The Picture That is Worth a Thousand Words

It was years of dreaming, months of saving, and weeks of planning.
With four kids, travel is not in the budget.
With the calendar, time off is not in the schedule.

Anytime we have been able to take a trip, it has been with family.
Gulf Shores for visits and Arkansas for reunions.

Never had we done a trip of this magnitude, all by ourselves, just as our family of six.
In a word, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Husband and birthday boy were sent on a plane to Sacramento to enjoy a couple of days celebrating the boy turning double digits.**

The other three boys and I meandered our way through New Mexico (stopping at Carlsbad Caverns and the White Sands) and Arizona (exploring the Painted Desert) and joined up with the other two in Yosemite National Park for three days of camping and hiking.

If you know me well or have sat under any of my teachings, you will know one of my biggest struggles and deepest griefs is my inability to have more children.
Yes, I have four.  Yes, they are beautiful and brilliant and I wouldn't trade them for anything.
Yes, I'm living out what I always wanted to be when I grow up; a mom.

I get it.  I know it.  But a hurt is a hurt is a hurt.
And it has been in this hurt that God has stripped away everything from me so I might realize how desperately needy I am.

See, it wasn't my choice not to have any more kids  In the midst of some dark and painful marital struggle, my husband put his foot down and opted to have a procedure done that rendered him sterile.  A vasectomy, to be explicit.

Let me just say that at that point in our marriage, it wasn't a case of us being on different pages; rather, we were in completely different books.
As you can imagine (or maybe you can't), the next few years were awful.  The "trying to pretend it didn't happen" turned into bitterness, which turned into anger, which turned into grieving.

I cannot tell you the amount of baby showers I excused myself out of and the amount of birth announcements I wept over.  The hopelessness and helplessness I felt at the situation -- that my wishes and desires were dismissed -- and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, I could do to change it, rolled over me as a constant reminder of what would not be.
I felt ashamed and ugly on the good days.

So much was lost during those years in our marriage, the most being the time lost to "what could have been" instead of  focusing on the "what is."
I learned so much about humility and God's grace.
I wrestled with His goodness and His sovereignty and discovered one is not separate from the other.
I saw that his ways are truly higher than my ways and his thoughts are most definitely not my thoughts.

By the time we stood on that mountain in California, I had heeded the call loud and clear to go back to school.  That came after God made it clear that my holding out hope that more kids would come would indeed not happen.  Not just a "no, not right now" but a firm, "no, not at all."

The opening of one door (returning to school) was difficult because it had come at the cost of a closed door (not growing our family).
Yet, I knew God was calling me to something else -- not necessarily better or more than -- just different.

So off I went, backpack, pencils, textbooks, and insecurities, to embark on a journey I had neither hoped for nor wanted but was choosing to do it out of obedience.

The three-mile hike up this trail (Columbia Trail) leads to a lookout point; a 180-degree unobstructed view of the Valley.

It's breathtaking and awe-inspiring.
The entire time up the trail, mom that I am, I was being the pack-mule for the backpack loaded with first-aid supplies, snacks and water bottles, reapplying bug spray, fielding the "are we there yet?" mantras, and retying shoelaces.

I didn't notice much as we gained the 1,000 foot elevation; I was too busy taking head count and alternating piggy-back rides for tired boys.

We finally made it and I had the boys sit under some shade to have a snack, and it was then I lifted my eyes to take in what I had been missing the previous two hours.
What I saw took my breath away.
What I heard made every single doubt disappear.

"Do you see it?  This is all yours, Laurel.  If you would only stop looking at what isn't and look at what is, you would see I've given you everything."

It was as though all the scheduling, all the dreaming, all the hoping that goes into planning a trip like the one we were on came down to that moment.  God brought me out to Yosemite National Park in the midst of the Sierra Nevadas to give me a glimpse of all that he had been doing in those years of hurt and confusion, and would continue doing, as I continually entrusted myself to Him.

Never before had I felt the depth of care and compassion from the Lord that I felt in that moment.
To know he has this all in hand.
To know he is unfolding a beautiful plan for me, even if it is not one I would have chosen for myself.
To know he alone fulfills the deepest desires of my heart.
To know he is a God of yeses and opportunities - he does not call the equipped, but equips the called.
To know he gives lavishly, despite knowing my selfish and doubting heart.
To know in all my wandering, in all my questioning, in all my times of being in a desert valley, he has never left me nor forsaken me.
To know he has been and continues to do things far beyond my comprehension.

