Grown-Up Christmas Lists

My girls love them some Christmas music! I can easily see them growing up into "those people" who start listening to festive tunes in October (no offense intended to any others who number among them!). Well, this year, they discovered the 24/7 Christmas radio station and now that's all they want to listen to when we're in the car. Since it's at least December now, I've largely obliged them, even if it means occasionally having to sit through such holiday classics as WHAM!'s "Last Christmas", Madonna's version of "Santa Baby" or Band Aid's "Do They Know It's Christmas Time?" (good intentions, awfully patronizing lyrics).

The other day, as Ruth and I were on our way downtown, one of the various covers of "My Grown-Up Christmas List" was playing. When I was younger, I always thought the song was rather sappy, but as the years go on, I find it is more likely to bring legitimate tears to my eyes. This year, it brings to mind Aleppo. It reminds me of the little boy we know whose cancer is progressing, despite many medical interventions, and the 6 kids (among others) who will spend this Christmas without their mother. It calls up broken marriages, children who feel rejected by their peers, people stuck outside in the midst of our recent barrage of snow. There is perhaps no time of year where we feel more keenly the strange juxtaposition of joy and brokenness in a single season. Christmas is about rejoicing, yes. We are celebrating the end of the long wait for the promised Messiah to enter our world and bring justice and peace to reign. But at the same time, we are still very much in a period of waiting for the risen Messiah to come a second time and finally do away with all the tyranny that yet remains in this world.

So Ruth and I are on our way to a wedding (rejoicing!) and I'm contemplating grown-up Christmas lists (brokenness), and she asks me what the song is about. I explain to her that little kids ask to get toys and candy for Christmas, but as we get older, it often becomes more important to us to experience true happiness and peace that we don't get by having stuff. Ruth's response was one of those 6-year-old answers that sometimes surprises us parents with its thoughtfulness: "But Santa can't give you those things. Only God can!"

She's completely right, of course, and yet how often do we all, 6-year-olds and 36-year-olds and 96-year-olds included, try to fill our brokenness with material things, with breakable human relationships, with amazing experiences, with feel-good Christmas tunes and dreams of Santa down the chimney? But putting shiny tinsel and lots of coloured balls on a dying tree won't make it any less brown come New Year's.

The older we get, the more we get to Christmas with thoughts of the loved one who won't be joining us anymore, the reminder of people suffering in our churches, our city, and around the world (and maybe in our own home). And it's not wrong for there to be sadness mixed in with the Christmas celebrations. Jesus has come into the midst of this world's brokenness to save us, and that is cause for rejoicing. But His work on earth is not yet finished and if anything, the mixed-up sentiments of this season should cause us all the more to long for His return when He will make all things new and finally cross off all those items on our grown-up Christmas lists.

There's a reason that song has been recorded by dozens of artists. In the season of "Joy To The World" and "Jingle Bells" all the way, requests to Santa for no more lives torn apart and peace on earth and friends for everyone resonate deeply with all of us who've seen and experienced the losses of life on earth. But as you sing along with Amy Grant or Kelly Clarkson or Michael Bublé or whichever version might be playing on your station this time, don't make it a list for Santa. Make it a prayer to the only one with the power to actually bring it to pass, to the one, indeed, who has promised to bring it to pass. And that's not the innocence of youth and blind belief touted in the song. It's faith in what is really and truly true. Amen. Come, Lord, Jesus!

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light;

   Those who live in the land of deep darkness, on them has light shone.

You have multiplied the nation; you have increased its joy;

   They rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest, 

   As they are glad when they divide the spoil.

For the yoke of his burden and the staff for his shoulder,

   The rod of his oppressor, you have broken as on the day of Midian.

For every boot of the tramping warrior in battle tumult

   And every garment rolled in blood

   Will be burned as fuel for the fire.

For to us a child is born, 

   To us a son is given;

And the government shall be upon his shoulder,

   And his name shall be called 

Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

   Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Of the increase of his government and of peace

   There will be no end,

On the throne of David and over his kingdom,

   To establish it and to uphold it

With justice and with righteousness 

   From this time forth and forevermore.

The zeal of the LORD of hosts will do this.

Isaiah 9:1-9

Light and Momentary

A couple nights ago, we had a conversation with another couple we hadn't seen for a while. As we were trying to place exactly how long it had been since we'd last seen them, she said, "I'm pretty sure your husband had broken his leg or something and was in a full cast." Ah, okay. It was about a year ago.

Wow! It was only a year ago! To be honest, it seems like far longer than a year ago that Nathan was essentially bound to a bed, hopped up on painkillers, and I was struggling to keep up with my normal tasks while taking care of many of the duties that Nathan would usually be doing. Less than a year ago that we spent a summer being able only to go to the tiny local park because the beautiful lakeshore park only a few blocks away was a little too far for Nathan to walk on his crutches. Seven months ago that he was hobbling around with a cane and I was starting to hope that life might return to normal. No time at all in the grand scheme of things, really. And yet now that we're out of that trial by half a year, it seems like a lifetime ago, a dream of something I once felt so keenly. A light and momentary trouble.

Sometimes it's funny to me how quickly we forget and move on after a major life adjustment, after a trial that in the moment seemed so profound, so impossible, so limiting. Fearful afternoons in the hospital with a feverish child after a seizure. Miscarriages that were heart-breaking and the resulting anxiety of wondering if I'd be able to carry another baby again. A job loss that put us in very difficult financial position for a little while. Praying fervently for family members and friends fighting cancer (some of whom are no longer with us; others are essentially back to normal life). And yet now, they are a distant memory, file drawers in the back of my mental library that I pull out from time to time and reflect on from the safety of the future.

It's not unlike childbirth. In the moment of it, when the pain feels like it is ripping you apart from the inside out and you wonder how you can possibly go on another five minutes, let alone hours, it seems like an eternal unbearable weight. If you don't actually scream "I don't want to have this baby!" like my mother did with one of us, you probably at least THINK it. Childbirth is intensely unpleasant and painful. But the moment that baby is out, the moment the hardest pain is in the past (even while contractions continue and the afterbirth is yet to arrive), your eyes and heart are so taken up with that beautiful baby in your arms, and the miracle of it all, that you can only think about joy. Almost as soon as it is over, the pangs of childbirth become a dull memory, so much so that the next time you go through it, it may actually surprise you a little with its intensity. What for the moment seemed painful and unpleasant is covered over in the joy of the beautiful fruit it produced.

