A Very Good Friday

Last night, our church, Long Beach Christian Fellowship, created a space which allowed us to walk in the story of Good Friday. It began at the meal, which Jesus deeply desired to share with his disciples and ended at the cross.

As part of the interactive experience, we were given a book which held the scriptures which told the story. It had large text and wide margins. We were also given a pen, and were encouraged to interact with the text by underlining, circling, drawing lines of connection, and writing our reflections and responses to what we were reading.

At one point in our journey, we were provided with colored pencils, markers and crayons and were invited to move beyond lines and circles and words, to capture what we were experiencing in the text in the form of art and symbols. If stain glass was designed to help an illiterate people to be able to internalize the written word of God, this exercise seemed to be an invitation for a literate people to take the written word of God and allow it to become living and active. It was a new way to interact with Scripture for me, and it was powerful.

When we had finished the journey from the table to the cross we went to dinner with our friends, who had accompanied us on this journey. After dinner, we headed back to our home, spending a couple of hours sharing our books and verbalizing how this experience with the scriptures had landed on our hearts. How beautiful it was to see both the unity of what God had been speaking to us, and also to have the experince of sharing of that reality be a place where God was continuing to speak.

If you could lay our books side by side, you would find we were all impacted by Jesus’ desire to share the meal with his disciples and the intimacy of that moment. We were all stirred by our own sin, and Jesus’ willingness to bear it, for our good and the fulfillment of the Lord’s good plan.

In my book words were circled like;

     We turned our back

     Did not care

     We left God

     Our rebellion

Besides these words were others that were circled and linked to them like;

     Our sorrows weighed him down

     He was pierced

     Crushed

     Beaten

     Whipped

     Oppressed

     Treated harshly

     Struck down

     Yet he never said a word

It is powerful to hold these words in connection to one another, to let the reality of how they are related to each other penetrate your mind and sink deeply into your soul. As you do, other words on the page begin to stand out, words like;

     So we could be whole

     And healed

     Counted as righteous

     Holy

     Loved

     by the Father

     As He loved the son

     Belong

     Filled with my joy

     Experience perfect unity

     Given glory

     Eternal life

These last words speak of our becoming because of Jesus’ willingness, even deep delight, to not only share a meal, but to take on our weakness, sorrows, and sins. What a beautiful reality to be given space to hold and absorb. What deep joy flows from it.

There was one phrase I circled, which left my heart sad, not one of them was lost, except the one headed for destruction. They are words of prophesy, foretelling Judas’ betrayal of Jesus. My heart grieves at this disciple of Christ, who could not lay down his own expectation for how things should play out and took matters into his own hands.

We don’t know whether he betrayed Jesus because of his disappointment that Christ was not bringing about the ending Judas desired, or as a way of forcing Jesus’ hand, hoping he would finally bring about the downfall of their Roman oppressors. What we do know is that Judas would come to regret his decision. He would return the blood money he had been given, and he would hang himself. He indeed was headed for destruction.

In the circling of these words my heart both was acknowledging the sadness of Judas’ journey, and the desire which stirs in me that somehow, some way, Judas would be rescued from his hardened heart and rash decision.

As I sit with this desire, as I ponder what gives birth to it, I have no other explanation than it is the desire of God. The same God who could see me before the foundations of the world, and knew I would go my own way. Who understood my lack of care, my turning of my back, and my rebellion were all signs that I too was headed for destruction. In a very real way, Judas and I are brothers.

God's response to this reality, born out of a love that I still cannot fully fathom, was to send His own son, whom He loved, to shoulder the weight of my hard heart and rash decisions. He would willingly be inflicted and punished for my sin and rebellion, so that I might be not only be rescued, but receive life and joy and sonship. Christ has become my brother. 

This was God's deep desire, his good plan, and the more the wonder of it all sinks into my soul, the more it becomes my desire. It's presence is a sign that the traces of the sacred are being written in my heart. 

Our Good Friday experience helped to etch it deeper still.

Defrosting Freezers

Eight thousand and four hundred days ago I found myself standing in a parking lot, chipping the ice out of a freezer, watching men I knew well step out of a church’s office and head off to lunch.  I was the handyman for that church, they were newly minted pastors.  I had taken the job because I was unemployed and I need to make some money so my family could celebrate Christmas. They were well on their way to fulfill their calling.

