Acorn

The warm sunbeams danced relentlessly amongst the oak tree’s leaves overhead, fading the dark green leaves to chartreuse with the slightest of breeze as they caught the sun’s brilliant light. Wrestling leaves whispered overhead while a rainbow of colored art supplies sprinkled the table below, and whinnies of horses in the nearby pastures and the stable just off to my right sang harmony as I knelt on my knees at the art table facing an 11 year old boy whom I just met.

He looked like an average 11 year old boy, lanky with dark hair and eyes and a crooked smile that immediately endeared me to him. He wore a t-shirt and shorts, revealing the brace on his leg. I never learned exactly what his disability was, something to do with his muscles, but honestly, it doesn’t matter.  He had come to Raven Rock Ranch this day expecting to work; but instead was asked to do art with me. He was readily compliant and walked to the table and then just stood. His arms hung heavy at his sides as his eyes took in the array of colors. He didn’t say a word at first, but his lips would purse and then pull taught and his eyebrows furrowed and lifted as if he were in deep thought for several moments. And then suddenly, a sigh escaped and he picked up a green oil pastel.

I had come with a specific art project in mind for the kids, but upon seeing his anxiousness about art in general, I decided to skip it, follow his lead, and work more intentionally on building a relationship with him.  I picked up an orange oil pastel and started to draw. “I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to draw. I really don’t know how to do any art.”, he said in a single breath. I laughed, trying to break the tension, and said, “What a relief! Neither do I! Maybe together we can make something pretty cool”. We decided to make an alien, taking turns drawing each body part and article of clothing. It was a messy colorful creature that had one eye, a tongue sticking out the side of his head; one long arm and one short arm. He was also nearly circle in shape with two short legs. It was quite the sight, I assure you!  We talked as we drew and I learned that Samuel loved sports. I mean really loved sports. Soccer is his all time favorite. He could ramble off players, teams, trades, scores and the like. We decided to make our alien a soccer player.

Looking at this finished creation, I said, “If this is a soccer player, he needs someone to play against. We should make another alien”. Feeling more relaxed about the process of creating, he agreed. We took turns drawing each element of our creature again and talked more about sports and his dream to become a soccer player. My heart sank as I listened to his grand plans, knowing his disability would not allow him to play the way he dreamed.  Nearly complete with our drawing, I handed him the oil pastel to draw the legs. He drew one long leg and one short leg. It seemed to suit our crazy creature, but I couldn’t help but to see the personal connection he was making to this creature. In the end, this alien had a football shaped head, one eye, the neck of a giraffe, muscular arms with two uneven legs.

We named our players crazy made up names and laughed about how silly they looked. Samuel kept talking about sports and without thought, picked up an oil pastel and drew a goal and a soccer ball off to the side. I asked, “If the two were really playing, who do you think would win?” He pointed to the first, nearly circular alien. I looked at him, questioning his choice, while pointing to the other alien telling him I bet this one would win. Samuel quickly refuted my vote by pointing to his uneven legs and said in an almost in urgent tone, “He would not be a good player. He would probably lose the game for the whole team”. I pointed out his long neck and gigantic eye and told him that he would be able to see everything and be able to tell his teammates where to go, what to do, and such. “He would be the most valuable player for sure”! Samuel still disagreed, but then was silent. He set his pastel down, hung his arms to his sides and fixed his eyes on the player with uneven legs.  I could see that he was not going to leave that conversation under the oak tree that day, but take it with him, perhaps pondering his own value.

Although the Lord was unwrapping something so profound for him to see, to accept about himself, I knew it hurt. Wanting to encourage him, I shared with him that my husband, Mr. Dennis, was once the star pitcher for his baseball team and had played for 13 years, never missing a game. He had such talent that he was awarded a scholarship to play in college. Though playing was Mr. Dennis’ first love, as he got older, he could not play like he used to, like he wanted to. Years later he helped coach a team for our church and as it turned out, Mr. Dennis made a terrific coach. His love for the sport equipped him to see all positions, read the body language of the opposing team and make wise calls. Coaching was just as important as play and incredibly fulfilling. Samuel looked solemn, nodded his head and said, “Yeah, if I can’t play, coaching or being an announcer might be kind of fun”.  I sat back on my knees, awestruck by the work the Lord was doing in that very moment in this boy’s life.  It is my hope that he sees his value and learns his true identity.  He is loved, He is accepted. He is valued. He is wanted. He is treasured. And it has nothing to do with his ability or disability.

