Embrace the Cross

Our five year old son, Ezra is into making crosses this year. Paper and glue, sticks and twine, scraps of boards and nails; he uses whatever materials are at hand at the moment. I admire his creativity, and sometimes I am even called upon to help him get a nail started in just the right place. The other day, he was wanting Ben to help him pound a couple of nails into my bedroom wall in order to hang one of his crosses there for me.

I knew the question was coming.

"Do you like it, Mama?"

Of course I assured him that I like it very much. Truly, nothing delights my mother-heart more than seeing the little seedlings of faith take root and flourish in my children. Ezra knows that the crosses in our home are here to remind us about Jesus.

I haven’t yet tried to explain to Ezra the call to "Take up your cross and follow." Not in so many words. Little boys can get some mighty quirky, albeit amusing, ideas when you try to explain theology to them. But in small ways, we have begun to pave the way for him to understand. We have impressed on our boys the all importance of obedience; both to us, their parents, and to God’s Word. Little things—"Don’t fuss about being uncomfortable;" "Don’t cry if you get shampoo in your eyes;" "Eat the food on your plate without complaint;" "Drop whatever you are doing and come when I call"—are laying the foundation for obedience to that higher call of their King: "If any man would come after Me, let him deny himself, take up his cross daily, and follow Me." Someday, they will understand.

I can’t tell you how many times, when commanding my little boys to do a thing without complaint, I have been uncomfortably convicted that my attitude was not any better than theirs. I can tell you that, on occasion, when I was fuming about something, one or the other of them has asked me, "Mama, what you’re fussing ‘bout?" And I knew I was guilty as charged. Children don’t let you get away with anything!

When Ezra was wanting to hang his cross on our bedroom wall, I was lying in bed. Although I had sense enough not to say so, my initial reaction to his gift was, "Do I have to have that here, now?" In all honesty, it is not a pretty cross. It is less than rustic. It is rough with splinters and grimy with dirt. But I knew better than to hurt Ezra’s feelings. At the same time, I had to acknowledge to myself that this grudging, "Must I?" was exactly my reaction to the circumstances keeping me abed.

You see, I am one who loves to be working, to always be doing. If I happen to not feel real great, I usually just keep on anyway. I see no sense in taking a nap when I have things to do; no sense in being wimpy if I can keep going. Every few years, to remind me that I am finite, God lets me get sick: really sick. Sick enough that I spend days, weeks, months, in bed, not doing much of anything. This was one of those times.

For one who likes to always be "doing," this is tough. Tasks so simple that I don’t normally consider the amount of energy that I expend in the dong of them: sweeping the floor, brushing my teeth, milking the cow, getting out of bed, reading stories to my children, thinking, keeping meals on the table, keeping food in my stomach, going for a walk, taking a shower: suddenly seem monstrously impossible. All of the things I would like to do—the books I want to write, the horses I want to break, the sewing projects I planned to complete—lie undone, completely out of reach of my non-existent energy. I am tempted to complain about my cross: "Not here, Lord, not now..."

This time, my illness carries enough dread over the outcome to halt an elephant in his tracks. It carries enough potential for sorrow and suffering that it is nearly as difficult for me to contemplate as it is for me to get my body out of bed. It is a daily battle to survive; it is a daily battle to trust.

In the fight for survival, I tell myself each day: "Only one thing." I try to avoid multi-tasking if at all possible. One load of laundry. One batch of cookies. One kettle of soup. I can usually stretch my small bit of strength far enough to get one thing done, but if I let myself start a lot of things, I will probably end up leaving a lot of things unfinished.

In the battle to trust, I have also set myself a single, simple goal. To every day acknowledge to my Father, "O Lord, Thou knowest." It is not so much the fear of pain that weakens me, but the unknown interval of waiting lying between the present; when I do not know what will come; and the future; when what He knows will come to pass; that drags me down. This one small statement is for me an act of placing all my fears, all my rebelliousness, all my impatience, all my weakness, all my hopes, all my plans, all my future, in His hands. In this I find the peace I need to face the unknown. It may not stop my stomach’s churning, but it stills my restlessness and quiets my heart. And, for now, that is enough. This, too, shall pass.