I had sensed a similar call on my life.  In fact, it was the only reason I even went to college.  For most of my young life, I had prepared to become an auto mechanic, hence my capacity to step into the role of handyman.  It was humbling to stand there defrosting that refrigerator while men who I had gone to college with were commencing their careers in ministry. While they were beginning an exciting season of growth, I felt stuck and forgotten. 

In frustration, I remember crying out to God and asking, “How long o Lord, will you leave me in this place.”  As clearly as I have ever heard Him, I heard God say, “If I want you to be a handyman for the rest of your life, you need to do it to honor and glorify me.”  It wasn’t the response I was longing to hear, but I heard it loud and clear.

With tears streaming down my face, and ice and water pooling at my feet, I could do nothing else but surrender. I told God I was willing to be a handyman for the rest of my life, if that is what He had for me.  As it turned out it wasn’t, but that is another story for another time.

Today, I found myself doing some contract work at a friend’s company.  It is relocating and they need some extra hands to help in moving and installing computers and servers.  I took the job because, things being what they are, I needed to make some money so my family could celebrate Christmas. 

While we were in the process of packing everything up, my friend noticed his mini refrigerator, which had been unplugged earlier in the day, was leaking water.   He asked me if I could do something about it.  It had already been wrapped in cellophane for the move.  We freed the refrigerator from its cocoon and I opened the door. What I found was a layer of ice covering the bottom of the freezer compartment.  It was melting, causing the leak, but it was still frozen solid enough for the ice to have a firm grip on bottom of the freezer.

I spent the next few minutes, kneeling in my friends office, using a pair of scissors to chip away the ice, hoping to clear it all before the mess got even worse.  I was so focused on what I was doing that I did not realize the déjà vu I had been drawn into. It escaped me until my friend made a comment something to the effect of, “I hope this doesn’t take you back to a bad place.”  When he said it, I knew exactly what he was referring to, and for a moment my mind and heart went back to that morning in the parking lot 8,400 days ago.

It was a bit surreal to recognize how similar the circumstances were that brought me to this moment and that I was engaged in the exact same task as I was then.  But that was quickly washed away by the reality that though the need and the joy were the same, my heart is totally different than it was back then. 

I was not kneeling there, crying out to God, “How long o Lord?”  I was not worried about God’s plans for my life, or what it would mean if I spent the rest of my life chipping out ice boxes and moving computers.  I was not jealous of the fact my friends company is expanding and he is moving into a bigger office, in a nicer location and in a day or two I will have completed the work he has for me.  Rather than feeling anxious, what I was feeling was just the opposite. I felt content.

I felt content because in this season, where I have found myself having to learn to trust God in new ways, I am discovering more fully that He is indeed trustworthy. 

Rather than crying out for God to orchestrate the circumstance of my life to make me feel secure, I am learning what it means to find the fullness of my security in Him. 

Instead of worrying about what my life will amount to, my heart has grown to embrace the prayer which affirms that “God has created me to do Him some definite service; He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another.  I have my mission—I never may know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next.”  My heart is content with being willing to wait to discover what He is doing.

Mostly, I felt content because my identity is in no way connected to the fact I find myself defrosting a freezer, moving computers, pastoring people, mentoring leaders, preaching sermons, providing direction, or any number of other things which fill my days.  If I have learned anything in those 8,400 days, especially in the last 1,000 or so, it is that my identity is centered on Christ.  It is what he says about me, not what I do, which defines me.  I could have told you this truth all those days ago. I knew it my mind, but now I know it in my deep, and that makes all the difference in the world. 

There is a freedom that is born in this deep knowing.  It is a freedom which allows one to stand and preach a sermon or kneel and chip ice, and find Christ is present in both.  It is a freedom born in the knowledge you are fully loved and can never be thrown away. It is a freedom that produces a boldness which allows you to move into any situation or circumstance knowing in that moment, it and you are necessary for God’s purposes. 

It is the freedom which allowed me to hear my friend’s comment and ponder it for a moment, and then realize how far my heart has come. I was able to see how unattached my heart has become to what I find myself doing, and how more fully attached it has become to the one I follow and trust.  My heart has learned to be expectant in each moment, realizing God knows what He is about. I will trust Him. All of this is freedom, but it is also peace, and joy, and contentment.  It is good.

Working for my friend was definitely a gift, not because of the fact it will provide the ability to celebrate Christmas, but because it allowed me to see, in a very tangible way, the traces of the sacred work God has been doing in transforming my heart. This was an unexpected gift. 