Later that day, while driving home, my heart was burdened for Samuel and several other children I had the opportunity to do art with that day. I witnessed their hurt, their lack of self worth, their insecurity, anxiousness, and fears. My heart has always wept for these children, but today some of these children now have faces and names. My heart bids me to pray on their behalf constantly and that lump in my throat seems to be ever present. Driving home, my mind wrestled with the hurt and in my human mind, I searched for more ways to help when I heard (not audibly) “Just pray. Just keep praying”. God has a perfect plan for each of these children.  Jeremiah 29:11 tells us that it is not to harm them, but to prosper them and to give them a hope and a future. I love the verses that follow: “Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with your whole heart. I will be found by you, declares the Lord, and bring you back from captivity…”

It has only been a few days, but I can still see the brilliance of those oak leaves glimmering in the sun. And as I sit here, in front of my large picture window that looks out to a forest of trees, I am reminded that each of these majestic trees started out as a small seed. I cannot help but to see the children at RRR as little acorns. They are in the deep dark soil feeling as if they will always be there, perhaps feeling frightened, alone, not able to trust, perhaps paralyzed either by past experiences or the unknown future. But God’s plan is that they will one day grow into a great oak, strong, vibrant, and full of life; praising Him for giving them hope through Raven Rock Ranch and a future in Him.

Beauty from Ashes

Holding the two vividly detailed hand-drawn self portraits in my hands, I shook my head while biting my lower lip in both amazement and anguish as I slowly studied one and then the other.  The little girl looked up at me with those dark chocolate brown eyes and cautiously asked me if she had done the assignment wrong. Forgetting that my body language was communicating what I felt in my heart rather than what I desired for her to hear and understand, I quickly tried to cover my actions, by replying, “Oh, honey, the detail you put into each of your portraits is simply beautiful. They have stolen my breath away!” She innocently laughed and bounced away to pick up a book that she had been begging to read.

The assignment had been to make two portraits. One portrait depicting what she felt like on the inside, the part that no one sees; the part that she believes no one would understand, the part that is hard for her to express with words. I asked her to think about what colors represented her feelings as I opened the tray of oil pastels and took out the box of charcoal and colored pencils. I asked her if she was big or small, loud or quiet, seen or invisible, etc… The other portrait was to represent what she wanted to feel like on the inside and how she wanted other people to see her. I asked her the same questions (what colors do you see, are you big or small, loud or quiet, seen or invisible, etc...). I then sat at the far end of the table and worked on my own project.

Unlike me, she needed no time to begin her portrait. I watched from the corner of my eye as her hand searched for her color of choice, finally resting on a new piece of rectangular charcoal. I set my eyes back on my own pad of paper, but could hear the sharp sounds of the charcoal being etched onto the textured paper. The sound of the charcoal told me her story before I even saw her picture. I heard every stroke. I heard every frustration. I heard her feverishly race to put the image on paper. There was certainty in what she was creating. There was bitterness and anger. With the slightest pause in the air, I looked up to see her start shading the image with her fingertips, again intensity filled the air. I said nothing and returned to my work.

When I looked at this finished portrait, darkness hovered over the young girl wearing tattered clothing. Her dark eyes were smudged and a single tear was at the corner of one eye. Angry, bold words were written all over the page. Words like: stupid, loser, fatty, ugly, just kill yourself already… My heart ached as I could identify with some of these emotions, for I had spent a good share of my own adolescence believing many of these lies. If I am being honest, I was not surprised that her portrait revealed such hurt. I was taken aback however, by the intensity! That is something that art can reveal that words often cannot, especially when the child struggles to communicate effectively with words to begin with. I asked the girl later if she could describe herself in just one word what would it be and she said, “A tomb”. My heart sank and I smiled weakly as I pulled her into a hug.

Her second portrait was also in charcoal but she had used crisp thin lines to draw her image of a young girl wearing a flowered top and a crown on her head. Her smiled filled her entire face, which in turn made me smile! Words again filled the space around her image. Words like: beautiful, accepted, loved, important, etc. At the sight of this portrait my heart seemed to stop beating and my breath truly was stolen away. Again, I could identity with this 13 year old girl. Though I am far older, I believe all girls, young and old, desire to be beautiful, to be valued, and appreciated.   When I asked her to describe herself in one word in this picture, she said, “Filled-up”. If you know me, even a little, you know I couldn’t hold back the tears at her words.

