You Were There

I have been reviewing life, the past few years of my life, and tracing God's faithfulness to me at every step of the way. Truly, all that I am, all that I have, all that I hope to be I owe to His faithfulness to me in the past, and in the face of uncertain days, I rest my heart on the promise of His faithfulness in the future.

In my reviewing of these past years, I came across a poem I wrote during one of the most painful times of my life. It isn't good poetry, but it was written after a moment when I caught a glimpse of His goodness in a very special way, and the realization of His faithfulness, the realization that He is always with me, meant much to my heart right then.

It's taking time to go back and view our ebenezers, to count our blessings and to see His faithfulness that gives us strength and courage. I want to share some of these ebenezers, share some of God's faithfulness with you, so that you, too, might take courage.

In the darkness of the night
I saw your hand.
In the midst of the storm
I heard your voice.
When I thought I was all alone,
You were there.

You knew the answers
To the questions in my heart.
You understood it all
When I had no words to explain.

In face of my pain
I saw your hand
In the middle of my sorrow
I heard your voice

I can trust you with my heart,
You understand every part
When I thought I was alone
You were there.

- by Chantel Harding

Praise in Trials

The Lord may not definitely have planned that this should overtake me, but He has most certainly permitted it. Therefore though it were an attack of an enemy, by the time it reaches me, it has the Lord's permission and therefore all is well. He will make it work together with all life's experiences for good. - C. H. Welch

Praise can heighten your awareness that distressing circumstances are God's blessings in disguise. Your trials rip away the flimsy fabric of your self-sufficiency. This makes room for God's spirit to weave into your life a true and solid confidence--the kind of confidence that Paul expressed in Philippians 4:13: "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." - Ruth Myers, 31 Days of Praise, 124

Man needs difficulties

Quotations from a treasure of a book I discovered...

You know as well as I there's more...there's always one more scene no matter. - Archibald McLeish

In the last resort it is highly improbably that there could ever be a therapy which gets rid of all difficulties. Man needs difficulties; they are necessary for health. - Carl Jung

Die before you die. There is no chance after. - C. S. Lewis

From Pollyanna

Check out Elisabeth's latest article on a response to suffering.

How a Soul Grows Through Loss

All people suffer loss. Being alive means suffering loss. Sometimes the loss is natural, predictable, and even reversible. It occurs at regular intervals, like the seasons. We experience the loss, but after days or months of discomfort we recover and resume life as usual, the life that we wanted and expected...But there is another kind of loss...this kind of loss has more devastating results and is irreversible.

Such loss includes terminal illness, disability, divorce, rape, emotional abuse, physical abuse, mental illness...if normal, natural, reversible loss is like a broken limb, then catastrophic loss is like an amputation. The results are permanent, the impact incalculable, the consequences cumulative. Each new day forces one to face some new and devastating dimension of the loss. It creates a whole new context for one's life...

I saw a vast darkness closing in on me. I was terrified by that darkness. I wanted to keep running after the sun, though I knew that it was futile. So I lost all hope, collapsed on the ground, and fell into despair. I thought at that moment that I would live in darkness forever. I felt absolute terror in my soul.

Later my sister told me that the quickest way for anyone to reach the sun and the light of day is not to run west, chasing after the setting sun, but to head east, plunging into the darkness until one comes to the sunrise.

I discovered in that moment that I had the power to choose the direction my life would head, even if the only choice open to me, at least initially, was either to run from the loss or face it as best I could. Since I knew that darkness was inevitable and unavoidable, I decided from that point on to walk into the darkness rather than try to outrun it, to let my experience of loss take me on a journey where ever it would lead, and to allow myself to be transformed by my suffering rather than to think I could somehow avoid it. I chose to turn toward the pain, however falteringly, and to yield to the loss, though I had no idea at the time what that would mean.

- Excerpted from A Grace Disguised by Jim Sittser

Our heart makes all the difference

I came across a quote the other day that stopped me in my tracks:

Suffering always changes us, but it does not necessarily change us for the better.

- John Ortberg, The Life You've Always Wanted

Though we wish it were not so, it is true. The question then becomes, "What are we going to do when suffering comes?" If it does not automatically change us to be more like Christ, what else is necessary?

I believe the answer is found in Paul's words. Could it be that one part is to rejoice in them? Romans 8 speaks of the necessity of suffering. Food for thought...

The One Who Called

Note: This was written during a time(this past spring and early summer) when the Lord was taking my family through a great trial. It is a picture of my spiritual walk with Him before and during the trial.

“Come, follow me,” the Master called to Simon Peter, Andrew, James, and John. Immediately they left their nets and boats and followed Him. “Follow me,” He called out to Matthew the tax collector. Immediately, he left his collecting booth and ran after the Master.

“Come, and follow me,” The Master called out to Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas, and James son of Alphaeus. Thaddeus, Simon the Zealot, and Judas Iscariot were also called. All twelve men left all they had and all that they were to follow the One who had called them. They did not know where the path would lead them. Sometimes it was bright and sunny; at other times it was dark and stormy. Still they pressed on; following the One who had called them.

