out of the mouths of babes

A Cradled Surrender

April 5, 2008

“I declare to you, brothers, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. … When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: ‘Death has been swallowed up in victory.’ ‘Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?’” (1 Corinthians 15:50, 54-55).
Momma, does it hurt to die?

Yes, baby, I think it probably does.

Why?

Because anytime something in us dies, we hurt.

Why do we have to die?

Because our flesh is the one thing that is keeping us from living with God, face to face.

But I don’t want to die, mommy. I don’t want to hurt.

I know baby. I know. But you will grow in your understanding, and one day your tears won’t taste so sad…

I cradled her in my arms as tears enveloped her tender cheeks. I understand her question. It is one that caught my attention when I was her age. It has kept me wondering ever since.

We are having a lot of these discussions lately. Heart talks. Talks about the indwelling presence of God within our flesh. It has taken on greater meaning for my five-year-old daughter because two weeks ago, she asked Jesus into her heart. On Good Friday. A perfect day for such a sacred embrace.

We knelt beside my bed where she offered her Creator the greatest summons of her heart. An invitation for him to come and to take up residency within her fragile frame. A decision that will profoundly affect the rest of her days.

Some would say that she is too young…too limited in her understanding to make such an important decision. I would say that her tender youth is the perfect beginning for her understanding of all things sacred. Her mind and her heart are fertile soil for her Father’s tilling, and the seeds that are sown in this season, will grow into full bloom in a season yet to come.

I cannot deny my daughter the gift of her salvation…no matter what others might reason. My God is an unreasonable God. An unfathomable, mysterious, yet attainable Savior, made available to all…especially to those whose faith is simple and is not yet overly tainted by carnal perspective.

So when these questions come up…questions about life and death and the surrender that exists between the two, I tell my daughter what I know to be true. Truths like…

This life is but a breath. God has determined her days. (Psalm 39:4-5).

Every step in her journey of faith will be filled with moments of surrender. Times when she will experience the pain of the “letting go” of her flesh so that she can fully live as her Father intended for her to live. (Romans 8:12-18).

Following Christ means embracing the cross, and the cross always requires a difficult obedience. (Matthew 16:24-26).

The sting of death has been swallowed up through the salve of Calvary’s victory. (1 Corinthians 15:50-54).

The One who awaits her on the other side of her surrender will be worth her every tear. (Philippians 3:7-11).

When her time on this earth is over, she will not walk her final steps alone. Her Father will come and usher her feet into her “next.” A “next” prepared for her by the nail-scarred hands of her Groom. (John 14:1-4).

Her tears are meant for this side of eternity, and her Father holds the Kleenex for her final cry of surrender. (Revelation 7:17; 20:4).

Truths like that. Not made up answers to soothe a daughter’s fears, but real truth as contained within God’s Word. And God’s Word is always true and will be the guiding light to grow her in her understanding of the Savior who now abides within her heart.

The truth is…death hurts for all of us. Until we surrender our last bit of flesh to its embrace, we never really live as our Father intends for us to live. And our God means for us to live. Abundantly. Fearlessly. Faithfully, and thoroughly. Within the boundaries of his abiding grace.

When I was my daughter’s age, I, too, began my walk of grace. Over the years, I have grown in my understanding of its mystery. I have needed its depth. Long and wide and high and deep. Indeed, God’s arms of grace have extended beyond the reach of Calvary to embrace me in seasons when my tears of surrender nearly drowned out my resolve for the process.

His arms still reach, and when I come to my moments of a deeper submission—moments of a difficult dying—like my daughter, I bring my tears to my Daddy and ask him this question.

Why do I have to die? Why does it hurt so much to die?

Like I did with my daughter, my Father cradles me in his love and whispers his truth into my painful why’s.

I know child. I know you have questions, and I know you hurt. But you will grow in your understanding of all things sacred, and one day soon, your tears won’t taste so sad.

I don’t want to be sad about my surrenders. I don’t want my daughter to cry about the envisioned pain she is soon to encounter. But I am sad and she does cry, and through our tears our Father’s cradling words are salve enough to soothe our dying aches. For he is well familiar with the dying process. It is what he came to do. To model for us a death’s embrace and to rise victoriously over its hellish sting. He did, and so we can. Thus, I pray…

Father, you have conquered the sting of death, and while I don’t wish for its embrace, I willingly accept its grip because I know that it is bringing me one step closer to complete intimacy with you…heart to heart…face to face. For all of the “deaths” that are required of me in the flesh, they are nothing compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing You. They are life. They are gain. Keep me to my surrendered cross, and keep me to your truth so that I am equipped to lead others to do the same. Especially one little girl who needs to grow in her understanding of all things sacred, and one big girl who needs to follow her lead. Amen.