Holding on to Hope

The other night I found myself standing on the porch of a friend’s house, huddled with others in prayer.  Some of us had come because we want to serve and support in any way we can, others stood there because they were brave enough to let us know they needed help.  We prayed, we hoped, and we held one another.  The Amen was still hanging in the air when someone declared, “I hate cancer.”  In this, we were all one.

On the way over to this impromptu prayer meeting, my wife told me of a tragedy which had just taken place.  A woman who she mentors had texted Tammie to let her know that the woman’s dear friend had chosen to take her life.  Apparently, her friend had been taken over by despair. The woman was just coming to grips with what had happened, and the shock of the loss. My wife simply tried to hold her as she grieved.

This news came to my wife on a night when she had just sat with children whose parents had died in the past year. They were making memory candles to help them remember their parent as they move through the holidays.  As they created they also shared. It was heart wrenching to hear the children talk about how their parents had died, and to see the effect their death and absence is having on these dear ones. 

Earlier in the afternoon I found out that the mother of my second cousin, who was murdered this past July, appeared to have been kidnapped as she got out of her car at work that morning. At the time the police were still searching for her and for a suspect.  Thankfully, two days later they found her, unharmed.  She is now hidden away in a secret place until it all gets sorted out. 

These events are added to a growing list of people we know who are struggling with MS, ALS, and other chronic diseases I do not even have initials for.  Some I have watched for years walk with great dignity as they deal with the reality of their affliction.  Others are still in the early stages; learning what affects their aliment will have on their bodies’ long term.  It is a lot to process for them and their loved ones.   It is a lot to hold.

Addiction has also raised its ugly head; with more than a few families we know and love, being affected by someone who has fallen into its grips.  Addiction causes great emotional, relational, and physical destruction. The effects ripple through families and communities. It mares the soul, and is a difficult demon to exercise.  Not a week goes by that I do not sit with someone who is walking this path.

Add to all of this, the unspeakable violence which took place in Paris on Friday (at the time of this writing there are 127 dead, 300 hospitalized and 80 of them are in critical condition) and it all starts to feel like too much. To focus on any one of these events could be discouraging. To try and keep them all in view can be downright depressing. 

Do you ever feel like this, or is it only me?

Driving home from our friend’s house the other night I found myself asking, “How do you hold all of this and still hold on to hope.”  Maybe, it is a question you have come to at some point in your life.  Maybe, like me, it is one you are asking now.

What helps me hold on to hope is remembering the current circumstance, no matter how big it feels, is only a small part of a much bigger story.  When I focus only on the brokenness of the small part before me, I can feel despair, but when I widen my view, when I remember there is a much bigger story being written, I can  find hope in knowing the present circumstance is not the final word. It may be painful and difficult.  It may be filled with destruction, loss and death.  It may stun me and knock me down, but it does not determine how the bigger story will end. Knowing this, allows me to cling to hope despite the present circumstance.

What will determine the end is the fact is there is One who is good, loving, and trustworthy.   I am confident, even when what is taking place is not good, that He is at work for good.  He has the capacity to redeem all things, even those things which seem the most evil and destructive and hopeless.  Knowing this helps me to move from simply taking my focus off the present circumstances and widening my view, to being able to recognize His presence and work, even in the most difficult of circumstances. Seeing this reminds me we are not alone, even when it may feel like it. And knowing He is present gives me hope.

This kind of vision also opens me to see the person or people who are bearing the weight of the current circumstance differently.  I am able to see that their story is not limited by what is taking place.  They are not defined by it, nor are they trapped by it.  In fact, I am often able to see that just the opposite is true. Their present affliction, which seems to part of a diabolical plan to destroy, actually becomes the birth place of freedom and life. It is indeed possible for their troubles to not overwhelm them. In fact, it is possible for their affiliation to seemingly become light and momentary, and achieve for them an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.  It is possible, even in the face of very difficult circumstance, to live in light of the bigger story.  When I witness people doing this, it inspires me and hope grows within me.

All of this opens me to the reality that love wins.  Not some general, nebulous force, which we call love, but the One who is love.  It is He who wins, it He who triumphs over sin and death, it is He who rescues and restores all things.  That is how the story will end. It will end with Him leading a train of people who have not been overwhelmed or destroyed by the smaller story, but who have been given life and freedom, and who have been made whole.  That will be some parade to watch and cheer. The thought of it washed my mind with hope.

