A distasteful word.
A painful word.
A word I have had experience with in a multitude of ways.
Grieviously and unfortunately, I have, over the last couple of years, held the hands of four different women as they confessed this.
Three that have been committed against.
One that has done the committing.
Last week found me meeting with two different women - one a new aquaintance and the other a dear friend.
Both of them having the same word applied. Different usages but the same end result. Their worlds ripped apart, making them question everything they thought they knew.
As I laid my hands on them, as they poured out their heart, as I wept with them, my prayer was the same:
"God, would you show them your goodness? Would they know that you are good and you do good?" (Psalm 119:68)
Yet, even uttering the words made me feel as though I was a liar.
How can you, in the midst of such heartache, such despair, such heaviness, even think of what "good" is? How can you see a God who is sovereign, that could have stopped this with a word, as doing good?
I believe, help my unbelief! (Mark 9:24)
The days have you in a fog, simply surviving, trying to make it through, knowing you have to do it all over again tomorrow.
It is relentless. And to have someone tell you that God is good, even in this ugliness, can deepen the pain rather than lessen it.
But here is what I know:
Hope awaits.
Restoration is coming.
Redemption is rising.
Those verses that are simply head knowledge right now will sink deep in your heart one day and the truth that you know right now will be something you convictingly feel later.
So take heart dear one. He who is in you is greater than he who is in the world and he has all ready overcome. (John 16:33 and 1 John 4:4)
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Intimacy, hijacked
I find myself struggling.
Some days I handle the pictures and posts well.
Other days, I'm left shaking my head.
Social media has done its work on me. I realize the line between personal and public has so been eroded that the discernment is gone and every moment is fair game.
Intimacy: (noun)
1) the state of being intimate: Familiarity
2) something of a personal or private matter
For something to be personal or private - to me - means it is not put on display for tens or hundreds to see. Yet, here's where the path turns:
We are so used to having tens or hundreds or even thousands of people know our business, that we now have to put on display the good, the bad and the ugly. We thrive off the feedback, the "likes", the comments and opinions.
I'm not saying vulnerability or transparency is a bad thing. Confessing our sin, our struggles, those days we can't get it together, is a good thing. Sharing in our victories and successes make them so much sweeter.
But what is the good we are hoping will come out of it? And if we haven't shared the highs and lows and everything in-between, does that mean we are really living life?
In the wake of her father's death, she says it well to the naysayers who didn't like how privately she lived:
I will be leaving this account for a bit while I heal and decide if I'll be deleting it or not," she wrote. "In this difficult time, please try to be respectful of the accounts of myself, my family and my friends. Mining our accounts for photos of dad, or judging me on the number of them is cruel and unnecessary. There are a couple throughout, but the real private moments I shared with him were precious, quiet, and believe it or not, not full of photos or 'selfies'. I shared him with a world where everyone was taking their photo with him, but I was lucky enough to spend time with him without cameras too. That was more than enough, and I'm grateful for what little time I had. My favorite photos of family are framed in my house, not posted on social media, and they 'll remain there. They would've wound up on the news or blogs then, and they certainly would now. That's not what I want for our memories together..."
Zelda Williams writes this of her time with her daddy, Robin Williams.
If her relationship is anything with him like mine was/is with my daddy these are some things they shared: he's the first man that ever held open a door for her, took her on jet-ski rides and surprised her with Broadway tickets. He was the loudest yeller at her basketball games (not necessarily a good thing), stayed up late when she had ear infections, bought her her first diamonds, and loves it when she calls him since distance makes personal visits few and far between. She watched him battle through cancer and had painful discussions about what could happen. He has been at the birth of all four of her boys and he loves mailing them "treats" in the mail.
Those pictures, those memories, those conversations are precious to me. Those are discussions stored in my heart and pictures on the refrigerator.
They aren't posted all over social media and unless you've sat around my table, you won't know the depths of many things alluded to in many of my posts and pictures. Because of the intimate nature of those those very things.