If He gives me the piercing cup of pain, He will also give me grace to drink it to the bitter depths. If He gives instead a cup of joy, I want no aftertaste of useless fretting to spoil the sweetness of His mercy. So I lie in bed, and sometimes I look up at Ezra’s cross. No, it is not what I would have chosen, neither the decor nor being bedridden. But it is where God has put me right now, the circumstances He has placed upon me. Just as it was my duty as a mother to gladly accept my son’s gift, so it is my duty to embrace this cross. Wholeheartedly.

Hold us in stillness through the age-long minute
While Thou art silent, and the winds are shrill.
Can the boat sink, while Thou, dear Lord, art in it?
Can the heart faint that waiteth on Thy will?
Amy Carmichael

- by Ruth Weichmann

Under the Mystery

“Why, Lord?”

I have asked Him this question many, many times this year. I ask not because I question His judgment but because His thoughts and ways are higher than mine. I cannot comprehend all of the reasons behind His doings.

“Why now, Lord?” I wondered in April, when I discovered that I was pregnant. The question was one of delight, not dismay; we had been waiting and hoping for another baby.

“Why, Lord?” I asked twice in June; once, after my dear friend called to say that her long awaited first baby had died in the womb; again, after my sister-in-law’s fourth birth ended in an emergency cesarean and a stillborn son.

The question is not an idle one, nor a rebellious one. I ask my Father because I long to know the mystery of His will, I long to grasp the fullness of the purpose that lies behind His actions, I long for my dim sight to be perfected in the light of His face. He graciously gives many answers to my wonderings in His word, but often I must go on in darkness in the face of the unexplained and incomprehensible. Some things will go unanswered until eternity, and it is then that I must trust Him without fretting, and leave the “why” to His wisdom. It is only there–in the confidence I have in His perfect judgements, and the assurance that His purposes are good and glorious–that I can rest in peace.

As Amy Carmichael said,

If I wonder why something trying is allowed,
and press for prayer that it may be removed;
if I cannot be trusted with any disappointment,
and cannot go on in peace under any mystery,
then I know nothing of Calvary Love.

On November 14, 2006, the pain was too deep, the blow too sharp, for my reeling mind to even begin to ask “why.” I could only weep over the still form of our baby girl, our precious Roseanna Kari, as my Father took to Himself the daughter born only one day before.

In the days that followed, the questions echoed repeatedly through my soul. Why was her life so short? Why must she have suffered so in that one brief day? Why were we not allowed to hold her longer? Even now, most of them remain unanswered. The doctors could not pinpoint a reason behind her death.

Roseanna is gone. It remains to me to go on under this mystery, leaving all of the churning “what if’s” and “if only’s” with my Father. I give Him, too, all of the uncertainties and fears that shadow the future. He knows all that has passed, and all that lies ahead. Nothing can touch me, but what He allows. Though the storm blow fiercely and the night be black about me, in Him is peace for the present and light enough for the next step of the way.

Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgements, and His ways past finding out!... For of Him, and through Him, and to Him are all things: to Whom be glory for ever. Amen (Romans 11:33, 36).

- by Ruth Weichmann

The Grass is Always Greener

You have probably heard the saying that “life’s not a bed of roses.” When circumstances go awry, disillusioned people are hard put to find the good in life. Even when things run smoothly, there’s always a pessimist about who will find a little squeak in the wheels to fuss over. It’s the perversity of our fallen nature–we are seldom content. I’m sure you have heard someone complain about soaring temperatures in the heat of summer, only to gripe about the cold when winter comes.