Standing there was an ebenezer moment for me.  Or as my mama puts it, my "aha" moment.
I understood it like I had never understood it before.
God is, day by day, revealing his glory and his goodness as only he can in ways only he can.

While there are still moments of "I wish", it no longer wracks me with the grief and shame it did once.  I never thought I would be able to say this, but the faithful wounding that occurred during those years, the nights of loneliness and despair, the wrestling deeply with God, have been worth all the learning that his love is far more vast and precious than my heart can possibly take in.  To have this treasure in such a fragile jar of clay; to see just a shadow of the things to come, to understand deeply why I need Jesus so desperately, has been immeasurably more valuable than gaining the world and fulfilling what I see as best.

If you're in a season that is toilsome at best and painful at worst, draw your heart closer to the Lord.  As John Piper says, "God is currently doing 10,000 things in your life and you are aware of maybe three."
The Lord has not left you, he has not forgotten you.  He is there, arms open, calling to you, no matter how you feel.  Get in the Word, gather  two or three women that you can be vulnerable and transparent with about your struggles, talk with God about your thoughts, and trust him.  He loves you more than you can fathom.



**We take a cue from Wild at Heart by John Eldridge and do special trips to mark certain years in our boys' lives. When our boys turn 10, they get a special trip, just the boy and dad, tailor made to their interests.  When they are 13, dad and boy will again embark on a special trip, this time a missionary one.  We'll do something special for 16 and 18, but haven't quite figured those out yet.

Peace Keeping

I can do well with conflict when I'm the mediator.  By nature, I'm a listener.  By practice, I've learned to hear both sides of the story.
Why?  Because my bent is peace-keeping.

But if the conflict involves me, my tendency is to shut down and simply apologize so you'll stop being upset with me.
Why?  Because my bent is peace-keeping.

Blessed are the peacemakers...
Yet, when does desiring keeping peace cross over into fear of man and withdrawing from a fight I should fight?

I'm battling knowing where this line is at this very moment.
There is conflict aimed at me, and what has happened -- not just to me but to several women -- is wrong.  Very wrong.

I've stood up and I've said it's wrong.  I have voiced my disagreement.  And for it, I have been hammered at and attacked.  For every word I have spoke, ten more have come back at me.  Every time I've spoken about what has been wrong, I have received hostility and been demanded to make an apology.

The thing is, I can't apologize because you're offended at something.  I can't apologize when your view is skewed and every little thing I do now is filtered through the perspective of me being rebellious and unsubmissive.

Just because I have had different opinions and disagreed with you does not mean I'm either of those things.  It simply means I have a voice and I have ideas.

Sometimes I can confuse being a peacemaker with being somewhat of a doormat and choosing not to speak up, for fear of the anger people will have towards me as they assume my motives.

Part of this is personality -- I'm an introvert and an internal processor.  Often times there is much thinking that goes on in me before I feel able to speak up.  The other part is one of my sin struggles; wanting not to upset you and have you disapprove of me.

However, when the time calls for not being silent anymore, I will full enter into this battle.  If the issue at hand is one of the gospel, I will fight mightily.

I will not be told I'm wrong when I'm not.
I will not be told to repent when I can't.
I will not let you accuse me when the accusations are untruthful.
I will not let it go quietly into that good night if it needs to be shouted from the rooftops.

If we go around arguing about every little thing, our voice becomes one of many.  A cacophony.  It is to a man's glory to overlook an offense.

But there are times to overlook and times to stare the issue straight in the eye.
If we rely on the Lord to lead us out and set our mind on fighting the good fight, we will know when to speak and when to be silent.

And if, when we speak, we are reviled for it, we can rest in the fact that it is the approval of God we seek and not man.  Our good, his glory.

"I know there were women that 

needed to hear those words from you.

And need to continue to hear your words.  

You speak truth.

Satan doesn't like it.

I promise there is a crowd of quieter voices standing behind you,

supporting you, and feeling empowered to make their

voices just a little louder because of you."

