Feels Like Home

A blog by Krysta MacGray

Faith

Loaves and Fishes

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I pulled into the Walgreens parking lot and into the lane for the drive through pharmacy. Hillsong’s Oceans played over the speakers. 

“Okay, that’s going to be five hundred dollars (—big pause—) Is that normal?” the woman behind the counter asks me.

“Sadly, it is. It’s an expensive prescription.” I say.

The prescription is for three months worth, but still. Five hundred dollars. I let the sum of the amount hit me hard. Five hundred dollars every three months for the rest of my life? I don’t want to be a person who takes daily medication. And the things is, I was starting to feel like maybe I wasn’t meant to either. 

I was diagnosed with Hashimoto Thyroiditis four years ago, but they tell me I’ve had it much longer. The ultrasounds of my thyroid show extensive damage.“It looks like Swiss cheese” the thyroid tech had told me. I had gone on thyroid medication the first time when I was twenty years old, and even though it was temporary and I was able to wean off, when I had another baby four years later and my hair wouldn’t stop falling out by the fistful, they put me back on. Then I weaned off again until I had yet another baby and then re-did this whole cycle once more and it was then—my fourth rodeo—that they told me this was a sign of a chronic problem. It wasn’t just an isolated case. Instead, we were talking a real live autoimmune disease. Lifelong medication. No cure. My body was confused and my immune system had begun attacking my thyroid and not a thing could be done about it.

Oh, I tried all the things that they say can be done about it. All the things people on the internet and in books say will help. I did every possible test you could do to determine the root cause of my disease. This, in an attempt to treat it, in hopes it would help. 

Autoimmunity is progressive, meaning it doesn’t stop. And usually, if you’ve been diagnosed with one autoimmune disease, chances are, you’ll be diagnosed with another and maybe another. People who are autoimmune tend to “collect” disease. There is no known cure for autoimmune diseases—any of them. Knowing this, I figured I’d better do everything I could to slow progression and not get another ailment.  

So I tried extreme diets and cleanses. I avoided caffeine and sugar and fruit and alcohol and grains, and legumes, and nuts and seeds and nightshades and a partridge in a pear tree. I survived basically on meat, veggies, avocado and coconut oil for months. 

Next, I did a heavy metal detox and got tested for food allergies. I got a colon cleanse and did a cleansing and detox of my liver. Maybe? It was either cleansing or detoxing or both. Something like that. Anyway, I also took all the supplements. Went in the sauna to sweat. Went to accupuncture to…well, I’m not sure. I fixed my leaky gut—if I had a leaky gut. And all this time, I got my blood checked faithfully. Blood checks were necessary for me to see how much progress I was making and with all this change, sure enough, my Hashimoto antibody numbers went down. This is doctor talk for “I got better.” I mean, my hair still fell out like crazy, which was always my main symptom, so I couldn’t really tell, but my blood work said I was better-ish.

I tell you everything I did and yet I’d be remiss to not emphasize this fact: I was completely gluten free for three years. Anyone who knows anything about Hashimotos knows that gluten will kill you dead. 

I kid, I kid, (barely).

So because of all this work, my antibodies went down, but they never got below a certain point. They just sort of hovered around a couple hundred year after year with little variation while I did everything I could think of to do. That is, until in the most ironic twist of my life ever, my numbers went lower than they ever had before after I reintroduced gluten to my diet. 

I knew it, I thought. I just knew the whole time I was avoiding it that it wasn’t about the gluten. 

It was about something else. 

Now I found myself in line at a Walgreens pharmacy, having just spend five hundred dollars on medication I didn’t want to take, for a disease I was becoming more and more convinced had spiritual roots.

When I was first diagnosed, I read about there being spiritual roots to autoimmunity, but it all seemed a little hard to comprehend. Like, they say for *some* people, autoimmunity has spiritual roots but it seemed too nuanced and personal to untangle. Could be this, could be that, could be none of that, could be all of that, WHO KNOWS, ISN’T THIS A FUN GAME?