Granted, there are trials and sufferings far more intense and longterm than what we've experienced, but the ending will be the same. When the trials finally come to an end and the devastating effects of them are merely stuff of earth that we see through a dim mirror in the face of heavenly glory, even the worst of our sorrows will seem but light and momentary.

If I could only really remember in the midst of a trial just how far away and long ago it will one day seem to me, if I could only hold on to the hope of an eternal weight of glory held up in store for those who suffer now for the sake of Christ, would I bear up with greater joy? Would I suffer in a way that would bring glory to the God who bears us up and makes beauty out of ashes? Would I be willing to suffer MORE so that many who don't now know the hope of eternal life would have the opportunity to know it?

Maybe you're waiting for something. Maybe you're stuck in a winter that won't go away. But our hope is not just in the end of waiting and the coming of spring. We have the hope that even the worst of our current afflictions will one day look light and momentary, and our eternal future will be weighty with glory. How will we suffer in light of this hope?

"So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal." (2 Corinthians 4:16-18)

Tough Call

Have you ever been called to something exciting and responded enthusiastically with faith, only to encounter difficulty and discouragement? Have you hit hardships in ministry, trials in parenthood, obstacles in your service? If you're anything like us, these things can have a tendency to make you question whether you are where you're supposed to be, whether you heard the call right, whether God has somehow sent you out only to abandon you on the journey. These are the times when I especially love the "real life" nature of the Bible. I'm so thankful that God's words to us aren't just glorious transcendent ideas that are totally detached from our very earthly experience in a fallen world. There are lots of glorious transcendent ideas, to be sure, but they are woven in and out of the true stories of real men and women who lived, who doubted, who praised, who suffered, who were weak, who were strengthened, who by God's grace pressed on despite their sin and failings and the failings of those around them.

One in particular that has been an encouragement to me lately, in a wintry season of tougher ploughing and some discouragements, is the prophet Isaiah. As I mentioned, when the going gets tough, we can fall to the temptation to doubt God's call on our lives, to wonder if we're on the wrong road. But I think that's because we read about people like Isaiah and his glorious call, and we stop too soon in the story. Isaiah 6 is a common passage to quote at missionary commissioning services. There have been songs written about it. Most of us are familiar with verse 8: "And I heard the voice of the Lord saying, 'Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?' Then I said, 'Here am I! Send me.'" We love this response of faith, the enthusiastic "Here am I! Send me." We want to be that guy. Here is Isaiah: He has just seen a vision of God in all his holiness and all his mercy (verses 1-7). He has had his sins atoned for, and is ready at the call of God to go out and take the news of this holy, merciful God to the people. It's exhilarating!

But we stop too soon if we stop there, because we miss what God's call on Isaiah actually is. For the next 5 verses, Isaiah is informed that his ministry is going to be one of tough ploughing, of closed eyes and ears, of proclaiming destruction alongside that proclamation of mercy. Isaiah starts off with a readiness to go out as the Lord's messenger, and the next thing we hear out of his mouth is "How long, O Lord?" The rest of his ministry is replete with hard messages, difficult circumstances and unhearing people. Isaiah even has to give a hard rebuke to one of the most godly kings of Judah when Hezekiah's pride leads him to foolish action. Of course, Isaiah also has the joy of seeing prayers answered, an enemy army decimated in the night at the Lord's hand, a king miraculously healed of a terminal illness, time turned back on its heels, and the honour of being one of the foremost proclaimers of a coming Messiah who would bring salvation, blessing and peace to his people as he rules in glory. But even the most glorious of callings comes with its share of "How long, O Lord" cries. If we forget this when things are dark, and WE'RE the one crying "How long, O Lord?" we're liable to feel like we've somehow wandered off the path of God's will.

Not a Speedbump

A few weeks back we got together for our weekly dinner with Darryl and Charlene Dash, and during the course of the evening, ended up doing an internet personality test for fun. When mine--not surprisingly--came back saying that I thrive on security and stability, Darryl jokingly asked what ever made me want to get involved in church planting. I didn't have a snappy comeback then (apparently, I'm not quick on my feet either). But as it happens, the very next morning our security and stability was tossed to the wind as we received news that we were going to need to move from our condo when the lease is up in April. While not totally a surprise (we had been warned of the possibility a week before), it was certainly not what I originally had in mind for this year. I confess that I had been looking forward to a year devoid of moves and surgeries (still hopeful on that front) and other large changes. A year of relative safety and stability. Hard work, of course, but nothing too unpredictable.

God had other plans.

Beautiful Scars?

There's a post floating around the internet lately which combats the view that babies ruin your body, arguing that really all those pounds, stretch marks, back pains and possibly caesarean scars are beautiful because they bring about the joy of motherhood. And I certainly agree that if your main reason for avoiding pregnancy is to avoid any physical scars associated with it, your priorities are a little off.

But the other day, I noticed my own stretch marks in the mirror. Mine don't come from pregnancy. To be honest, I don't know where they come from. Because they're on my back, I'd never really noticed them until shortly after my wedding when my husband pointed them out (he was a newbie--forgive him). Those scars come somehow from living life and they didn't produce any momentous joy that I'm aware of. Of course, I don't think about those marks most of the time. They're not visible to most people and they've never caused me any pain. But I know a lot of others with more serious scars. My husband has a nice long scar on his leg from major knee surgery last year. My father has a long scar down his chest from emergency quadruple-bypass surgery a few years ago. I have family and friends with scars left from mastectomies. There are the women whose stretch marks did come from pregnancy, but which only serve as a continual reminder of the baby they had to lay in the ground. And then there are the invisible scars that we all carry to some degree--whether they be from broken relationships, abuse, our own sin or catastrophic events outside our control. Live more than a couple years on this earth and you'll get yourself some scarring.

Tears of the Oppressed (Meditations on Ecclesiastes)

"Again I saw all the oppressions that are done under the sun. And behold, the tears of the oppressed, and they had no one to comfort them! On the side of their oppressors there was power, and there was no one to comfort them. And I thought the dead who are already dead more fortunate than the living who are still alive. But better than both is he who has not yet been and has not seen the evil deeds that are done under the sun." (Ecclesiastes 4: 1-3)

Really? Is anyone allowed to say such a thing?! No wonder some of us feel uncomfortable with Ecclesiastes! Here is a book, inspired by God, that appears to claim it better to be dead, and indeed, to never have even been alive, than to have seen and experienced the evil that goes on under the sun. Where is the hope here?

