My friends in Haiti are isolated from the world again after the gangs fired on a commercial plane and the airport was closed this week. They were ousted from their homes for over a year while fighting raged around them and they went into hiding. They have shown up for teen and preteen kids who are watching their friends die, and who are still healing from their pasts. I am so blown away by their faithfulness.
I speak to several woman who are raising kids while dealing with debilitating illness and chronic pain in themselves. They show up for their families in the ways they can while desperately surviving their own health journeys. I know they often feel like they are failing, like they can’t do what other moms can do. But I stand in awe of their faithfulness to keep showing up.
Several years ago, my husband and I were camping in Moab, Utah with our one-year-old son. Camping is probably a generous term—we did have a pop-up camper and weren’t really roughing it. We did, however, drive about half an hour outside of town on a dirt road to the middle of nowhere, and then parked the camper at the top of a rocky hill. The views were spectacular, and we would only see another car on the dirt road about once every few hours. It was a little taste of the wilderness, with only us and our little camper. No cell service, no toilets, and no other people around.
This seemed like a fantastic experience until we decided the next day to head back into town to get a few groceries. After piling in the truck, my husband tried to start the vehicle, but it wouldn’t start. The truck’s battery was dead. And the wilderness experience that seemed like a lot of fun became quite scary.
I started to panic, wondering how we would ever get out of there. No cars came by on the road, and it was at least a day’s walk to get back into town with a one-year-old and only so much food for camping. Finally after a bit of worry, my husband brilliantly figured out that he could use the camper batteries to jump the truck battery, and we were finally moving again.
But what about the figurative wildernesses in which we find ourselves where we can’t figure a way out, and we sit and wait with no resources and no hope? Wildernesses are a real experience in life, and one which often catches us by surprise. I’m not sure why, as so many of the people in the Bible went through years and years of wilderness, sometimes figurative and sometimes quite literal. There are stories of prison, hardships, desert-living, wandering, frustration, hopelessness, disbursement and aching for home.
I get questions a lot of times about why I love and serve God even when He doesn’t always give me what I want. A lot of people wonder why I continue to pursue relationship with Jesus, and consider it old-fashioned or burdensome. So, I wanted to write a post about why I choose Jesus.
It’s definitely not because of the people who call themselves Christians—although some are a wonderful gift to me and I’m so grateful for them. But the people in the Church are messy just like everyone else, and when we expect them to be perfect or to never hurt or reject us, we will be disappointed. I know, though, that people who believe in Jesus recognize they need something other than themselves to do life. So, as they are dependent on Him, they love people well. When they are relying on their own self-righteousness or rule-following, they end up in a place of religion which is toxic and downright abusive sometimes. The word religion means to bind over and over again. When we bind ourselves up in trying to please God without the power He has given us to do so, we are in a bigger mess than if we deny Him entirely.
I also don’t pursue relationship with God because I was raised to believe Him and brainwashed into doing so. In fact, I have had many reason NOT to pursue relationship with Him over the years, and it would actually be easier for me and make more sense to drop the whole thing! I could make more money, have easier relationships and not experience nearly as much rejection.
Instead, I love Jesus because He loved me first, not when I met His standard or expectation. He reached out to me in love with no strings attached. I don’t have to accept His love, and He experiences rejection more than any other person I know as many refuse Him.
There’s a little boy I see every morning when I’m dropping my daughter off at school. He comes to help drop off his older brother, and always shows up in his Superman pajamas complete with cape. The thing that always strikes me as hilarious is how he walks next to his dad. He’s this tiny little man, but walks like he is 10 feet tall—he definitely has the superhero walk down. His cape flows behind him, and he takes large, commanding steps no matter where he is going.
I love watching him and it makes me giggle a little to watch him stride through the parking lot. This morning, though, God spoke and asked me how I would walk if I knew and believed the super power that dwells within me? That caught me off guard. You see, I used to always walk with my eyes on my shoes (which might explain some of my clumsiness). I didn’t feel that I had worth, and I walked like it. I didn’t understand Who I had, or who I was.