“Come, follow me,” my Master says to me. The road ahead looked bright and sunny with no clouds, no rain in sight. Enthusiastically I followed close behind, not wanting Him to get too far ahead. “This is wonderful,” I thought. “I could do this for the rest of my life.”

“Follow me,” the Master calls again. The road ahead was covered by clouds and rain. It wasn’t so easy this time, but I took His hand and began to walk down an unknown, wet path. This road was full of curves and I never knew which one would lead me back to my familiar sunny path. Still I followed on, pressing closer to the One who had called.

“Come and follow me,” the Master called once more. The road ahead was pitch black, with twists and turns every which way. I couldn’t see the end. I was barely out of the cloudy road and now He wants me to walk on this road?! I reached out my hand and held on to His. What security is found as I hold His hand. We started off on this dark path. I grew frightened, but my Master whispered, “I will never leave you or forsake you. Trust Me.”

So here I am walking down a dark, unfamiliar path with no end in sight. As I walk I press closer to the Master who’s leading me along. No matter what lies around the next bend I will press on, following the One who called.

- by Allison Parker
You can contact Allison through e-mail at: aloha819 at comcast dot net

The Beauty of Pain and the Option of Misery

"Pain is inevitable- but misery is optional."

It is sad how often we forget in our moments of pain about the power of our choices. Instead of facing the pain head-on, recongizing the hurt, and going on the best we can, we allow ourselves to become not only hurt, but miserable. I guess you could say, we tend to wallow in our pain, to focus on it, to dwell on it, and to think about it so much that it truly becomes our life. A miserably, hurting life, at that. Happiness becomes a mirage before us, and we don't know how to get out of the pit into which we have fallen. So we stay there, depressed, helpless and hurting more and more and more...Haven't we all been there? :smiles:

The people in my life who I admire the most are those people (and some of you are reading this) who can meet pain so deep that I can't understand it, and yet... even if it knocks them down for a time, get right up, and with a smile on their face, can say "God is faithful- I am blessed beyond measure!". They have discovered the beautiful part of pain- the fact that we can choose what it does to us. We can choose to totally be destroyed by it, and let misery rule our lives, or we can choose to use the pain as a stepping stone to climb a little higher on the mountain. Even in the breaking of our hearts and the shattering of our deepest dreams, we can find some of life's deepest blessings.

We all have dark valleys to meet. I don't imagine that there's one of us who hasn't met some crushing sorrow. Yet, we all have the same choice. We can choose to sink away, and let sorrow eat up our life and joy- our usefulness and the beauty of living, or we can let God use the pain that could have destroyed us to build us up.

"Things don't go wrong and break your heart so you can become bitter and give up. They happen to break you down and build you up so you can be all that you were intended to be."

-- Charles "Tremendous" Jones, motivational speaker and author

Misery is the Devil's distraction from this work. Don't let him convince you that you can't help but be miserable. God has promised strength, He has promised a way of escape for each of us. Pain is not a curse. Sorrow and heartache don't need to break us. But we have to choose what we want them to do.

The bible is full of some of the most beautiful promises about suffering and the joy we can have. We may not see the end from the beginning, and the pain may seem unbearable, but His grace is sufficient. Joy- instead of sorrow and ashes, will be given us. He gathers our tears into a bottle. He knows every throb of pain that strikes our hearts, and He wants to turn it into something beatuiful. Like the Master Refiner that He is, if we choose to allow Him, the pain will bring out the beauty that He has put in us. Like gold, we will be stronger, brighter, more beautiful than ever before.

To say it is easy to choose and do wouldn't be right. There will always be pain, and sometimes sorrow is so deep that it is all we can do to live. No, it isn't all ease and bliss, even if we do not choose to be miserable.Pain is real, but, by God's grace, we will find what we look for the most in pain. Never give up looking for the beautiful. You will find it, because it, too, is real. Broken hearts are real wounds. And even though the tears may fall so fast and so often, we aren't sure if there will be any left, take heart. There is no heart so broken that He cannot heal it. There is nothing that, if we are willing, He cannot change.

He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.

I don't know the pain that tomorrow could bring... I don't know what this life has in store, but I can trust Him to help me to always choose the beautiful, instead of the miserable, "For he is faithful that promised".

- by Chantel Harding
Graphic from ASourceOfJoy

The Furnace

We’ve had quite a spell of hot weather recently. For those of you in southern climes, 96 degrees for a week might not sound too bad, but it’s pretty tough on us Northerners without air conditioning (especially three days that got to 102 degrees!). My family used many words to describe the heat: “smothering,” “scorching,” “blistering.” We said we were “baking,” “roasting,” and “melting.” We compared the temperature to a sauna, an oven, and a furnace.

It was the reference to the furnace that got me thinking. The Bible talks about God “trying” and refining us in a furnace, “as silver is tried (Psalm 66:10).” I’ve noticed a few parallels between hot weather and spiritual trials – maybe you can identify.