So I stopped studying about spiritual roots because even without that element, Hashimoto is multi-fasited and so complex. Like, it has to do with hormones and stress and diet and gut health and heavy metals and viruses and parasites and constipation and your emotional state and exercise and just EVERYTHING. And it’s exhausting. And as I reached across to grab my bag of mediation from the nice pharmacist lady at Walgreens while Hillsong’s Oceans played in the background I thought “I don’t ever want to have to buy this stuff again.”

I had the thought because of something that happened earlier that week. Something I haven’t told you yet, which is this: Lately I had had the thought that God might heal me. But I also wasn’t sure. BECAUSE HOW CAN YOU VERFIY GOD SAID HE MIGHT HEAL YOU? What if I’m just crazy? This seems the most likely answer. And yet. I was beginning to think that maybe He really and truly was going to —ahem—perform a miracle.

For me.

Would He? Wouldn’t He? Hope and doubt danced together in my brain and as I drove away in the tears of it all, I prayed along to the song:

“Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders

Let me walk upon the waters

Wherever You would call me

Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander

And my faith will be made stronger

In the presence of my Savior”

See, what happened before this was, I was going about my life normally when I came across this organization, or maybe it was a church? In any case, I came across a group of people who said they were Christ followers and said that through knowing, loving and living your life for Christ, along with addressing your strongholds—which I guess means “things that hold us back from living a Christ like life”and then taking accountability for our sins and renouncing them, or I guess “making a conscious decision to turn from them and not doing them habitually anymore because you finally realize the little things matter and you want to trust God when he says this is how you should live,” and then addressing any bitterness you might be harboring for people along with unforgiveness and pride, or “exaulting or glorifying yourself” and all the other stuff we nurse that brings death instead of life to our bodies by not allowing ourselves to be transformed by the renewing of our minds, all that stuff keeps us from healing. And in telling you through the longest run-on sentence of my life, that is what they say. They also say when we address these things and surrender our lives over to Christ and are free from lies that hold us back and keep us slaves to sin, and then know WHO WE ARE in Christ and live from that place, it allows our bodies to heal because we are finally functioning the way were were created to so the body is no longer confused or harboring unfavorable things in it.

You know. Just your normal everyday message to stumble upon.

The thing is, this idea makes complete sense to me if the kind of healing we seek has spiritual roots. And I do believe a lot of sicknesses we suffer have spiritual roots. But not all. What about when people who already walk with God intimately like this get sick? What about mental and physical handicaps, which get healed a lot less frequently? What about people who are not supposed to be healed? Who are being called home to heaven? What about falling into thinking that there is some formula, and that if we just found it, and renounced all our sins, and figured out every last person we hold grudges or bitterness against and then figured out, down to the nitty gritty, where we are in error and turned from that and then made amends and humbled ourselves and denied ourselves and figured out who we were in Christ and just DID ALL THE THINGS PERFECTLY AND COMPLETELY then we could get the miracle. What about falling into that thinking? Thinking there are works we can do to what? Earn healing?

This does not sound like my God. And I’m sure this is not how it’s presented. But it’s where I knew I’d go. I’m sure God uses healing programs like these to bring people into truth and healing and if I had been further led to go, maybe I would have, but as it stood, I AT FIRST felt led to go, and then immediately all these thoughts came up. I discerned a big pause. (and no, it wasn’t a “spirit of doubt” or something like that. This was God’s still small voice saying, “hey wait a minute. Let’s unpack this for you. I may have something else for you.”) And so I started to consider. If I knew Jesus as Christ and Savior, and if He has made himself real to me and I am learning to walk with him, free from the enemy’s lies now, in real time, and if I’m learning by His grace to deny myself and renew my mind, do I really need to rely on a program, as good as it might be, to help me do everything He’s doing with me anyway? Or is the program for people who may not know Jesus as Christ or how to walk with Him out of their lives of bondage and all the things that keeps them there? 

It’s probably that last one, huh?

That’s what I decided. I decided that my savior was bigger than any program or formula or solution and the reason I felt conflicted over “am I going to be healed or not healed? And am I going to need to take medication for the rest of my life or will He help deliver me? Should I go to the program or should I stand firm in the faith I already have?” was because THAT IS WHAT I WAS CONFLICTED OVER. My focus was on the healing and how it might happen and if I was doing the right thing in order to make it happen, and would he or wouldn’t He. That’s what I was focused on. So as I drove away, both thankful and resentful of my medication, unsure if I’d need to pick it up again, I knew that it was the healer I needed. Because the healing and the healer are the same.

“Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders

Let me walk upon the waters

Wherever You would call me

Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander

And my faith will be made stronger

In the presence of my Savior”

Increase my faith. Increase my trust. Take me deeper into you. That is where the healing is because that is where You are. That was my prayer that day.

I decided I did not want Him for what he could do for me, but for what He had already done for me. Him making himself real to me that one day not too long ago—his opening of my eyes and making me a new creation in Him, that had been my prayer my whole life. I didn’t know that’s what I was praying that whole time. But it’s what I was praying. So now that I had it, I was certain it was the only thing that really mattered becuase it changed me. He had answered that prayer. And I had done nothing to earn it. So I decided, if He never chose to do anything else for me, it would be enough. His bringing me from death to life in this life would be enough. But that isn’t the end of the story.

Because I know him, I know he also wants us to ask, seek, and knock. He deeply cares about our hurts and ailments and unrest. He wants us to come to him with that. He wants us to come to Him for everything. That’s the whole point of having a relationship with Him, but inside of our wants, our needs, our yearnings, He wants us to trust Him whatever the answer. To trust that He is still good. That His grace is sufficient because this is what He says. And the only way this is genuinely possible is if he has made Himself real to you first. If you have been saved and brought to life in Him. And I had. So I decided to ask, seek, and knock, but first, to be still and know that.

Jeremy has a tattoo on his thigh that says “saved by grace” and as I was riding my mountain bike the day after Walgreens, I was struck by that. I thought “I bet we are healed by grace too. Not because of what we do or don’t do, even though what we do is evidence of us being followers of Christ– The being a follower of Christ thing, that’s the key, and you know what? I bet the Followers of Christ who are healed, are healed by Grace and grace alone. Even if the healing comes by way of the body coming into alignment with the mind of peace and how it was supposed to function all along. That was God’s design that it would function that way, wasn’t it? That was his grace.

We don’t receive healing because we obey or do all the right things. We obey because we have received healing already through Christ. The healing comes first from knowing Him and following Him. If the body follows, it follows. That’s why it doesn’t work the other way. We can’t pursue healing without meeting the Healer.

“God?” I prayed “I can’t renounce my sins perfectly because I can’t remember them all. I can’t follow you perfectly even though I try. I can’t make sure the quality of my prayers are always top notch or that I’ll say the right words or ask the right thing. But I was saved by grace and now I am asking you to heal me by your grace.”

I told Him I believed I had a spiritual disease, and that none of my works or obedience or anything I can ever do in my own power would ever be able to reverse it fully. I told him that if I tried I’d get wrapped up in legalism and it would take my mind off abiding which was my main call.

I finished “If it be your will, I accept healing by your grace and your grace alone. I ask you to redeem my body through your grace. My hope is in Christ alone. But, regardless of the outcome or whether you heal me or not, I trust you. I trust you with my everything.”

. . .

Jesus said “you’ve come looking for me not because you saw God in my actions but because I fed you, filled your stomachs—and for free.“

There’s this famous story in the Bible about the loaves and fishes, you may have heard of it? In it, Jesus was preaching to a huge group of people for hours already when it came time to eat. However, they were in the middle of nowhere and the only food found was five loaves of bread and two fishes. Because there were well over five thousand people present, it meant they could not even come close to feeding everyone. Still, Jesus had the crowd sit, and then he started passing out what little food they had, and as he did, it multiplied. By the end, after the whole crowd of over five thousand had eaten, the disciples picked up twelve whole baskets of leftover food. It was a wonderful miracle that the whole crowd had witnessed. The crowd was so happy to be fed, they were ready to declare Jesus king.

But the miracle isn’t the part of the story that resonates with me. 

What resonates most with me happens after. Because what happens the next day, after the miracle is performed, is the people who witnessed the miracle go looking for Jesus, and when they find him, Jesus says “you’ve come looking for me not because you saw God in my actions, but because I’ve fed you, filled your stomachs—and for free.”

