Archive for the The Journey Category

Have you ever sought refuge from a storm? Did you feel the wind? Hear the thunder? Smell the rain rushing in on a big, black cloud more menacing that an evil clown? Did you fly to the basement and huddle in a corner praying the tornado sirens would keep blaring because at least then you would know the storm had not destroyed them? Not everyone will experience such an event, but we’ve all seen the pictures of the devastation after such a storm, especially if we live in the Midwest.

Storms are a frequent occurrence in the spring and with them come the reminder that we are so puny and weak. No one ever stood in 100+ mph winds and said, “Look at me! I’m so strong!” So, it interests me how we wander through so much of life believing we are invincible, knowledgeable, and brave.

I recently had lunch with a friend who underwent surgery for stage three skin cancer. She has a Frankenstein-like scar from her shoulder across her neck where the doctors had to dig down into the muscle to remove a growth that threatens her life. She said, “It feels so surreal to say, I have cancer.” And she looked at me with big brown eyes brimming with tears. I thought of her mother who died from cancer as she sat by her side holding her hand. The weight of those memories shone out through her pupils, a heartache immeasurable and terrifying in scope. “And to think it was preventable. If I had only worn sunscreen. If only I hadn’t gone to the tanning bed.” The “If Only’s” hung in the air like weighted balloons bobbing up and down next to us, black balloons with a white skull and crossbones etched across their circumference.

While I am not convinced skin cancer is her fault, I recognize the guilt and shame that are more crippling than the disease itself. And I am curious about the guilt that often accompanies our grief. This guilt forces us to run a marathon with burdens we cannot carry until, at last, we collapse with our sadness in utter weariness.

A friend and neighbor recently shared about the tragic loss of her dog on Facebook. She had given the dog a rawhide chew snack and the poor beasts gut couldn’t handle it, and she died. She loved her dog so much. The little girl had been a comfort in the middle of hard life circumstances and now her soft little bed was empty. My friend asked the community, “How can I bear the knowledge that I did this to her?” So, I asked her a very simple question, “If you had known the chew would harm her, would you have given it to her? No. Of course not. Let the guilt go. Give it to Jesus.”

I’m not sure where else we would go with a weight so heavy. I know from painful personal experience about these guilt-anchors that drag us to the bottom of the ocean with a slow drowning suffocation. I lost my best little friend, Tooki, a sparrow I rescued last spring, when I inadvertently opened the door without checking and he flew out behind me. I was wracked with guilt for months, even knowing that I would not have opened the door when I did if I had known he was preparing to follow me out. I grieved because I missed my friend. He was a happy little fellow that brought so much joy to our home. Guilt and grief are partners in their heaviness. They cause us to sag, stumble and fall beneath their weight.

I found myself reading the book of Romans (1:7) this morning.

“To all of those in Rome who are loved by God and called to be saints: Grace to you, and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.”

We little understand what it means that God is our Father or that Jesus is His son.

I had the most interesting conversation with my granddaughter this past Thursday morning while watching a program and she was simply AMAZED when she realized that God was the father of Jesus. “Like my daddy?” she said. “Yes.” I said. “Wow!” she said in that way little children say it with a huge gust of air behind it.

How little we know what it means to have a Father who knows our deepest secrets, our joys and our sorrows, with complete knowledge and understanding. And He has given us His grace and peace for exactly these moments when grief and guilt pile up in our hearts.

There are so many who don’t know Him. They can’t conceptualize a God that loves us to the uttermost. To many He is a scary judge with a stern face commanding us to “Be Good!” when we know very well we can’t. He knows we want that chocolate fudge brownie dessert with a mound of whipped cream and ice cream on top that is so sinful and caloric that it will drive us into a sugar coma so deep we’ll never say the work “diet” again. He knows about the bitter grudge we bear against the sibling who has rejected every attempt at relationship. He knows how the pain eats at us and weakens us. He also knows how loathe we are to let it go because it is badge of honor we wear, almost as if we are paying penance for our sin and shame. He knows how tired we are and that is why Jesus said, “Come to me, all who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matt. 11;28)

We long for rest. Why do we find it so difficult to find?

