Between Loss and Glory

We are a crowd of observers.  We celebrate and remember in odd ways sometimes.

I have hurriedly dressed and gotten ready for this moment.  Almost as if I have lovingly prepared to go to a wedding or party.  I made sure to dress appropriately, style my hair in a complementary fashion.  I checked my appearance as I made my way out the door, Husband and little loves already out awaiting me.  I have seen to their attire as well.  Making sure all was in order...

The drive is quiet and I am thinking about the absurdity of it all.  The world outside is too busy to notice.  Traffic is like any other Friday afternoon.  Could they really be unaware of what is happening, even now?

We arrive and make our way inside.  Quiet.  Quiet.  This is how we approach the sanctuary.  No triumph, no victory, no joy...

What is it we are trying to do?  Is this how we try to grasp the awesomeness that is soon to be Sunday morning and it's Glorious Revelation?  To make it bigger, more meaningful, grander than what it will already be?

My mind is conflicted.  I don't know how to reconcile it all.  I take out a notepad and begin writing notes.  Is that ok?  Can I do that here?  

Here at a crucifixion...  

"I can't be sad!  I can't be sad!  I know what Sunday brings!!"

~One of my first scribblings...

I'm struggling to truly relate to what is happening here but my perspective is not one that is there, on that hill, watching my Savior die, without hope, without any true understanding of what is transpiring.  I have the blessed perspective of after.  Of knowing.  Of patiently awaiting Sunday morning.

I have been reading the Gospels, bouncing back and forth, rereading, making notes, reading yet again...attempting to find some grain, some tidbit, some small, tiny, microscopic, over-looked morsel that will satisfy this questioning.  This all leads to more questions.  

At first, I'm caught up in the Gospel of Luke.  Here I found a very interesting sentence that I had not noticed before:  ...and then He said to them, "I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer."  The meal to commemorate the bloodshed of the lamb that saved Israel's first born from death, eagerly desired to be shared by the Lamb whose blood would be shed so that I, a deserving sinner, would be saved from death.  About to suffer indescribably, yet eager to share His last meal with those He will die to save.

As we, assembled there, take part in our deathwatch, the lights grows darker.  With each passing Reflection observed, another flickering flame is extinguished.  As we continue to immerse ourselves in the painful recollection of what was humiliating and dehumanizing, we cannot seem to turn our eyes away.  No, in fact, we stare intently and try to make sense of it.  

Behold the Man upon the cross

My sin upon His shoulder

Ashamed I hear my mocking voice

Call out among the scoffers

It was my sin that held Him there

Until it was accomplished

His dying breath has brought me life

I know that it is finished

The final flame-snuffed out.  The hush.  The death knell tolls.  We make our way to the wooden structure.  Quietly.  Quietly.  I reach my hand out to feel the ruggedness of it.  The surface coarse and rough.  

"Thank You, thank You, Jesus."

I turn quickly and walk away.  I must go, must get out.   

"Now what?" I think as I burst through the doorway to the streaming brightness of the sun outside.

I don't know.  But it leads me to more questions.  

What did the disciples know of death?  Up to that point, what did they think was going on?  Even though they had lived with, learned from, and followed Him, they were still in the dark.  At least that is what I have come up with.  They didn't understand fully, and would not until His return and the indwelling of the Holy Spirit.    They must have questioned every conversation.  Every word spoken from Him.  They had no hope.

And here is my trouble.  My Saturday, that day between Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday is not like that first one.  My Saturday is filled with hope.  I know what Sunday brings.  How do I try to relate to the depth to which the disciples must have plummeted?  I can recall the times in my life, those times before Christ, the ones that were despairing, but that doesn't really compare.  

I propose my questions to others.  Someone who may have insight to something I have missed.  One such person has called the Saturday between an "indescribable gift", stating: (the) "Most important growth in our lives happens on Saturday-between loss and glory."

I think about this.  I think he is on to something.  This "gift"?  Yes.  I'll take it.  How many times will I get to observe this wonder?  I have the opportunity every year I am alive and following Christ, to partake in the joy that is the Saturday between Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday.  While I do have the hope, knowing full well the outcome, I also have the presence of One who is there.  I can find the joy in the scourging, the degradation, the humiliation, the piercing, the wounding, the death that is the sacrifice of the Lamb.  The payment for my sin.  I find joy in it because I know that there will be nothing that will keep Him in the grave.  I take joy in the knowledge that they have done all they could and still, the grave could not hold Him.  Death could not keep Him.  My Savior has conquered the grave.

Saturday is the "wait for it, wait for it..." as my heart leaps in expectation.  As I find my excitement this eve before more intense than any other eve that precedes an amazing day.  The day where I can find no uncertainty because the battle is already won.    A day I find filled with anticipation and expectancy, knowing full well my God will come through.  A day to reflect on what the disciples may have thought or been burdened with.  A day to praise Him for what is coming, and to praise Him for the joy of redemption.  A day set aside for a time of important growth. 

A day when all things are made new.

A day pressed between the days of our greatest sorrow and our greatest joy.  

...But this I know with all my heart

His wounds have paid my ransom

Glory.

Where's My "Yes" Anyway?

I was never completely sure I was supposed to go.

Not when I was first approached by Jade at Family Camp but immediately responded with a "yes, of course I would love to go!" answer.

Not when I began a conversation with Victor weeks later saying "you know, Jade has been talking about taking a team to Uganda..." and being met with his response: "Yes, I know.  You're going."

Not while sitting quietly at our first meeting, listening to all the others tell of how they had received specific "yes'" or "no's" in regard to the trip.

Not even when we were told we would be spending time with young women who have been rescued from trafficking and prostitution-a ministry dear to my heart.