1. The furnace is no picnic. It’s miserable! Whether physical or spiritual, the heat has a way of becoming the overriding fact of my life, and I find it difficult to enjoy anything, or even think about anything pleasant! Refinement is a very focused process.

2. The “dross” is what you see first. I tend to be irritable when it’s really hot. The littlest things set me off! It’s the same way when God is refining me spiritually – those traits that He wants to remove are the very ones I display. That just shows that yes, I do need more refining.

3. Realizing our weakness lets us see His strength. There’s nothing I can do to “stop” the heat. No matter how much I wish it was cooler, the thermometer stays the same. I can’t stop the spiritual trials, either. Even if I’m tired of dealing with the issue. Even if I can’t see any change. The realization that God is completely in charge is humbling. I tend to think, “I can handle it on my own,” and need to be put in my place, reminded that I’m a weak and sinful creature.

4. We’re not alone. My mom feels the heat as much as my siblings and I do, but (since she is more mature than I am) she handles it better. The heat makes her sympathetic to the “suffering” of her children. She knows how we feel and is sorry for us, and tries to help us bear it. How much more does our Heavenly Father see His suffering children and have pity on them? We can be assured that His loving eyes never leave us, and we are not forgotten.

5. All things come to an end. Maybe (probably!) not as soon as I’d like, but certainly at the time God has planned. He sits “as a refiner” (Malachi 3:2-3), watching. As soon as His purpose is accomplished, that’s it – we’re done. Until the next trial.

Dost Thou love me so?
Not only would Thou send Thine only Son
To take away my sins and set me free,
But in the furnace Thou wouldst purge my dross.

So deep is Thy love
That Thou seest my sufferings in the flames
And in Thy mercy Thou leavest me there,
Not content ‘til I be pure.

I think only of the pain to me,
Forgetting the cost to Thee.
Thine eyes behold the sufferings of Thy child
And yet, Thou failest me not.

Thy love will not relent –
With steady hand Thou holdest me in the fire,
Not having pity on my fainting flesh
But proving Thy mercy to my soul.

Oh Lord, refine.

- by Jeannie Castleberry, summer 2006

Yad Vashim unveils a Holocaust diary

“She wanted me to save the diary. She said, ‘I don’t know if I will survive, but I want the diary to live on, so that everyone will know what happened to the Jews." The writings of a young Polish girl have been released to the world this week. Rutka Laskier recounts in vivid detail the horrors of life in the Jewish ghetto in 1943. You can read more here (not for younger readers).

Journey - Part Eight

On the edge of a volcano
I have lived for many years.
Now it seems the distant rumble’s
Getting louder in my ears.
I have tried to walk away
From broken pieces of the past,
But their edges tear my feet
Like shattered glass.

I have tried to push disturbing thoughts
Beyond the reach of man.
I have tried to burn my bridges
But I’ve only burned my hand.
Pushing things under the carpet
Hoping that they’ll go away
But I know I’ll lose
My balance any day.

- Sheila Walsh

Last year I finally slipped off the edge of the volcano I'd been playing balance beam with for some time. I'm fine. I can do this. I have to do this. I have to keep going. More than once I took off into the forest and ran until I dropped. I longed to keep running and running until the pain inside eased. We all know running is not the answer but sometimes just the thought of facing the Darkness--and whatever it consists of--is unbearable.

Someday we all have to stop running. We have to stop wearing the happy face masks and the risk rejection of men for the sake of authentic relationships and the pleasure of God. The Psalmist did not hide his agony. Psalm 31, which will appear throughout this series, is one of my favorite chapters in all of Scripture. The honesty is beautiful.

I will rejoice and be glad in your steadfast love, because you have seen my affliction; you have known the distress of my soul, Be gracious to me, O LORD, for I am in distress; my eye is wasted from grief; my soul and my body also (Psalm 31:7, 9).

Darkness attacks every part of us, including our bodies and our souls. Nutrition, rest and exercise are vital and not to be neglected while wrestling through the spiritual issues. "The condition of our bodies makes a difference in the capacity of our minds to think clearly and of our souls to see the beauty of hope-giving truth," Piper says in When the Darkness Will Not Lift.

It will be of great advantage to the struggling Christian to remember that seasons of darkness are normal in the Christian life. I don't mean that we should not try to live above them. I mean that if we do not succeed, we are not lost, and we are not alone, as the fragment of our faith cleaves to Christ. - John Piper

I know how it feels. When you are in the Darkness you often do not want to hear it. That is okay. We will ask you to listen anyway and we know that someday...you will.

Journey - Part Seven

Nothing like starting the week out with a light, cheery topic! The next two days' posts are much happier, I guarantee. But for now...

"But I don't want to write about this." With a warm spring breeze skimming across the tops of the trees in the surrounding forest and the entire family home for the summer, I am happy. More at peace and content than any time since I was a little girl. Life is beautiful.

One of the last things I would choose to do right now is relive the season last year when for long months the word "happy" lost any meaning. There are some things you would just as soon erase from memory.