Jesus then said “don’t waste your energy striving for perishable food like that. Work for the food that sticks with you, food that nourishes your lasting life, food the Son of Man provides. He and what He does are guaranteed by God the Father to last.”  

So I guess it’s not about the miracle, or in this case, the literal bread which filled their stomachs. The bread is just the cherry on top. The bread is not the focus or the prize. God is. Jesus is. We must want Him because He saved us—because we see God at work—not for what he can give us now. What we really should want is the One who makes our stomachs filled, but not because we want our stomachs filled. 

For me this means, I should want Him more than the miracle. 

Because it’s Him that saves. It’s through Him we are provided all we need.

I think I always thought the bread was the miracle (along with everything else I think I need to keep my belly full and happy). But the best part of this whole story is when the people are all looking around like “huh?” after Jesus essentially says “you’ve only come looking for me for what you can get” Jesus then says “I AM the Bread. He who comes to me will never go hungry. He who believes in me will never be thirsty.” When Jesus says “I am the Bread” he is saying “I am what you seek.”

He is saying, I AM the miracle. The living miracle.

Then He says “the one who makes a meal of me lives because of me. Whoever eats this Bread will live always.”

I’ve read the story about Jesus saying He is the bread of life before, but never, not even once did I connect it to the loaves and fishes story. I never knew the reason Jesus was talking about bread was because he literally just performed a miracle using bread and now that everybody came to him wanting more bread he had to be like, stop looking for the bread. I AM THE BREAD!

I mean, really.

The miracle isn’t the point.

Being healed isn’t the point.

Jesus is the point.

So that’s what I learned.

I’ll still asking. I’m still knocking because He wants me to, but I will not mistake the miracle for the miracle worker.

Because what I seek is Him. Above and below everything else, I seek Him.

I know this loaves and fishes story doesn’t answer the “Hashimoto Walgreens story” directly. Will He? Won’t He heal? But the thing is, I don’t think it is supposed to. What we do and don’t do, what miracles come, and which ones don’t, I think what I’m learning is through it all, what matters is that we realize He is the point and when He is the point, we are to come to Him. “We’re in pain” we cry. Jesus says ”Come to me.” It’s not an answer, and yet, somehow, it’s the complete answer. It’s the only answer. And when you know Him, really know Him, this answer is more than enough.

When I pray “Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders, let me walk upon the waters wherever you would call me” He says “come to me.”

So I’m coming to you, God— whatever your answers are, that is what they are—answers. But You are the point, and I’m coming to You, for You.

You are the bread.

May I never forget.

Holy Grief and Thanksgiving

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for Dave

I’m in my pantry, door closed, sitting in the dark, the glow of the computer screen illuminating the mason jar full of strawberry smoothie next to me. I like to close the blinds when I write. I like to create a cocoon of dim light because it helps me focus on what I want to say. Snowy days are the best writing days. But the sun is out today and I am much too sorrowful for the sun. The blinds won’t even do. So here I am in my windowless pantry because what I have to write feels much too sacred to have out in the light of day yet.

Grief is a terrible thing. What I didn’t know until today though, is that grief is also a holy thing. 

When deep sorrow comes knocking it always seems a little unfair, doesn’t it? Even though we know there is sorrow in this life. Even though we have always understood we will have to say goodbye, it still seems wildly unfair when it comes time to actually bear it ourselves.

Our family is being put through the ringer of grief right now. It’s potent—in the air. It’s uncomfortable at best, twistingly painful at worst. Each day is tinged with pain. And it feels like it will go on and on forever and never stop. Will we ever not be sad again? That becomes the question. 

I have a sign up in my house in anticipation for Thanksgiving. It reads “In All Things Give Thanks.” 

The other morning, after a night of fervent praying and overwhelm at everything going on and not knowing what I could or should do, I woke up and remembered the verse I memorized five years prior: “be joyful always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances, for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus” (1 Thesselonians 5:16-18). I decided when I don’t know what to do, this is what I will do.  

Thanks is a hard thing to give when we are in such deep grief. I’m supposed to give THANKS? Of all things, THANKS? It’s like this song that comes on the Christian radio station sometimes. 