I have long maintained that, despite the saying, life is like a bed of roses. Perhaps most people only think of sweet blossoms when they think of roses. I know, however–from personal experience–that roses have thorns, too! The wild roses that bloom along our roads in June are my very favorite flowers. Many’s the time I have pulled the pickup over for a few minutes to gather a fragrant armful before continuing home. In the course of the picking, my fingers usually end up full of thorns. But they are worth the trouble. My pricked fingers are quickly dismissed when I bury my nose in my bouquet. And so does life contain both the bitter and the sweet.

When you look at your life, do you see the roses, or do you only see the thorns? Are you enjoying the blessings in each day, and thanking God for them, or do they go unnoticed because you are thinking only of what tomorrow may bring? True, some of us are more optimistic by nature than others, but contentment is a virtue that we each must cultivate, regardless of personality.

Life is good, these days. I have the best husband in the world, the two sweetest boys in the world, prairie flowers, a cow to milk, horses to ride, fresh cool mornings, sunset gold on the hills, little showers and rainbows, a fire in the stove, a song to sing, a piano to play, and over and above and through and in all the sure knowledge that God is guiding and keeping and protecting us. He most certainly “giveth us richly all things to enjoy...” (I Tim. 6:17)

Yet how often do I forget all this and get caught up in what is not. How many times, in those days when I was single, did I thank God for the opportunity to be fully focused on pleasing Him? Not many, I’m afraid. Instead, my thoughts tended to be turning ever Ben-ward, wondering how that “unofficial” courtship of ours would ever end, longing for a chance to be together, wishing he’d write me, daydreaming of “happily ever after.” After our marriage, when suddenly my assignment changed, and I now had to focus on pleasing my husband, I looked back on that season with a new appreciation for how good it had been.

Few things steal my joy faster than being over-focused on something I hope will happen “someday.” I miss out on present happiness when I get depressed in a season of waiting for blessings yet to come. As a new bride, I assumed that motherhood would follow on the heels of marriage. Wrong. One month passed, then another, and another, and another... “Why, Lord?” I wondered. I longed for a baby, for the chance to give my husband a child. Every month hope would rise; every month hope was disappointed, and I would crash into the abyss of sadness–again.

The baby came, at last, and then I wished for time alone with my husband! Do you see what happened? I had a good thing, and I missed my chance to savor it to the fullest. And then the opportunity was forever past. When I look back on our “honeymoon” year, the first thing I remember is being depressed over not having a baby. I should have been focused on delighting in my new role as wife to the man I loved, and keeper of the home of my dreams. I should have been thanking God for granting me the desires of my heart, and quietly trusting that He would give us a child in His time. I should have been content...

No matter how good life is, I can miss the roses for the thorns if I am discontent. Like the dog carrying his bone across the creek, I drop the treasures of today when I snatch at the mirage of “tomorrow,” and they are forever gone. Like a cow reaching through the barb-wire fence to munch on ditch grass, I overlook the goodness right in front of my nose.

Few things I have seen bespeak contentment and quiet trust to me like the sight of a herd of cattle grazing peacefully in a pasture. They take no thought for the morrow. They do not fret over yesterday’s mishaps. They harbor no worries. They simply take what is given them by the Creator’s hand. And perhaps, in the acceptance of the gift lies the gratitude for it.

How about you? What season of life are you supposed to be enjoying right now? What good thing has your Saviour set before you? Are you single, at home with your family? Treasure the time you have to build relationships with your siblings, and set them a good example to follow. Are you courting? Savor every minute of it–you will not pass this way again. Do you have young children? Delight in your role as their mother; pour out your life gladly for their nurture. Wherever you find yourself,“be content with such things as ye have...” (Heb. 13:5)

When life seems all thorns, just keep looking; you’re sure to find a bud sooner or later. Every day, remember that you are the most blessed woman alive, and wholeheartedly thank the Giver of such goodness as our God has bestowed upon you. The grass is always greener when we look at life through grateful eyes.

- by Mrs. Ruth Weichmann