Do I know God's full purpose for the darkness I crawled through? Far from it--I can see only a few possibilities. His purposes are His own; whether we like it or not, our task is to endure and to wait. Nothing less.

Some people think it's a bad word. I say it's real. Whatever name you call it by, if you have ever battled it, whether for a month or a year or a decade, you know its touch. Depression. Despair. Darkness. That season (or seasons) of life you remember with a cold feeling in the pit of your stomach. One of those subjects which people rarely talk about and only in the abstract third person. No one ever wants to bring it up. No one would dare admit they struggled with such a volatile malady. But if someone did...I wonder what might happen?

I wonder...if others struggle too? In fact, I know they do.

I'll throw my arms wide and share it willingly. "What's to hide?" Are we so afraid of man that we will insist upon wearing masks with each other to the point where we cannot remember what our true face looks like? Is it a sin to battle depression? Is it unbiblical to lose sight of joy?

Well, is it?

Our trusting the Lord does not mean
that there are not times of tears.
I think it is a mistake as Christians to act as though
trusting the Lord and tears are not compatible.
– Francis Schaeffer

Here I sit. I'd much rather read or take a walk or do anything other than write this post. How do you write about something like this? It is like trying to describe a black hole--it is like a vacuum. You are seeking to describe the absence of something, the gradual smothering of joy, memory, and life itself.

I do not think very many people write well when treading through the darkness. Perhaps they can form some words in the murky shadows, but when the utter desolation strikes your heart and mind you cannot. It is enough of a challenge to keep breathing. Anything I wrote during the Darkness is nearly incomprehensible. You cannot put tears and screams and heartache on a page--not when you are in their clutches.

Are there books out there on depression? I imagine there are, though I had never read one until last month. When I saw the author and title there could be no option but to pick it up and read. Now I am telling you to read John Piper's When the Darkness Will Not Lift: Doing What We Can While We Wait for God--and Joy. Oh, you will not want to read it. But you should. It's large print and only 75 pages. No excuses can be made.

Piper hits the bull's eye with this one. Beginning with a clear explanation of justification by faith alone and its relationship to the "fight for joy," he explores the whys and hows of Darkness. He assures us from Scripture that we are not alone, we are not lost. He urges us to action, to the self-examination for sin, to living unselfishly and patiently. As the subtitle says, often we must wait for God to restore our joy. There is no guaranteed five-steps to happiness. We are responsibly to do our part and wait on God for the rest.

Piper says, "[Darkness] happens because of sin, or because of Satanic assault, or because of distressing circumstances, or because of hereditary or other physical causes...Bible-saturated Puritan pastors recognized the complexity of causes behind the darkness of melancholy." Often it is a vicious combination of several causes; Piper addresses them all. Any treader of Darkness will find Piper eerily insightful. Especially those, like me, who have dealt with nearly all of those causes.

“In the real dark night of the soul, it is always 3-o’clock in the morning.”
– F. Scott Fitzgerald

When you are battling the Darkness you do not want to read a book. Or hear a sermon. Or tell one more person, "I'm fine," when in actuality you are smothering to death. Yet we must. We must read and we must write. This means we will also weep. Eventually, though it is impossible to pinpoint exactly when, it will become slightly easier. Then you will realize the words you read speak truth and the words you write bring healing. I've begged God to take me home. I've stood on a balcony and thought about jumping off. I've lived days where I gave up on making the smallest bit of progress and knew God would have to do it all. Every day seems an eternity. God, do you care about this at all??

The darkness will not last forever.

I promise. Far more importantly, He promises.

Journey - Part Six

At times all of us do things (at least in part) to prove to others and/or ourselves that we can. Some things are relatively simple; others might be feats only a few people accomplish in a lifetime.

Whether it was initially true or only solidified over time, in the end I tried to prove that I could do it--I could survive in this place that I loved: Alaska. I did for awhile. Finally the fact that I was ultimately fighting against myself (and losing) led to a bittersweet ending. I could not do it. More importantly, the fact that I couldn't do it was not bad; my inability became my path to true wholeness. But I did not know any of that at the beginning.

August 8, 2006

This past weekend I moved 3546 miles from Smithville, Missouri to a little town just north of Anchorage, Alaska.

Many of my friends are on similar new adventures. I just chatted with a long-time sister who just moved to Germany for a year of missions work. Another little sis emailed to let me know she's home (in China) from a month in Uganda where she did relief and ministry to AIDS orphans. A third friend is getting ready to leave for Kenya. One of my mentors just returned for the second half of her five years in Poland. The list goes on and on...

But when you get down to the bottom line...it doesn't really matter if you are in Tanzania (like my former roommate) or Topeka. The great adventure is not in the outward circumstances--the language spoken, the climate, the food--but in the heart where God transforms lives. Watching Him make His people more into His image, more fitted to serve Him, more whole, complete people: this is what gives life its purpose.

This is the Great Adventure. As the song by Steven Curtis Chapman says,

We'll travel over, over mountains so high
We'll go through valleys below
Still through it all we'll find that
This is the greatest journey
That the human heart will ever see
The love of God will take us far
Beyond our wildest dreams.