--A sweet text from a friend after a hard night.

Truth and Love

Speaking the truth in love.
Not being diplomatic.
Not being politically correct.
But being biblical.

Sometimes it's hard not only to receive the truth spoken in love but it's also hard to be the one speaking the truth in love.

People will make assumptions about your motives based on their own insecurities, sins, struggles, convictions, and past history.  They will project their feelings and thoughts on you.

In other words, they will pass judgement on you.  They will tell you it's not good timing, it's inappropriate, and that you should be more considerate of the greater amount of people.

Ecclesiastes tells us there is a time to speak and a time to listen.
James tells us we are to be slow to speak and quick to listen.

However, if we avoid hard conversations and only ever listen, counsel would cease.  Those hard conversations would never be had.  We would all sit on our hands waiting for the other person to initiate.

So how do you know?  How do you know when you're to speak and when you're to keep silent?  Two simple questions that can help you:
1) Am I being loving in this moment (1 Corinthians 13 is a fantastic definition of love)?
2) Am I being truthful (speaking what actually happened; feelings are real, but they are not fact)?

You cannot be loving without being truthful and you cannot be truthful without being loving.  These are synergistic.  They work with each other, not against.

If your words are truthful and loving, seek the wisdom from above on the when -- God gives it generously to all who ask.
Once spoken, your words are out.  People (even those whom they were intended for) will mishear them, misunderstand them and miscommunicate them.  They will assume motives.
You will be judged.

This is where fear of God over fear of man is most important.**
Ultimately, your heart should be to seek the approval of God, not man, and glorify God and not yourself.  Rest in the fact that you perform for an audience of one.  Your obedience to him is more valuable than the applause of thousands.

When speaking the truth in love, speak boldly, asking the Lord to soften hearts (including yours).  And then let the Holy Spirit do what only he can do -- convict.


** Edward T. Welch has fantastic book over this heart issue; When People are Big and God is Small

Variations

"Two sides to every story."

I've never liked that saying and I especially now do not like it.

Having two sides makes it sound so divisive.  So disagreeable.

You need to hear my side so you can agree with me.

The problem is, it's not necessarily two sides, but a fuller story of the same side.

I recently read what felt like a 1,000 page biography on Dietrich Bonhoeffer (it's fantastic; find it, buy it, borrow it, read it) but I didn't give people a 1,000 page epilogue on what I read.  Rather, I gave them the reader's digest condensed version.  I told them what stood out to me, what fascinated me, what convicted me and what encouraged me.

Yet - that's my view.  If you were to read the actual biography, you would get a much fuller story than any variation of my account could give.

In conflict, there are always two sides to every story.  But it's not really sides so much as variations.

What often happens is the one who has been accused, the one who has been tried and condemned with no jury, is often reeling from what just smacked them in the face and their version is never heard.

It compounds the problem.  Because they aren't saying anything (because they're trying to figure out what the heck just happened and how it got to this place) and the other person's bias is the only one being heard, it just solidifies that the accused is guilty.

People stop looking you in the eye.

People take a wide berth in the hall so they don't have to walk near you.

Everyone in the group gets hugged except you.

It's uncomfortable, it's hurtful, it's baffling.

Yet to speak up would seem like you're defending, trying to justify yourself so you don't, which makes it seem as though you're guilty.  You're damned if you do and damned if you don't.

What I have learned is this --  those that care, they've asked.  Those that don't care will stay their distance.

For people that truly care and love you, no explanation is necessary.

What kind of relationship would that be if you're always having to explain your actions for others' approval?

News flash:  that's not a relationship, that's enslavement.

My husband asked me the other week what these last four months have produced in me.  In other words, let's sift through the yucky and find the gold.

My response?  Never deeper have I felt my justification in the LORD.  Never more have I felt the utter peace that comes from Him knowing my heart and that the weight of how people judge me based on perception actually holds no basis for my eternity.

They don't hold my tomorrow, He does.

They don't approve of me, He does.

They don't justify me, He does.

All because of Jesus.

Pruning

We have this row of crepe myrtles that lines the front of our yard.  Planted long before we ever moved into the house, numbering well over twenty, they’ve failed to produce blooms year after year.