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Once Upon a Time…

March 24, 2008

Today I offer you one of my favorite penned remembrances from 2004.

Once upon a time…there was Jesus.

“The Word became flesh and lived for a while among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.” (John 1:14).

Last evening, my husband and I went to view The Passion. The journey was wrought with emotions…raw and unsuspecting…vivid and poignant…horrific and compelling…lonely and hopeful…varied emotions all wrapped up within the span of two hours. Needless to say, I left the theatre in tangles…wanting desperately for a time of unraveling…a time of release to compartmentalize all that was swirling within.

After a brief time of dining, we made our journey home, only to find that our babysitter had been locked in the pantry for over an hour. Jadon and Amelia were fine…just a little curious as to how to release their friend from her captivity. After she was amply paid, I made my way to the couch and collapsed. With emotions at their peak, I began to fret over what “might have happened” to my little ones in the span of an unsupervised hour. My distress was apparent to my little boy, and in his need to make things OK, he told me he would read me a book. He toddled to his room and returned with his Early Reader’s Bible…just one of the dozens of books lining his bedroom bookcase. He settled in beside me and began thumbing through the pages until he came upon the picture he wanted. In his best, most convincing little boy voice he said,

“Once upon a time there was…Jesus. Do you feel better, Mommy?”

The tears flowed. I hugged my son and assured him that indeed, I did feel better. There’s just something about Jesus…about hearing that name…about seeing that face…about believing the faith of a three-year-old boy who’s already got a pretty good handle on who Jesus really is—the One who makes us feel better in times of despair. He could have picked out The Very Hungry Caterpillar or Goodnight Moon. He could have reached for his Little Critter books or his books about sea animals. He could have picked the familiar. But instead, his search took him to the extraordinary. A book with the face of a Friend.

Tell me…how does a three-year-old know the difference between heaven and earth? Where did that encounter begin? When does faith take hold of a heart? Can a child as young as three really reach beyond the natural and take hold of the supernatural? If you had been with me on the couch last night…your answer would have been a resounding “yes.”

Faith becomes real with the Story. Whether you read in a book or see it on the big screen. Whether you hear it from the pulpit or witness it in a friend. Whether you have walked the roads of adversity or whether you have walked the roads of Jerusalem. It all begins with the Story. I witnessed in the theater last night. The Story. Sometimes, a road familiar for those of us who have walked its path throughout the course of our faith. Sometimes, a road seemingly new to those who have never made it past the Angels, the Wiseman, and the Manger. Many times, totally foreign pilgrimage for those who have never held the Word in their hands.

There’s just something about Jesus, and all who encountered him knew this to be true.

Mary knew. She birthed him. She taught him. She groomed him for the role he would one day play. She grieved with him through each agonizing step toward the cross. She knew.

His friends knew. Peter, John, and the rest. They knew the power of the One they had encountered. The One who had washed their feet and fed them bread. The One who had drawn them close in the Garden. The One who had calmed their storms and drew them out from a life of obscurity into a life of authenticity. They knew.

Pilate knew. Knew there was just something about this Jesus. This One called Messiah. While history does not record the entire “artistic license” that was shown in The Passion, I believe that Pilate knew. For that matter, I believe the Pharisees and the Romans knew. Knew that there was something extraordinarily different about this Jesus.

Jesus…the Word…came and lived among us for a while. And with him, he brought the grace and truth that would penetrate the darkness of our souls. The road to Calvary was lined with eyes that witnessed this Mystery…this Jesus…this Flesh among us. They had the rare privilege of seeing, face to face, the Lover of their souls. And I believe their encounter with their Savior, left every last one of them saying… “There’s something about that Jesus.” While all did not believe in his truth…his grace…his mystery…all had the opportunity to respond.

And so it is today. Many have heard the Story. Many have embraced it as their own. Many have walked away. Many have yet to hear. One cannot hear the Truth…one cannot witness the Story…one cannot encounter the marvelous and loving grace of Jesus…and walk away the same. There is something about the Story. Something so compelling…so absolutely mysterious and divine…something so necessary, that it calls for decision. Acceptance or rejection.

Perhaps, today, you need to hear the Story once again. Pick up the Word and read about it. Go and see it on the big screen. Visit a church and find it in the people. And if it is still not clear, come on over to my house. Settle in on a big couch with a little boy whose perspective clears the way of any indifference, and hear the words again…

“Once upon a time there was…Jesus.”