Sure, I'll likely need to be content to only see 6 of the 7 continents in my lifetime (I can't imagine being able to justify a trip to Antarctica...). Nothing can quell the thrill of following God through hard times and good. Whether in famine (spiritually, relationally, physically) or in plenty, He is faithful.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There were days I could not see it, but now that I am no longer in the darkest part of the valley I can again say it with my head held up: He is faithful. We, His Body, choose to believe the eternal truths which have not yet come to fruition. This is the essence of faith.

It would be easy to list some good things from this season and leave it at that. Who likes to hear bad things anyway? Isn't that why we invariably answer "fine" when asked how we are? Most likely it's not true but that is what we think the questioner wants to hear. It's a safe answer. Safe is good, right?

Only true safety. The safety that comes from the Lord as our refuge does not shut out all pain, fear, and betrayal. We know this yet still cry out when these things make an entrance in our life. I knew my Father was working through my season in Alaska but I could not see. If you are going through a season so dark that your eyes ache from the strain of trying to see...take heart. God's work is not affected by the strength of our vision. Our souls are safe in His hand.

The emergency room sign, in some ways, aptly encapsulates my season in Alaska. The largest chunk of my time there found me at the hospital every day: I walked past the emergency room and took an elevator to the third floor pediatric center. My days flew by filled with answering phones, sorting medical records, computer work, trying to get the height and weight of the children...and lunch breaks spent trying to keep swimming in relationships and physical circumstances which promised to drown me in the end.

The combination of stress at work, heartache in relationships, and a useless fight against my own body's limitations knocked me flat on my face. Much of the time in those long weeks I was too upset to eat or sleep. If I spoke to a friend back in the lower 48 it was only on the most surface of levels. I knew I could not keep going but I did not know how to stop.

The emergency room and hospital hallways held not only the memories of long work days but also the sort of experiences you wish you could forget or erase. Trips to visit friends in surgery, a late night vigil in the ER with another dear friend, and the night I gave up, gave out, gave in and was myself admitted.

My night in the hospital, before my mom arrived to help me return to Kansas City, brought a strange sense of relief. At last the burden no longer rested on my shoulders alone. Admitting I "couldn't do it" anymore broke me. In a curious way, I discovered both how strong I really was and how utterly in need of help on this path to the Celestial City.

Why was I so afraid to let anyone see how sick I was, how much I longed for death? If there is a prize for the pilgrim who reaches that City with the least amount of assistance (and I doubt there is), I will not be in the running. Somehow, I do not think King David is either.

Incline your ear to me; rescue me speedily! Be a rock of refuge for me, a strong fortress to save me! For you are my rock and my fortress; and for your name's sake you lead me and guide me; you take me out of the net they have hidden for me, for you are my refuge. Into your hand I commit my spirit; you have redeemed me, O LORD, faithful God (Psalm 31:2-5).

During those nightmarish days I had no choice--I had to commit my spirit to God's keeping for no one else could help me. Only He was able to rescue and heal from such a huge hurt as this. Even when I could not form prayer, the Holy Spirit interceded and the words of Scripture proclaimed the truth eternal.

Even when you are so afraid, angry, heartbroken, and lonely that you cannot even talk about it, He is there. The Psalm points out that the enemy had laid the net. God's grace came not in an absence of the net, but in rescue from the net.

to be continued...

Journey - Part Three

For as long as I can remember I knew I wanted to be either a mommy or a missionary--or both! I dreamed of the day I could finally travel to the Third World countries to work with the orphans, the lepers, the displaced and hungry. An African hut sounded great--bring on the adventure!

As the years passed I set foot in Morocco, China, and Syria. I planned to learn Arabic, buy my food fresh in the market everyday and wear the salwar I bought in a Chicago Pakistani neighborhood. My lifelong yearning to see Israel came to fruition last year. Yet with the fulfillment of one dream came the final death of another.

One thing I neglected to mention above about my time in Morocco, China, and the Middle East was how sick I became. Every trip started well. Sometime in the first third of the visit I would begin to get sick. In every case I became so miserably ill that I could barely sleep or eat--I just wanted to go home...or die. Some of my most vivid memories of all those countries revolve around the sleepless nights spent on the floor of the bathroom. Or counting the minutes until the bus would stop and I could lie down.

Long before Israel Dad had gently broached the idea that I might not be strong enough for the kind of rigorous life I desired. But stubbornness is an inherited trait. I can do it! Let me try. Not until the third day of our trip, on the shores of the Sea of Galilee did I finally give in and understand. I can't do this. And I was devastated.

There I was, in the place I wanted to be more than anywhere else on earth--with the people I most wanted to be with--exploring ancient ruins and digs, climbing mountains and visiting kibbutzim and I could barely eat or walk. Why, God? Why can't I do it? I'm trying so hard. Sometime during that trip--probably the same morning I was sitting in the hotel chair at 3 am trying to eat crackers while counting how many days I had to survive before going home--I gave up. And a burden rolled off my shoulders I had not realized was even present.