So I’m thankful for the scars

‘Cause without them I wouldn’t know Your heart

And I know they’ll always tell of who You are

So forever I am thankful for the scars

Jeremy hates it. He’s always shouting “you are not thankful for your scars! You don’t say ‘thank you God for allowing this horrible thing to happen because now I know God better. That’s not the point.’” 

It’s true. The thanks is meant for God for being who He says He is in the midst of what will leave a scar. Our savior. Always near. Who will never leave us. Who will always, always work even the most bleak circumstances, for our good. Who makes beauty from ashes. Who binds up the brokenhearted. Our thanks is to Him *for* Him. That even in this, He is here at work binding up hearts. Comforting. Offering lavish displays of mercy. We shouldn’t give thanks to our pain just because there are silver linings. Rather, our thanks demonstrates that we acknowledge that even though we may not feel grateful for much in the midst of pain, we will choose to be thankful for who He is and trust Him to do what He says He will do—even in this. We will trust we are not alone. That all will be well. That we are held. The thanks is a proclamation of faith. And it’s for our own good or He wouldn’t tell us this is what He wants us to do “always”

While I’m talking about songs, you know that old one “It Is Well With My Soul?” 

When peace like a river attendeth my way

when sorrows like sea billows roll;

whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say

it is well, it is well

with my soul

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,

Let this blest assurance control,

That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,

And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

It was written by Horatio Spafford after his four daughters died when their ship sunk in 1873. After, as he himself sailed near where his daughters had died he penned the lyrics. In immense grief he said “thou has taught me to say, it is well with my soul.”

Somehow his soul could find respite, even in the face of this. That’s what great faith produces. There’s something about grief that pushes us deeper and deeper toward the heart of God. Not that we want the pain in order to get there, or that pain is necessary to the process—it’s not, but we find that in grief He fulfills His promise that he will make beauty from ashes. One of the ways he accomplishes this is when you find you grief pushing you further and further to Him. It’s a natural process. Our dependence grows as our independence and what we have control over fades away and what feels like a curse paves a way to be held and safe. He says “if you are in pain I will be near you and I will lead you closer and closer into faith and belief and comfort. He says “it’s okay, you can trust me. Whatever it is, you can trust me.”

Notice trust doesn’t promise a certain desired outcome but instead gives you a way through, come what may…come what may. 

It seems I am always asking “how does God exist in this?” My question is never does God actually exist?  I am never trying to suss out whether or not He is there. I am trying to determine how he is there—when he doesn’t provide the miracle for the people we love. How is He existing in the midst of that? And what will I do with myself then?

When CS Lewis’ wife was dying he wrote, “Not that I am (I think) in much danger of ceasing to believe in God. The real danger is of coming to believe such dreadful things about Him. The conclusion I dread is not “So there’s no God after all,” but “So this is what God’s really like. Deceive yourself no longer.”

He goes on, “Feelings, and feelings, and feelings. Let me try thinking instead. From the rational point of view, what new factor has her death introduced into the problem of the universe? What grounds has it given me for doubting all that I believe? I knew already that these things, and worse, happened daily. I would have said that I had taken them into account. I had been warned—I had warned myself—not to reckon on worldly happiness. We were even promised sufferings. They were part of the program. We were even told, ‘Blessed are they that mourn,’ and I accepted it. I’ve got nothing that I hadn’t bargained for. Of course it is different when the thing happens to oneself, not to others, and in reality, not in imagination.”

I read verses like “And I will do what ever you ask in my name” and “do not fear” and I wonder if some of us interpret this as a direct promise from God that all will be well. I’ve been a part of circles where the thinking is “God will make everything okay if we just believe enough.”

But we are never promised a certain outcome. We are promised that come what may, He is faithful, will wipe every tear, fight for us, and take care of us. He is not telling us do not fear because nothing bad will happen. He is saying don’t let your heart be troubled, come what may—this is how I want you to be. This is how you can live and find joy. This is how you move forward. Come ever back to me. I am where your help comes from. Before I came, death got the ultimate ending, but then I came and now death has lost it’s sting. 

Come what may. Come what may.

This is faith. This is knowing God. 