These storms are very distracting. When the wind blows and the sirens scream, we instantly run for cover. We know danger is imminent and our hearts race faster than a snare drum during a Metallica concert and beat twice as hard. And when the storm is over our anxiety levels are so high we can’t calm down, so we reach for that chocolate lava dessert, or a glass of wine, or a “magic mushroom”. We rationalize that we only want rest and relief, and we slap away the open palm of a Savior who offers both.

Grace. And peace. This is what He offers. Will you take them and find rest for your soul?

“Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:29-30)

The yoke he offers is stability, safety, order, and rationale thinking. He is the author of obedience–and not because he wants to deny us the delights of our eyes, but because he wants to protect us from the frailty of our desires. Or as C.S. Lewis once wrote, “It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.”

Today, my dear friend, take comfort in knowing that rest is available and free for the taking. All it requires is that you surrender. Lay down your arms and run into His. Let Him hold you, reassure you, stabilize you and cleanse you. The cancer is not your fault, nor is the treat that stole the life of your pet. That divorce you didn’t want, the one that crushed your hope, is a burden He will gladly lift from your shoulders.

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. His mercies are new every morning. Grace. And Peace. They are yours today.

Why does our personal history have such a deep impact on our lives? Why do we look back on childhood with a sense of longing? What is it about our memories that trigger both joy and pain? And what are we to do when our memories hijack our peace in the present?

I need stability. I want firm ground to stand on. Give me a solid rock or a freshly poured foundation and I will stand with my hands on my hips and smile. It sounds silly, but how do you feel when you wake up at 2am to an earthquake? .

Solid ground provides safety.

Our childhoods are the foundation for our adult lives. We often measure our present happiness by the events that brought us joy or pain when we were little. What I remember most about childhood is a sentiment that I couldn’t wait to grow up. I wanted to be big. I felt a lack of personal freedom as most of my activities were structured by adults. But the one place I never felt structured was in the country.

My Grandpa Swan had 40 acres and a log house out in Leslie, Missouri. We spent many weekends and summers there. I can still remember the anticipation of arrival, the sudden rush of excitement as we hit the gravel driveway, the squeak of the car door as it swung open and my leap into the tall grass. I knew there were critters out there. And the frogs, turtles and salamanders weren’t going to come to me. Often times, I would run down the hill and to the pond before I did anything else. I would hear my mother calling behind me, “Don’t get full of ticks!” but I didn’t care. The pond was full of frogs and snakes, all waiting to be discovered.

I explored every inch of that property. I can still remember the smell of fresh grass around that pond on a hot summer day. I can hear the grasshoppers buzzing, the redwing blackbirds calling and the plop of frogs diving into the water as I approached. I remember boredom and discovery in equal measure. My mother didn’t like me watching television all day and would send me outside to play. I wandered and wondered. I grew thirsty and went back for a cold drink of water. I would sit on the porch swing and wish I had a friend to play with. For as much as I loved nature, I also missed my city friends.

But I was afraid of many things there as well. I remember cool nights sitting in a bathtub when I would hear the coyotes yipping and howling outside. I was certain they were going to climb right up the roof to snatch me and carry me away. I remember the time my brother was bitten by a spider and his leg got infected and swelled. My mother rushed us to town to a pediatrician to get antibiotics. And then there was Harry, the snake. My aunt (only slightly older than me) lived there and had a very large python that lived in her room. She fed it rabbits. And while it certainly seemed docile, I was certain it would escape and strangle me in my sleep. After all, Harry had gotten loose in the house before.

Amid all of these experiences, I lived in the shadow of a terrible sadness. The country was the place my Grandma Swan didn’t live. She lived in heaven. And my Grandpa, my mom, and her siblings all grieved in different ways. I didn’t understand the sudden bouts of anger, the screaming, the ensuing silence. My aunt, who was more like a sister, would stare with a blank look and not respond to my questions. My mother would say, “Margaret, go play outside.” So I did. Nature was a refuge. The trees, the rocks, the creek and the creatures provided stability. They were the foundation of my childhood in many ways.

That pattern of living has carried into my adult years. When I am stressed out, scared or sad, I run to the woods. I pull up a rock and look under it. I splash in a creek. I hunt for mushrooms. But the older I get the more I come to realize that being in the woods doesn’t solve all my problems. It is not the stability I need. As an adult, my worries and cares follow me into the underbrush. Sadness isn’t always lifted by a hike down a hill into a valley.