My dad taught me that I am not less of a person because I am fragile. "Use the gifts and talents God has given you," he says. I clearly do not have the gifts of an iron stomach and stalwart immune system. I do possess a love of the written word and burden to encourage and "love on" young ladies. My heartbeat is for ministry--which can even be done cross-culturally without leaving the Midwest thanks to our new global society. I could stop trying to force myself to be something other than what God made me to be.

Recently a friend posed a profound question. "Does God give us dreams and desires only to tell us no? Are they tests? Or am I not enough in tune with God if I am feeling this disappointment?"

Is it just me or does it appear that the further one journeys the more questions one finds?

For the body does not consist of one member but of many. If the foot should say, "Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body," that would not make it any less a part of the body. And if the ear should say, "Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body," that would not make it any less a part of the body.

If the whole body were an eye, where would be the sense of hearing? If the whole body were an ear, where would be the sense of smell? But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose. If all were a single member, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, yet one body (1 Cor. 12:14-20).

Perhaps my part in the Body is not as adventurous or physical or even noticeable. I did not choose my part--God did. Believe me, my choice of dreams, thorns, and experiences would have been far different. Praise God that He is sovereign and we are under the shadow of His wings.

to be continued...

Journey - Part Two

Did I say 10 parts? This series has rapidly expanded. In an attempt to keep each piece of reasonable length, I will not try to project how many parts Journey will have. We will alternate with plenty of the regular fare. - Natalie

“Fragile.” That’s what my dad calls me. Mom always says that God put me together with spare parts. A huge component of my challenges this past year has been accepting and working with my unique limitations allowed by my Heavenly Father.

For a while I felt like something about me would always be "broken"; we live in a fallen world so such is to be expected sometimes. I am blessed that none of my problems are advanced enough to be life-threatening. When I think of a friend who went from being "fine" to experiencing paralysis and facing death because of a brain tumor in a matter of hours, my trials are nothing.

The apostle Paul writes of a "thorn in the flesh" which served as a constant reminder of his need for the Lord. I view mine as the same. Do I like it? No. Did I pray for healing and answers? Certainly. Am I content to live my life with the realization there are no cures for the things I face? Today I am.

It still catches me off guard sometimes to hear of a friend who "hasn't been to the doctor in years" if ever. Like most self-absorbed humans, I often forget that everyone is not just like me. You mean others don't have a string of doctors and specialists with medical records six inches thick? You have not grown up battling x or y?

The search for answers to my sickness and pain began years ago but in February of 2006 I dropped in on a doctor to learn everything I could do to avoid getting sick on my upcoming trip to the Middle East. I hadn't been feeling well and the last thing I wanted on this trip of a lifetime was to be in constant pain or unable to eat. The doctor gave me some assistance and left me with a comment unrelated to my reason for the visit. He noticed some physical symptoms that were unusual and encouraged me to see a specialist when I got back.

Four months later the journey began to climb a mountain so steep I could not see the summit. No closer to answers but more desperate than before, I began the gauntlet. I now have five doctors on "my string"and some answers. Back when my search began I only prayed "for answers." I did not realize one answer is, "We don't know."

In February I first heard the term "polycystic ovarian syndrome." In May I heard the words applied to me. All of a sudden many strange symptoms and concerns made sense but what comfort is that if there is no cure?

I can only imagine how a cancer patient must feel. No cure. Only treatments. A chance to fight back and maybe live a full life. "No cure" held heavier meaning now that it attached itself to this endocrine disorder, PCOS, and to me. Now it is a part of my thorn. There are other pieces. To name a few: most of my life I've lived with a skin disease carrying the same "answer": no cure. Only this year did I hear about the new research hinting that the disease's source lies in the immune system. Other physical challenges I've carried the past decade are scoliosis and fibromyalgia. Some things parts are still under the heading "we don't know" and/or are hard to understand.

My parents are amazing. Together we sought out Christians who practice the truth that the whole person must be treated: body, mind and spirit. We cannot understand the multitude of ways they are connected; we just know that they are. Godly counsel was essential. Weeks of learning from those who excel in their field was needed. Prayer was vital. But my steps were slowing. I was tired.

Thus is the nature of my thorn. Yours may wear a different face but the challenge remains the same: when God says "no" to our request for a good thing, what will we do? How will we respond when the way is blocked which seems best in our eyes? Can we survive the burial of a dream?

to be continued...

Note: I shall maintain my stand with Beth Moore on the issue of sharing details. The focus must always be on Christ and the message. If details will help, some carefully chosen items may be given. But often more information is a distraction and pulls the reader's eyes from Christ to the author.

Should it really matter to anyone if I wore a green or red hat? Only to those who think that green hats are shocking or red hats must be the mark of something special. Some might start comparing their hats to mine and either feel relief that theirs is better or disappointment that mine has a feather in the band. It is enough that I wore a hat. :smile:

Journey (Preface)

Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me.