In fact, the author of Ecclesiastes doesn't really offer any right now. There is terrible oppression done on this earth, injustices that in this life go continually unpunished (Eccl. 3:16-17). But we want to find the hope NOW. As Christians, we want Ecclesiastes to jump to the gospel, to hold up the coming judgement and offer salvation. Better off dead? Seriously?

In thinking through this troubling passage, I was really struck by Derek Kidner's question in his commentary:

If [the author]'s gloom strikes us as excessive at this point, we may need to ask whether our more cheerful outlook springs from hope and not complacency. While we, as Christians, see further ahead than he allowed himself to look, it is no reason to spare ourselves the realities of the present.

Are we shocked by the darkness of Ecclesiastes because we truly understand the hope of resurrection and future justice offered in the gospel, or, if we are honest, is it because we are not willing to go to the dark places in this world? Is it because we aren't ready to really look at the evils and oppressions that go on under the sun, and really care, really mourn, really weep with those who weep. To my shame, I have to admit that far too often, my lack of groaning is not because I'm so full of hope, but because I'm too lazy or comfortable to care. I'm apathetic. I don't look at the sufferings in this world with the grief of the God who created a beautiful world that was "very good" and then, in looking at the wickedness of man, "was sorry that he had made man on the earth, and it grieved him to his heart" (Genesis 6:6).

Do we care about the unspeakable horrors going on at this very moment around the world? Do we care that young girls are forced into prostitution at any age, let alone at ages when our own daughters are still playing with dolls? Does it grieve us that infants the world over are slaughtered just because their parents and or their governments don't want to deal with them? Does it matter to us that children are conscripted into violent armies, that slumlords, orphanage owners and relief workers grab for themselves many of the donations given for the poorest of the poor under their "care"? And what about our own Christian brothers and sisters in other nations who are tortured, enslaved, imprisoned and killed because their persecutors hate what they believe? What about the spiritual oppression and darkness in our own comfortable land?

"But what can I do?" we often ask. Ecclesiastes itself acknowledges that oppression and evil are out of our control. We can deal with it in one form, in one place, at one time, and it's just starting somewhere else. Until the day that Jesus returns, there will always be poor, oppressed people in this sinful world. But I may not use this as an excuse to cease caring, to ignore. There ARE practical things that can be done for some of these issues. And even if there really is no practical way that I can help, there is ALWAYS one practical way that I can help. I can PRAY. I can join with Ecclesiastes and with the psalmist and with the martyred saints before the throne of God and groan on behalf of the oppressed. I can weep and mourn and plead on their behalf before the throne of the only One who has the power to end the pain, to comfort the victims, and to judge their oppressors.

Yes, ultimately we do not mourn as those who have no hope. In the end, God will bring every deed into judgement, with every secret thing, whether good or evil (Eccl. 12:14). We do know that there is a Jesus who sets the captives free. But we may not use this hope as an excuse to ignore the darkness of this present age. If we want to follow the whole counsel of God, as revealed in the entirety of the Bible, we must also have a place for deep grief over the ravages of sin, over the terrible evils that plague masses of people made in the image of God. We must be willing to go with Solomon to the depths of human suffering and mourn it. We have a God who didn't just sit back, looking from a distance at our misery, saying, "Don't want to go there." We have a God who entered right in to a world burdened by sin and oppression, lived in the midst of it, wept under the weight of it, and then died a horrible death to deal with it once and for all.

We must not merely be a people of hope, but also a hopeful people who care, who act, who pray to the God of all mercy and comfort on behalf of those who have no earthly hope. May we be a people who weep with the tears of the oppressed.

Hard Answers (Meditations on Ecclesiastes)

And the pain falls like a curtain

On the things I once called certain

And I have to say the words I fear the most

I just don't know

And the questions without answers

Come and paralyze the dancer

So I stand here on the stage afraid to move

Afraid to fall, oh, but fall I must

On the truth that my life has been formed from the dust

God is God and I am not

I can only see a part of the picture He's painting

God is God and I am man

So I'll never understand it all

For only God is God.

-Steven Curtis Chapman

These words just about sum up one of the major themes of Ecclesiastes.

"God has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end... Then I saw all the work of God, that man cannot find out the work that is done under the sun. However much man may toil in seeking, he will not find it out. Even though a wise man claims to know, he cannot find it out... As you do not know the way the spirit comes to the bones in the womb of a woman with child, so you do not know the work of God who makes everything." (Eccl. 3:11, 8:17, 11:5)

The Bible allows us to ask our hard questions, but it does not promise easy answers, at least not in this life under the sun. In fact there are many times that all it leaves us with is "God knows." Ecclesiastes is a book that asks lots of difficult questions and has very little in the way of succinct, satisfying answers. At first, this seems enormously frustrating. How can God leave us hanging like that?

By way of answering that question, the author of Ecclesiastes reminds us, first, that we are mere creatures, formed from the dust and destined to return to it. We are a finite people who exist in time and space, with a limited capacity for knowledge. We are not God, and don't have the ability to comprehend all that God has planned, even if he were to explain it to us. And God has made things that way, at least in part, so we would know our place as creatures and not seek to elevate ourselves to the level of gods.

But this truth of our "earthiness" does not leave us floating around in a universe with no gravity and nothing to cling to. The Preacher also answers that all things are firmly in God's hands and he will do exactly as he pleases, at exactly the right time. We need not fear what he does not yet answer; we need only trust the One who will put all things right in the end: Though a sinner does evil a hundred times and prolongs his life, yet I know that it will be well with those who fear God, because they fear before him. But it will not be well with the wicked, neither will he prolong his days like a shadow, because he does not fear before God. (8:12,13)

There are glimmers of hope in Ecclesiastes (not lying--they're there!), but as in much of the Old Testament, the author offers only a misty portrait of the hope to come. Life after death is assured, but in a shadowy form with little detail. And here is where the faint traces of future hope need the rest of biblical revelation to be fleshed out. While many of our specific questions still go unanswered in the New Testament, the most important answer we could ever need has been given once and for all at the cross and empty tomb of Jesus. It is at the cross that God declares for all time that whatever trials you may meet with in this life, you need not face eternal punishment in the next if you are trusting in Jesus' death on your behalf. It is at the empty tomb that the hope of our own future resurrection is sealed. Romans 8 puts meat on the bones of Ecclesiastes: "For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us... And not only the creation, but we ourselves who have the firstfruits of the Spirit groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope, we were saved." (Romans 8:18-25)

But in the meantime, we wait, and find that many of the questions we ask about the seeming futility of our work, the pain in our own lives and the injustice and oppression that abound in the world--those questions go unanswered for now.