My mind and heart race to solve my city problems even when I’m in a country setting. I feel the earth shift beneath my feet as I walk and pray. Then I remind myself that my Creator God hears my prayers and knows how I long for a solid rock to stand on.

I am often tempted to wish for the innocence of childhood, but I enjoy my freedom as an adult. One of the freedoms I hold most dear comes from the experience of trusting God during turbulent circumstances. I am not bound by ignorance of His goodness or confined by the limitations of a faithless mind. Wisdom has taught me to study the bible and the words of a very good Father who loves his children and provides for all their needs according to His riches in glory. When I was a child, I did not know the facets of God’s character that I do today. I love the way Annie Johnson Flint says it:

“His love has no limits, His grace has no measure, His power no boundary known unto men; For out of His infinite riches in Jesus, he giveth, and giveth, and giveth again.”

The freedom we have in Christ Jesus spans eternity, for in Him all the wisdom of God dwells bodily. And we are His. We belong to Him. What does this mean practically? My perspective is lifted from the temporal to the eternal. Said more succinctly, My life may be a series of memories, both beautiful and painful, but my future is a glorious unfolding of experiencing the manifold riches of relationship with God. This might sound a bit boring, a little “floating on a cloud playing a harp”, but it is anything but that. Relationship with God includes freedom from guilt and shame, freedom from worry about the present or the future, freedom to trust in an all-powerful being who can turn even the worst tragedies into a marvelous gift of grace. If it is true that Jesus conquered the grave when He rose from the dead, even death cannot stop His plans. In fact, the bible tells us we will be with Him for ever and ever. Randy Alcorn’s excellent book, Heaven, describes a place where we explore without getting tired, labor without futility, and smile without the inevitability of tears. Earth is not our forever home. So, even as I long for the idyllic days of childhood, I choose to reconcile those memories with what I know is yet to come; joy invincible!

In present day, we have psychology that encourages us to dig up the past and “deal with it”. We are told to remember so we can somehow come to terms with the terrible things that happened to us. But if we are “In Christ” and are a “New creation”, why would we dwell on the horror of His crucifixion without the beauty of his resurrection? Death is undone! Death is dead!

I was 12 years old when my Grandpa Swan sold the log house and those 40 acres. I was flooded with grief. I couldn’t imagine a life without those woods, that pond, that place. I was a child, and I couldn’t imagine a reality where I would own my own woods, pond, and place in the present. I can go back, and have gone back, but the people who made it special are no longer there. The sting of death is real, as punctuated by the beautiful memories I can never relive. In that respect, I cannot go back! But as I consider my Heavenly home, I wonder about the woods, pond and place that are yet to come. I wonder about the river of life that will heal the nations—as described in Revelation. When memories hijack my peace in the present, I turn my eyes to the memories yet to be made. For now, they are imaginings, dreams, and hopes, but eventually they will be present realities. We get a taste of what will be in the scriptures. “There will be no night there. No tears. No death.”

This is solid ground to stand on.

This is stability and safety.

This is peace.

Here I stand with my hands on my hips and smile.

Let the storm come. Let the waves roll. Jesus is Victor!

Have you ever felt like you couldn’t do something you really wanted to do? Was it a wish, hope or dream that seemed so unreachable you dared not even try to reach for it? Life is filled with these things we want but cannot have, but who said we shouldn’t try? I believe sometimes God gives us these dreams so that we will reach for them — with one caveat — we ask for His help to achieve them.

I have struggled with insecurity for as long as I can remember. When I was a little girl, I did not think I was smart. I remember my second-grade teacher, Miss Keck, spending time with me after school to help me learn the multiplication tables. We ran through flash cards over and over again, but I felt like I couldn’t retain the information. In the third grade I was placed in a class for children who learn at a slower pace, and I believe that is when I started to believe what the other children called out to me. “Margaret is a dummy!”

Math was a “problem” all through school. I didn’t understand it. It felt like learning a foreign language. I honestly believed I was no good at it, so I didn’t really try. I was forced to go through the motions and somehow bumbled my way through grade school and junior high. When I bumped into geometry in the 9th grade, what a disaster! I was as lost as a fish in a flood. When the water receded, I was stuck in a ditch gasping for air with not a stream in sight.