My breath wasn’t stolen away for the realization that I am not all that different from a 13 year old girl, but because just that morning I had read Isaiah 61:1-4:

The Spirit of the sovereign Lord is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to preach the good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion—to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of His splendor. They will rebuild the ancient ruins and restore the places long devastated, they will renew the ruined cities that have been devastated for generations.

In those days it was common practice for those who were in mourning to pour ashes on their heads, tear their clothes, and wail loudly as they roamed the city streets. This was an outward expression of the anguish residing in their hearts.  Though this is not common practice in our culture today, our grief can become a foothold for Satan to keep us from living a full, Spirit-filled life. The Spirit of the Lord longs desperately to come alongside us in our grief, in our pain, and walk with us, replacing our torn rags with garments of praise, restoring our hearts to gladness, and bringing us more into the likeness of His Son, Jesus, as He places His crown of beauty upon our heads.

Strong’s Dictionary reveals that the original meaning of the “crown of beauty” was an ornamental head dress like a crown or a wedding veil. The term is derived from the Hebrew word, “pa’ar”, which means “to gleam, to explain oneself, to beautify” (Strong’s). In those days, the kind of head dress a woman wore explained who she was. Isaiah 61:3 beautifully portrays God “blowing away the ashes of mourning and replacing them with a crown---not just any crown, His crown”! We are the bride of Christ, of the Prince of Peace. Can we accept that? Can we let go of the lies we have allowed Satan to fill our empty spaces with and confidently walk in the Truth. We ARE His bride.

Obviously, there was no way for this little girl to know what I had read hours before our art lesson. However, the Lord gave me such a tender moment with her as He had most certainly primed my heart for this time. Forever, this young girl will be in my thoughts and prayers as I hope with all my heart that her and all women, young and old (me included) will embrace the identity Christ desperately longs for us to accept.

Satan wants to destroy our dreams, God wants to surpass them. He gives us dreams so we will long for His reality” (Beth Moore).

Can we learn to see ourselves as beautiful to Christ? Can we wear His crown confidently? I dare you to sketch yourself as He sees you and then pray that He give you His eyes to see yourself like that too!

Fishing For Peace

Meg and her oyster shell

My Dad loved to fish. No, I mean, He really looooved to fish. It was more than a hobby for him, it was a time of respite as he would often sit, contemplate, and pray over events both big and small, while waiting for a “nibble”; as well as the thrill of the catch. He rarely kept the fish he caught, as it was truly a sport for him. Therefore, we really had no proof of the fish stories he would tell. He fished year round, many times after he would get off work. And on weekends, he’d get up before the sun even had a chance to crest the horizon. Steelhead season, I have to believe was his favorite. And my worst, as winter’s breath inevitably chilled my bones and threatened to stay!

As a young girl, nothing could be worse than getting out of bed when it was still dark, dress in layer after layer and go sit in wet, smelly sand for hours upon hours, while Dad fished.  Though my siblings and I would always find mischief along the sandbar or create massive sand murals with pieces of driftwood, and end each trip swinging our legs off the tailgate of Dad’s ‘66 Ford, while eating warm bologna sandwiches, I still resolved that nothing could be more boring than to sit and watch a pole for hours on end in hopes to get a bite. I believed that until I was 26 years old. (Therefore this is an old story!)

Though I had not gone fishing with my dad for many years, I had decided that when I traveled home with my then 9 month old daughter, I would go with him. I don’t know why I thought it would be any different or why I was now subjecting my baby to this torrid event, but something drew me.  I suppose I wanted what my dad had found there all those years, whatever it was.

Sipping strong coffee from the lid of Dad’s green dented thermos, I sat with Meg on the slight incline of the sandbar, watching my dad. I loved everything about him in that moment, especially his crooked smile or the way he would bite his lower lip while he putting fresh bait on his hook. He waded out into the river a little further and cast his line again. I watched how the river glided swiftly past him, over fallen trees, and boulders;  continuing downstream, narrowing in places, skimming the sandy bar, and eventually spilling into another body of water. I loved watching his line plunk into the river, creating a series of expanding rings, until they disappeared. I was enthralled by the entwinement of regal simplicity and splendid authority.