Ecclesiastes reminds us that we make a serious mistake if we call hurting people to Jesus with the promise that he will fix everything: that he will make their marriage better, make their kids behave, help them find satisfaction in their work, keep them from tragedy, and answer every question they could ever ask. We make a serious mistake if we expect Jesus to do the same for us. Jesus doesn't PROMISE those things. He doesn't promise easy answers. But he DOES promise to be with you in the hard times of your marriage, to be with you when your kids don't listen, to be with you when you'd rather be anywhere but where you are right now, to be with you when the bottom drops out and you're in a free fall. He promises that even when we don't understand, don't have the answers, and everything we do seems futile, there is nothing in all creation that can separate us from God's love if we are clinging to him. He promises that HE knows the answers, and he IS working all things for our good and his glory, even when we can't see it. He promises that one day we will see him face to face, and God will wipe every weary tear from our eyes. And while these may not be the easy answers we're looking for, they are the only answers that can carry us through both the happy and the sad times, through the easy questions and the hard ones.

"Oh, the depths of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgements and how inscrutable his ways! 'For who has known the mind of the Lord, and who has been his counselor? Who has given a gift to him that he might be repaid?' For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be glory forever. Amen." (Romans 11:33-36)

Hard Questions (Meditations on Ecclesiastes)

"I'm not a perfect parent, but I've worked hard to faithfully love my kids and teach them God's truth. So why, oh why, are they in the trouble they're in right now?" "Years of labour to build up this business, and it's all wiped out in a sudden market crash! Lord, why? Was all my toil for nothing?" "All day long on the news, all I see is people around the world being oppressed, and their oppressors are laughing all the way to the bank! Where is justice?" "Christians around the world are being slaughtered for their faith, and the West is silent. How long, O Lord, how long?" Or maybe it's as mundane as, "I'm not even done with the laundry for 2 seconds and someone falls face first into the mud. Will the cycle never end?!"

Futility. It's all around us. And if we're really honest, these are the kinds of cries that plague us, even if we really believe that God is good, and in control, and trustworthy. But if we're also really honest, many of us feel some level of guilt about asking such questions. I mean, if I was a good Christian, I wouldn't ask those kinds of questions--I would just trust God and rejoice always, right? I saw an interview once with a well-known Christian who had just suffered terribly tragic circumstances, but who was testifying that he was given such faith that the question "Why?" never even crossed his mind. And I felt guilty because I've never faced anything like he had, and yet I've asked hard questions about the pain in this world.

But Ecclesiastes is a book that calls us to question our doubts about our questions, because it is a book FULL of hard questions, of groaning under the seeming futility of life, of weariness in the face of life's difficulties. Right from the get-go, we are faced with the outburst, "Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher, vanity of vanities! All is vanity. What does a man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun?" Not very comforting, eh?

We like the book of Proverbs because it seems to present a neatly ordered, logical universe where the hard-working prosper, the wise stay out of trouble, and the godly man enjoys a good life. We struggle with Ecclesiastes because it takes us to a world where children are trained up in the way they should go, and lo and behold, they depart from it! It is a world where the hard-working may lose everything in a single sweep of God's hand, where the wise live in wisdom and still die like the rest of mankind, where our toil is futile and we cry out with the Psalmist, "Why do the wicked proper? How long, O LORD?" This is a world where even the people of God come up against seeming absurdity, futility, vanity.

Like Job and the Psalms, Ecclesiastes shows us that God is not afraid of our hard questions and our groaning. In fact, he is so interested in our hard questions that he's written them up in his book. If we were afraid to ask, it's right there on the page, begging for answers.

Here's the thing: The Bible never calls us to be stoics, leaving all those earthly, human emotions stuffed in the back of the closet (with the awkward cousin, no doubt), while we piously repeat our mantra, "All things work together for good... all things work together for good..." and pull ourselves forward to a better day. It also never calls us to the happy-happy-joy-joy kind of "faith" that always responds immediately to job loss, illness, war, oppression or death with a "Hallelujah! Life is great!"

We are called to praise God in all circumstances, yes. Job DID fall down and worship even when his property and family were wiped out (Job 1:20-22). And all things DO work together for good for those who love God and are called according to his purpose (Romans 8:28). But we live in a once-perfect world horribly distorted by sin, terribly twisted by futility. And we FEEL it. So often, we spout Romans 8:28 at ourselves and others in pain without the context. We skip the part Paul didn't--a creation full of suffering that groans, that feels futile, that longs. And we also groan inwardly as we wait for creation to be made new. We hope, yes, but often it is a groaning hope.

Paul himself was given a thorn, and while he says he is content with it, that did not come until he had PLEADED with the Lord 3 times to remove it (2 Cor. 12:7-10). Jesus himself, very God of very God, as he was in agony on the cross, cried out and groaned under the weight of his suffering. He wasn't just making a neat theological point about the end of Psalm 22 when he screamed out, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Mark 15:34) Even our martyred brothers and sisters who stand before the very throne of God in heaven are crying out, "How long before you will judge and avenge our blood on those who dwell on the earth?" (Rev. 6:10)

Yes, there's a way to ask hard questions with a bitter and angry spirit that challenges the goodness and wisdom of God, that thinks it knows better. And yes, we must avoid that. But there is a questioning and a weeping that is very much a part of biblical Christianity. It is a groaning that presses on in faith even when the answers aren't quick in coming. It is a mourning that sits and weeps with those who weep, rather than offering platitudes, or demanding that they just trust God and get over it. It is a faith that leaves room for people to ask hard questions about the meaning of life and the absurdities of suffering without panicking that God can't handle the heat.

Is there room in your Bible for hard questions?

Hope's Target

I've got February 15 marked on my calendar. In fact, I was tempted to circle it in bright red and add as many gold star stickers as I could fit on the square, because that's the day the last of the puppies goes to its new home. Puppies are cute, yes. But unless you've had a few in your home at one time, I don't think you can begin to imagine the amount of mess and smell generated by 6 (I'll bet you that Roger and Anita weren't singing any happy songs about dalmatian plantations after a week of 99 little pups in the house!) So you can be sure that I'm counting the days! Now there's nothing inherently wrong with looking forward to a particular day or event, whether it be the known end of a trial, or something exciting that you've been planning and working toward for a while. And there's a place for remembering that most of our trials are really relatively short-lived. But if February 15 is my ultimate hope, or even my main one, I've put my hope in the wrong spot. I can look forward to that day with all my might, and daydream about the freedom that will be mine on February 16, but that is only the end of the "puppy trial" season. There is bound to be something else lying in wait just behind it. In fact, I can already see some crazy weather gathering speed in the distance.