I still don’t know Him as well as I’d like. This is why I often get scared and then I have to remember how He is and what I am promised. I have to remember I am His. I have to remember that when people I love leave this world earlier than should be allowed, I am only a mere blink behind. Even if I live to a ripe old age, I am only 50-60 years behind. We are all going to the same place.  And if heaven is here and now and all around then it just like that Henry Scott-Holland quote: 

“Death is nothing at all. 

It does not count. 

I have only slipped away into the next room. 

Nothing has happened. 

Everything remains exactly as it was. 

I am I, and you are you, 

and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. 

Whatever we were to each other, that we are still… 

Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? 

I am but waiting for you, for an interval, 

somewhere very near, 

just round the corner. 

All is well. 

Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. 

One brief moment and all will be as it was before. 

How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!”

 I may not know God as well as I’d like, but I am letting my pain push me further into the heart of who He is so I can be changed. So I can know how to be. So I can live and love and hope and not be in fear. So I can one day say “it is well with my soul” and really mean it.

For now, I practice returning back to Him. Again and again. As many times as it takes. Praying continually. Remembering where my help comes from. And giving thanks…not for the scar, but for who He is amid the scars and how He loves.

How he loves us. 

At the end of time it will be you and God. That’s it. That’s all that will matter. 

(The next few paragraphs I’ll be quoting  or summarizing from: http://kenpulsmusic.com/pilgrimsprogress131.html) 

In John Bunyans classic Pillgram’s Progress, The pilgrims realize that death is unavoidable. As they enter the river, which symbolizes the crossing over from life to death to life again, they are encouraged and accompanied by the Shining Ones. The allegory shows that the Shining Ones represent God’s work of grace in heart. And God send them to guide pilgrims in the final steps of the journey. The Shining Ones tell the pilgrims that the river will be shallow or deep depending on their faith. As the pilgrims enter the water, we see that they all experience death differently. Christian, the main character, is in great turmoil. His pride has long been his greatest obstacle, and even in death, his thoughts are of himself. He remembers his sins and ponders his failings. He begins to sink and cry out in distress. He quotes David in the bible: Deep calls unto deep at the noise of Your waterfalls; All Your waves and billows have gone over me.Save me, O God!

Death is a great trial. Doubts that he believed were long past, flood his soul again. Fear engulfs him. He fears he will never make it to heaven. The enemy’s he faced in life now return and seek to pull him under. This is Christians experience. 

But Hopeful, who is with him, is full of hope. He finds the river much shallower and unlike Christian, walks across with firm footing. He keeps his head above the waves and sees heaven on the other side when Christian is unable. It is God’s kindness that Christian and Hopeful walk together. Hopeful’s thoughts are of Christ. Even in death, Hopeful points his brother to the Savior and the promise of eternal life. Hopeful tells Christian that the trial he is facing in death is an indication of God’s grace at work. Christian is concerned for his soul, distressed by his doubts, and troubled by his sin. 

Every true pilgrim who sets out for Heaven will complete the journey. God will do everything necessary to bring us home to glory. 

“Being confident of this very thing, that He who begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ” Philippians 1:6.

But our awareness of His grace as we near the end of life and experience death will be strengthened or weakened by our faith, as we “believe in the King of the place.” We must exercise our faith now. We must learn to walk by faith, not by sight, and be grateful for every circumstance and providence that keeps us pointed to Christ and oriented toward eternity. This requires a radical shift in our thinking…What this world most prizes—status, privilege, wealth, youth and vigor—are things that bind us to this life. Sadly, they can prevent us from looking to Christ and yearning for the life to come. But what the world most fears—hardship, illness, poverty, old age and frailty—are things that cause us to grow weary of this life. Thankfully, they can serve us, if they teach us to value Christ and yearn more for the life to come.

Those most at home in this world will have the hardest time leaving it. It is difficult to face death when you are clinging tenaciously to the world. Those least encumbered by the world will have an easier time leaving it. When we realize that Christ and His promises—which for now are unseen (seen only with the eyes of faith)—are more real and more valuable than anything the world can offer, then we can greet death not as an enemy but as an entrance to glory.”

Until recently I have been at home in this world. I would have a hard time leaving it. Like Kara Tippets once said while in hospice “I feel like I’m a little girl at a party  whose dad’s asking her to leave early. And I’m throwing a fit. I’m not afraid of dying. I just don’t want to go.”

