Is Jesus Enough?

We live in a world where bad things happen.  There's injury to the body and mind, wounds caused by others and ourselves, sickness, death.  With all of the bad, a question begs to be answered...'Is Jesus enough?' 

The question is asked by believer and non believer alike as we grasp for something firm to hold on to so as not to be swept away by the mud slide.  Is He enough to get me through this?  Is He enough as I battle cancer?  Is He enough as I deal with divorce?  Is He enough as I raise my children?  Is He enough as I mourn?  Is He enough as I face my own death?  Is He enough?

As I watched my mom in the last few hours of her life, I asked myself this question.  She had gotten to the point where she could probably still hear us, but was no longer responding to anyone's voice or presence.  I thought about my desire to be there as she died, not wanting her to be alone.  That's when God reminded me that she was never alone.  He was always with her.  He would be there at her passing and He would be there to usher her into Heaven because of what Jesus did on the cross.  Jesus had loved her and redeemed her.  Jesus had made her a daughter.  Jesus had given her access to the Father.  Jesus made it possible for her to spend eternity in heaven.  Jesus was enough for her.

And He continues to be enough for us.  He is there in the grieving, comforting and providing.  He is there in the struggles, offering wisdom and hope.  He is there in the battles, giving strength and perseverance.  He there in the relationships, offering restoration and healing.  He is in the midst of all that we face.  We are not alone.  Jesus is enough...

And the World Goes On

My brother, sister, and I were eating breakfast in the hotel lobby.  I sat there watching people come and go.  Some were families.  Some were business people.  All had places to go, people to see, and things to do.  I thought how odd it was that their lives where going on as usually after every thing that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. 

The night before, our mom had died.  Our world had changed.  Life was going to be different.  There would be no more mother's day cards to buy.  She would no longer be present at family functions.  She would no longer be there to tell my sister what medicine to take when she was feeling sick and didn't have time to go to the doctor.  She would no longer be there to answer questions about her past.  She was gone.  And yet, no one else seemed to notice.  Their lives were just as they had been the day before. 

That's how it usually happens.  Your world gets turned upside down, but the rest of the world just keeps going.  It makes a woman want to scream...'Don't you know what happened?  Don't you care?  How can you go on as if nothing has changed?!'  But the world doesn't stop.  It just keeps moving along.  And somehow, so must we; adjusting to the new normal we've been given.... 

Healed Wounds

Sometimes deep wounds healed over time can be overlooked....

During the last days of my mom's life, my sister and I had wonderful opportunities to talk.  Some were light and surface level, others were deep and rich.  During one time of digging deeper, my sister asked if I had any desire to find and meet my biological father and his two daughters.  I said no.  Then she asked me a question I hadn't thought of asking myself....why?

Years ago, I would have answered very differently.  I considered looking for him.  I had so many questions.  Why did he leave?  Why didn't he visit?  Why didn't he write?  Why didn't he call?  Did I do something wrong?   Was he ashamed of me?  Really, I wanted to know what was so wrong with me that even my own father didn't want me.

So as I paused and searched my heart, I wondered why my answer changed. That's when I realized what God had done.  He had healed those childhood wounds more completely than I realized.  He had answered those questions I had for my father.  He told me that I was HIS child.  He told me that He had made me wonderfully.  He told me He loved me and rejoiced over me.  He told me that my father's leaving was not about me, but about him. 

Now with my questions answered and my heart filled with God's love, my desire to look for my father diminished.  The holes that once peppered my heart were no longer there.  Instead, there was wholeness and peace; there was forgiveness for my father.  God had been working faithfully.  Healing had come so sweetly and gently that I almost missed it....

Behavior vs. Grace

As I was walking past a car full of young men, I heard them laughing and cursing.  I smiled and said hello.  One of them called out to me apologizing for their behavior.  He said, 'we didn't know there was a church lady here'.  I instantly thought of the church lady from Saturday Night Live....Is that how they envision church people?  Pursed lips and condemning?  Worried about making sure people behave?

I thought about his comment a lot.  You see, I'm concerned about how Christians are seen and how that impacts the impressions people have about God.  If all they see are people who are interested in behavior and sin management do they believe that's the most important thing to God?  Frequently, I'll hear people say that they'll go to church or check out God as soon as they 'clean up' their lives.  As if their good behavior is necessary for God to love them.  It breaks my heart.  God is the one we need to run to when we are dirty and messy.

So where does this come from?  I wonder if having been saved by grace, we live as if we are under the law and must behave well.  We become so focused on doing better and living right that behavior and sin management becomes the expression of our lives.  People see us toil and work to behave well.  People hear us talk about our behavior.  People hear us talk about other's behavior (usually in unflattering ways).  People begin to associate needing to behave well with God. 

How radical would it be if our focus was on God's grace, love, and heart transformation?  How would others experience us?  What would they think of God?  I don't know, but I think I'll give it a try.....

Loving the Lost

I have been encouraged to pray that God would give me a tender heart and passion for the lost, those who don't have a relationship with God.   But after a recent sermon, I wonder if I've missed a critical element.