I think we all have a tendancy to place an inordinate amount of hope in the end point of a trial. We start young--we don't like being told what to do as kids, and all we can think about is how great it must be to be an adult and be allowed to eat ice cream for breakfast if you want to. We think everything will be better once those 4 years of school are over and we've got a degree under our belt. We do it all the way through an agonizing 9 months of pregnancy and don't stop once we become parents. "Oh, I can't wait until I don't have to change another diaper!" you've said, not realizing of course, that you'll only trade in the Huggies for regular mad-dashes to filthy restrooms everytime you leave the house. The grass is always greener on the other side of this, isn't it?

But placing all our hope in the end of a particular trial often only leads to discouragement and hopelessness. For one thing, trials are often followed by trials. You get to the end of one just to jump into another--out of the frying pan, into the fire, as the saying goes. Yes, most of us have periods of relative peacefulness and ease along the way. But no one goes all the way through life that way. We are promised trials in this life. And they often seem to cluster, or come in waves. For another thing, sometimes trials are inordinately long and the end is nowhere to be seen. You cry out with the psalmist, "How long, O LORD?" and there seems to be no answer. If you are used to just looking forward to getting through "this thing", what do you hope in when there's no promise of getting through it at all?

No, February 15 is not the end of all my troubles. Not in the least. So if the grass isn't guaranteeed to be any greener on the 16th, where is my hope?

1) My hope is in the finished work of the cross. Regardless of how long or trying this difficulty is (and I'm well aware that 8 weeks of puppy care is a very small and short trial!), I can rejoice in the fact that it is not an expression of God's wrath toward me, because I have a sure hope that Christ took all that wrath on my behalf at the cross. And "if God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? Who shall bring any charge against God's elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised—who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us." (Romans 8:31-34)

2) My hope is in God's very present steadfast love toward us. Our hope is not merely in something that happened in the past, or in something that will happen sometime in the future, but in God's current, never-ending, steadfast love toward us that sustains us in all our trials. The cross is the proof of it; the hope of heaven the promise of it. But we need the hope that even now in THESE difficult circumstances, God's steadfast love and faithfulness are toward us, upholding us, and able to carry us to the end. One of the reasons I find the Psalms so helpful in times of trial is that over and over again, the steadfast love of God is called to mind and extolled. "Whoever is wise, let him attend to these things; let them consider the steadfast love of the Lord." (Psalm 107:43) "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? As it is written, "For your sake we are being killed all the day long; we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.” No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:35-39)

3) My hope is in the future of heaven, and ultimately the new heavens and the new earth. There IS an end to the trials of this life, and it will come at a definitive point in time (though no one knows the hour). And that will be an end to all trials of all kinds for all eternity. That will be the point when hope is no longer merely hope, but actual sight! (Romans 8:18-25) "Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” (Revelation 7:1-5)

February 15 may well be Freedom From Puppies Day (barring any unexpected hold-ups), but if my hope is not in that certain date, or the vague ending of some other trial, but rather in the finished, ongoing and future character and work of God, then every day can be Freedom Day, and my hope is in a sure and unwavering target. And that is a hope worth having!

Not As Those Who Have No Hope!

I have a 5 year old and a 7 year old, and I cannot imagine what it would be like to send them off to school one morning and find out a short time later that they had been gunned down in their classroom. The thought literally makes me feel ill. And so I grieve for the parents in Newtown, Connecticut who faced such a horrible tragedy last Friday, and who will spend this Christmas--and likely many others--weeping over the loss of their little ones. Gifts already purchased with no one to receive them, plans already made with no one to take along, empty beds with no one to kiss goodnight... this is every parent's worst nightmare.

And yet, this is exactly what God the Father did in love one Christmas two thousand years ago. He sent his Son off into our world as an infant, a child just like our little ones, and he did it not unsuspectingly, but knowing full-well that his Son would be hated, rejected and put to death on a horrid cross though he was completely innocent, having committed no sin, being crucified for no good reason (on the part of the murderers) other than their jealousy, anger, self-righteousness and amusement. He bore the grief of a bereaved parent; he knows the agony of losing an innocent child. He sympathises in complete understanding with every parent who has ever lost or will ever lose a child.

But because of this very sacrifice, we do not mourn as those who have no hope. Because of Jesus' death on our behalf, for our sins, we who believe gain the right to become children of God! And because Jesus not only died, but conquered that terrible enemy Death when he rose again on the third day, we who believe will never truly die. Death no longer has dominion over us because we are forever fully alive in Christ!

I don't know the reason for Friday's events. Only God does. But I do know that the death of every person on this planet--tragic or not--points to our desperate need for a Saviour who will come to rescue us from the awful curse of sin. And Christmas points to the joyous news that this Saviour has actually come and that he has broken the curse of death by his resurrection from the dead, so that we can indeed say, "Death is swallowed up in victory; O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?"

As I celebrate Christmas this year, with my 2, 5, 7 and 8 year olds happily sitting around the tree--Lord willing--I will mourn with the families in Newtown who are mourning, and at the very same time, rejoice in the fact that Jesus' birth was the ushering in of a new hope that signals the end of all such tragedies, all such searches for meaning and answers, all such evil and death.

So sing loudly with us this Christmas, "Joy to the world; the Lord has come! Let earth receive her king...No more let sins and sorrows grow, nor thorns infest the ground. He comes to make his blessing known far as the curse is found!"

Hallelujah! Come Lord Jesus!

The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
because the Lord has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor;
he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
and the opening of the prison to those who are bound;

to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor,
and the day of vengeance of our God;
to comfort all who mourn;
to grant to those who mourn in Zion—
to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit;
that they may be called oaks of righteousness,
the planting of the Lord, that he may be glorified.

They shall build up the ancient ruins;
they shall raise up the former devastations;
they shall repair the ruined cities,
the devastations of many generations.

Strangers shall stand and tend your flocks;
foreigners shall be your plowmen and vinedressers;
but you shall be called the priests of the Lord;
they shall speak of you as the ministers of our God;
you shall eat the wealth of the nations,
and in their glory you shall boast.
Instead of your shame there shall be a double portion;
instead of dishonor they shall rejoice in their lot;
therefore in their land they shall possess a double portion;
they shall have everlasting joy.

