Fear or Faith?

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of sound mind”. 2 Timothy 1:7

I have to be honest and admit that though I have heard these words countless times in my life, even memorized them, I have not taken them to heart and pondered them deeply, until this week. These are words to live by, to hold sacred-- deep within our souls to combat those times when drought, anxiousness, and worry find residency in our hearts and minds. However, I believe most of us don’t readily accept these words. We may even say, “This may be true for him/her, but it is not true for me”. We don’t trust God’s words. Instead we choose, yes choose, to live in fear rather than in faith.

Sitting in a disheveled bedroom, so cluttered that there was nowhere to sit but a small clearing on the floor, I found myself face to face with a tear stained and equally disheveled young girl. It was recently discovered that she had been cutting herself. Feeling completely ill equipped, as this topic was certainly out of my realm of both knowledge and comfortableness; I found myself sharing these very words, though it sounded more like: you have the choice to choose fear or choose faith. When you choose fear, you are clearly saying, “God is not big enough for this situation”.  The girl’s eyes had not made contact with mine for quite some time, but at these words, her eyes shot me a hot and bitter look, as if to say, “That’s not true!”

“That’s not true!” we may say of ourselves when confronted by our own actions. We have a hundred excuses as to why we are in the driver’s seat and Christ is in the passenger’s seat. Somehow we reason that if I just do this or if I just do that, then all will be OK. We may reason that we are helping God or that we need to clean up our lives before we really let Christ take up residency in our heart. Somehow we try to atone for our sins through duty, rather than by repentance.

Because I know so very little about cutting, I found it interesting that this young girl revealed to me that she wanted all the pain and sin to be washed out with the blood. Graphic, I know.  At her words, an image of Jesus’ bruised, bloodied, and broken body on the cross flashed in my mind. I can only speculate that she was attempting to some degree to pay a price for some wrong doing or some injustice that had been done to her.
 
Though not nearly as graphic, we too attempt to find our own salvation or atone for our sins though piling up good works or attempting to living to the letter of the law, rather than to the spirit of the law…payment in some regard for what we have received or to compensate for what we have done. Having accepted Christ into our hearts, we still find ourselves trying to earn something we already have: His acceptance, His unconditional love for us, our eternal salvation.
 
“And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives love lives in God, and God in Him. In this way, love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment, because in this world we are like Him. There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love”. 1 John 4:16-18.

The silence compressed heavily on my heart and my mind searched rapidly for the right words to say to this young girl, praying for words of wisdom, I found none.  I reached out to touch her, to comfort her, only for my touch to be rejected. A single tear fell down my cheek and my nose begun to run. Hurting, I could not resist the question…”Does cutting really help relieve your pain? Does it make whatever has happened better?” Without looking up, she straightforwardly said, “No, but it might someday and that’s why I keep trying.”

“And that’s why I keep trying”. Her words felt like a trampling of wild horses across my chest. Though her secret had been discovered, she had no intention of stopping. She believed that this ludicrous act would save her, would take away her sins, that causing herself to bleed would somehow bring her the peace she so, so desperately seeks.  I wonder, if we too, “keep trying” to find that fulfillment, that right combination of works and worship in hopes that we would find God’s favor.  Sure, we know we have it already, but our actions reveal that we don’t trust that knowledge. It is, like this young girl, fear-- a lack of trust that drives us to such unnecessary lengths.

The girl, seeing my tears, softened and moved slightly closer to me, though she still resisted my touch. I smiled a toothless smile and as I did, I fell into such a deep weeping that it seemed impossible to stop.  Once composed, I told her that I had good news for her. Looking back on the situation, I am sure she thought I was a lunatic: sobbing uncontrollably one moment and saying I had good news the next. I told her that someone had already shed all His blood for her. And it would only be His, the perfect Lamb of God, whose blood would work to take away our sins and hurt and to replace them with peace and salvation. Because He did this, she did not have to. Her sacrifice would not earn her anything or take anything away. Because as a young girl, she had already accepted Christ as Lord of her life, she already had acceptance, forgiveness, and salvation. Somehow, like we often do, she lost sight of that. She thought she needed to add to what Christ has already done.