Jake has trimmed and pruned, fertilized and watered, for very little reward.  We made the assumption they had not been planted in the correct location or with the correct spacing and thus have turned our attention to other gardening matters (hello, fire ants).

My neighbor down the street, green thumb extraordinaire and brimming with knowledge and helpfulness, was brave enough to approach me about the trees.

I told her what we had done and she shook her head and replied, “That’s not good enough.” 

She then proceeded to launch into a lecture on how to correctly care for crepe myrtles.

The method calls for far more pruning that we ever thought.  Much more fertilizing and trimming and mulching than we’ve ever done.

See, seven of them are over forty feet tall with branches you can’t wrap your hand around.

Her advice calls for walloping all of them off, save for two or three of the biggest branches, to thin them out and produce new growth.

These branches are in good shape.  The bark is smooth, the leaves are abundant and green.  It doesn’t make sense to sever what seems to be bearing good things.

Yet, they lack the distinct mark of crepe myrtles – the big, vibrant blossoms.

It will be hard, laborious work, hacking through these several-inches-around branches, but next year…

Ah, next year, what will be seen will be far greater than what we see now.

In the book of John, Jesus is recorded as saying, “Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit.”  (John 15:3)

The full weight of those words cannot and should not be taken lightly.

These past few years, God has given growth in me that has borne fruit.  I can look back and point to specific goals met, deep heart desires given, achievements accomplished.

Yet, in these past eight months, he has slowly started taking his holy shears and started the pruning process.  What branches that had growth thick and lovely, he has sliced into.

When God tested Abraham’s faithfulness, God did not ask Abraham to give up something that was wrong, unholy or sinful.

Rather, God asked Abraham to open his hands to something that was good and right and holy.  Laying Isaac on the altar was calling Abraham to sacrifice his one and only son, who was long awaited for and a direct result of God’s goodness and faithfulness to Abraham.  To put it another way, this was a gift as a result of a prayer answered.

In a word, the shears went to work, pruning and shaping a branch that was indeed bearing fruit yet was not fully what it could be.

God doesn’t simply take what is good. Pruning is not punishment, but a loving act God does to us and for us.  His glory and our good.

I’m beginning to understand pruning is not a one and done activity.  Over and over and over, pruning must be done to tame, train and promote better, more vibrant, healthier growth.

God does holy pruning so that we may wholly produce what is lying dormant.  Every branch that is all ready producing good things, he lovingly guides so that they may produce more good things in a better way.

The crepe myrtles can’t blossom when they’re giving nutrients to something that should not be there.

So my neighbor will come over next week.  We’ll labor, yet not in vain.

And next year, it will be done again.

When the Church Rages

These past few months have been hard.  My character and integrity were called into question by people I believed to be trustworthy and thought were friends (and maybe, on some level, still do).
The most hurtful part is the how of the circumstance.  To think someone is a safe place, only to realize, too little, too late, that your confessions, your vulnerabilities, your struggles and your weaknesses have been exploited and turned against you can be a baffling and painful thing to wrestle through.
To find out a case has been building against you; to know there were conversations about you, but never involving you; to be blindsided in what you thought was a regular meeting and leveled with accusation, after accusation, after accusation can leave you feeling sucker-punched.
To be called a liar and a gossip.  To be told you're leading women astray and causing divisiveness.  To be accused of being disrespectful, rebellious and unsubmissive.  To be told you're walking in unrepentant sin and if you would just be humble and repent, everything would be fine.
Needless to say, I've said more f-bombs these last few months than I've probably said in my entire life. 
What to do?  
What to say? 
How to respond?

What man meant for evil, God has used for good.
The division it could have done to our marriage, (as my husband as been woefully betrayed by fellow comrades in this spectacle) has only pushed us deeper into each others' corners. 
Where it was meant to spoil friendships, it has only served to allow those relationships to grow sharper and to humble me with deep gratefulness that I can call such solid men and women my friends.
Where it should make me doubt the goodness of God and my trust in His ability to defend me has only led me to believe the gospel in a truer light.