You see, when you have Christ’s Life within you, you have the power of the Living God walking around with you. He says He will be everything you need, and we have all of Him to meet all of our problems, dilemmas and circumstances. I think when I realize that I am the chosen dwelling place of God Himself (1 Corinthians 6:19), and that makes me His.
We cry out from a broken heart,
Shards lying all around us on the ground.
Our tears pour out—
It feels like they will never end.
The pain explodes from within us,
Our chests feeling like they will break apart.
Lying face down on the ground,
Our desperate plea for help and rescue escaping our lips.
Our Kind Shepherd is here,
Never leaving, never abandoning us in grief.
A man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief Himself,
He will not turn away.
We cry out from a broken heart,
Shards lying all around us on the ground.
Our tears pour out—
It feels like they will never end.
The pain explodes from within us,
Our chests feeling like they will break apart.
Lying face down on the ground,
Our desperate plea for help and rescue escaping our lips.
Our Kind Shepherd is here,
Never leaving, never abandoning us in grief.
A man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief Himself,
He will not turn away.
Hope is often viewed as a destination—like saying we hope for the future, and believing we get the hope when we arrive at the future we are expecting or creating in our minds. We believe that our lives should “normalize” or the tough stuff should stop happening at some point, and that’s the point where hope is manifested.
I was reading Katherine Wolf’s Treasures in the Dark recently, and she addresses this after she has suffered an almost-life-ending stroke, multiple neural events, broken bones and recovery from all of those things. She says:
Whether I acknowledged it or not, hope had been a destination to me. Something to be attained or achieved. I thought I could successfully complete a one-time progressive ascent from hurting to healing to hoping, then hang out at the top for the rest of my life. Easy breezy! Maybe this sounds like something you’ve believed too.
Watching my kids play sports has been so educational for me. I am incredibly proud of them for working through failure, for staying humble and for showing up again and again when they really don’t feel like it. It’s hard to watch them deal with frustration and disappointment, but I realize it’s also so important for them to learn to work through these feelings. I also see how often this is a testimony to me in my own hard things.
The temptation often when we are in a hard place is to believe either it’s our fault (so we are being punished) or it means we should quit and do an easier thing.
The truth is that sometimes we do make stupid decisions and deal with the consequences of those, but even in those choices we can know God and move into His power to deal with whatever hard things are part of our lives. Blaming ourselves or someone else doesn’t make the difficult situations easier—and often just makes us bitter and angry.
One of my favorite parts of summer mornings is sitting out on our back patio with my coffee before my kids get up, enjoying the bird songs and the smell of the flowers as they bloom. This particular morning, however, was a bit different because they had decided to repave the street that runs behind our house past the neighbors’ houses. The only thing I could hear or enjoy this morning was big rumbling trucks and beeping pavers, while the smell of asphalt permeated the air. I was less than impressed. I am grateful for the road refreshing, but couldn’t hear any birds or smell the flowers that I usually so enjoy.
As I sat there, I suddenly realized that the birds were still there, and still singing, but it was hard to make out their songs because of all the mechanical noise. I originally thought they were all gone—headed to somewhere more peaceful and less noisy. I could just barely make out a few songs, though, and was surprised to hear them. And I thought about how often distraction and confusion are the greatest tools of the enemy (along with shame of course) as they make us believe that maybe God has left.
When there are big, smelly, loud problems in our lives, it’s very easy to focus on them and feel as if hope and joy have gone. Anything from financial stress to health problems to relationship issues can be the things that demand our attention in the worst possible way—being louder in our heads and more all-consuming than anything else. I’m not for a minute arguing that they aren’t big, smelly and loud. That’s why they are so distracting. But I do want to fight for focus as I listen for the bird songs and get up close to the flowers so I don’t forget how they smell.