Phil. 4:11-13, 19

In any and every circumstance. All things through Him. All things. Every circumstance.

Every. All. Through Him.

I know how to be brought low. Through Him.

Even though I walk through

the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
Psalm 23:4

I will never leave you or forsake you.
Hebrews 13:5-6

Through Him.

I am writing this for you. 'Tis in no way for myself or my own benefit; sometimes I wondered if I could write it at all. Through Him. Somehow I did it. Because I know I am not the only one to go through these things. I may just be the only one talking about them.

Why? Are we afraid? What are we fearing? Our brothers and sisters in Christ? Wagging tongues, pitiful glances? Where I've come from--there is fear. No person alive can touch me like that--why would I concern myself with fearing the finite?

I can do all things through Him.

Earth hath no sorrow that heaven cannot heal.
– Thomas Moore

Through Him.

Through the coming weeks the 10-part Journey series will be published, interspersed with our regular articles. Feel free to skip them if the subject matter is irrelevant or makes you uncomfortable (unless that is a good thing). Also be assured that nothing will be inappropriate for any age to read. Anything geared to older readers will be linked to an off-site page.

Change Me

It was a moment of sobering realization as the reality of what I was doing hit me. I had thought that my prayers were worthy and just. I had thought that my deepest desire and the cry of my heart to God was right. I thought that my motive was pure, and then I realized how it really was not.

True, the thing I was facing was no ordinary thing. True, it was deep, it was painful, and it was overwhelming. True, I didn't know what to do or where to begin, but oh how common to those of us who live in this Dark World. In my hurt, I was crying out to God for answers, for wisdom and guidance and for instruction, and this was right.

But in my hurt I also cried for deliverance from the Thing that was hurting so deeply. "Lord, just take it away. Erase it from my life, and make it all happy and all filled with joy again!" I would cry. But this Thing did not go away. Instead, it seemed to grow bigger, and uglier, and the pain only went a little deeper. "Lord, I'm seeking you, I'm asking for help, Please, Lord, take this away!" Still, the pain was there, and the Thing that caused it was still there. Bitterness, that poison that creeps in to taint the soul, began to creep in to my heart. An icy wall of protection began to grow around me, to prevent the pain from going too deep. If it would not go away, then I would shield my hart from experiencing any more than I had to bear, and the days went on, and I continued to pray for change.

All I wanted, all I was asking for was for there to be a Change, if ever so small, that would relieve my pain. That was really all I desire. And then, a whole new picture opened before my eyes. I had prayed, many a time, for the Thing that was hurting me to change, but could it be that, through this experience, God was calling me to change?

In all the pain, I was loosing sight of the beauty of what He can do to turn something ugly into something beautiful, something hurtful into one of the greatest blessings. I was so intent on changing the thing that hurt, that I was not allowing God to change me.

God's ways are above our ways. He knows the end from the beginning. He knows what is the very best for each one of our lives, and more than anything else, He wants to see us have that very best. Our vision is short term, and we can't see the far reaching results, nor the real value in our moments of pain, and we plead for a change. Until we have traveled a little farther and are looking back, we may not see that the very thing that seems so devastating was the thing that lifts us higher.

Today, that pain is still there. The same hurtful thing still is heavy on my heart. But today, I'm not asking for God to change that, instead I'm asking that He'll change me.

- by Chantel Harding

Christian, Homeschool graduate among Virginia Tech victims

"On her MySpace page, Lauren McCain listed "the love of my life" as Jesus Christ. Her family said the 20-year-old international studies major became a Christian some time ago...She was home-schooled and had worked at a department store for about a year to save money for college" (US and World News).

As has been true of other infamous tragedies such as Columbine, among the Virginia Tech students who were killed on April 16 was a young lady named Lauren McCain. Several articles giving clear testimony to her faith in Christ have appeared in the 30 hours since her death was confirmed on Tuesday.

"'I can only imagine … how wonderful heaven will be,'" Lauren is quoted as writing in a friend's birthday card. Her family is pointing to the Lord for their sufficiency as well: "Friends and family members read Bible verses, remembered McCain and prayed for the man who police say killed her and the others. 'We grieve over our great loss, and yet find peace in the reality that God is worthy of our trust and we are sustained in our sorrow by that truth'" (Daily Press).

Read more at Pilot Online and sign the guestbook for Lauren's parents.

Update: Thanks to JoAnna for information about another Christian young lady among the victims: Rachel Hill, 18. You can read about her here at the Times Dispatch. This quote is especially poignant:

"Rachael had a wonderful, close, loving relationship with her parents," School Superintendent Clay Fogler wrote in a letter to the church community yesterday. "Any parent would have counted it a privilege to have called her their daughter." Now, when he reads the C.S. Lewis quotation that Hill chose to appear under her yearbook photo, he sees it as almost prophetic: "God, who foresaw your tribulation, has specially armed you to go through it, not without pain but without stain."

You can see pictures here, which shows something we need to remember: these are girls just like us...whose lives were completed in God's timing. It challenges me to live each day as if it were my last. We are not promised tomorrow.