 

For I the Lord love justice;
I hate robbery and wrong;
I will faithfully give them their recompense,
and I will make an everlasting covenant with them.

Their offspring shall be known among the nations,
and their descendants in the midst of the peoples;
all who see them shall acknowledge them, that they are an offspring the Lord has blessed.

 

I will greatly rejoice in the Lord;
my soul shall exult in my God,
for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation;
he has covered me with the robe of righteousness,
as a bridegroom decks himself like a priest with a beautiful headdress,
and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.
For as the earth brings forth its sprouts,
and as a garden causes what is sown in it to sprout up,
so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise
to sprout up before all the nations.

(Isaiah 61)

______________________________________________________________________

A few of the multitude of really good links related to Newtown, if you haven't seen them already:

School Shootings and Spiritual Warfare: Russell Moore on who the real enemy is in this

And Slew the Little Childer and follow-up post That Will Be Soon Enough, both by Douglas Wilson on what (and what not) to say immediately following horrific events like this...

Faces Do you know that on the same day 27 innocent people died in Newtown, 30 children in China were injured in a random, but apparently not unprecedented, attack by a knife-wielding man? And helpless children and others around the world face these horrors on a sometimes daily basis... Having seen some of the effects of such carnage in Rwanda several years ago, I appreciated this post from Tanzania.

The Desiring God blog also has a whole host of good links, some specifically about Newtown, others about suffering in general, among them How Jesus Comes to Newtown and a video version of John Piper reading his relevant poem The Innkeeper.

Mysterious Ways

"And the Lord went before them by day in a pillar of cloud to lead them along the way, and by night in a pillar of fire to give them light, that they might travel by day and by night. The pillar of cloud by day and the pillar of fire by night did not depart from before the people. Then the Lord said to Moses, 'Tell the people of Israel to turn back and encamp in front of Pi-hahiroth, between Migdol and the sea, in front of Baal-zephon; you shall encamp facing it, by the sea. For Pharaoh will say of the people of Israel, "They are wandering in the land; the wilderness has shut them in." And I will harden Pharaoh's heart, and he will pursue them, and I will get glory over Pharaoh and all his host, and the Egyptians shall know that I am the Lord.' And they did so." (Exodus 13:21-14:4)

God moves in a mysterious way,
his wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea
and rides upon the storm...

Have you ever felt like you were on a circuitous path in life? Maybe you've given up much to move somewhere you were convinced God led you to go, and yet after some time earnestly seeking to follow God there, you ended up having to go right back to the place from which you came, or somewhere else you never dreamed or wanted to be, feeling like you had little or nothing to show for your sacrifice and upheaval? Or maybe you've taken the right job, followed the Lord's leading into the right ministry, gotten into the right relationship, or pursued that neighbour with the gospel as you believed the Holy Spirit was clearly pushing you to do, only to have no success, to see doors closed, to feel like a failure? We are often so quick, in these circumstances, to wonder when we misunderstood God's leading, where we fell into sin that we're being disciplined for, or if God really cares for us at all.

Israel understood this. I've always thought of their journey out of Egypt toward the Promised Land as a long, but continuous, path which only ended up as 40 years of wandering because of their sin of unbelief. But in reading Exodus 13-17 this time around, I was struck by those words in Ex. 14:2 where the LORD tells the people to TURN BACK. They were headed out of Egypt in victory as the LORD had commanded, and yet they suddenly find themselves going backwards in the direction of Egypt again, where God places them squarely between the Egyptians and an uncrossable sea. Under such circumstances, it really is not surprising that the Israelites respond by complaining to God that he had only rescued them from Egypt in order to kill them (14:10-12). It may not be the godly, faith-filled response of Moses (14:13-14), but it is often our natural human response. There have been times in our life when everything appears to be going "according to plan" ("whose plan?" is an entirely different question!), but there have been other times when we think God is clearly leading us in one direction, and yet it ends in apparent failure, or in years of wandering in the wilderness (see Ex. 16, 17) when we begin to wonder if we somehow fell off God's track. And it is easy in those times to question God, to question his faithfulness, to question his sovereignty, to question his goodness.

As Alec Motyerpoints out, Christians can often simplistically attribute times of failure and suffering either to direct attacks of Satan, as if he's somehow bypassed God, or to our failing to follow God's will for our lives, living outside his purposes. But while Satan does attack (just as Pharaoh was on the attack), and believers do sin (the 40 years in the wilderness was discipline), it is clear here that Israel was led by the clear will of the LORD into wandering, hunger, thirst and battle. They didn't just come to the Red Sea and find Pharaoh behind them because they hadn't moved fast enough, or because Pharaoh overcame God's plan. They didn't head into the wilderness to encounter deadly hunger and thirst because they failed to praise God (see the song of Ex. 15 which is immediately followed by the desert trips in Ex. 16 and 17 where they almost die of thirst). They were led there by the pillar and the cloud--easy to miss because of chapter divisions--and the clear commands of God. And it is God who hardens Pharaoh's heart. The Israelites ended up by the Red Sea and in the wildernesses of Shur and Sin BECAUSE they were right in the centre of God's will and guidance.

Can we explain God's ways with Israel? Not much more than we can explain the mysteries of God's ways with us, which are sometimes deeply perplexing. The text of Exodus tells us that this was part of God's pre-ordained journey to the Promised Land and that his purpose involved the defeat of Pharaoh and the ability of the Egyptians (14:4) and the Israelites (14:30,31) to know that he is the LORD. But why he did it this way, we won't fully comprehend in this life. How much less then can we understand many of the directions our pilgimage to the Promised Land takes us, when we do not have the benefit of hindsight. One day we will see the bodies of our enemies on the shore (14:30), but when we are sitting between the rock and the hard place, the enemy in full pursuit, God's ways seem confusing and shrouded in darkness. When we are in the midst of the wilderness that seems to be way off the route to the land of milk and honey, we are often more aware of our thirst than of the fact that it is the LORD who led us there. At the same time as we decry the "prosperity gospel", far too often we live as if following God will bring us success and ease, and are confused when the path is hard and makes no sense to us. Will we respond like Israel, crying out in confusion, grumbling and anger, and ultimately trying to get to the Promised Land by our own devices? Or will we step forward (or backward!) in faith that the God who guided Israel through much wandering to the land of glory by the pillar and the cloud is the same God who promises both great hardship in this life and also that he will never leave or forsake his people in their circuitous journey toward heaven, where our real citizenship is.