No one likes to talk about church conflict because the church has it all together.  If we're the believers, the chosen, the redeemed, we can't possibly show our missteps, our hypocrisies and blemishes, can we?
Yet for that very purpose, isn't that why we believe? 
Isn't that why we need redemption? 
Isn't that why to be chosen is such a humbling and honoring thought? That Christ would look upon us with all our filth and shame and proclaim, "That one -- I want that one!"  That he would love us so much He would lay down all His desires and give up His own life for us?  

Not because of anything worthy in us, but because of all his worthiness.

We are indeed sinners, doing life with sinners.  This is what should set the believer in Jesus Christ apart.  Not that there won't be conflict, but when there is, how we handle it will be utterly astonishing to the world.
Beloved, if you've been wounded,  if you've been burned by the church, there is a great hope awaiting you here and now.
Jesus, your High Priest, sympathizes with you.  Because of the very human weaknesses He experienced as Immanuel, God in the flesh, He understands your weaknesses and extends the invitation to boldly approach His throne of grace.
Fix your eyes on Jesus and His justification and not the judgement of others.
Allow the truth of the gospel - the hope and reconciliation -- to sink deep in your heart.  Be kind and tender-hearted, forgiving others as God in Christ has forgiven you.
Know that only God can do the greatest amount of good for the greatest amount of people at the best possible time and He is for everyone.

For they drop trouble on me, and in anger they bear a grudge against me.

For it is not an enemy who taunts me - then I could bear it.

It is not an adversary who deals insolently with me - then I could hide from him.

But it is you, a man, my equal, my companion, my familiar friend.

We used to take sweet counsel together;

Within God's house we walked in the throng.

Psalm 55

Unseen Presence

Chronicles of Narnia is the all-time favorite series in our household.  We’ve read from beginning (The Magician’s Nephew) to end (The Last Battle) so many times, I’ve lost count.

My favorite book out of the 7 is The Horse and His Boy.  Shasta is a young boy fleeing from his abusive father who is attempting to sell his son into slavery.  Shasta steals a soldier’s horse and escapes into the night.

Seemingly to him, everything goes wrong.  He ends up traveling with a girl who is running away from an arranged marriage she doesn’t want.  He becomes lost, he is separated from his horse, he is mistaken for someone else and taken up, and over and over he is pursued by wild animals.

One night as he is walking by himself, Shasta finds a Presence beside him.  He is terrified as he is unable to see what this thing is and finally gathers enough courage to start talking and asking questions.  In the midst of pouring out his heart about everything that has gone wrong, the Presence speaks:

“I was the lion.  I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis.  I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead.  I was the lion who gave the Horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach King Lune in time.  And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man, wakeful at midnight, to receive you.”

In this moment, the Presence, now revealed as the Lion, Aslan, tells Shasta he has always been working even when the boy did not know or understand.  This resounds with me because I find myself in Shasta’s shoes. 

Pouring my heart out to God, telling him my mishaps and failures, my confusion and “if-only’s.”

This last week has found me up at night, in the silent darkness, grieving in a way I can’t articulate.

Death of a dream can do that to a person.

For five years, I’ve pleaded with the Lord to relent, to change, to undo what was done.  And the answer has been no.

In my most hopeful moments, I think it will come later.  In my most despairing moments, I think it will never happen.

I find myself taking comfort from Shasta and the Lion because I need to know that in my unknowing, He does.

That in my confusion, He is peace.

In my hurt, there is healing.

In my wandering, He remains.

Looking at the vast landscape, I can easily get sucked into the next week, stretching into the next month, sliding into the next year and wonder how I’ll do it. How can I continue in the pain and feelings of inadequacies and can’t they please go away?

He responds, “My grace is sufficient for you…”

He has never asked me to make sense of it.

He has never told me I would make sense of the loss, but rather he would use it for my good and his glory.  Even in the pain, he is doing things far beyond my comprehension.

He promises to walk this with me even when I don’t see him or feel him.  For I live by faith and not by sight and I know he is a faithful, promise-keeping, covenant-fulfilling, redeeming God.

“There will be seasons, perhaps days, perhaps years, when no truth however expressed – whether through Scripture, prayer, the kindness of a friend, music or dance – will reach your soul deeply enough to offer joy or hope.  During those seasons, remember, it was when our Lord lost all sense of His Father’s presence that God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself.  The Spirit’s best work is sometimes done in the worst times.”

-          Dr. Larry Crabb

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