Tag Archives: Hope

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Stuck in the Upper Room

The last couple weeks have been strange. I mentioned the other day that I have felt more emotional…felt this need to weep coming on at moments. I’ve been more down than normal, and it has affected the days. The boys have noticed and have been frustrated because I have been more short with them.

I was called out on something and I had to walk away because they were right and I knew if I started talking with them I would just begin crying.

I don’t do that. I usually am not that emotional. Ever, really.

I realized, though, in the midst of this that there are more times than not that I am negative or that I see the challenges rather than the blessing. There are more times that I am aware of the brokenness and the suffering and the challenges around us than the hope…although I strive to seek the hope and the wonder. Sometimes I don’t verbalize the negative, but it is there with me.

When I was rocking Maddie last night, which tends to be my best time for thinking, I thought that I am stuck in that upper room the time after Jesus was crucified and before His resurrection. That time when they did not understand, when they wondered what would happen to them and when they wondered if the suffering and the challenges had been worth the cost.

The world is still broken and although we have the hope of and the knowledge of the Resurrection…I don’t always grasp the reality of the Resurrection. That moment when the hope came into fruition and stood before the disciples and confirmed that the suffering and the cost was worth it.

Sometimes I am stuck in the waiting moment. The austerity of Lent and the discipline of facing toward Jerusalem can be exhausting. The reality of the brokenness and the cost of what it will take to heal that condition. Sometimes I find myself just putting one foot in front of another and staring at the ground…when I should be walking with the awareness of the Resurrection.

I need this rhythm of Lent and Good Friday and Easter each year…the discipline of remembering the cost, the silence of Good Friday and taking in the sacrifice….and the joyous celebration of Easter. The shouts of joy and the music and the celebration and the release from the waiting.

Hope. But not just a vague hope that is unknown…Hope placed in a reality that is difficult to get my head around. I have to learn to watch that door while in the Upper Room…waiting for Him to walk through. Trusting that He will. Remembering all the times that He did what He said. I need to not get stuck in the waiting.

It’s okay sometimes to feel the weight of the brokenness and to long for heaven. I think that is good, actually…Paul understood that well. Things did not become easy after Jesus’ Resurrection, but they changed. The hope is more secure and the cost is seen in light of the victory. I have to live in that balance…not just in the upper room waiting and wondering.

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Taking care of our souls…

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Saturday morning with some snowfall, a warm coffee shop and good books. Restoring to the soul.

The last two weekends I have been away from home, and this weekend I find the routine falling back into place. Plans for things to teach the children, books to read for myself and for them, field trips and soccer practices. The business of life.

Part of that routine is the care-taking of our souls. Sometimes I forget that and I try to just plow through the days. Not living, not really embracing but just getting through the day. Finishing the duties to be able to relax. There are days like that, but I do not want them to dominate.

Wednesday night at our homegroup something happened that surprised me. During our time of taking prayer requests I updated everyone on my last trip home and as I was telling about how my Dad sees caring for my mom as his delight and not obligation, I choked up. I don’t cry publicly. I mean, like never. I could feel the well of emotion right there, though, and that awareness that if I began to cry I would not be able to stop.

All the writing of joy in the midst of walking through this season, all the lessons learned, all the things of trying to see God in the midst does not negate that this is my Mom and this is terribly painful to watch. And sometimes I need to weep about that. I’ve written about that before…that this dementia is a long mourning without release and sometimes you have to just be a bit removed or you would find yourself overwhelmed with emotion.

But sometimes we just have to weep.

This world is broken and is filled with so many who are holding that well of emotion just in check as they try to get through the duties of the day. That maybe why they look so angry or distracted. But I wonder if it is partly because we do not spend time in care-taking our souls. Not just talking about having moments of prayer or of Bible reading, although that is part of it….but having moments of weeping and moments of embracing what is our life in this time. That may be joy or grief or fear or hope…or more likely a mixture of it all.

I want to write a bit about how music plays into all of this, because it is an important element for me, but this post is getting long already. Maybe tomorrow…

For now…maybe it is stealing away some time on a snowy morning at a coffee shop to think and read and pray and journal. Or maybe it is weeping in the privacy of the shower. Letting the emotions and the experience of life be felt before they become a tide we can’t hold in check.

It is okay to feel…and sometimes we need to make the space for that in our routines….to take care of our souls.

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Bedtime Stories as a Discipline

I am reading a bit of a horror story at the moment.  The real horror is that it is not fiction. A Train In Winter tells the story of a group of women from France who were resisters and who ultimately arrive in Auschwitz. They had hidden Jews, had helped others escape, had printed newspapers that urged resistance. They had taken a bold stand, and they pay a horrendous price.

There are moments of humor, moments of grace and moments of terror.

I just finished reading a different story to the boys at night. That story is about three children and their mother and their grandfather. They face terrors of their own, including a reptilian army of bad guys called Fangs of Dang who are under the rule of Gnag the Nameless. There are moments of escape, moments of terror, moments of captivity and fear and lots of humor.  But this story is not true and so we are able to hear it and not be as afraid.

I think and feel strongly that it is important to expose the kids to stories. Lots of stories. Sometimes they will be better written than other times, but each story we have read has expanded their imagination and their thinking. Most have led to discussions about God and about hope and faith.

There will be a time when they will realize that there are real terrors and there are those who are deeply evil. There will be a time when they will know that there are horror stories that are not fiction.

They will have a foundation, though. The best stories have suspense and have a mixture of fear and hope…they capture our attention and show us that there are choices to be made and there is courage to be grasped.  The story we’ve just finished up was the third in the Wingfeather Saga, written by Andrew Peterson. So far this series has been the favorite of the boys, and we eagerly anticipate the last book in the series coming out this Fall. Andrew is a Christian and he weaves deeper truths throughout the story…hints of a greater story.

And that is where I’m headed. I want my kids to have an expanded imagination that gives them groundwork for imagining the impossible. Three children fleeing from an army of lizard-men…facing crazy, imagination filled obstacles. Their eyes light up as we read and they never want me to stop because they are engaged deeply.

One of the things that I love about my faith is that it is based so richly in story. We are called to imagine the impossible…God becoming man and saving us.  Better than that: God creating everything out of nothing. Everything. Grass that is not only amazing shades of grey, but fragrant. The colors of the rainbow and the sunrise and the sunset and the mountains. Ostriches and pufferfish.

God has laced our lives with imagination that created reality. We serve a Creator.

And so when the horrors come, and they will…there is story to hear and to give understanding. Story of Falls and of sin and of brokenness. Stories still of redemption and of hope and of salvation.

Stories.
They require us to be patient and hear how they will play out. As we are three books into this series the boys have had to learn that not everything will be explained in the first pages of a book. Wait and see what answer might unfold.

Reading to them and teaching them to listen well and pay attention is not just a bedtime routine. It is a discipline that is foundation…listen well and pay attention is the key to making it through this life.

Listen well and pay attention. Part of the mark of our Maker is in our stories and in our imaginations. Pay attention. Don’t rush to the last page because you’ll miss too much…be patient and listen to the Story.