Unfortunately, I still struggle. I find myself battling just being in the moment rather than posting about the moment. Wanting to snap a picture and post it on Instagram rather than soak in the dinner with good friends gathered leaves me distracted. In the end, I want to be fully here, rather than there -checking to seeing how many people like what I've shared - with those near and dear to my heart. Real, personal relationship rather than one filled with wires and screens.
What if, instead of trying to share all the intimate, personal details and make life look amazingly glossy, we simply did life with a handful of real lives. People who are invested in us and walk with us and have seen us cry (not just read about it)? People that bring you lunch just a few short hours after you arrived home from the hospital after your son fell from a tree? Those that have seen you break down as you deal with sin and drop everything to bring you sweet tea? A woman who knows you well from your foolish days and sits and stops conversation to simply pray and ask the Lord to restore? A man, exhausted and weary from stressful days at work, that supports you and loves you and when you arrive home late from orientation, he cooks for you since you didn't have a chance to eat? Kids that want nothing more than their mommy to stop doing and just sit so they can continue The Voyage of the Dawn Treader? Family that comes and gathers round the table, sipping glasses of wine, and just talking about nothing in particular, just talking and enjoying the intimacy of being family?
This is life. Lived out in breaths and actions and impatience and desire and awe and frustration and so many other things that could never be captured in an image or blog. But I want to live it well, not have other people like it well.
Some days I handle the pictures and posts well.
Other days, I'm left shaking my head.
Social media has done its work on me. I realize the line between personal and public has so been eroded that the discernment is gone and every moment is fair game.
Intimacy: (noun)
1) the state of being intimate: Familiarity
2) something of a personal or private matter
For something to be personal or private - to me - means it is not put on display for tens or hundreds to see. Yet, here's where the path turns:
We are so used to having tens or hundreds or even thousands of people know our business, that we now have to put on display the good, the bad and the ugly. We thrive off the feedback, the "likes", the comments and opinions.
I'm not saying vulnerability or transparency is a bad thing. Confessing our sin, our struggles, those days we can't get it together, is a good thing. Sharing in our victories and successes make them so much sweeter.
But what is the good we are hoping will come out of it? And if we haven't shared the highs and lows and everything in-between, does that mean we are really living life?
In the wake of her father's death, she says it well to the naysayers who didn't like how privately she lived:
I will be leaving this account for a bit while I heal and decide if I'll be deleting it or not," she wrote. "In this difficult time, please try to be respectful of the accounts of myself, my family and my friends. Mining our accounts for photos of dad, or judging me on the number of them is cruel and unnecessary. There are a couple throughout, but the real private moments I shared with him were precious, quiet, and believe it or not, not full of photos or 'selfies'. I shared him with a world where everyone was taking their photo with him, but I was lucky enough to spend time with him without cameras too. That was more than enough, and I'm grateful for what little time I had. My favorite photos of family are framed in my house, not posted on social media, and they 'll remain there. They would've wound up on the news or blogs then, and they certainly would now. That's not what I want for our memories together..."
Zelda Williams writes this of her time with her daddy, Robin Williams.
If her relationship is anything with him like mine was/is with my daddy these are some things they shared: he's the first man that ever held open a door for her, took her on jet-ski rides and surprised her with Broadway tickets. He was the loudest yeller at her basketball games (not necessarily a good thing), stayed up late when she had ear infections, bought her her first diamonds, and loves it when she calls him since distance makes personal visits few and far between. She watched him battle through cancer and had painful discussions about what could happen. He has been at the birth of all four of her boys and he loves mailing them "treats" in the mail.
Those pictures, those memories, those conversations are precious to me. Those are discussions stored in my heart and pictures on the refrigerator.
They aren't posted all over social media and unless you've sat around my table, you won't know the depths of many things alluded to in many of my posts and pictures. Because of the intimate nature of those those very things.
Unfortunately, I still struggle. I find myself battling just being in the moment rather than posting about the moment. Wanting to snap a picture and post it on Instagram rather than soak in the dinner with good friends gathered leaves me distracted. In the end, I want to be fully here, rather than there -checking to seeing how many people like what I've shared - with those near and dear to my heart. Real, personal relationship rather than one filled with wires and screens.
