, not thinking before speaking, and certainly showing no respect for the God I claim to love and live for. “God, why are you allowing this? Hasn’t she been through enough already? Are you trying to teach her something? Are you trying to teach me something? Is this a punishment? Where is your justice? Where is your grace? Where are you? I hate this; this constant anguish, this burden that stands constantly before me. Where is that yoke of yours? You know, the one you said was easy?  And then I stop.  And I hear ever so clearly, “Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden light”. (Matthew 11:28-30)

“Take my yoke upon you and learn from me.” I pause to contemplate what my role is in this command. Yoke, according to The Complete Word Study Dictionary, is “the coupling of any two things together; a beam of balance which unites two scales”.  Think about that for a moment. Christ walking step by step with us, sharing the insurmountable weight on our shoulders. He is with me for the long haul, united, not missing the smallest detail.  “Learn from me”…understand me, know me, my heart, motives, and desires for you, for this world. This phrase denotes “instruction concerning the facts and plan of salvation. In this sense it means to learn with a moral bearing and responsibility; to know more fully.”

United with Him, I learn that His ways are not my ways, His thought are not my thoughts. His idea of rest is not my idea of rest. Rest, in this sense, is not the removing of hardship, rather it is the assurance in His promise—the promise for redemption, the promise that His watchful eye is always on me, the promise that what He began in me, in Meg—in you--He will complete, and the promise that all things work together for the good of those who love and trust Him. The promise that He came to give life and life to the full and the promise, perhaps my most favorite, that He will never leave me nor forsake me. What Satan intends for evil, God intends for good.  When we grasp this, even a little, we can find peace that surpasses all our human understanding and find the faith to believe that our trials can and will have “spiritual productivity and purpose”. It is here that I find rest. Admittedly, I do not believe we will see all our trials’ spiritual purpose this side of heaven, but I do know they are not invalid or without purpose.

Inhaling the precious words Christ so readily answered my cries of anguish for my daughter; I fall to my knees, embarrassed by my lack of faith once again and completely humbled by His care and grace for me and my daughter. It was here, on my kitchen floor, He said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, Karyn. My power is made perfect in weakness."   (2 Corinthians 12:9) Sufficient grace. Enough grace. Abundant grace…Covering my face with my hands, I allow myself to sob a prayer of gratitude for His love and devotion to me—this sinful, often prodigal daughter of His.

“He pours out His grace abundantly along with faith and love that are in Christ Jesus” (1 Timothy 1:14). He pours out more than enough grace to keep us covered, enough faith for us to trust Him, and enough love to never let us go!

We will face trials of all kinds in this life. The Christian life is not an easy one. Admittedly, I forget that at times, like yesterday when I angrily questioned God, when I accused Him of not caring. My faith is frail at times. I must intentionally put on the armor of faith; protect my heart and what I love so dearly from the poisonous doubts the world repeatedly fires at us. I do not want a spirit of timidity, but one of courage. I do not want to be cowardly in my faith, but courageous, zealous even!

My daughter looks at her predominately Caucasian area and family and wonders, “Is this where I belong? Though her perspective is outwardly focused, looking immediately at her skin color in relation to those around her, we, too, wonder, “Is this where I belong?” Most assuredly it is. For she—we--were created for such a time as this. So I pull Meg to my lap and whisper, “It is not about what you do or how you look, it is about who you say you are; who you choose to live for. When you make that choice, all the rest will fall into place. Who will you live for, Meg?” Her dark solemn eyes look deep into mine as she replies, “God, who else?” I bite my quivering lower lip, attempting to stifle the tears welling deep from within. What I am still attempting to learn at 39, she is just beginning to question at 12. This life is a long, bumpy road. It is my hope to be an example to her, to always be honest, to allow her to see me question and even doubt God, but then also allow her to see that God does answer, that God does have a purpose and a plan for those who love Him.