Get that perspective, and you hold the keys to the Kingdom.

Happy Easter from my life to yours!

A Mary Weeping

March 22, 2008

“Don’t cry mom. Jesus died a long time ago. You weep like Jesus’ mother, Mary, weeped.”

These were the words spoken from a seven-year-old boy to his mother upon witnessing her tears this morning. My tears. A steady stream of salty, pouring down my cheeks as I watched a portion of The Passion of the Christ via YouTube.

It caught me off guard. Sandwiched between an Easter egg hunt and a three mile run, I had a few moments to peruse some of my favorite blogs, one of which featured a snippet of Mel Gibson’s masterful adaptation of Jesus’ final hours. I first saw the film upon its release four years ago. I have never allowed myself to revisit its witness until today.

I remember the tears that I wept as I sat in a packed theatre with others offering their own audible sounds of grief. The movie mediated its way into my soul and profoundly altered my thoughts regarding Christ and his cross. A few hours later, I would put pen to paper and write, what has become, one of my favorite reflections. It includes the movie coupled with words from my then, three-year-old son. The same son who spoke to my tears this morning. I want to share it with you, but not today; perhaps tomorrow. Today belongs to today. To the tears and the words of today.

“Don’t cry mom. Jesus died a long time ago. You weep like Jesus’ mother, Mary, weeped.”

You could birth a theology from those words. But there is no need. One already exists. One that says…

The tomb stands empty, and only the depth of a mother’s tears are worthy of its remembrance.

I cried those tears today. A Mary “weeping.” A weeping that issues forth because of a shared intimacy with a Son. A weeping that acknowledges the painful surrender of a Son. A weeping that willingly embraces the death of a Son, knowing that life will emerge on the other side of such consecrated submission.

Life does emerge on the other side of the tomb. Tomorrow, I will remember and celebrate my resurrected life in Christ. But tomorrow belongs to tomorrow. Today…I will remember Jesus with my tears. I ask for them to come like Mary’s, for a mother’s tears are sacred and are meant for lavish expression.

If I am going to weep over Jesus, I want to weep deeply…like Mary. I never want to get over what Christ has done for me. If it takes a movie to move me to such a place of thankfulness, then these eyes are ready for the viewing. If it takes the tender words of a child, then these ears are ready for the hearing. If it takes the tortured cross of the Son, then this mind is ready to conceive and to receive the promise of such an extravagant grace.

I pray for you a moment of tears this day. Maybe tears aren’t your thing. For whatever reason, they have stopped their flow in your life and in your heart. There is a hardness on the surface that breaks for no one—a calloused thinking that has little time for remembrance, much less a Mary kind of weeping.

If this is you, then this is the day for you to revisit the cross. Over 2000 years ago, Christ came to his knees in surrender for your heart. It wasn’t a simple thing. It was everything…the one thing that stood between heaven and hell. An obedient surrender.

Today, I come to my knees on your behalf for a surrendered heart. Right now in this little sanctuary I call my bedroom…for those of you reading and those who will read somewhere down the road. These knees were made for prayers, and as God’s fellow worker and privileged servant, I receive his grace not in vain. Rather, I fall to my knees for you and pray that the words of the Apostle Paul transcend the pages of scripture to become a “now” word for your needy estate.

“Now is the time of God’s favor, now is the day of salvation.” (2 Cor. 6:2).

Today. Not tomorrow, for tomorrow belongs to tomorrow. And we are not promised one moment beyond this one. There is no better time than today to surrender to your tears and to receive the unfathomable surrender of the Son who hung on your behalf. It is the one surrender that stands between your heaven and hell. And so I pray for you…

Father, right now as I am on my knees and typing these words, I pray that the gift of your cross makes its way into the hearts of my friends. They maybe strangers to me, but they are not strangers to you. As you hung upon the tree, you knew their names. You knew this moment would come…this day when they would read these words and be forced to grapple with your Truth. Release the hardness that surrounds the heart. Tender their soil for the seed of your Word. Let today be the day when their tears begin to water the soil of their need. Write your love upon their lives and surround them with the unshakable reality of Who you are and exactly why you made the pilgrimage to Calvary on their behalf. Where there is unbelief, replace it with sure belief. Where there is hopelessness, replace it with heaven’s hope. And where there is the darkness of a tomb, shatter it with the illuminating light of Easter. Today is the day of salvation. You, alone, are worthy of a Mary weeping. And so, I remember your grace…I cry a mother’s tears…and I ask that you fill the eyes of my friends with a similar portion.