We must remember that Jesus knew this life in the wilderness, too. God's will for him involved not grasping the equality with God that was clearly and rightfully his, leaving the comforts of heaven to live out a human existence with all its trials and tears on earth. The Spirit threw him into the wilderness (Matt. 4) just as he did Israel, and as he often does us. God had a specifically appointed time for a violent and gruesome death for crimes Jesus didn't commit, and it made absolutely no sense to the disciples around him--he was supposed to be the victorious Messiah and yet he was headed toward the cross, something so anguishing that even Jesus prayed that the cup be removed. And yet in all of this, he perfectly submitted himself to the perfect and mysterious will of the Father, that he might take the penalty for all our distrust and angry questions, that he might grant to us a record of perfect submission, that his (and our) ultimate enemy might be defeated and that he might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters to inherit the Promised Land and the glory of God.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take; the clouds ye so much dread are big with mercy and shall break with blessings on your head... Blind unbelief is sure to err, and scan his work in vain. God is his own interpreter and he will make it plain.

-William Cowper*

*And just in case you think these words were penned by some old guy oblivious to the anguish of living in the hard, mysterious path of Almighty God, read up on Cowper. That's a perplexing life!

Clinging... Upheld

It's been that kind of week... the kind that makes you want to go bury your head under your pillow until someone comes to tell you it's all over. Long, busy days; kids unfocused on schoolwork; a 2-year-old making messes every which way I look; physical and mental exhaustion; fighting against that little demonic voice that tells me to throw in the towel and run away--those have been my circumstances. And then on top of that, sins of impatience, anger, lack of mercy, despair and ultimately the sin of unbelief. Assaulted from without and within. Have you ever had a week like that?

One of the things I've often struggled with in these times is that what I want is to be full of joy and delight in God, even in the midst of difficult circumstances, so that (in addition to the joy and grace of being joyful) my kids will see that my God is enough, that my God is delightful, that my God is worth losing everything to have. But what I sometimes am is just fighting: fighting against that fall into the pit of despair, fighting to remember grace, fighting to behold Christ, fighting to delight. And sometimes, I fail. I give in to despair; I despise mercy and strangle my debtor; I lose sight of Christ in the busyness of life; I place my delight in well-behaved kids and things being easy.

I am a fighting, frequently failing, feeble mom. And my kids see it. They won't be the kids who grow up and recount how their mother was always patient, always gentle, always serving with a smile. My son recently recounted to me several occasions over the course of his 5 short years when I had lacked mercy and gentleness in my dealings with him. And though I had forgotten most of them, he remembers. They see. It's not enough to say that the years will wash it all away and they'll forget and rise up and call you blessed anyway, so don't worry about it. Sin and failure don't just disappear with the years.

So is there any hope for me when things are tough and I feel like I can barely hold on? The answer to that question is a resounding YES. When I am struggling, I frequently return to Psalm 63, which starts with David in the wilderness seeking God. His is not a "happy-happy-joy-joy" kind of seeking; it is a thirsting, fainting, dry and weary sort of seeking. It is desperate. And so he meditates on God's power and glory, not his own. He meditates on God's steadfast love, not his own. He sings because God has been his help in the past, and is his shelter in the present. And then he says, "My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me." Years and years ago, as I was reading this psalm and came to that verse, a picture came to my mind of a huge foot standing over a great chasm, and me hanging on to that foot for dear life as I swung out over the endless pit. I was minuscule in comparison to the foot, and my tiny hands could barely cling to the big toe. I was slipping, but doing my best to hold on. And then as the picture came into focus, I suddenly realised that all the time, there was underneath my tiny form a huge, steady hand, holding me up as I clung. I was grasping with all my weak strength, and that had been all I could see, but I was really being held up by that steadfast hand all the while. This is so often a picture of my daily life. I am fighting, barely holding on, seeking to persevere but struggling. And yet, "what is referred to as 'the perseverance of the saints' is in fact the perseverance of the Lord with those he has called".* It is not I who persevere, but God who perseveres with me and makes me persevere.

Our God is not merely the God of the happy, ever-smiling man who even in suffering never asks "why?", of the preacher whose every sermon is a "must listen", of the mother who sings her way through every diaper change. Our God is also the God of Abraham, Jacob, Moses, Job, David, Peter and Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. He is the God of real, struggling, agonizing human beings, and he is the God who holds them steadfastly in the palm of his hand, preserving them till the end, even as they fight to trust.

If my children can't see that I do everything with a smile and a song, then I want them to see that when the going gets tough, I am repenting, I am fighting, I am clinging. I want them to see that my God is worth fighting to trust, worth fighting to delight in, worth seeking even when joy is far away and life looks dismal. I want them to see the God who is so committed to his people that he came down to bear the full weight of their sin in the agony of the cross, who knew crushing darkness so that we could have the hope of glory. I want them to see the God who upholds his grieving, weeping, sinning people. I want them to see the God who carries his people to the end and never lets go, even when they are tempted to. And that is a God who is enough, who is delightful, who is worth losing everything to have.

It's been that kind of week... the kind where our glorious, redeeming God shows his power in my weakness and his grace in my sin. And though that might not make for a pleasant week, it is still cause for rejoicing.

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who by God's power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls." (1 Peter 1:3-9)


*(Alec Motyer, The Message Of Exodus)

A Second Clarification on Anxiety

If God cares for me, why do some of my anxieties become realities?

A few years ago, I had a miscarriage, and when I was pregnant again a few months later, I struggled with anxieties that this new pregnancy would also end in miscarriage. I sought to faithfully carry these fears to God in prayer; I sought to rest in His care for me and for my unborn child. And that pregnancy ended in another miscarriage. My anxieties were realized. Did that mean that God ceased to care? That He wasn't listening to my prayers? No. God's care for me included circumstances that I would not have wished for, that I didn't understand, that were very hard to undergo. But He was still caring for me, even in the midst of trials. He carried me faithfully through the whole ordeal. Though I wept many tears over our loss, He kept me from despair. He gave me peace that passed all understanding, joy in the midst of suffering, and a new ability to care for other women facing multiple miscarriages. The end result (well, at least the end as far as I can see, but I'm sure there are many other things I'll only be aware of once I see it with heavenly eyes) was that I knew God more, that I trusted Him more, that I was more aware of His tender mercies to me, and that I was more fit for service to other women in similar circumstances. God cared for me too much to keep me from those gracious things.