The truth of God’s presence is still there, but sometimes it’s really hard to see or hear Him. Sometimes it feels like we are surrounded by yucky things and are staring down the path of scary, awful futures. It’s in those times that I most need to refocus and ask for the ability to see and hear Jesus standing with me. He never leaves, but I can convince myself that He does. He never checks out, but I can feel as though He probably should. He never gives up on us, but I can give you all the reasons He really ought to.
Jesus, hear us in our weariness.
We feel pressure, stress, unrest, evil.
We are tired and worn out,
Facing all that is ahead.
You offer hope to a weary world,
And boy, do we need it.
You are Hope incarnate,
God with us forever.
You see us in our pain,
Our frustration, our disease.
You meet us in our mess,
Sitting down and comforting us.
I am absolutely a fair-weather gardener. I prefer my time outside to be sunny with a comfortable temperature that doesn’t require my fingers to freeze or my face to hurt. Spring planting, summer tending and fall harvesting all fit into this comfort level most years. One of my favorite days of the year is when we go buy flowers to plant in the early summer, for that’s when you can plant here in Colorado with less chance of random snow or freeze that will kill them.
This year, however, I am doing some things differently. I’m trying to embrace the bulb.
Bulbs are planted in the fall, and often late fall when the weather is not quite as pleasant. Thankfully, our weather has been nice, but the ground is still a bit tougher than it is during the summer. I got my shovel out and started digging many, many holes in the flower beds. As I dug, some things struck me.
I prefer flowers because I can see what they are going to look like. It’s instant gratification, as I can look out at my flower beds and see the beauty right after planting. But with bulbs, you bury them deep in the ground, hoping they will look like you are anticipating when they come up in the spring. Bulbs are probably more similar to the work I do with people, investing time, love and hope in them without any idea what will come of it. I love that God empowers us to do this without knowing the end of the story. How many times has God asked you to reach out in love to someone without knowing the response, or if they will reject or betray you? But the end of the story doesn’t determine if you should love them—Jesus loves the unlovable, the enemy and the betrayers. He can be enough love for us to do this also.
When my friend Mike Wells was alive, he traveled a ridiculous amount of time every year all around the world. He encountered problems with planes, baggage, car travel, reservations and all sorts of other things as he was going to visit people. He used to call this being “Wells’ed” as it meant that unusual problems would be encountered constantly for himself and those who traveled with him. I have adopted this phrase for myself, and now call it being “Morrell’ed”. It’s not something you want to happen to you, let me tell you!
This last weekend we hosted our women’s retreat in Golden, Colorado, and there were plenty of examples of getting “Morrell’ed” as things seem to go wrong at every turn. The hotel messed up the booking entirely, and so didn’t have rooms for any of the ladies upon arrival on Friday (but did have some for Sunday which we did not need). You can imagine how fun it was to get that phone call Friday afternoon, only hours before everyone was supposed to be descending on this hotel, telling me they did not have any rooms. They rebooked us in rooms at a different hotel, and provided shuttles for those who didn’t have cars to go back and forth from the sleeping rooms to the original hotel for the meetings.
Right after we checked into the replacement hotel, my mom called me from her room, saying the bathroom door had fallen off the hinge, missed hitting her by inches, and fell down in front of her door to the hallway, blocking her exit. I ran downstairs to get the hotel employees to come get her out of her room, and thanked God profoundly that the bathroom door had not fallen on my mom and knocked her out.
Do you ever have days where you feel like everything gets really heavy and hard? You might go from feeling like you are totally in step with Jesus and taking on the world, and suddenly you slam into a wall of your inadequacy, your unbelief or your questions. It happened so quickly you have whiplash as you try to steady yourself but can’t seem to find balance.
I was feeling that way last weekend. I felt all the pressures of preparing to share with women at the upcoming retreat, the uncertainty of book publishing, the frustration of not knowing how to help some of the people I was talking to in counseling. It all just compounded into a big, dark cloud that swallowed me up.