I had sat on the banks of this river more times than I could count, but not until this day, did I pay any attention to its fluid movement and how it formed itself to the shape of whatever object stood in its path. The river was never without motion. I had seen it bursting with energy as its upstream source aggressively pushed its mass into this stream. I had seen it flooded as well as low enough to count the speckled rocks lining its floor. I have seen it nearly still, just ripples carelessly riding on the surface. Still, always in motion.  

I turned my face to the morning sun, letting its warmth seep into my soul.  The thought-provoking words of Horatio G. Spafford (1873) came to mind in that moment, a precious hymn I sang as child, growing up in a small Baptist church: “When peace like a river attendeth my way…” I hummed the song repeatedly as the melody soothed my wounded soul and the words caused me to contemplate what peace really means. “Peace like a river”, I whispered to myself as I sought out the characteristics of the river only 15 feet in front of me.

“Peace like a river”. The book of Isaiah uses this analogy twice, though the Bible addresses peace 251 times. It is the thing that we seek, bend over backward to meet. However, peace is not only as Webster defines: “A state of tranquility or quiet”, but experiencing this while meeting many bumps and unexpected twists and turns on life’s journey. Peace is not something that we can attain on our own merit, despite our best effort. If you are like me, you may have attempted to eliminate activities in hopes of finding peace. We reason that we are too busy to really have peace in our lives. However, we are not meant to live life in the stillness of a…a pond!  Rather, we must be connected to the Holy Spirit! He is the upstream tributary or source that feeds into the river. Rivers are constantly being renewed by active, ongoing motion. It is not filled once and left to fend for itself. Christ encourages we who are thirsty, we who are in need, to come to the fountain (Is. 55:1) Here, He fills us with His life-giving water.  But we must keep going back to the source. A relationship with Christ is the key component to peace. This filling enables us, like the river, to spill out into another body of water, overflowing into the lives of those around us.

I let out a sigh of gratitude, smiling a toothless smile as I hung my head, saying a prayer of thanksgiving for this visual lesson. Holding my sweet Meg in my arms, kissing her plump cheeks, and breathing in her sweet fragrance; I released my preconceived notions that life should be easier, without so much pain, and heartache. Storms of adversity will wash over us, attempting to steal our attention from the One who gives us peace. Beloved, don’t let them. Christ grieves desperately for those who whose hearts and souls are in unnecessary turmoil (Luke 19:41-42).

I am reminded of the parable of the disciples out at sea while a terrible storm raged, violently tossing their boat about. They were terrified. I imagine some stood wide-eyed, watching the sea swell and the vengeance of the wind whip their boat perilously, while others closed their eyes tightly in an attempt to sooth their fears. However, I certain they all watched with wide eyes and dropped jaws when they saw Jesus walking on the water!  I am positive they believed that Jesus would save them by calming the storm. Their thoughts were interrupted as Jesus called out to them, “Take Courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid”. It is here that you would expect Jesus to calm the storm. He did not. Not until he climbed into the boat did He calm the storm. I believe we have been sucked into this mentality as well: believing that peace is equated with rescuing—from calming the storms of life. “The point is not that we don’t have anything to fear, but that [Christ’s] presence is the basis for our courage” (Beth Moore). With the “winds still raging, He said, ‘Take Courage. It is I. Don’t be afraid’”. We can have peace when we authentically surrender to the trustworthy, sovereign authority of Jesus and keep going back to the “well”.

I set Meg down in the sand and encouraged her to play, when I came across an oyster shell. It had been brutally weathered and grayed with grains of sand lining the broken, ruffled layers on its back, revealing a life of being carelessly tossed about in the continual motion of the waters. I flipped it over, rubbing my thumb up and down its smooth, iridescent inner shell, thinking that perhaps an irritation the size of a grain of sand had made its way into its life, forming a peal, a treasure of great value.

I had been wounded to my very core 18 months earlier when I had been raped, conceiving a child, my Meg, as a result. My heart had been hemorrhaging all these months as I attempted to understand where God was in all of this. I went from blaming Him for the situation because He allowed it to happen, angrily accusing Him of not loving me; to a place where I fully embraced Genesis 50:20, “What Satan intended for evil, God intended for good”. In this moment, holding Meg, my precious pearl, a seeming reminder of incredible pain, she was/is infinitely more of reminder of the peace that God grants us when we surrender to His authority.

My nose began to run as I could not help but to think God had orchestrated this life lesson specifically for me, this day. I bit my quivering lip and ran out to my Dad, with Meg in tow. “Hey Dad, look what I just found”, showing him the oyster shell. I was a kid again, still learning, still constantly amazed.