There are many questions about suffering that are difficult for finite humans to fully answer. But we must trust God's Word when it tells us that if we are in Christ, not only do the easy blessings work for our good, but also the sufferings of this life, and even our own sin (Romans 8:28-30, among others). In fact, as the Heidelberg Catechism puts it, "all things must work together for my salvation" (Question 1), for my good, for the greater knowledge of Jesus and His glorious gospel. And these results are from a loving and caring Father, who does not withhold difficulty and discipline from his beloved children, but rather trains them through it to grow more like His firstborn, Jesus Christ.

Some helpful passages to meditate on when those fears become realities are the following:

Psalm 119:65-72

Lamentations 3:1-33

Habakkuk 3:17-19

2 Corinthians 12:7-10
Romans 5:3-5
Romans 8, especially verses 16-39
James 1:2-4

On Trust and Patience

Well, here it is, 4:00 am, and I am up, sitting at the computer, adding a new blog entry. What, you might ask, am I doing wide awake in the wee hours of the morning? And where have I been for the past two weeks? No, there is not yet a screaming infant keeping me up at odd hours... although it is hoped that the cause of this morning's wakefulness will soon bring him into the world - in the past two weeks, I have had many a sleepless (or almost so) night brought about by the early pains of labour. Generally, I wake up in some degree of pain at 2 or 3 am, and the first thought to cross my mind is "Is this IT?" after which it is very difficult to fall back asleep because my mind starts racing, and counting, and eagerly hoping... eventually, fatigue forces me back to bed, and when I wake up in the morning, things have died down and I find myself disappointed again. This has been two weeks of increasing realization of the sins of distrust and pride working in my heart... every time the labour pains start, my hope and expectation rises, and every time they weaken and then cease, my immediate reaction is to become frustrated with God because He has once again not seen fit to answer my prayers for the speedy birth of this child.

For the first few days, I was subconsciously questioning whether God was even hearing my prayers... assuming that I knew when the best time would be for this child to arrive, I got frustrated and even downright angry when God didn't seem to agree with me. Some days seemed better than others - like the day after I had only managed to get 30 minutes of sleep all night, when I figured that God was being merciful in not allowing labour to commence when I was so exhausted to begin with. Or when I heard that one of the potential emergency caregivers for Susanna suspected that her daughter might have the chicken pox, and I felt spared from the possibility of exposing my newborn to the pox. Or when Nathan's boss informed him on Monday that they were going to give him an unexpected 2 days of paid vacation when the baby arrived - thank you Lord that I didn't have this baby before that when we might have had to take a financial hit for Nathan to be around those first few days... But really, this did not produce true trust in me - I could only "trust" if I saw some reasonable reason for God to have delayed an answer to my prayers.

As I moved into the second week of rising and falling hopes, I ceased to question God's hearing of my prayers and began to accuse Him of playing games with me... one particular day when I was feeling pretty discouraged, I began to pray that in His mercy, He might even bring about labour at that moment... around the same time, the contractions started up again, this time stronger than they had been previously. My first thought was, "Hey, maybe God is answering my prayer already", but no sooner was that thought had and I began to think, "You know, this is going to end up like all the other times... things will fizzle out and I'll still be waiting... how cruel of God to make a pretense of answering immediately..." And then when things did die down, I felt justified in my accusation. How untrusting and wary of the Father's love and goodness I have been! How arrogant to think that I know what is best far better than Sovereign God! How faithless to call His sovereignty into question!

And yet, how faithful He has been, in the midst of my faithlessness, to show me His goodness even in the minor details like the ones I mentioned above, to gently expose my sin, to call me to repentence, to grant me greater faith and the patience to wait for His good, pleasing and perfect will to be done! How faithfully He has continually shown me Scripture to convict and give hope:

"Refrain from anger and forsake wrath; fret not yourself; it tends only to evil. For the evildoers shall be cut off, but those who wait for the LORD shall inherit the land." (Ps. 37:8, 9)
"The eyes of the LORD are toward the righteous and his ears toward their cry... When the righteous cry for help the LORD hears and delivers them out of all their troubles. The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit." (Ps. 34: 15-18)
"Behold, the eye of the LORD is on those who fear him, on those who hope in his steadfast love, that he may deliver their soul from death and keep them alive in famine. Our soul waits for the LORD; he is our help and our shield. For our heart is glad in him, because we trust in his holy name. Let you steadfast love, O LORD, be upon us, even as we hope in you." (Ps. 33:20-22)
"Blessed be the Lord, who daily bears us up; God is our salvation... Awesome is God from his sanctuary, the God of Israel - he is the one who gives power and strength to his people. Blessed be God!" (Ps. 68: 19, 35)
"Bless our God, O peoples; let the sound of his praise be heard, who has kept our soul among the living and has not let our feet slip. For you, O God, have tested us; you have tried us as silver is tried. You brought us into the net; you laid a crushing burden on our backs; you let men ride over our heads; we went through fire and water; yet you have brought us out to a place of abundance." (Ps. 66:8-12)

"How precious is your steadfast love, O God! The children of mankind take refuge in the shadow of your wings. They feast on the abundance of your house, and you give them drink from the river of your delights. For with you is the fountain of life; in your light do we see light. Oh, continue your steadfast love to those who know you, and your righteousness to the upright of heart!" (Ps. 36:7-10)

I have also been reminded that the Cross must be much more precious to me than what birthdate God chooses for my child. It is so easy to get caught up in these light and momentary troubles and forget that not only these minor sufferings and pains, but even major, life-altering trials must not draw our attention away from the fact that regardless of how much life goes the way we planned, regardless of whether we get an "easy" life or a "difficult" one, God has given us the ultimate good gift in Christ Jesus. How can we doubt His love for us and faithfulness to us when He has been pleased to crush His own son for our iniquities, that we might be counted righteous in Christ even as doubters who rail against God for His supposed injustice to us?! Praise be to God for His indescribable mercy!

So here I am, at 5:15 now, still awake and yes, still hopeful that this will be IT, but even as my eagerness grows as the contractions grow closer together, my hope must not be in this being IT, but in the Father who delights to give good gifts to His children in His perfect timing, and if today is not the day, may I still go into it with rejoicing that He has kept my feet from slipping and saved me from His wrath by the precious blood of His son!

When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well with my soul

Though Satan should buffet, though trials shall come
Let this bless’d assurance control
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate
And has shed his own blood for my soul

My sin, oh the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole
Was nailed to the cross and I bear it no more
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, oh my soul!

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll
The trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend
Even so, it is well with my soul
- Horatio G Spafford