At these words, the girl began to cry. Wiping her nose with her shirt, I wondered what she would say. She said nothing, though she did lay her head on my lap. Her journey is far from over. She will need constant reminding that she already has all she needs in Christ. Perhaps, we too need that reminding. I know I do from time to time as it is entirely too easy for me to add to what Christ has already given to me.  Trusting that He is enough is hard.  Trust takes time and commitment to build.  If we are not spending time in intimate fellowship with Christ, we do not know Him and it becomes easy to start living from a place of fear, because fear is our natural state without Christ.

I ended my time with this girl with the question, “Will you choose to live in fear or will you choose to live in faith? It is a choice we all have to make. Our actions will reveal our choice”. No words were spoken as she hugged me tight.  I pray that the Lord would increase my faith, for there are times I question, times I doubt, and certainly times I live life for me and on my own strength. I want more of Him in my life. I desperately want to live according to what I know rather than what I feel.

Without a doubt, life will bring challenges. These challenges do not separate us from God. Fear separates us from God--and "fear in its purest form is really unbelief, the false conviction that God can't, God won"t...so I must. Faith on the other hand, chooses to believe that God can, God wants to, and God will...so I will choose to trust Him with my life." Faith and fear are mutually exclusive. Only one can rule our hearts.

A Grammar Lesson on Spirituality

We have all heard the saying, “If God closes a door, He opens a window”.  The mentality behind this is to press on, thinking perhaps that God wants us to take a different avenue to gain whatever it is we seek, whatever we believe His will is for us. Simply, this cliché’s intention is to shed hope on whatever difficult situation we currently face. Though greatly debated if God really works like this, I believe it is only through an intimate relationship with Christ that we can really decipher if the door is closed permanently, temporarily, or if climbing through a window is an option.

I admit that when I was a child if my Mom said no to something I wanted, I would go ask my Dad. My dad was my window and my hope rested in him saying yes, and often he did.  I didn’t get away with this seemingly sweet set up for too long. Both Mom and Dad sat me down and talked about how I had not respected either one of them. I did not listen to my mom and I manipulated my dad. The answer was no, but I pressed on until I got what I wanted. I was persistent, immature, and my motive was self seeking. In my heart I knew better. The answer was no, I just didn’t like it. With this blatant disrespect were consequences.  

A few weeks ago I heard this same idea expressed slightly different, “Don’t put a comma where God intends for a period” and “Don’t put a period where God intends for a comma”.  Being a person fascinated with the writing process, linguistics, and all things grammar, this caught my attention. When I was in grade school many of my papers would be returned to me inked up in red pen, “Run on sentence”.  I remember my sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Vaughshultz, telling me that I needed to break my sentences down, use more periods, and not rush my information.  I started writing shorter sentences and yet when I received my paper; I would read comments like, “Choppy sentences”. What? I did not understand. With practice and heeding the red scribbled advice across my papers, I slowly began to understand that there is a relationship between words and meaning; between information and emotion; between me and my words. It is a beautiful dance that takes place on paper. I still misstep….often.

I misstep because I have an agenda. I push to get my idea across without taking into account the relationship between the words and punctuation.  Though I am referring to writing, I believe the same can be said for how we live our lives.  Jeremiah 17:9 reminds us that “The heart is deceitful”.  We are all born with a sinful nature, we are self-seeking in one regard or another.  If left in our natural state we would live our lives as a series of run on sentences because we seek our needs and desires above all else and we fail to stop and consider what and how the Lord will provide a way for us if the door is truly closed.  Like when I was a child, we can often manipulate our circumstances to meet our needs and desires. Thankfully, we are in a process of being sanctified---transformed to reveal more and more of Christ’s character in our lives. Christ promises that what He begins in us, He will complete.