Meg’s name means “pearl”. She was named Meg for that meaning.  She was brought into this life through a horrific situation, but without a doubt, is my pearl of great value. So great in fact that a Merchant I know so very personally sold everything He had for her…and for you. “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant looking for fine pearls. When he found one of great value, he went away; sold everything he had, and bought it”. (Matthew 13:45) Our identity is not in the bumps and bruises that we accrue, rather our identity is the One who freely gives us peace in the trials of life. He sees you as His pearl, nothing less!

The oyster shell, 12 years later, still sits on Meg’s dresser and serves as reminder that pearls often come through the storms of life and peace can and will accompany us when we surrender to our sovereign Lord’s authority. I went fishing with my dad that day and caught a whole lot of peace!

Trust Follows

Bitter frost glimmered brilliantly underfoot as it caught the early afternoon’s sunlight, crunching raucously as we sauntered toward my truck, while escaping my lungs through hazy vapors lingering at my lips. My winter kissed nose began to run and so did the tears, for my heart had been etched with the most precious of memories.

I had spent the last hour watching Rusty, our angel in horsehair (!), follow Meg around the round pen without a lead, without a single touch. I watched Rusty lower his head to her waist, turn circles, back up and stop simply by the sound of her voice. If I had not seen it myself, I would not have believed it. I honestly do not know of anything more life-giving than to watch a girl who struggles with her value and a once neglected horse bond. He was free to do what he pleased and he chose to follow her.

I recall our first day at Raven Rock Ranch. It was a warm fall day and Rusty had been keeping himself cool in the shade of a cluster of trees at the far end of the pasture. When Meg approached the fence, it was if he had always known her. He trotted to the fence, bent his head low and breathed in her scent. Her smile had been held captive for countless years and in that moment Rusty had unlocked not just her smile, but her precious giggle as she leaned forward to nuzzle noses with him. Sandy, owner and operator of the ranch, revealed that he never does that. He chose her that first day. And she chose him.

Every week for a few months now Meg has looked forward to our time at RRR. She cleans stalls, grooms Rusty, and has been learning to tack and ride. Her small voice, awkward gestures, and lack of confidence confine her in most areas of her life, isolating herself, floundering in self doubt, and engaging in self-destructive behavior. However, Rusty sees beyond that. He simply sees his girl. She shows up and his quiet day becomes a vivid wonderment as they work together to meet each other where they are. They do not need to pretend with one another. Their hearts have been gravely bruised and yet they have chosen each other to journey toward healing, learning to trust one another along the way.

Today, Sandy unhooked the lead from Rusty’s halter and asked Meg to slowly walk away from him, believing that he would follow her. After several steps it looked as if Rusty was not going to follow. He just stood there. His ears twitched as he listened to the slightest crackle of frost laden footsteps and the whinnies of horses in bordering pastures. He lowered his head, smelling the air as if searching for anything to give him direction. Meg stood still, her back to him, just waiting. I am certain she would have waited for him all day for I have never seen devotion like hers to Rusty.

Rusty had never been given a choice before. Never. Now, he had freedom to do what he wanted and it clearly confused him. Several minutes passed and finally he took a step---walking parallel to where Meg was, not to her. Admittedly, I chuckled. It was as if he was saying, "I want to be near you, but I will not do it exactly like you want". Typical 10 year old behavior!  Sandy reentered the round pen and instinctively, yet unconventionally asked Meg to breathe into Rusty’s nose. Horses greet each other by breathing into one another's noses, so it seemed likely that he would identify with Meg, recognize her on a different level if she were to do the same. With both hands planted on her knees, she stoop to Rusty’s lowered head and breathed into his soft muzzle. Frosted air escaped her petal pink lips, rising heavenward. Then, without a word, Sandy left the pen. Meg began to walk and Rusty followed. Meg stopped and Rusty stopped. She walked in circles and so did he. He was smitten with a girl he was learning to trust!

Trust sees what physical eyes cannot. It is a deepening, a ripening, a willingness to wait for God in the unplanned place of obedience, and to walk with God at the unplanned pace of obedience---“to wait in His place, and to go at His pace”, knowing with certainty that He will carry us through all our afflictions. Trust requires faith. It feels risky until we know; really know the One we’re walking with.