A few weeks ago our pastor, Nathan, related a story about his golden lab puppy getting out of the yard.  He told of his great distress at coming home to find the gate open, no dog, and his wife and son sitting calmly at the table having dinner.  They assumed that the dog would return home or that someone would find it and call the vet's number that was on it's tag.   Nathan related how worried he was and that he was determined to find the puppy that very night.  (Picture a large, burly, manly man talking about how much he loved his puppy in a high pitched syrupy voice.)  He looked throughout the neighborhood for some time to no avail.  When he returned home, he found his wife with some flyers she had made with the puppy's information on it.  They spent the remainder of the night hanging them throughout the area.  The point of the sermon was the focus and determination that God has for he lost and that we, too, should have that same passion.  The point I pondered was the wife and son...

See at first, they weren't all that worried about the puppy.  I'm sure they love and enjoy the puppy, but Nathan is the true owner and lover of the puppy.  So what caused them to start helping with the search?  Did they suddenly develop deep, loving feelings for the puppy that they hadn't had before? No.  Did they think that Nathan was incapable of the task himself?  No.  It was their love for Nathan.  They could see how much the puppy meant to him and that he was determined to find it.  Because they loved Nathan, they wanted to be a part of the search.  Isn't that how it should be for me, too?

The truth is, if I wait until my heart gets tender, I could be waiting a long time!  Sadly, I don't always love the lost.  Sometimes I don't understand their thinking or how they don't see God working all around them.  Sometimes I don't like how they behave, the choices they make, or how they treat others or me.  (Does anyone else see the pride, arrogance, and self-righteousness that goes on in me!)  But, I do love God.  And He gently reminds me of how I, too, was once lost and far from Him.  And I've noticed that as my love for God grows, so does my heart and passion for the lost.  He is changing my heart to love what He loves.

So now my prayer is very simple; God help me to love you more and to love what and who you love.  It should be fun to see what God has planned..... 

Being Cared For

I've always hated those questions people ask about what would you do if you knew you only had, insert time, left to live. I guess because it was always hard to imagine getting that kind of news.  Except for the scare in high school in which I was diagnosed with scarlet fever (my only reference to the disease was watching Little House on the Prairie and people died), I have been relatively healthy.  Just the normal colds, flu, strep throat, and such.  I still have a hard time imagining it for myself, but have a new perspective to the question with regard to someone I love. 

When my mom told me of her diagnosis and that the average time from diagnosis to death was generally four to six months, I began thinking about what I wanted to do in that short time.  The first few things were obvious; make sure she had good medical care, a plan for pain management, a plan for home health care, and a plan for the end.  But the overwhelming thing I wanted to do was care for her.  I wanted to be there to take her to the doctor, help her with medications, help her get things done that were important to her to get done, help her in anyway I could.  The problem was that she was in Arizona and I was in Texas running a household of teenagers.  The good thing was that her husband and my siblings were with her to care for her and help her.  I was thankful, yet still longed to be there.

As it turned out, my mom applied to be in a study with some new treatments for cancers like hers close to my home.  She didn't qualify, but ended up staying at my house for two weeks due to an infection in her port.  I almost feel bad saying this, but I've never been so thankful for an infection.  During those two weeks, not only did all of us spend treasured time together, but I was able to care for my mom in a way I've never been able to do.  You see, this was not my mom's first serious illness or cancer.  She was a strong, independent woman and wanted to do things for herself.  This time, however, she needed help and was physically close. 

I'm not sure why the drive to care for her was so strong, but I think it partially stemmed from the difficulties we had in the past.  My caring for her was my way of physically demonstrating the love and forgiveness I offered her in spoken and written words that she sometimes had trouble believing.  It was my way of extending grace and mercy to her that I had received and knew she needed to experience.  It was a beautiful as she was vulnerable and open and allowed me to care for her. 

To allow someone to care for me. That is my answer to the question of what I would do. There is extraordinary intimacy created when we are vulnerable and open to let someone care for us.  Too often I miss that because I am too proud, stubborn, or self sufficient to admit I need help.  I don't want to miss out anymore....






 

The Keeper of Memories

As I sat there in the dimly lit room holding her hand, my thoughts brought me back to the beginning.  Not her beginning, but mine.  For today would be her last.

I had flown in a few days before to say my final good byes to my mom.  Five months earlier, she had been diagnosed with a rare, aggressive form of thyroid cancer.  She had the tumor removed and had undergone treatment, but the cancer returned quickly.  She even went through testing in Texas to see if she would qualify for a study using new treatments for cancers like hers.  Unfortunately, she did not qualify.  After spending a few weeks with us, she returned home.

Now, a few weeks later, she was in hospice.  The cancer had spread.  It moved into her lungs and she was having more and more difficulty breathing.  My sister and I had been staying with her in hospice through the nights and knew her time was coming to an end.  As my sister settled in for some sleep, I took my place next to Mom, holding her hand ready to be available if she needed something.  I sat there thinking how it seemed so appropriate for me to be there at her end.  My mom and I shared a history that no one else was a part of.  My father left when I was very young so it was just the two of us for many years.  I thought about those early years, the people we knew, the places we moved, the trips we took, the events that took place.  I thought about my sister who died as an infant and how happy my mom would be seeing her again.  So many memories that only she and I shared, some good and some sad, some to be bestow and some to just keep for myself; all of them now to be treasured.

It came quickly, her last breath.  Her nurse said she was probably waiting for my sister and I to get settled for the night.  I don't know if that's true, but the thought touches my heart.  And now that she's gone, I'm deeply thankful for my memories.  I also feel a sense of responsibility as their keeper; deciding which ones to pass on and which ones to hold close to my heart.  My hope is that I choose wisely and share those that will be encouraging and bring joy to those who knew her.