Keeping these realities in view does not erase the hurt, loss and pain I am capable of feeling as I am confronted with the harsh reality of present circumstances, but it does allow me to hope.  And hope is a wonderful thing.  Hope strengthens and enables me to persevere.  It protects my heart from despair and opens me to unfailing love. It enables me to wait and trust, and it invites me to walk in light of the reality of the bigger story which contains not only hope, but a future.

Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. - Romans 12:12

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. – Jeremiah 29:11

Tapping on the Wall

Not everyone who builds walls is a carpenter or a mason.  In fact, some of the strongest walls are built by those who have been wounded, hurt or have felt rejected.  The experience of it caused them, consciously or subconsciously, to begin erecting an invisible barrier between them and the rest of the world.  Brick by brick they construct this bulwark which they will rely upon to keep harm at a distance.

Maybe you know someone who has surrounded themselves with such a fortification.  If so, you also know that this defense, which has been designed to keep them safe, often becomes their own self imposed prison, cutting them off from the experience of being known and loved.  Though these are some of the deepest longings of the heart, the risk of pain is simply too great to consider deconstructing the walls they have built. The results of leaving these ramparts in place are feelings of isolation and loneliness, which are also tremendously painful.  This may lead them to build higher, stronger walls with which to protect them, trapping themselves inside.

If you know and love someone who has creates such edifices in their lives, chances are you have tried to tear their walls down.  More than likely you have discovered, the only one who has the capacity to deconstruct these kinds of barricades is the one who built them.  What do you do?

A few weeks ago I was pondering this question with some colleagues and an image came to mind which reminded me of a story.  The image was of a wall at the Hanoi Hilton.  Its official title was the Hỏa Lò Prison.  It housed prisoners of war held by the North Vietnamese.  There they tortured and interrogated captured servicemen, mostly American pilots shot down during bombing raids.  The goal was to break the will of the men so they could get them to sign statements which could use for propaganda purposes.  These were terrible walls to be trapped behind.

The physical torture could be madding.  So could the isolation.  They were imprisoned in a small room, maybe 6’ by 7’, with no windows. They scarcely saw the sun.  All this was intentional. As author John Borling, who was a prisoner of war in Hanoi, shares in his book, Taps on the Walls, “The enemy wanted them weak, despondent and totally cut off.”

To combat the isolation he men bean to devise ways of communicating with one another.  They would carve messages on the latrine walls, they would scratch words on objects they would leave behind for one another, and they developed a code which would allow them to tap messages to one another through the walls.  This tapping allowed them to maintain the chain of command, pass on information, encourage one another and pray for each other.  Maybe most importantly, it broke through the isolation and let the men know they were not alone.  The tapping shined light in a very dark place, and smuggled hope behind walls where it seemed impossible to find.  It was a lifeline which allowed them to endure until the walls finally fell in March of 1973 and they were released.

Thinking about these images and the story behind them, I could not help but wonder if the best thing we can offer to those we love who are trapped behind walls which were erected to protect, but which now isolate, is the kindness of tapping.  We may not be able to demolish the wall, but we can stand on the other side and faithfully tap messages of hope which allowed them to know they are not alone.  Messages which may enable the courage necessary to tear down their walls to well up inside of them.

There is great power, and healing in knowing someone is there, refusing to allow a stone barrier to separate them from you.  I have to imagine when a new prisoner first heard the tapping they were not sure what to make of it. They knew someone was there and they were trying to communicate, but they could not decipher the code.  Eventually, the random raps on the wall would begin to make sense and they would begin to decode words.  These words would turn into sentences, thoughts, encouragement, and hope.  How grateful they must have been that the person on the other side of the wall kept tapping long enough for them to come to that place.

I have to imagine the same is true for those who are trapped behind the invisible walls which cut them off from the capacity to be known and loved.  They may not understand the tapping when it is first heard, but given time they will begin to decode it.  They will recognize it as an invitation to hope, trust, and to take the risk of tearing down the walls which separate them from others.  When they decipher this, they will also discover hope.

Toward that end, I say, keep tapping.

The Beauty of Simplicity

As we entered her home, my friend stopped to pick a couple of blossoms off the potted tree which adorned the front porch.  I thought nothing of it.  She then went to her kitchen and returned with a bowl filled with water.  The white flowers were at resting on the surface of the transparent liquid.  The exterior of the vessel matched the alabaster purity of the flowers.  The interior of the bowl was a vibrant green, which spoke of life.  She placed the bowl on a cabinet, its dark wood top providing the perfect field to display the simplistic beauty of this spontaneous art piece.