And even though I already had a passport and insurance that would cover immunizations thereby saving me in terms of the amount of funds that would need to be raised, I still wasn't convinced.

I wasn't sure I was supposed to go as I was writing my support letter and trying to piece the words together to form some coherent request for prayer and funds.

The Sunday morning, two days before our entire amount of ticket money was due, as I sat, $750.00 short of my ticket cost, pleading desperately to the Lord for Him to reveal Himself to me, I felt no peace or confirmation.  I did, however, hear "Do not tell them you won't be going.  Trust Me, it's not Tuesday yet."

Five hours later, when a check for the very amount needed was given to me by a very unexpected source with the words:  Just consider this God saying '"Yes, you're going"...I was amazed and humbled.  But not convinced.

I continued to wonder...

...even after the ticket was paid for
...when I found myself funded literally to the dollar amount needed
...when everyone else was talking excitedly
...when I was receiving blessing upon blessing by way of written Scripture and encouragement
...knowing there were so many faithful praying people here supporting us
...when I was on the bus to the airport
...as we loaded onto the plane
...holding the babies at the orphanage and praying over them
...when the girls from Kwagala Project welcomed us with great fanfare
...as we shared nightly as a team
...worshiping with Ugandan believers at Watoto Church
...meeting Uthman and being able to hug him (although that was my personal highlight!!)
...as I got to know the culture and become better acquainted with our Ugandan driver, Patrick
...after having returned home safely

There was even a moment a day or two after we arrived where I asked Jade, "What am I supposed to say when I get home?!  All of the these people will want to hear some wonderful story, and I don't have one!!"

Let me make it clear:  I wasn't doubting.  Somehow I "knew" even though I did not feel or hear a specific yes in the way I expected to receive it.

I simply did not recognize His faithfulness and provision as being the confirmation.

I see now how that confirmation came in the form of many other moments-faith steps- that when I looked back upon them as a whole quite audibly spoke yes to me.

The "yes" is visible in the changes I have undergone as a result of preparing for and taking this trip.

It is known by the simple response of "yes" to being changed.

The "yes" is the impact God continues to make on my heart as a result of this trip.

The "yes" is for the future, next, as-yet-planned trip.

Jet-Lag and All That Comes With It

To clarify, there won't be anything spectacular here...not today.  Just must get some words out.  I am overflowing but don't even know with what!  So many emotions, so many thoughts, so much already learned....trying to be quiet and still and

listen....

He is speaking.  He is teaching.  He is loving.  Not just in character, but in action.  He is expressing His love for me this very minute.  His arms are comforting, protecting, nurturing, and sustaining me.  

I will make this bit of a confession, I wasn't at all sure what I was doing while there.  

But I have a much clearer understanding now of what some of His purpose was.  

Change comes.  Without our consent.  

Changed, I am.  And thankful for it.

Would I do this again?  

Unequivocally, yes.

Would I go back?

I will.

The Color of Love

Sweet goodness.

Pondering His love today.

How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, 

that we should be called children of God!  

And that is what we are!

1 John 3:1a

Fear not, for I have redeemed you;

I have summoned you by name;

you are mine.

Isaiah 43:1b

Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed,

for His compassions never fail.

Lamentations 3:22

...for Your love is ever before me,

and I walk continually in Your truth.

Psalm 26:3

Red. The color of His love.

We Will Be His Love

Soon, very soon, I will be traveling to a far off place (Uganda, East Africa-to be exact) with these women.  We will be opening our hearts to what the Lord wants to show us.  Most likely, our hearts will be broken.

Broken to minister.  

God takes our broken hearts and heals them.  He showers us with mercy and grace.  He shows us what needs to be done.  He then sends us out to be His instrument of healing to others.  

Showering mercy and grace.  

Unknowable without first being broken.  

Incapable without experiencing His healing.  

The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,

because the Lord has anointed me

to preach the good news to the poor.

He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,

to proclaim freedom for the captives

and release from darkness for the prisoners,

to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor

and the day of vengeance of our God,

to comfort all who mourn,

and provide for those who grieve in Zion-

to bestow on them a crown of beauty

instead of ashes,

the oil of gladness

instead of mourning,

and a garment of praise

instead of a spirit of despair.

Isaiah 61:1-3a

We have received His love.  We will be His love.

~remember to mute player at bottom of this page~

A State of Breathlessness

In one of my many conversations with the Lord today, I begged.
I pleaded.
I cried out.
I implored.
I practically demanded.

The breath that my body demands, the breath that refuses to come.  The suffocating feeling.  The gasping.  The body-aching, the chest-clutching need for breath.  Required for life, an absolute must-have.

Just out of reach.  So close, yet so far.

To describe the panic, distress, hunger...the desperate hunger that comes with the inability to attain it is impossible.    It is simply indescribable.

So I cry out.  Beg the Lord to release me.

"I can be more effective in speaking for You, Lord, but I want release from this struggle."

And in the middle of my prayer, before relief comes, He speaks to me, and I hear Him.

It's because of my trust in Him during my struggle, the very knowledge and faith I have that He can release me that is my testimony.  It's because of the struggle I have a story to tell.

In my desperate clutching for breath, I am crying out to Him in every moment.  Relying on Him.  Trusting Him.    My need for Him is revealed in my inability to help myself.

He is gracious to meet that need.

...but I anticipate that the time has not yet come to be released from this particular weakness.

So, while I wait for Him to deliver me, and even if He does not, I will give thanks for being broken.

Thanksgiving always precedes the miracle.

The First...of What I'm Sure Will Be Many

When is something taught?

It is taught when it is learned.

When is something learned?

It is learned when it is lived.

When is something lived?

It is lived when it becomes a part of you.

In short, you won't learn if you don't change.

(courtesy of Prof. Williams-1/11/12)