I don’t want to go. I don’t want anyone to go. And of course, my own fear drifts back to me. Do I believe enough? Am I earnestly trying to know God enough so that I can walk the river like Hopeful? I want to be like Hopeful. I fear I am much more like Christian, but I want to be like Hopeful. I will spend the rest of my time here tying to be Hopeful. Trying to trust. Trying to fear not. And I think this is why God designed grief to naturally point us back to Himself. Because he is the one who saves. He is the one who can save us from ourselves and our fear–if we let Him. That’s what free will is. We have to let Him. You have to say you want Him to.

Fear not, for I have redeemed you; 

I have called you by name, you are mine.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;

and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you ;

when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,

and the flame shall not consume you

—Isaish 43:1-2

I vividly remember the day Jeremy told me about the Pilgrims Progress river story. I hadn’t read it but I was scared about dying. He said “you know, I don’t think there is any point at which the lights go out. There is no darkness. It’s a crossing over. In Pilgrims Progress Christian has to walk across a river to get to heavens side and he panics as the water rises up over his head but he keeps walking and right at the deepest part his head starts to reemerge and he can breathe again. He has not lost consciousness—he’s just gone from one consciousness to another. He is in heaven. He has crossed over, without any lapse in time. He was at one moment here and the next there. Nothing to it.”

My family is being put through the ringer right now. And despite my most sincere efforts, I cannot do anything about it. I have tried and there is absolutely nothing I can do but sit in my tears and uncertainty while trying to remember God’s promises that He will be near. And so I will continue with my instructions: be joyful always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances, for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus.

I will give thanks to God for who He is in this. And I will pray continually. 

The River Prayer, from Pilgrims Progress:

Lord, we pray for those now crossing

Through the River, death’s cold tide.

Help them through its flowing current,

Bring them safe on Canaan’s side.

We are all going to the same place. We are all coming. We’ll be there in but a blink.

I love you.

Two Songs for Christmas

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I think Just Breathe was intended to be a song about somebody you love dying. But I sing Pearl Jam’s Just Breathe, to God. Because it’s all my fears, prayers, and all I could ever ask Him, in one song.

Yes I understand that every life must end, uh huh

As I sit alone I know someday we must go, uh-huh

Oh, I’m a lucky man to count on both hands the ones I love. Some folks just have one, yeah others they got none. Uh-huh.

Stay with me. Let’s just breathe.

Practiced are my sins, never gonna let me win, uh huh.

Under everything, just another human being, uh-huh.

Yeah I don’t want to hurt, there’s so much in this world to make me bleed.

Stay with me. You’re all see. 

Did I say that I need you? 

Did I say that I want you? 

For if I didn’t I’m a fool you see, no one knows this more than me, as I come clean.

I wonder every day As I look upon your face, uh-huh. Everything you gave and nothing you wouldn’t take, uh-huh. 

Nothing you would take. Everything you gave…

Did I say that I need you? 

Did I say that I want you?

For if I didn’t I’m a fool you see, no one knows this more than me, as I come clean.

Nothing you would take everything you gave. 

Hold me till I die.

Meet you on the other side…

Christmas is the season of perpetual hope. A thrill of hope, as O Holy Night reminds me, as the weary world rejoices.

I am the weary world. My hope is that Jesus came so that He might accompany me in my weariness, lighten the load with his presence should I have Him, and take me to Him and Love along with all the people I cherish and hold dear when someday it’s my time to go. 

A thrill of hope.

Oh Holy night, the stars are brightly shining. It is the night of our dear saviors birth. Long lay the world in sin and error pining, till he appeared and the soul felt it’s worth. 

My soul doesn’t always feel it’s worth. I question things a lot. I’d like to think God is okay with this because this is how he made me, but sometimes I wonder, does he think it’s okay? Does my questioning bring me nearer to Him or further away? At what point does it matter?  

 For yonder breaks a new a glorious mourn.

Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angle voices. Oh night divine.

Nat King Cole beseeches me to hear. To fall on my knees and to declare the night divine. To feel the sheer thrill of it. That we might not have to be alone with our suffering without end.

The night of our dear Saviors birth.  