This brings my mind to yet another scripture: Psalm 37:4 “Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart”.  The Hebrew word for delight is “agagh”, which means to bend. I thought this interesting because in a very real sense delighting in the Lord means to bend with Him, go with Him, walk with him. In order for us to do this we need to know him. And to know Him is to love him.  We will only obey if we truly love Him.  In this intimacy, His desires become our desires. I love the way the verse ends, “and He will give you the desires of your heart”. The Hebrew word for desire is “chaphets” which is translated from “if it pleases, if you are willing”.  There is no presumption here. This person is pure of heart. This person is not looking for an open window somewhere. There is no manipulation.

I admit I struggle to know when to press on verses when to stop. I do know that when I am walking in step with my heavenly Father I more readily understand what a closed door or a period means. My desires truly reflect His desires. Still God is God and His ways are not our ways. We can attempt to understand our circumstances and trials though His point of view and still be left with countless questions, even feeling betrayed. I believe that this is the place where Satan likes to whisper alternatives to God’s plan to us, (like, “Climb out that window”!) cause us to feel bitter, or jealous even.  We have all be there, done that, manipulated a situation to meet our desires.

I fail continuously, but even then the Lord has abundant grace as He gently corrects me. It is here in my unworthy heart, on bended knee before the cross that I see red strewn across the sunset sky. In it I see the words, “It is finished”, Christ’s final words as He took His last breath.  I do not need more earthy materials; I want more of Him, period.

I cannot end my thoughts here, when Paul’s do so much more justice.  Excerpt from Philippians 3: 8-21 (Message Translation):

Yes, all the things I once thought were so important are gone from my life. Compared to the high privilege of knowing Christ Jesus as my Master, firsthand, everything I once thought I had going for me is insignificant - dog dung. I've dumped it all in the trash so that I could embrace Christ 9 and be embraced by him. I didn't want some petty, inferior brand of righteousness that comes from keeping a list of rules when I could get the robust kind that comes from trusting Christ - God's righteousness. 10 I gave up all that inferior stuff so I could know Christ personally, experience his resurrection power, be a partner in his suffering, and go all the way with him to death itself. 11 If there was any way to get in on the resurrection from the dead, I wanted to do it. 12 I'm not saying that I have this all together, that I have it made. But I am well on my way, reaching out for Christ, who has so wondrously reached out for me. 13 Friends, don't get me wrong: By no means do I count myself an expert in all of this, but I've got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward - to Jesus. 14 I'm off and running, and I'm not turning back. 15 So let's keep focused on that goal, those of us who want everything God has for us. If any of you have something else in mind, something less than total commitment, God will clear your blurred vision - you'll see it yet! 16 Now that we're on the right track, let's stay on it. 17 Stick with me, friends. Keep track of those you see running this same course, headed for this same goal. 18 There are many out there taking other paths, choosing other goals, and trying to get you to go along with them. I've warned you of them many times; sadly, I'm having to do it again. All they want is easy street. They hate Christ's Cross. 19 But easy street is a dead-end street. Those who live there make their bellies their gods; belches are their praise; all they can think of is their appetites. 20 But there's far more to life for us. We're citizens of high heaven! We're waiting the arrival of the Savior, the Master, Jesus Christ, 21 who will transform our earthy bodies into glorious bodies like his own. He'll make us beautiful and whole with the same powerful skill by which he is putting everything as it should be, under and around him.

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.  

Yellow Roses

One year ago today as the warm sunshine poured through the large windows of room 335, I laid next to my Daddy in his hospital bed kissing his cheeks, his hands, his forehead… a million times over, embracing a precious memory with each kiss, saying good bye, I’m sorry, and thank you with each remembered story. Though my mind has been swept over with these memories as of late, I do not write this morning from a place of sorrow so much as I write from a place of gratitude. Just a few thoughts and memories...

