One of the most often repeated lies people share with me in terms of what they think about themselves is that they are worthless. This has been communicated by various people in their lives, or by their own definition time and time again. Sometimes they feel they should be at a different place in their lives and that would give worth. Sometimes they believe if they had worked hard enough to make people like them that this would give them worth. Sometimes they have been told that their only worth lies in their being used for whatever purpose the user desires, and that they will lose worth if they stop allowing someone to use them.
Worth is not transactional. It is not given when we earn it. A person doesn’t gain worth the more they achieve, relate to others, or give. Some people try to convince themselves they have worth, but it is usually based in something they have to believe about themselves. When someone communicates they are not worth their time, the façade is gone and we struggle to believe we have worth apart from what others communicate.
When we experience rejection while trying to find someone to communicate worth, any sense of having worth is obliterated as we have placed the definition on a person or place in this world. It is gut-wrenching, and feels like death.
We had a crazy windstorm last week with almost 24 hours of intense wind gusts and the resulting damages—trees falling, fences knocked down, various lawn chairs and trampolines blown away. I’ve never been through a hurricane on the coast, and I realized what people talk about with the sheer noise wind can create. My husband had to wear earplugs to sleep, and the howling and crashing went on all night.
At some point during the night, I woke up and listened to the wind for a bit while lying in bed. It dawned on me that this was what the disciples felt when they were out in the boat with Jesus, except they were on a boat tossed by the waves rather than a warm bed in a safe house. I imagined the fear and panic that would govern in a situation like that. They were pretty sure they were going to die out there in that storm.
Jesus had been teaching about faith prior to this story told in Mark 4. When the storm comes up, he is SLEEPING. This makes no sense to us when we don’t realize that God is enough in a storm, but Jesus knew His Father was watching out for Him and didn’t need to worry or stress about anything.
God loves you. That phrase has gotten trite and feels shallow sometimes. And yet, it is anything but trite and shallow. While we hated, mocked, spat on Him, God loves us. While we ran from Him and fought any call of His to come to Him, God loves us. While we rebelled and invited more and more darkness into ourselves, God loves us. While the selfishness took over to distort us into maniacal narcissists, God loves us. While we postured in false humility and rode ego trips for our “good” deeds, God loves us.
God reached through the darkness with which we had surrounded ourselves, calling our names and extending His hand to pull us out of the pit. We didn’t know Him, but He knew us. He knew every bit of us and still chose to love us. He loved us to death, and to resurrection in power. Jesus walked the road of ultimate sacrifice, knowing what was in each of us and how we chose our own way. He looked past it and loved anyway. He never stops loving. We simply need to accept the love.
I have been thinking about how cool it is that we take a safe place with us no matter where we go. We are similar to snails—they carry their home on their backs, ready to pull into a shell whenever things get scary. The difference is that our safe place is within, and we can access it any time without physically moving. God no longer dwells in a temple made with hands, but in His people. (1 Corinthians 6:19-20) He has given us His Spirit, and His very Life within.
We are in Christ, and Christ is in us. We contain the wrap-around presence of God within us all the time. It’s kind of a cool picture, isn’t it? We carry Him, and He wraps around us and shelters us as well. So many things with God’s kingdom are both/and. His Life is in us, and we are in Him.
You don’t have to keep running.
You don’t have to keep fighting.
You don’t have to keep searching for the “cure.”
You don’t have to keep trying.
I know you are tired,
And ache for something more.
I know you just want to sit down,
Letting the weight you’re carrying fall.
The idea that you will get a place
Where it makes sense to rest
Is a fallacy and will continue to drive you
Crazy and exhausted and weary.
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.
My friend Amy said something profound recently—well, she says lots of profound things, but this one particularly struck me. She was talking about seeing the small joys even when they weren’t exactly what you wanted, and she called it receiving the unwrapped gifts. This phrase made me think of how often I only want to be grateful for the gifts that are presented in the way I wanted them, enclosed in a pretty paper and topped off with a bow. The ones that present as less desirable, or not quite what I requested seem more difficult.
I thought of the days that were supposed to be incredibly special or beautiful like holidays or celebrations, and how they often seem hollow compared to the expectation I had set for them. Then other days surprise me with the lovely family time or special gifts that they bring when I didn’t expect them. Will I receive these gifts even though they don’t come wrapped up and in the time I wished for, or will I stand like an ungrateful child, despising them because they didn’t come the way I wanted?
God also reminded me of so many stories throughout the Bible when He does things in ways that no one expected or planned. I call them upside-down-and-backwards-gifts. Couples who wanted children in their youth when they were “supposed” to come, and instead received a very important child when it should have been impossible physically for them to reproduce. Victories in battle through the weakest and most fearful rather than the bravest and strongest. Battle plans that involved walking around a city for the walls to fall, rather than attacking with fierce fighting. A baby that was born to be king, but not in the way that many expected in taking Israel back from the Romans. Instead, He would defeat the very powers of darkness and evil that wrecked our world to begin with, and His battle was much bigger and longer-lasting than many had anticipated.
I’ve been particularly struck this year by Mary’s response to the angel when he announces that she will give birth to the Savior. Depending on the translation you use, she says “I am the Lord’s servant. May your word to me be fulfilled.” “Behold, the Lord’s bond-servant; may it be done to me according to your word.” “As his servant, I accept whatever he has for me. May everything you have told me come to pass.”
This sounds lovely, and I wish that would be my response in the same situation. But in reality, when you think through what this angel had just told her, I wonder if this was much more of a receiving than we imagine. This was receiving a lifetime of rejection, outcast status by so many who surrounded her in her little town. Although Joseph believed her and took her to be his wife anyway, I bet there were a lot of gossipers who did not believe her or understand at all what was going on. They made assumptions and wagged their tongues about what had happened to Mary.
After giving birth to Jesus, Mary and Joseph had to flee to Egypt to get away from Herod’s proclamation to kill all the 2-year-olds to try to kill Jesus in the process. I’m sure when they returned to Nazareth, there was great bitterness from all the other families who had lost their sons who would be the same age as Jesus at that time. Again, rejection and outcast status prevailed.
So often we live with hope for the future or the events we hope will be in the future. We look forward to the time when the problem is solved, the pain is healed, the crisis is averted. I’m not going to argue that, but I wonder if sometimes we miss the fact that hope is current, not just future. It’s not possible only when something else happens, but can be found in the very person of Jesus present right now with you.
Many speak of resurrection in the future for us, and I am excited about it too. But we might miss the resurrection that is available today in our lives right now because we are so focused on the future one. Some people call this a suicidal rapturist approach—so focused on getting to heaven that they are just waiting until their days here on earth are finished in order to get to the place they want to be. Yet, we miss that God is WITH us now. It’s a present reality!
I was reading John 11 when Jesus heals Lazarus, and I found it interesting that when Jesus was talking to Martha, he reminded her that He was the resurrection and the Life. She was talking about a future resurrection, but He was talking about a present one. When we recognize the Life we already have, we can approach anything with hope because we don’t need to wait for something to happen to bring it. We already have hope in the Life of Christ within.
I will trust You when the future looks uncertain.
I will trust You when logic tells me I shouldn’t.
I will trust You even if I don’t get what I want.
I will trust You to give me what brings me close to You.
I will trust You to lead me to places I never dreamed.
I will trust You to provide enough, even if it’s not in the way I thought best.
I will trust You when I am surrounded by darkness.
I will trust You when the worries want to choke me.
I will trust You even when I can’t see a clear path ahead.