“Beautiful,” I said.  She then told me she had painted the bowl at Color Me Mine, a business where you can add your own artistic flair to a piece of pottery and then they fire it for you.  I have never been there myself, but I have seen more than one example of the pottery created there.  Each possessed a wonderful uniqueness, because it was born from the creative imagination of the one who painted it.  Most pieces have been very colorful and possessed some wonderful design or pattern which set it apart.  Her bowl did not seem to fit the mold of the other works I have seen come out of the establishment.

I made a comment about the fact her bowl did not fit my expectation of what would be created from a day spent at Color Me Mine.  She acknowledged I was probably right, and then explained why.  What she shared made the bowl even more beautiful to me.

She told me the bowl was created on a day with her husband, niece and mother. They decided to spend some special time together doing something fun.  Painting pottery seems like the perfect outing.  She told me about the intercity of the design her husband had painted on the martini glass he picked out.  I got the impression her niece and her mother had added similar artistic flairs to the objects they had chosen to paint.  My friend, on the other hand, purposely chose to add only one color to the inside of her dish.

Now if you knew my friend, you would know she is one of the most artistically gifted people you will ever meet.  Her choice was not made because she was afraid she could not pull off an intricate design, or because she had no vision for what the bowl could be.  She explained to me she had chosen to use only one color of paint, and to paint only one surface of the bowl so she would not have to focus her attention on the piece she was working on.  Instead, she would spend her time focusing on the people she was with. 

She explained she had pained twelve coats of the glaze on the interior of that bowl.  This was work which did not require much concentration, but allowed her to activity participate in the process her companions were engaged in.  The simplicity of it gave her the capacity to be fully present with those she was with.

I wonder if her fellow artists recognized how simple her design was.  I could just hear one of them asking, “Aren’t you going to do something more creative with your bowl?”  I wonder if they also noticed how the simplicity of her project allowed her to focus her attention on them. 

I can just imagine her encouraging them as they went about the creative process.  I can see the smile come across their faces when they experienced being seen by her as she engaged them in conversation, not only about the project in front of them, but about their lives outside of that studio.

While they painted their masterpieces, she created the space necessary to be mindful of those around her.  It was a gift filled with loving-kindness, grace and beauty.

I wish I could say this is the posture I would have taken if I found myself at the same table.  I am pretty sure I would have been more focused on what I was going to paint and how it was going to look.  The perfectionist in me would have wanted to center my attention on the unglazed pottery in front of me, rather than the people who were sitting next to me.  I am afraid I would have made it more of a competition than an opportunity to be present with others.

Looking at her piece of art, understanding why she made the choices she did, I am quite confident nothing I could make would be as striking as the simplistic beauty of her bowl.  I was thankful for the creative decisions she made, the clarity of the water, the flowers which floated on its surface, but most of all for the moment I found myself in and what it was teaching me. 

We may not find ourselves painting glaze on pottery this week, but we will enter into moments where we can choose to simplicity, in order to create the space which will allow us to be present with people.  Doing so may mean we refrain from using the full extent of our giftedness or capacities.  It may also keep from showing others how much we can accomplish or how talented we are.  We might find ourselves laying aside our competitive, perfectionist selves and in order to simply be with others.

Would you be open to that? Could you choose simplicity in order to create the space which would allow someone else to be seen and heard?  Could you find the beauty in choosing to paint with only one color of glaze in order to express a higher form of art, that of making people feel known, and loved?

I hope you can.  After taking in the beauty of my friends bowl, I am convinced this kind of artistry creates a beauty which cannot be matched.

Dried Flowers and Distant Memories

Today, I had the pleasure of a long, leisurely conversation with a dear friend who always makes me look at the world from a slightly different perspective and who always encourages me to open my eyes to the simple beauty which surrounds me.  We were talking about creating space in our lives to be able to live in such moments, and the clutter which often robs us of such a vista.  It seemed to us, we often willing, even lovingly, cling to this clutter as a way of remembering such moments in our past and in the process rob ourselves of the capacity to see in the present.  As my friend was sharing her thoughts an image came to my mind of a book and a dried flower.