I kissed and nuzzled his cheeks a million times that day, feeling as though I couldn’t stop, not wanting that kiss to be the last one I ever gave him. His cheeks were rough despite hospice’s attempt to shave him. I found it endearing however, as my mind wandered to the days when I would sit on the bathroom counter and watch him shave when he’d come in the house from a long day of milking or working in his yard. I always loved watching this ritual. Still, to this day I can see him shaving two or three strokes then rinsing the blade in a sink of warm, sudsy water. I can still hear the tap, tap of the blade against the side of the sink and smell the distinct fragrance of his shaving cream. He sure got mad when I’d steal it to shave my legs as a teenager. I can still hear his voice as he’d yell from the bottom of the stairs, “Karyn Lee…bring it down here”. He didn’t even have to clarify what “it” was. We both knew.

His shaving cream wasn’t the only thing I would “steal” from him. To this day, nearly 20 years living outside my parent’s home, I have a reputation for stealing Dad’s flannel shirts. It didn’t matter if they were the “good flannel shirts” or ones he wore for milking or yard work. I just adored them and everyone knew it. Often, I would hear my name being called from the bottom of the stairs but it had a different ring to it. He wasn’t mad, like he was with the shaving cream. It was more like “I’m flattered, but honey, you gotta stop doing this”. Once he called me, a year or so after I had moved out and gotten married to ask if I had stolen his new flannel shirt! I didn’t…honestly… but still to this day, I cannot live down the fact that I would take his shirts and make them my own. In fact, my youngest niece calls me, “Aunt Flannel”, which makes me laugh because I only wear flannel shirts when I garden. I guess I still want to be just like my dad. I don’t have any of his shirts now and that crushes me. There was just something about his shirts that no one else, not even my dear husband's shirts have. I guess I felt safe wrapped up in his over sized shirts, close to him somehow. Sure wish I had stolen just one more.

I held one of his hands almost the whole day, kissed every finger, traced the lines, and winced at his countless scars. I love those big, rough, and calloused hands. I always have. They spoke volumes about the kind of man he was, as his hands were strong, able, learning, giving, sacrificial, loving hands. I still recall what it felt like to hold his hands, to have him give that little extra squeeze right before he’d let go. His hands engulfed my hand and I loved it. I always felt like his little girl when I held his hand…even when I was all grown up and had children of my own. I miss holding his hands, praying with him, and working alongside him. He taught me everything with those hands.

One of his absolute loves was working in his yard. He had an amazing gift that dazzled people who would pass by. Though, like a true gardener, we never call it “work”, for it is something that feeds the soul in a way that nothing else does. I had the privilege to have my hands in his yard this week, to pull his weeds, to prune his Rhodies, edge his flowerbeds... The most difficult thing for me to touch were his roses…yellow, vibrant roses…these were his pride and joy. I saved them for last. And wept as I breathed deeply the sweetest scent…a scent I didn’t realize I associate with my dad no matter where I smell it. On my knees already, I buried my nose into the spent pedals I’d just pruned and allowed the Lord to wash over me, to touch me with his tender grace once again. His mercy touched my brokenness and I knew I was safe and loved completely even without the touch of my dad’s hand or being wrapped in an oversized flannel. My Heavenly Father swooped down and held this broken heart of mine and reminded me of words I had read just that morning, “However serious we believe Good Friday is, we are confident that Easter Sunday lies ahead of us.” Meaning, that no matter what disappointments, frustrations, hurts, injustices, or loss come our way because of our faith, our hope in Christ, we believe Easter Sunday—the day of Jesus’ resurrection—and the fulfilling of His promise-- is right around the corner. Christ did not promise an easy, painless life. He did promise however, that Heaven would conquer them in the end (Easter Sunday). Death will be overturned and the fragrance of yellow roses will fill the air, I am just sure of that!