Boots

Meg slowly slid into the truck this day, looking deep in thought, not saying a word. Usually quite upbeat after our time at Raven Rock Ranch, this day Meg looked as if she was about to cry. I turned the corner onto the tree lined gravel driveway, heading towards home, hoping she would open up but silence met me and begged not to leave. Almost home, I finally asked, “Are you OK?" Without a word, she turned to face the window, but I still saw a single tear fall from her dark chocolate eyes and her petal pink lower lip began to quiver. Searching my mind for the answer so she would not have to breathe it to life herself, I asked, “Did something happen at the ranch today that upset you?” Her gaze lingered on her folded hands resting on her lap as she shook her head no and then yes. I usually try not to pry or rush her into sharing something before she is ready, but it was clear she was hurting and as her mother is it hard to let her marinate in that level of pain.  “What, honey? Tell me about it”. When she opened her mouth to speak her words quickly became uncontrolled heavy sobs.  I could only make out a single word: boots. Now I understood.

This day she had been gifted with riding boots to borrow while we are at the ranch. Sandy, owner and operator of Raven Rock Ranch, casually mentioned that she had bought some riding boots for the children who visit the ranch, feeling it was important because of the angle in which the child’s heels rest in the stirrups and the message it sends to the horse. Meg had been wearing rubber rain boots which are cute and keep moisture out, but would not protect her feet from her four-footed angel, Rusty’s 1200 pound body if he were to misstep or offer the freedom to dip her heel in the stirrups. At any rate, Sandy told Meg the boots were in the tack room and to find a pair that would fit.

Meg later told me the boots were still in the box—brand new. “I knew Sandy expected me to wear them and I knew they were better for riding, and for Rusty too, so I wore them, but I felt guilty for wearing them”. She did not have to explain any further for I, too, have known this kind of guilt---an unworthiness for receiving something without any merit on my part--But Meg did continue. She asked, “Why would she do something so nice for me? She really doesn’t know me that well and she spent her money on me”. Without a thought, I softly replied, “Because she loves you, Meg…because she loves you and wants the best for you”.  She was quiet the rest of the ride home and even for awhile once home. I imagine that she was processing that someone she has only known a short time genuinely cares about her. Later that night, when her Daddy came home from work and asked about the ranch, the first thing she mentioned, with those dancing, chocolate eyes, was the riding boots! This time joy oozed with each spoken word, not guilt.

Misplaced guilt, guilt that is not warranted because we have done nothing wrong or dishonored God in anyway, sneaks in to rob us of the freedom we are meant to live in Christ. It destroys our joy and binds us to feelings of unworthiness. Misplace guilt isolates us, sentencing us to a life deprive of acceptance for who we are in Christ.  It focuses on self, rather than on Christ. Simply, misplaced guilt is crippling.

I have known for a long time that Meg believes she has no value, that she was an accident, and is loved only out of obligation and to have watched her agonize unnecessarily over a precious, thoughtful gift broke my heart--- and yet I wondered if this gesture of kindness would be the spark she needs to expose her value.  We haven’t been back to the ranch since this day, but I am eager to see how she feels when she pulls on those leather riding boots later this week.  It is my prayer that she will wear them in freedom and not out of obligation or guilt---that she will embrace this beautiful gift and see her worth.

We do not need to feel guilt for something that honors God.  The only way to battle the crippling effects of misplaced guilt is to live rooted in the absolute, unshakable belief in the promises of God, hold them close to our hearts, and never doubt Who He is; what He has done and will do for us. This is called “living by faith”—having complete confidence in “future grace” and a life of freedom from crippling guilt. Doubt is a tactic Satan loves, absolutely loves to employ as it keeps us from living fully vested in Christ.

Meg talks constantly about Raven Rock Ranch, Rusty: her angel in a horse suit (!) and Sandy, her faithful sidekick and mentor constantly as each element of this piece of heaven on earth has gifted her with a joy that I have never, never seen before. The boots…she will wear them every visit and I believe they will serve as a reminder of her value---someone loves her and cares about her, not because they have to, but because they want to—they choose to! 

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9).
Can we, like Paul, not only find contentment in weakness, hardships, persecution, and calamities, but also view these circumstances as opportunities to exalt Christ? Our value is intricately woven into this scripture and begs us to keep our focus on Christ, the Author and Perfector of our faith and not on our self. It is here that we see our value. He chose us!  He loves us! He forgives us! He blesses us…even with boots!