You are everything to me. Today. Tomorrow and the next. Let it be so for us all! Amen.

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Beyond Zero

March 10, 2008

“My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” (Psalm 139:15-16).

“Mom, when I was born was I zero?”

I knew what she meant even as she spoke these words from her tender heart. Three other children had prepared me for such a question. She wanted to know when we began to count her days. Did her days begin on August 5, 2002, or did some other time span factor in? I was quick to respond.

“Honey, you have never been a zero. We began to count your days long before we saw your face. God began to count your days even before then.”

She stared out the window, her curiosity satisfied, as mine began its ascent.

When does life begin? Is there ever a point of “zero-ness”? A moment of nothing that suddenly explodes into everything? How would you respond to such a question? Your answer embodies your theology.

Long before Amelia made her entrance into our lives, she stole the stage of her Father’s thoughts. I never imagined having a daughter. If it had been up to me, there would have only been three. But in a moment unbeknownst to me, God imagined her. He determined her entrance. He determined her exit. All of her days he determined…before one cry resounded from her lips.

For some mysterious reason, he chose the confines of my womb to house her unformed body, as he carefully put frame and flesh to his wild imaginings. He fashioned her in my likeness and implanted within her emotions of the same severity. He knew this would bring me delight, as my three sons bare only a slight resemblance. Indeed, she is cut from my cloth by the same hands Who cut me from my mother’s. Who knitted me together and adorned my life with splashes of untamed color and limitless possibilities.

He set eternity into her heart long before I would hear its pulse (Ecc. 3:11). Indeed, who can fathom what God has done from beginning to end? His thoughts are not my thoughts. They are higher and far more sacred than mine. They are innumerable and vast…outnumbering the grains of the sand (Psalm 139:17-18). And yet it is those thoughts…that one thought in the mind of my God…that shatters my known realities and brings me to surrendered knees every time I think upon it.

Human life has never been a “zero.” Those who speak chronologically…politically and correctly…well, they give us a starting point. Life begins at birth. But I have never quite understood political correctness. I speak the language of my Father, and I believe that life begins before birth. I believe that life begins before conception. Life begins in the thoughts of God.

In the genesis of all beginnings, God hovered over his waters. Somewhere in the vast brushstrokes of this earth’s conception…between seemingly “nothing” and everything…God’s breath began to move the waves in rhythm with his will. Somewhere there…in the mind of the most mysterious and yet One and only accessible God, we were in his thoughts. We were the intended outcome of his six day extravaganza. The first five days were simply a prelude to our unveiling—to our center stage moment that received a “very good”…from the lips of our Audience.

He knows the thoughts he thinks toward us. Thoughts of peace, and not of evil. Thoughts of an expected end. Plans and a future filled with prospering hope and possibilities (Jeremiah 29:11). He determines the times set for us and the exact places where we should live. The generation in which we will live. He did this so that we would seek him (Acts 17:26-28). So that we would reach beyond our known realities and search for deeper Truth. Better Truth. Truer Truth. The only Truth that matters in the end. For in the end…

Jesus is the Way…the Truth…and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through him, and I want to meet my Father…face to face. So I will accept the unknowns of this life, knowing that one day I will have my answers. For all of the mysteries that he holds hidden within his heart, there is one mystery that is perfectly clear within mine.

I am not a zero. Never have been. Neither have you. You are the creative genius of a God who ordained all of your days before one of them came into being. Your life took planning. Even if your parents did not plan your existence…your God did. He has spent an eternity watching you take shape in his mind, and now he is pleased to introduce you to his world. You are the sixth day punctuation point of your Father’s heart. Never underestimate your beginning. Never “get over” Who awaits you at your end.

In closing, I ask you to consider, once again, the question of my daughter’s heart.

“Mom, when I was born was I zero?”

What do you think? Does she look like a zero? Search your heart, even as I have searched mine. Do so with some fear and trembling under the mighty guidance of your Creator. Casual pondering leads to casual theology. And so I pray, alongside you…

Father, search my heart. Deepen my understanding of my beginning. Give me a sacred theology, one that most closely resembles who you really are. Let me not be swayed by earthly opinion…by tainted religions and philosophies that demean the process of your Creation. Give me your perspective on human life. A higher and clearer perspective that values your thoughts more than man’s limited realities. Shake my realities, Lord, until they fall in line with the Truth. Thank you that I have always been your constant thought and never a zero. May you always be my Constant. Beginning to end…all of my days belonging to you. Amen.

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