Monday morning (after wallowing most of the weekend in all the yuck), I was driving back from dropping my daughter at school. In front of me was a giant wall of dark grey clouds threatening rain and storms to come. And suddenly, I saw the most brilliant rainbow cutting right through the blackest part of the cloud. This rainbow extended from the top of the mountain I could see all the way up through the storm clouds in colors that laughed at the darkness.
I’m sitting at my son’s football practice watching another kid on his team, and marveling at his perseverance. He is slow. He runs a lap behind everyone else. He barely lifts his feet to run. But he doesn’t quit. He puts one foot in front of the other, and keeps going.
This kid amazes me, as he doesn’t let being the last one get him down, but just keeps going. I wonder what he tells himself as he runs. I feel like I need to ask because I probably need the same pep-talk sometimes.
Perseverance is hard. I want to quit and just sit down. Especially when I’m the slowest, last, or feel most left out. Sometimes it feels like everyone else gets the break, gets the credit, gets picked for something important. Or everyone else gets the relationship they want, the peaceful circumstance, or the honor of being the first or the best.
Even as I write this, I’m struggling with a recent disappointment of discovering a grant for the ministry went to someone else, and will not be helpful in supporting Broken & Hopeful this year. The hard stuff can all add up sometimes, and we feel like we might as well quit.
Often in my life, I want to find hope in a variety of external changes. Maybe it’s financial security, good relationships, success or self-reliance. I can be tempted to believe that hope lies in achieving these things. I can work myself to death trying to be in control of my life, but I am becoming more and more convinced that hope can’t be found in any of these.
I can look around the world and see instances of all kinds of trouble, suffering, insecurity. I can look in my own life and see the same. So, if my hope lies in getting rid of the trouble, I am not doing very well at getting to hope.
If, however, my hope is God Himself, then I don’t need to worry about changing my circumstances in order to find hope. This is the concept that I call “rising above” the situation at hand and acknowledging God’s presence regardless of the seeming impossibility of the problem. This is not a denial, but rather an acknowledgment of both the problem and the God who owns the problem. I believe it is recognizing my abiding in the Vine, and accessing all that this abiding gives me.
This last week I got to speak to a MOPS group about anxiety, and the impossible standards or expectations we so often place on ourselves that result in this anxiety and overwhelm. I thought it might be helpful to share some of this here on a blog post as well, as I know it isn’t just moms who struggle with these feelings.
As I was flipping through social media recently, I found “10 Things You Are Doing Wrong With Your Kids”, “5 Ways To Make Your Body Look Like You Never Had a Baby “(not really, but that’s what they were saying), “3 Things to Do Right Now With Your House To Make It Look Like a Designer Lives There”, “What Your Husband Really Wants and How You Can Be That Desirable”, and (maybe the worst) “What God Wants You To Do To Be The Best Christian You Can Be.“ I know this kind of pressure isn’t just found on social media, but can come from impossible standards you feel from your parents, your church, yourself, and God.
I like to identify these expectations we put on ourselves so we can choose to do something different, and to listen to a different voice. There are so many voices that scream at us about what we should be doing, what we should be afraid of, and what we are doing wrong. I want to be a voice that reminds us all that God never put these expectations on us—we did that ourselves or accepted the ones that others put on us.
Though the economy seems desperate and the bank account is empty,
Though friends may forsake and leave for someone they decide is better,
Though the job situation looks bleak and the prospects look even bleaker,
Though health may not be improving, and even might be getting worse,
Though dreams of where you would be at this point in life are not at all reality,
Though a spouse might leave for another and reject and betray,
Though singleness continues after years of hoping for a good and kind relationship,
Though infertility steals any chance of parenting, and your heart aches,
Though kids have gone down roads never wished for by a parent,
Though traumas of the past continue to rear their ugly heads,
Though looking around the world exhibits only see damage and evil,
Though hope in the circumstances seems lost and forlorn,
I lift my eyes up, because sometimes it seems all help is gone.