What if, instead of trying to share all the intimate, personal details and make life look amazingly glossy, we simply did life with a handful of real lives. People who are invested in us and walk with us and have seen us cry (not just read about it)? People that bring you lunch just a few short hours after you arrived home from the hospital after your son fell from a tree? Those that have seen you break down as you deal with sin and drop everything to bring you sweet tea? A woman who knows you well from your foolish days and sits and stops conversation to simply pray and ask the Lord to restore? A man, exhausted and weary from stressful days at work, that supports you and loves you and when you arrive home late from orientation, he cooks for you since you didn't have a chance to eat? Kids that want nothing more than their mommy to stop doing and just sit so they can continue The Voyage of the Dawn Treader? Family that comes and gathers round the table, sipping glasses of wine, and just talking about nothing in particular, just talking and enjoying the intimacy of being family?
This is life. Lived out in breaths and actions and impatience and desire and awe and frustration and so many other things that could never be captured in an image or blog. But I want to live it well, not have other people like it well.
I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.
John 10:10
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Milestone
When we celebrated our first year of marriage, we were giddy and marveled over the fact that we had all ready been married one whole year.
We made grand plans for our tenth anniversary, wondering where we would be and what life would look like.
This day, this very moment, we celebrate that milestone.
Ten years has seen growth that I never imagined nor knew I needed.
A dear friend wisely told me you can't measure sanctification in days or weeks or even months, but rather years.
During this ten years, there has been the growth that is tangible, measurable - kids, jobs, moves, trips... ebenezers to mark the years passing and progressing.
Yet far more than what the eye can see, there has been the intangible. Those things you can't put into words yet you know.
And how to express any of it, much less all of it?
He has loved me with a relentless love. He has shown me unending grace. He has been steadfast in pursuit of me, bearing with me in his quietly patient way.
He has let me struggle - he has let me push him away - and then gently pulled me in, wrapped his arms around me and prayed for me.
If ever there was a picture of Christ and his bride, it would be this husband to his wife.
I've learned he's not going anywhere. I've learned nothing will come to light that will make him walk away. I've learned his hope is in something far greater than me being a "good" wife and I need to walk in the freedom that allows me.
The struggles still come, some days harder than others. But what I remember when the days are long and the enemy deceives is the grass is always greener on the other side but it's all in perspective, or rather, the filter that has been placed over it.
Those that have walked with us and know the hardships and successes and failures and fights and confessions and victories remind us that these ten years are but a picture of God's grace and mercy and the next ten will only bring so much more.
Amen.
We made grand plans for our tenth anniversary, wondering where we would be and what life would look like.
This day, this very moment, we celebrate that milestone.
Ten years has seen growth that I never imagined nor knew I needed.
A dear friend wisely told me you can't measure sanctification in days or weeks or even months, but rather years.
During this ten years, there has been the growth that is tangible, measurable - kids, jobs, moves, trips... ebenezers to mark the years passing and progressing.
Yet far more than what the eye can see, there has been the intangible. Those things you can't put into words yet you know.
And how to express any of it, much less all of it?
He has loved me with a relentless love. He has shown me unending grace. He has been steadfast in pursuit of me, bearing with me in his quietly patient way.
He has let me struggle - he has let me push him away - and then gently pulled me in, wrapped his arms around me and prayed for me.
If ever there was a picture of Christ and his bride, it would be this husband to his wife.
I've learned he's not going anywhere. I've learned nothing will come to light that will make him walk away. I've learned his hope is in something far greater than me being a "good" wife and I need to walk in the freedom that allows me.
The struggles still come, some days harder than others. But what I remember when the days are long and the enemy deceives is the grass is always greener on the other side but it's all in perspective, or rather, the filter that has been placed over it.
Those that have walked with us and know the hardships and successes and failures and fights and confessions and victories remind us that these ten years are but a picture of God's grace and mercy and the next ten will only bring so much more.
Amen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)