Actually, it was more of a memory than an image.  A friend had given me the collected works of John Steinbeck as a groomsman’s gift years ago.  He wrote a nice inscription in the front cover and the book is something which was displayed on our bookshelf for many years.  Several years ago, I took the book off the shelf to dust it and found in its back pages a pressed, dried flower.  It had long since lost its scent and its soft velvet petals had been transformed into a stiff, brittle mass which crumbled each time it was touched or moved.

When I discovered the dried flower I was not surprised.  I remember placing it between the pages of the volume soon after our own wedding.  It was a flower from Tammie’s bouquet.  Over the years when I would stumble upon the dried flower I would remember where it came from and what it represented.  Sometimes I might even call out to Tammie, “Look, the flower from your wedding bouquet.” I would always place it back between the pages and put it back upon the shelf. 

The last time I stumbled across this memento I took a brief moment to look at it for what it had become, not for the memory it held.  It was a dead, dry flower which was falling apart.  While it was a placeholder for a memory, it in no way adequately represented the beauty of my bride, or the flowers that she held, as she walked down the aisle towards me on our wedding day.  When I close my eyes, I can clearly see her radiant beauty.  The years have not erased the moment from my memory, but they were not so kind to the flower.  They turned it into a poor depiction of a beautiful moment. Because of this, I threw the flower out.

Before you crucify me as an unsentimental clod, remember there is no one who enjoys drinking in a moment more than I do.  I savor beauty and often pause to let it soak into my soul. I treasure the sacred spaces where hearts are open, awareness gives birth to discovery, laughter binds together and the capacity to simply be present to one another is cultivated. I treasure the tapestry which is woven when lives intersect over time and find myself both humbled and grateful at having so many which have been interwoven through years and years of relationship.

And yet, I do not want to hold any of these moments, or the clutter which I have accumulated over time to remember them, so tight that they prevent me from creating the simplicity of space necessary to discover the beauty of the present moment.

When I was younger, I did not recognize how one competed with the other, and so I pressed flowers into books. Now, I see it.  I have come to understand I have a finite ability to hold things.  There is only so much I can cling to before my capacity is filled. I see how the things I hold on to take up more than just space in my house. The recognition of these things is an invitation to learn to let go.

Looking down at that dried flower I realized it had let go long ago, even though I had done all I could do to hold on to it.  Throwing it away was simply a way of acknowledging this truth.

I shared this image with my friend and we let it soak in.

A little later in the morning we moved our conversation into my friend’s office and she drew my attention to a vase of flowers which had been on her desk and which were now near a sink.  As recently as the day before they were vibrant and beautiful, but overnight they had wilted.  They were now ready to be discarded and replaced.  She said, “Some things simply cannot be held onto.” 

She is right.  And yet, we often spend so much energy trying to hold on to that which has already withered.  This is true with more in life than just flowers. 

While something is blooming I say, recognize its beauty.  Be inspired by it.  It is right to take notice, to enjoy the space it fills.  Learn the discipline of savoring it.  Let the sweetness of its scent fill your nostrils.  Rub your finger tips to across its soft petals.  Place it where it can be illumined by the morning light which streams through the window. Allow your eyes to drink in its beauty often, for as long as it last, but do not cling to it too tightly.

Be willing to let it go, for chances are the space which is created when you do will allow you to see the beauty of that which is readying itself to bloom.  

When the Waiting is Over

Three years ago this month my wife stepped out of a job that was really a calling.  While she still loved what she did, loved the people she worked with, and loved the children she served, she knew it was it was time for her to transition out. 

Naturally, she began to think about what she would do next.  When she started to explore her options what she heard from God was, “Wait, I have got this.”  She waited.

This was not too difficult in the beginning, but as the weeks turned into months and months turned into years it became harder.

My wife did feel the freedom to volunteer during this season and began serving people through an organization that works with those who are in need of companionship and care.  What she was asked to do ran the gamut from helping someone run errands and taking them out to lunch to bathing those who could no longer bathe themselves.  Sometimes what she was asked to do was outside of her comfort zone, but she did it anyway, seeing it as an opportunity to love.

Her willingness to engage with people in whatever need they had gave her the opportunity to be with them and their families in some of the most impactful moments of life.  She had the privilege of helping families walk through the transitions which come as age and disease take their course, encouraging those in families who found themselves in the position of caregiver, and being there as loved ones slipped into eternity.  While what she was asked to do was not always comfortable, these moments made her service sacred.