I may not have wanted to learn math, but I did want to be thin. I weighed over 300 pounds and I wanted to be thin more than ham wants to be in a sandwich. I wanted to not be ashamed when I went shopping for clothes and couldn’t find anything in my size that looked decent. I wanted people to like me, not pity me because I was a big fatty. I felt ugly, weak and inadequate. These feelings of helplessness were overwhelming as I tried (unsuccessfully) to lose weight and keep it off.

My journey to learn discipline took me down a path I never imagined. Where I saw thick trees of impossibility and pain, God saw a destination lined with flowers of freedom. All He asked was that I lean on Him and trust Him to give me the necessary strength for each day, one day at a time.

Even though I was successful in my private life (losing 140 pounds and keeping it off for 15 years), I have struggled in my professional life. I did not believe I was smart enough to learn certain new concepts. I have several colleagues who encouraged me to change my thinking. These dear friends poured inspiration and hope into my life. Their gentle encouragement to learn and grow have fueled my courage like nitroglycerin in a weak heart. (It works by promoting blood flow and relaxing the blood vessels so the heart does not need to work as hard and therefore does not need as much oxygen.) 

But in reality, disappointment lurks around every corner. Like a hooded stranger eager to rob us of our hopes and dreams, he exists to “get us in the guts” and take our goods. I got so hyper-focused on avoiding this dude I stopped dreaming. I stopped believing there was any good goal I could achieve. I reasoned I was too old, too tired, and not smart enough to try new things. I have always been allergic to change. I like sameness. But the elimination of my job at work in October of last year (2024) shook me to my core.

I saw my entire team “repurposed”. Our roles were erased, and we were given new jobs. I loved my team. I loved each person like a family member. So, as we sat in a room struggling to do what our leaders asked of us (chart out our work and turn it into a process that no longer involved us), we wept. We were angry. Because that old nemesis of mine, disappointment, was twisting the knife. We got through it, but it was terrible.

In March I decided to attend a small conference I had committed to before my team was disbanded. I didn’t care that I was no longer doing that work. I wanted to be there with my best colleague and friend. I intended to just take a break from my ‘my new normal’ for a few hours but incredibly found myself engaged and inspired. The St. Louis Op Ex group does fascinating work. As leaders from various organizations described the work they had done to improve operational efficiency in their respective companies, I discovered hope beating in my heart and wondered if I could do that kind of work.

So I buckled down, studied, and took the test. And I passed! I got my very first professional certification. I am a 6Sigma yellow belt. I am 50 years old and never imagined I would consider a new career path this late in life.

God gives us the ability to meet the challenges in front of us with courage. He directs our paths as the sovereign rule over creation. He knew my weakness in spirit and sent friends to encourage me. He gave me His words in the bible to remind me who He is. And then He helped me with discipline so I could learn new things. It’s remarkable for someone like me, who thought so little of myself for so long.

I applied for a new position at work and made it to the first round of interviews. I feel so vulnerable putting that here in this public space. But I have decided even if I don’t get the position, I will continue this learning journey. I will not give up. I will not lose heart.

Ron Block wrote a beautiful song titled, “Another Life I’m Living On“. It feels so apt to this path I’m on. The chorus says,

“God is love and we’re the branches on the tree. Dependent on the love to live the life we cannot lead. If only God is good, then good we cannot be. In our weakness He is strong. It’s another life we’re living on.”

I met Mr. Block at a conference in Nashville several years ago when I still had hopes and dreams of being a writer. He was very humbly teaching and encouraging young musicians to work hard and never give up. I have so much respect for him as a human being and a singer, song-writer. So, as I listened to this song over and over this week, I was so encouraged by the scriptural truth he sang. God loves us. He knows we are weak and cannot be all that we want to be because of our sinful nature. But we can live the life we want to live in Him instead. It is a beautiful, wonderful truth that fills my heart with Joy Invincible.

Today, if you have given up, or if you believe you are not smart enough to do something you really want to do — cry out to God for help. That desire exists inside of you because He put it there. He loves you and He wants you to be the very best version of yourself. He will help you. In your weakness, He is strong. Lean on Him and accept His gift of love. It will propel you to places you never even imagined you could go.

Conversely, if you find yourself in a place of helplessness and immobility due to age or affliction, I encourage you to trust God’s perfect plan and rest in His promises. This world is NOT our home. And for all that we do or don’t achieve here, He loves us and is preparing a place for us in Heaven.