On a recent morning, I awoke to an unusual fog that canvased the country landscape. It felt eerie and ominous, considering the violence we are seeing in our nation and throughout the world. I paused as the clouds wisped past my garden beds, concealing the perennials in all of their vibrant glory. For a moment, I was reminded of the sobering fact that life is fleeting, fragile, and finite. God whispers these truths to us in creation, though we seldom listen.
For some reason, our daughters are afraid of weather patterns; they are still young and aren’t sure why the sun isn’t shining every day or the flowers wither without rain. That morning, my oldest, squealed in horror, “Look, Mama, there’s fog! We can’t see anything!”
I responded calmly, almost nonchalantly, “The fog will lift, sweetheart.”
And I tell her this in varying forms on a near-daily basis: “The sun will rise again.” “The rain will stop.” While she takes these statements at face value, we all know therein lies profound spiritual truth, especially in times like these.
All things pass. Everything cycles through good and bad, light and dark, growth and loss. We tend to clutch the moments of grandeur, because happiness makes us feel good. But when loss occurs, we are jarred awake, perhaps for the first time, as we remember the precious gift of now.
When a person dies through violence, somehow our first response is fear, much like my darling daughter reacting to the fog. “But we can’t see! We’re in danger!” It’s true that we cannot gloss over the reality that we could die – anytime, anywhere, by any means – but God wants us to dwell on the fact that, one day, the fog will lift. One day, whether on earth or in heaven, we will discover our eternal reward, provided we are faithful to Him.
In times like these, when violent tensions mount on the wings of evil, we can tell ourselves, like children, that the rain is God’s tears blanketing and cleansing the earth; the sun warms not only our bodies, but also our souls and bears light where the darkness would rather dwell.
As tempting as it is, we mustn’t get bogged down in the fearful rhetoric plaguing the internet and social media. When we do, we fall prey to the same anger that incites violence, segregation, and hatred. But we were not given a spirit of fear or division. We are given a spirit of truth, and we must dwell within that truth, even and especially when senseless tragedy befalls us.
Driving through the fog reminded me how much I need God, how desperately I must depend on Him. The weakness of human sin felt almost palpable to me, then, yet I clung to Scripture and prayed. We are all capable of heinous acts. Hope reminds me, however, that we are all capable of greatness and heroism, too.
Life cannot be exclusively felt or experienced in the hazy fog that makes a lingering, translucent barricade around our hearts. When people die through violence, we must purposefully pray that the haze will be unveiled, so that we can see people again – see their inherent dignity and respect life so much that we long to protect and honor, rather than end, it.
In fog, after a while the ethereal clouds dissipate, burned off by the sun, just as the Son illuminates and clarifies everything that the enemy attempts to steal from us – our joy, our hope, our faith. To the children and adults everywhere who fear the fog, I pray that God will whisper to them, “The fog will lift,” and also, “the Son will shine…”
[In] releasing those bound unjustly,
untying the thongs of the yoke;
Setting free the oppressed,
breaking off every yoke?
Is it not sharing your bread with the hungry,
bringing the afflicted and the homeless into your house;
Clothing the naked when you see them,
and not turning your back on your own flesh?
Then your light shall break forth like the dawn,
and your wound shall quickly be healed;
Your vindication shall go before you,
and the glory of the LORD shall be your rear guard.
Then you shall call, and the LORD will answer,
you shall cry for help, and he will say: “Here I am!”
If you remove the yoke from among you,
the accusing finger, and malicious speech …
A man who truly lives in hope.
Originally posted on Mudroom.
I can feel the tears
And this time I’m trying really hard to stay near You
But I can feel the water behind my eyes
Sometimes making it hard for me to see You.
I can feel the waves of doubt
Hitting me like bullets in a windstorm
And I’m squinting my eyes
Trying to see You although my vision often times feels weary and worn.
But I did say that I would seek You
In hope as well as in despair.
I did say that this time I would keep You near
And not push You off like You don’t care.
I did say that I would not close off my heart
Like I’ve done so many times before.
I did say that I would try out this new journey of trust
Even if it meant walking while I’m sore.
And yes, sometimes I feel like I have a limp,
And yet, I have to walk through my daily routine like nothing’s wrong
But this time, I’m trying to stay near Your heart
So I can hear You as You delight over me with a song.
There’s a decision to make.
I can hear an old soundtrack playing a familiar tune.
It invites me to cast off this fight to be strong
And instead recline to a familiar position that doesn’t trust You with this wound.
The familiar tune encourages me to shove off assurance
And keep distrust as the forerunner of thought
While passing the baton to victimization and dismay
Oftentimes keeping any opportunity for peace at fault.
And I know that tune
I can sing and belt out every word.
It’s the song that I know all too well
Because in some broken places in my heart, it’s the only song I’ve ever heard.
But I said I would listen to new lyrics
Ones that emphasized your faithfulness—even in tears
Lyrics that take away my woe and sorrow
Even if that’s all I’ve known for years.
I made a vow to my heart
That I would lean back and let You lead.
So this time I’m not letting my own opinions go first.
I really want You to succeed.
I know all too well—the feeling of doubt and distrust.
I’ve practiced that life for far too long
And it took me in painful circles
Even though I was the one who let it go on and on.
I’d like to try something new,
And I understand new doesn’t mean shiny and pain free.
New does mean Companionship with You, the Comforter,
Who has promised to remain ever so close to me.
You will be here
Even though I might cry, and weep, and fall limp with pain,
But this time I’m not by myself.
I can lean my heart up against You who too has endured the same.
I’ve found a friend
Someone who is beckoning to journey this path with me
And even though I at times might feel shame and condemnation
You have come to rescue me from that false identity.
I can take a deep breath
And not try to be a superhero without a power or a cape
Instead I can actually stand in His shelter
And let Him save my heart, my emotions, and the day.
Goodbye eternal misery
Goodbye to the endless trail of no hope and emptiness
Hello Comfort and Life
Hello to the One who has come to give me rest.
Sing Your Song over me Jesus!
Push out everything that would prevent me from hearing.
Sing Your Song over me Jesus!
Help me lean back, I let You lead, You are the only one I want steering.