I lift my eyes up in a desperate search for stable ground.
I lift my eyes up, wanting something to be my rock and fortress.
I lift my eyes up, seeking out answers, or explanation or something real.
My help doesn’t come from the mountains, though.
But from the Lord of the mountains Himself.
He is present, active and ready, although it may not feel true.
He is ready to help, and acting already though maybe not in the ways I want.
Sometimes the world around seems like constant distractions. Everyone is yelling at you about what they think you should consider to be important, or the “right” viewpoint, or the way you should feel. My prayer often in this year especially has been that I would not be distracted by anything that is not where my Shepherd is calling me. That doesn’t mean it’s not a place for anyone—but I want to have enough energy to pursue Him in the way He’s called me rather than chasing down a thousand bunny trails that lead nowhere.
In asking for this, God has consistently shown me that I am not denying the physical reality of a situation, but I am adding the spiritual reality. This isn’t an either/or situation. Something may be very awful, sad or difficult, but that doesn’t mean that this description fully encompasses it. I always want to acknowledge the pain and hold space for the grieving of a situation, but I also want to recognize the spiritual reality that God loves us with an everlasting love and He is shepherding us through even the darkest valley of the shadow of death.
As much as I am not denying reality, I am also not just looking for a positive spin on things. I think much has been made of thinking positive, and frankly, I don’t want to do it anymore. I don’t find it helpful. Even while I am trying to think positive, the rest of my brain is at war showing that it doesn’t hold water.
I always find it interesting to read about the battles where one side is overwhelmed with unimaginable odds, and yet chooses not to surrender. Growing up in Texas, the Alamo was one of those we heard about a lot. In this tiny mission-turned-fortress, about 200 soldiers fighting for independent Texas held off thousands of Mexican soldiers in order to provide time for the larger army to later defeat the Mexican army at the battle of San Jacinto. The odds were ridiculous, but the Texans did not surrender.
I can’t imagine the fear that must have been going through the hearts of people in these kind of battles. They know somewhere deep inside that they are completely outnumbered and will probably die. But they count it worthwhile to stay, hoping that the outcome later will be worth their lives. They choose not to surrender, to fear or to the approaching army.
It stirs my heart to read about these brave people, and it reminds me that I also don’t want to choose to surrender, except to the One who is my victory. I don’t want to surrender to hopelessness that tells me I will never see the change for which I’m praying, or the end of a season of pain. I don’t want to surrender to fear that makes me obsess on the worst case scenarios and attempt to prevent and control outcomes I can’t see a way through. I don’t want to surrender to emotional or physical pain that tells me I will never have healing or relief, draining my life of hope for the future. I don’t to surrender to my weakness which repeats the same refrain over and over—you can’t, you aren’t enough, you will never make it. I don’t want to surrender to my anger and feel controlled and tossed around like being on a choppy ocean.
Does it ever seem like all I write about is difficulty? I suppose that’s not entirely true, but it is quite common. Of course, this is because so many of us are in difficulty. I don’t want to pretend that I have all the answers to those difficulties, but I do want to shed light on the way ahead.
I often have people ask me my opinions on many different happenings in the world. I’m not sure they really want my opinion, but rather an agreement with where they stand on whatever topic it is. I have decided with most of these issues, I don’t want to be distracted from my central focus of proclaiming rest and abiding in Jesus. My prayer, though, in many places of life is that I need wisdom. I used to want to be like Solomon, where I ask for wisdom and also get riches and power! What a deal! But now, more often than not, I ask for wisdom because I just need a way ahead. I am not smart enough to know what to do. I don’t have a plan for dealing with anything—recessions, world chaos, rejection, health issues. I need wisdom, and I need it for each moment as I take a step.