Still, she wondered when she would be released from the waiting.  There would be times where she would start looking for a job, career or calling and what she would hear as she sat at the computer searching was God whispering, “I told you to wait.  Trust me.”

At one point she had a large regional church in Southern California want her to be their Children’s Director.  It was not only a position she knew and loved, it would be working for a well known church she respected and with whom she shared a common philosophy of ministry.  It seemed like a perfect fit, but what she heard God say was, “This is not it, wait.” 

When she called and told the person with who had contacted her at the church what God had told her about taking the position, they affirmed her decision, saying, "Your willingness to listen to God is one of the reasons we saw you as a good fit."  I think my wife must have wondered what God was up to, since letting go of this opportunity was akin to letting your dream job slip through your fingers. Yet she had heard Him clearly, so she waited.

Two weeks ago, my wife and I were talking and our conversation led her to look something up on the internet.  As she did, a job posting came up for the organization where she has been volunteering.  I told her she should apply.  I could see she was excited about the possibility, but not wanting to get ahead of God, she asked Him.  She felt the freedom to proceed.

It took only two days before the organization contacted her and asked her to come in for an interview.  When they met the director asked her how she had heard about the position.  Tammie explained she had seen it on the internet.  This puzzled her interviewer because, to their knowledge, no one had posted the job on the site.  She thought it was odd that Tammie found it there, but was happy she did.

One of the things which can be hard about having served as a Children’s Director for 17 years is much of what you did is not completely understood outside of the church.  In the interview, when Tammie went to explain her former job the woman interviewing her stopped her and said, “I know what you did. Your church had a reputation in the community for a very strong Children’s program.”  The comment both affirmed how Tammie had invested her life in the previous season, and it gave hope that this organization could see how the experience could translate into the job which was being discussed.

As they talked the director discoverer Tammie had volunteered in each of the five areas of services the organizations provides.  She was also surprised to find out Tammie had represented them at volunteer fair and had designed the flyer they had recently sent out for printing.  Tammie had done all of these things as simple acts of service in a time of waiting never thinking about how they might be preparing her for what was to come.

She walked out of the interview feeling it went well, but wanting to hold it all loosely.  When you have invested three years in a willingness to wait on God, you do not want to throw it all away simply because there is an opportunity at an organization you believe in and for which you can see yourself working. 

Tammie went home and prayed.  For the first time in three years she did not hear her Heavenly Father tell her to wait.  She began to hope.  Could this be what he had been doing and preparing all along? 

References were checked and a phone call was eventually made offering Tammie the position.  They told her they knew when she walked out of the office, she was the right fit.  Having waited for three years for this moment, Tammie accepted the offer and is now stepping into a position which seems perfect for her gifts, skill sets and passions.  It is a position which God has seemingly been preparing her for in this season of wait.

Looking back now, it seems so clear what God was doing.  All the pieces fit. During that time, however, there was no such clarity.  There was only the call to wait and the choice to trust. 

I am excited for my wife and her new job.  I know because of her unique blend of strategic thinking, gift of administration, creativity and ability to lead people one day someone will say of her work at this organization, “I know what you do; your organization has a strong reputation for compassionate support and care of people.”

But that is not what I am most excited about.  I am most excited to be married to a woman who is willing to wait, even with things were not as clear as they are now and when it cost her, what seemed like, the perfect job.  I am excited through her waiting we as a family experienced once again, at a deeper level, the reality God is indeed trustworthy and can be taken at His word. 

There is always a great temptation to make something happen, to get out ahead of God.  Giving into this temptation never leads to God's best. What we need to develop instead is the capacity to listen for His voice and follow where it leads, even if it is into a time of waiting. 

Waiting gives us an experiential knowledge of God's presence, provision, activity, kindness and love. My wife would tell you this make it worth the wait.

Waiting also develops and grows something in us.  As Tammie said to me, “I will always be different; my relationship with God will always be different, for having walked through this season.” It is the kind of different which builds a foundation which allows you to trust God even greater still. It is the kind of different which leads you places far better than anything you could make happen.  It is the kind of different which is born out of trust and hope and imparts strength and life. Waiting transforms us and allows us to see first hand the traces of the sacred.

Wait for the Lord:

be strong and take heart

and wait for the Lord. - Psalm 27:14

Those who wait for the Lord

Will gain new strength;

They will mount up with wings like eagles,

They will run and not get tired,

They will walk and not become weary. – Isaiah 40:31