My Dad’s heart desire was to meet Jesus…he spoke often of this desire and believed as my favorite author, Brennan Manning, does that “Death is not the ultimate, but rather the final breakthrough into the waiting, outstretched arms of the Father.” He could not wait to see Jesus face to face. I often picture my dad on his knees before the emerald throne singing, “Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty” with tears of great joy streaming down his cheeks and with a heart that swells with such love, such gratitude. I miss him terribly but know Easter Sunday will come for me too and I will one day run through heaven’s gates. I will embrace my Lord, my God first, but then I am hugging my Daddy! Until that day, I am hugging him in my heart.

Love Isn't Love Until You Give it Away

“Our love for human beings, Jesus told us, will be the sacrament, the visible sign that He’s among us. This is how the world will recognize Him. And the world doesn’t see Him, because they don’t see our love”. I read these words of Brennan Manning earlier this week and as I have reflected over what it means to love, to show love, to live rooted in love… I have come to believe that love manifests itself through compassion. I honestly cannot picture love without picturing one who is compassionate…one who is empathetic not just in word but in deed. Love is an action word. However, it’s not just being nice, it’s not just doing what is expected or required. Love is not about being convicted to do the right thing. Love is moral certainly, but moreover, there is an element of mercy, an overwhelming sense of peace that transcends all understanding as we walk beside the hurting, the hated, the feeble and the frail.


Love swells from a heart that has experienced the tenderness of Jesus in our lives, one who can picture a battered, unidentifiable body hanging from a cross in our place, one who can identify with the prodigal son who humbly, shamefully returns to his father and is not only engulfed in the arms of his father, but forgiven. It also radiates from one who claims to have no testimony because the Lord has spared them of abuse in its multiple forms, and by God’s grace, their faith hasn’t waned as they witness such heartache and turmoil that seems to abound from every crevice. To inhale the sweet fragrance of such tender love, to experience such forgiveness, such grace…my heart swells with love and exhales a love that is not my own but a love that supersedes my own thoughts and judgments. A kind of love that sees others through the eyes and heart of Jesus…a love that oozes such mercy, such compassion that one cannot help but to be love in action. My words seem feeble and yet my heart beats harder, beats with conviction, with purpose, while my fingers fail to find the words adequate to express such…such love, a love I have not only experienced… changing me from the inside out, but is the very breath that gives me life.


I want my life to be a reflection of Christ’s love, His hope, and His tender grace to others. I have often prayed that I would see others the way He sees them…this has brought me to my knees countless times. It has caused my heart to beat wildly out of empathy for others. It has spurred me to love beyond the spoken, well-intended words. And not just for the likable, the hurting, or the disabled, but for the ruthless, self-centered, users, and manipulators. I am still a work in progress as honestly some people are easier to love than others. Yet Christ commands us to love our enemy (Matthew 5:44)… Can I really love my enemy? Can I have compassion for my enemy? Can I root for my enemy? I don’t believe it is possible if my heart is not beating in sync with Christ’s. The greatest commandment is to love the Lord our God with all our heart, with all our soul, and with all our mind. The second greatest commandment is to love our neighbors as ourselves (Matthew 22:37-39). How are we doing? Are we loving them with all we have within us? Are we, as Christians, loving differently than others? How is our version of love different? Can others see it? Love needs to move beyond the same old rhetoric that the world has heard over and over again, that the world has lost hope in because our words do not match our actions. Our actions rooted in love need to offer hope to others.


“We are surrounded by people who are hungry and thirsty and naked in their souls, and they come to us hungry for understanding, thirsty for affirmation, naked with loneliness, and wanting to be covered with the mantle of our genuine tenderness” (Brennan Manning) and so often we do not see beyond the surface…their needs, their hurts…because our focus is narrow or maybe we have come to believe it is someone else’s problem or perhaps we ourselves feel inadequate or…that we are too busy. We need to come to the place where we welcome God’s interruptions…to love beyond words, beyond church walls. To love practically, fully, without obligation but out of desire to communicate hope and acceptance. What a gift we have the ability to give.