Past, Present, and Future Grace

"Future grace”—grace that we can confidently depend on because we have evidence of grace that we have already been gifted with in faith—“past grace”, is the essence of Romans 8:28, perhaps one of the most recognized pillars of promise in the Bible. “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose”. Though sacred in the hearts and minds of many believers, it is also a passage of scripture easily discounted in times of great difficulty.

This “all encompassing promise is massively rooted in the irrevocable work of bygone grace”, writes author and Pastor John Piper about this precious promise. Don’t miss this—the grace we have already received cannot be undone, it cannot be taken away, or diminished with time. It is the evidence we crave to our unseen hope. It is as permanent as are the nail pierced scares on Jesus’ hands and the love in which His incomprehensible grace is gifted.  I picture Jesus sitting at the right hand of the Father, tracing the scares with his finger as he whispers our name. “For you”, He says, “all for you, my best and nothing less. To you I give my unsurpassing promise that all things, yes, Beloved, all things will work together for those who love me and are called according to my purpose”.

Bygone grace. The word “bygone” as a description of grace pierces my heart, inflicting a convicting, saddening pain; for the word’s undercurrent is a wistful longing for what once was as if it was unlikely to reoccur.   Grace’s life-giving breath tends to become deflated as we move through one trial into another. The vibrancy of our gratitude pastels with time and our zeal wanes. I am reminded and encouraged by the Old Testament story of Joshua leading twelve men, one from each tribe, across the Jordan River into the Promise Land. When God gave Joshua this instruction, He also told him that each of these men were to “take up twelve stones from the middle of the Jordan, from right where the priests stood, and carry them over with you and put them down at the place where you stay tonight” (Joshua 4:2-3). Can you picture the stones? I am sure my imagination has been tainted by Sunday School felt board stories, but I picture them being rather significant in size. They had to have been, for they were to be piled up, bringing attention to their significant meaning: God had grace on them in a mighty way! Their children and their children’s children would ask what the stones meant and thus began a beautiful story of the grace that God bestowed on them. 

What I find encouraging is that these stone markers were not a one time event. The men of the Old Testament often built alters or pillars of stones, architecture of past grace, as a reminder of God’s sovereignty and confidence in future grace. Can you imagine, walking along the stone markers with your child and sharing the countless acts of grace that God had gifted us with? I can practically hear the child begging, “Oh, tell me about the time when God…”, as her eyes dance in anticipation of a story she has surely heard before. The story doesn’t get old; it breathes life into the next generation. For the child, the stories are the beginning of an intimate love relationship with their Heavenly Father. For the adult, it not only reminds us of God’s ever watchful eye and guiding hand, but gives us the courage to go into battle confidently…confidently, because we are certain that His grace will once again wash over us completely.

Allowing myself to nestle deeply in the precious promise of Romans 8:28, I find myself deeply grateful that my merciful God would even look my way, not to mention sacrificing His Son for me and cheer me on in this fleeting life, all the while promising me that all things will work together for those who love Him. Humbly, I attempt to thank Him for this bountiful gift. My words are feeble as they could never portray what my heart feels. Grace is the receiving something we don’t deserve—we haven’t earned it, we can’t do it ourselves. The definition usually stops here. However, I believe that we cannot repay grace. We are not meant to, perhaps it is impossible. Instead, we are meant to treasure the gift, allowing it to nurture the roots that are required to confidently and authentically live within this verse.  The deeper the roots, the stronger the structure, so it is with us. The deeper our roots are in Christ, the more unshakable we become in life’s inevitable trials.

The world offers a mirage of substitutes, offering quick fixes, temporary hope and happiness. With time, its shallow root system decays and we find ourselves back at square one. Living, really living in the massive, unshakable structure of Romans 8:28, we have confidence in our sovereign God, a refuge, security, and hope that only God can graciously give.  This is not to say that as Christians we will not suffer. We most assuredly will suffer. We will face trials of all kinds. It is in these trails, in our pain that “God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him”. That’s the goal: to bring glory to Christ, to magnify His name in all seasons. Please don’t miss this, as it is the heartbeat of our faith.