- Thanks to Rachel Kondro for providing links about Lauren

In Every Change

“Maybe you should start packing.”

My husband’s voice carried the usual note of teasing but also a serious undercurrent. He was just joking, right? Maybe not this time...

We were in the throes of yet another major, life changing decision; the past two years had been full of them. Do we stay here, or do we move? Do we hatch turkeys or butcher them? Do we sell cows or buy some? Do we pursue an adoption or wait for another child to be born to us? Do we pursue this business opportunity or another? Do we say yes to this job offer or one of fifteen others?

“At least we have options,” Ben tells me, when I despair of ever sorting it all out. He’s right–options are good. Looking to the future, knowing that we could do anything or go anywhere, all the while watching the Lord work, is exciting. But for me, change is hard. Mulling over options is fun so long as they are theoretical only. When it comes right down to the doing of it, I balk.

Sometimes there’s no turning back...

Two years ago, in the midst of plans to buy some yearling heifers, breed them and resell them, Ben got a call saying that the poultry hatchery business we had inquired about (a door that we thought was closed) was still for sale. In less than two weeks time, we found ourselves thousands of dollars in debt, moving an incubator into a shed on our place, and the not-so-proud owners of over a thousand ducks, geese, and turkeys.

For the next six months, we were too busy to eat, sleep, think, or go to church. We were swallowed up in a storm of eggs that needed to be gathered, washed, and set in the incubator; a flurry of paperwork that needed to be done, orders to confirm, bills to send and more to pay; a peeping melee of chicks needing to be counted, boxed, hauled to the post office, and others that needed heat lamps, feed, water, and clean pens.

Somehow we survived. After the rush of hatching was over, and we were left with a little bit of sanity and a lot of ducks, I tried to see what God had been doing. Believe me, things looked like a disaster. The yard was full of feathers, the porch full of chickens, the garden stripped bare by hungry birds, our bank account worse than empty.

“Where were You, Lord?” I wondered. “Why did You let us do this bird-brained thing anyway?” The answers were not readily apparent. Only the quiet assurance that He was still with us, still in control, still providing for our needs. The slower pace of winter. A buyer for the ducks and geese. Enough money to make the payments and keep food on the table. A clean bill of health for the turkey flock. My piano coming home. The healing balm of His Word. He had kept us through the storm.

Sometimes there’s no going forward...

One year ago, on the brink of another hatching season, a photograph in a newsletter we get from an adoption agency caught my eye, and, subsequently, caught our hearts. It appeared impossible; our small house, small income, and small faith seemed inadequate. But the agency thought we were a perfect match. With much trepidation and much excitement we started the paperwork. Yes, it seemed crazy, but the photo on the fridge, and thought of those children without a father or mother who had never heard the gospel drove us on.

Enter change. We were on the brink of signing the first set of papers and sending a substantial sum of money to initiate the adoption, when I missed my period. I joyfully told Ben that we were going to have another baby. He, too, was thrilled. But then we learned that couples expecting a baby are not allowed to pursue international adoptions. Bang! The door was closed in our face. End of plan A. (A is for Adoption...) On to plan B. (B is for Baby...) :-)

Eight months later, after morning sickness, summer’s heat, outgrowing my waistline, and a quick two and a half hour labor, I was holding our baby girl in my arms. What joy! She had two happy parents, two happier brothers, and ten very happy aunts, not to mention grandparents, uncles and cousins!

Then, the unthinkable. A baby not breathing. A ninety mile an hour trip–praying all the way–to the emergency room. An ambulance transport to the neonatal ICU in a larger hospital. The phone call telling us that she wasn’t going to live. The soaring joy of giving her up to Jesus; the searing pain of letting go. A tiny casket and a newly dug grave. And more tears than I’ve cried in my lifetime. Change.

This time, I did not need to wonder where God was. I knew that He carried me. He spoke tenderly through His Word as never before. He had granted, He had taken away; yet was He good. Though He slay me, yet would I trust, for, “In every change, He faithful will remain. ...The waves and winds still know His voice Who ruled them while He dwelt below.”
What’s next? Will I find myself packing for a move? Or will we stay put and hatch turkeys yet another year? Right now, it’s all up in the air, and mostly up to my husband to decide. But not entirely. It’s also up to God to “order and provide.” And it’s up to me to remember His past faithfulness and trust His future mercies. To remember, if we move, that I’m just passing through–I walk the pilgrim way. To remember, if we stay, to do turkey chores “as unto the Lord.”

So, be still, my soul. He Who does not change abides with thee.

- by Ruth Weichmann

Life is a miracle

As a follow-up to my post yesterday about the 21 week old baby who survived and is now going home from the hospital, read the post on Boundless webzine's blog on Amillia and the many babies her age who are aborted. Note: Not for younger readers.

A similar thought had crossed my mind while I was writing yesterday; how many babies of 20, 22, 24 weeks are aborted? How can anyone see the plain facts of what those abortions entail and maintain that the fetus is not an actual human being?