I had a big ole Christmas party last Friday night. Many people came. We ate, drank and were merry. I celebrated many friends and health and happiness. I went to sleep in a warm bed, woke up to warm food, and basked in the warmth of my family. 

Yeah I’m a lucky man to count on both hands the one’s I love.

Then the restlessness started to creep back.  My constant companion as of late. Now what? it says. The party is done. What will you plan next? And it knows I must plan something next, or else the restlessness. The feeling of doing nothing, contributing nothing, being nothing and even more so, having no work to do that’s of any value—being a waste of space. Even though I am loved. Even though I love. Even though I am happy, I feel like I am not living up to my potential. That I am not doing the work I am meant to do. Not living my purpose. Not even knowing what it is. That I’m wasting my days, not taking time seriously, and what if when the “one day I must go” comes and I’m still living this way and haven’t figured it out? The regret. The sadness. And so I regularly lament in the midst of my lovely, wonderful life. 

It’s a strange thing. A waste of a lovely, wonderful life in a way. How ironic. Why not just enjoy my life?

Because something inside me prompts me to more. Prompts is a bad word. Invites. Something invites me to more. The “more” isn’t inherently bad, it simply keeps whispering that there is more than just enjoying your life. That maybe even just enjoying your life leaves you the most hollowed out and alone because there is good and useful work for me to do that merely enjoying doesn’t give. That maybe even just enjoying betrays. But “more” won’t say what that work is–not specifically. So I spend my days searching for it. 

Maybe it’s THIS. Maybe it’s THAT. Perhaps I’d be useful at this. Maybe that’s why I have these gifts, because I’m supposed to be using them this way. If I go and do this thing, surely I’ll find my purpose which will give me lasting fulfillment and I won’t have to pine after it everyday. I won’t have to wonder who I am or what I’m good at anymore because I’ll finally know and then I’ll just keep doing that. I won’t have to long for it anymore because it’ll be there.

I’ll do a thing or take on a project. I’ll like it. It maybe even brings value to people other than myself. I’ll feel good. I’ll feel useful and worthy of my life. I want to do it again so I search for the next project or thing to work on. But in between, the restlessness and sadness and doubt.

I know I’m looking for something that doesn’t bring lasting fullness. The thing I should be looking for, I know, is Jesus. I should be looking for God. Confusing since I thought I’d found Him. 

Do you ever really find God? When you do, do you ever really get to hold onto him or do you just have to keeping trying to find him hundreds of different ways, hundreds of different days? Him in plain sight, but I’m blind again.

Practiced are my sins, never gonna let me win, uh huh.

Did I say that I need you? Did I say that I want you? For if I didn’t I’m a fool you see, no one knows this more than me.

Jesus came to earth to be born as a baby.

A thrill of hope.

I am loved and doubtful and full of questions that never provide answers. I am taken care of and I take care. I am not worthy or living up to my potential. Perhaps I never will. I can’t seem to grasp how to do it—how to hold the stars. I’m too self involved and overly indulgent at times. I don’t give until it hurts. I fail over and over. 

And yet He came. One night in December, He came for me. He came for all my not enough-ness, and then also for the times when I believe I am EVERYTHING AWESOME. He came just the same. And I can question if it really happened, and ponder my doubt mixed with hope that it did, and pray to make my faith stronger so that belief could just be easy and tidy for me to accept. 

Or I can just decide to accept, in an audacious act of faith. 

Acts of faith like that are hard to maintain for me.

It’s not in my nature, I don’t think. I’ll surely forget again. Forget how to have faith like that all the time. 

But for this season of advent, and in anticipation of celebrating Christ’s birthday, the gift I will give is my audacious faith and celebration and thanks and praise that He came. I will show him a weary world rejoices—even if it’s a conscious choice rather than a genuine reaction because I’m so jaded and poor and not understanding.

This Christmas, I’m leaving space. I’m not filling it with another project to make me feel better, useful or relieved. I choose Christmas. I choose to behold the night divine. I choose God with me. Even if I don’t feel it all the time. Even if I doubt it will make a difference. I will let God be enough. Alas, He is the only thing that ever has been.

Hold me till I die. 

Meet you on the other side…