Without a doubt, there have been times when we, as Christians---those called by God for his purpose--have not been rescued in the way we hoped or escaped a painful situation. Bad things do happen to good people. God is not the author of evil. He will, however, use those situations to bring glory to His name. We can have complete confidence in the fact that what He began in us, he will complete. He will work all things together for our good because “[our]calling guarantees [our] justification; and [our] justification in turn, guarantees [our] glorification; and glorification is the ultimate fulfillment of Romans 8:28—endless ages of seeing God make everything in the universe serve our holy joy in Him”. (John Piper)

With each stone marker, I will praise Him for His sovereign grace, the fulfilling of His promises, and know with absolute certainty He will continue to work all things together in my life until Romans 8:28 is fulfilled. Joy floods my soul at this thought!

“We shall bring our Lord most glory if we get from Him much grace. If I have much faith, so that I can take God at His word…I shall greatly honor my Lord and King”. Charles Spurgeon

Serving: A Demonstration of God's Grace

Fear usually stops us dead in our tracks. It’s in our protective nature not put ourselves in harm’s way or in a situation that may bring about pain. Most of the time, this is a healthy fear. However, when fear keeps us on the sidelines of an opportunity to serve Christ, we communicate that we do not trust that God is in control. I have sat here this week in deep contemplation over an amazing opportunity to serve Christ in an area that has been a dream of mine for countless years. Stifled by fear, I said nothing to anyone for several days about this opportunity.

In my solitude, I reasoned that I was not good enough, that I would get in the way of what Christ desires to do through this ministry. I reasoned that my motives, though pure on this side of the opportunity, may become off kilter and at some point I would serve on my own strength and/or for my own pleasure rather than God’s. Essentially, I reasoned I would fail in one regard or another.

Isn’t that just like us: to think about our role, rather than God’s role? How I struggle with that! I measure myself against a monumental task and automatically see that I am not equipped, not big enough, and strong enough to take on such as task. I see this before I see that God IS…God IS! God is bigger than it all and it is for His perfect glory that we serve and in our need for Him, He is magnified. How easy it is to lose this perspective, even if temporary.

Twice this week the parable of the three talents was brought up in discussion. To refresh your memory, the story goes a little something like this:

As a man was getting ready to depart on a journey, he entrusted each one of his servants a portion of his property. To the first servant, he gave five talents, to the second servant he gave two talents, and to the third servant he gave one talent. The story goes on to tell that the servant with five talents invested his money and earned an additional five talents. The servant with two talents also put his talents to work and, like the first servant, doubled his investment. The last servant, who had received one talent, buried his talent in the ground.  After a long while, the master returned to settle accounts with his servants. Upon seeing that two of the servants doubled their investments, he praised them saying, “Well done, good and faithful servants! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share in your master’s happiness” (Matthew 25:21).  Then the servant who had buried his one talent approached his master saying, “I know how hard you work. I feared wasting your talent and disappointing you, so I kept it safe for you. Here it is, safe and sound!” The master, angered by the servant’s laziness (perhaps, obsessive cautiousness), said, “You would have been better to have invested the talent in the bank, where I would have at least got a little interest”. Then, he took the talent and gave it to the one who has risked the most.

I don’t know about you, but I certainly see myself in this parable. Fear of failing, fear of disappointing our ever precious Savior is often a tactic Satan employs on those who desire to be faithful in service to Christ.  Fear is not of Christ. Fear isolates. Fear prevents growth.  At this thought… this fact, I can practically hear Him ask, “Will you serve me, even if you suffer, even if you fail by the world’s standards? By trusting me, Beloved, you will be my precious demonstration of my holiness. Trust me to go about my Father’s business through you”.

Feeling convicted for elevating my role over Christ’s once again, I pour out my heart to Him, confessing my pride, my inadequacies, my fears and ask Him to take it all… My Precious Redeemer, empty me of anything unpleasing to you, mold me and shape me into a vessel that will not only be filled with your living water, but to be of use.  I want desperately to invest your talents that you have bestowed upon me, not to hide them out of fear of failure. Lord, my ultimate desire is to be the servant that stands tall and confidently says, “Here I am! Send me! Use me!” With this petition, my hearts finds rest on the knowledge that God does not leave to uncertain risk, our growth and perserverance in holiness. Rather, He says, "I will put my Spirit within you, and will cause you to walk in my statutes and be careful to observe my ordinances" (Ezekiel 36:27). I find incredible comfort in knowing it is God who works in us to will and do His good pleasure (Hebrews 13:21).

Where I see God working is my call to also serve there. It is there I am to invest His talents that He has lent me.  How I desire to not let those talents go void because of fear. Instead, it is my hope that I will one day hear Him say, “Well done, my good and precious servant”.