I have been reading the verses below in James quite a lot recently, and love the simplicity of what he says. First, when it seems like you are facing nothing but difficulty, it’s an opportunity! What?! It’s not an opportunity for you to pretend everything is great, but to see from the position that God has given you to see joy and His power at work in you to produce endurance and perfection. That doesn’t mean you have to try harder to gain these things. His Life is already within you and releasing it. Difficulty just clears the way. When we are in circumstances that are trying and testing, we get rid of a lot of excess simply because we can’t deal with it right then. We clear the way for what is real, for what will last. So, if you are in difficulty, let the extra stuff go and walk moment-by-moment with Jesus, waiting for His completion of His good work in you. He will do it!
Some days you wake up and it seems the whole world is on fire. And you haven’t even turned on the news! The financial strain looks like it will push you into a place you never imagined yourself or your family. The health prognosis gives you pain on top of pain, and no good treatment or way ahead. Or the treatment is more painful than the original problem! The government turmoil speaks of continued dire predictions as well as death, destruction and evil. The family division cuts you up inside into a million little pieces that cry out for restoration.
I heard an interesting quote by a singer called Nightbirde, who passed away recently after a couple of years battling cancer. She said, “Some people will call it ‘blind denial’ but I prefer to call it rebellious hope.” Something about that phrase lights a fire in my soul. We don’t have hope because we are surrounded in it, or because we see the obvious way through the dark tunnel. Instead, it is a sort of rebellion, to stand in the face of whatever crisis or turmoil presented and see past it to hope. It isn’t a denial of the circumstances, but recognizing you have a God bigger than the circumstances.
We cry out wondering “Why?”
We cry out for mercy, for change.
We cry out for relief from our suffering and that of others.
We cry out with David, “How long, O Lord?”
We know you are mighty to save.
We know you are present and able to rescue.
We know you feel this pain with us as we grieve.
We know you see us—we are not absent from your heart.
But we cry out for peace.
We cry out for hope when the future looks bleak.
We cry out for freedom from those who control and manipulate.
We cry out for your strong arm to reach in and bring us out.
I’ll be honest—there are many times that I have it out with my kind Father because I am confused about why He is allowing certain suffering, or how long He is taking to get people out of it. Sometimes it’s my own waiting that pushes me to frustration, while other times it’s growing weary in praying for others in their particular situation. The agony of the “not yet” sometimes seems to suck all the hope out of us, leaving us with constant pestering question that children of all ages have asked for decades—are we there yet?
In one of my recent podcast interviews, Sherry Roberts talks about how God asked her if she wanted Him for what He could do for her, or for Himself. And that’s got me thinking of how often I really want hope to be in the future relief or change that will bring me comfort. I don’t want hope to be found in a person, the person of Jesus. My ultimate goal is often to be comfortable, to not suffer, to avoid all the bad stuff.
So many times, though, I see that the removal of the places I find life, comfort or security are really the keys to freedom and becoming fearless. And no, I don’t like that any better than you do. I often throw a little temper tantrum about it even, like a small child who doesn’t get my way. I definitely never expected my life to be here, and wouldn’t have predicted it years ago in looking ahead.
I heard on the radio the other day that the third Monday of January is called Blue Monday. Apparently, many people are struggling with being done with a fun time of year at Christmas while still having the bills, the failed New Year’s resolutions and the cold weather. Whether you call it seasonal affective disorder or just the winter blues, many people really struggle with discouragement, lack of motivation, depression and hopelessness during this time of year.
I wonder how much of that is our sense of failure, as we realize we spent too much money at Christmas, ate more than we wanted to, or didn’t keep any of the resolutions we had set up for ourselves at the beginning of the year. So often we define our mood by our sense of accomplishment, and a bad mood starts with feeling like we have only failed at everything.
Last week I felt myself going into the funk of discouragement. I was tired and worn out with dealing with a lot of physical and emotional issues in my family over the last month. I cried out for something to give, for the “normal” to return and with it, peace. I forgot something, though, as I tend to do.
