And Yet... Thoughts on Holiday Pain

I remember hearing a missionary give a talk years ago. Addressing the matter of God’s provision, this seasoned servant quipped that, in his experience, God is never late but He’s rarely early.

Also embedded in my memory is this observation from a minister whose church I attended when I was very young in my faith. This gentleman, whose name was David, commented that he often noticed the Almighty “singling him out,” as it were – in a good way. He would come across a passage of Scripture or hear something from the pulpit that seemed to be a “Dear David” message. A piece of wisdom or advice that zeroed right in on whatever he was struggling with or working on in his life.

I’m finding the insights of these two leaders quite relevant during what has turned out to be a very bittersweet holiday season. Don’t misunderstand – I’ve lived through downright depressing, even miserable Christmases. Other people’s choices and acts of God find their harsh way into our lives, despite what our culture tells us to expect during a given time frame:

“Christmas means lights and laughter! Valentine’s Day means hearts and happiness! There’s something really wrong with you if you’re not loving life at this moment!”

As though death, demons, and destruction are any respecters of calendars.

Christmas 2025 finds me straddling the line between joy and pain as I grieve with a dear friend who is presently suffering an unimaginable loss. Others around me are coping with similar sorrows. And, folks, have you looked at the news lately? It’s enough to send the jolliest elf right into a full-blown tailspin.

And yet…

“My heart is overflowing with a good theme; I recite my composition concerning the King; My tongue is the pen of a ready writer.” – Psalm 45:1

“Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!” – Psalm 46:10

“He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things?” – Romans 8:32

Why these verses?

They’re my “Dear Thea” messages from a Mind and Heart which know exactly what my mind and heart are wrestling with. All three of these Scripture gems showed up in my own personal world MORE THAN ONCE in the past week.

Psalm 45:1:

Write, Thea. I’ve given you a voice and the tools to get it out there. Use them when and how I tell you to.

Psalm 46:10:

Thea, I’ve GOT you and everyone and everything around you, despite how things may look. Trust me, like the song says, and rest in my plan, even when it seems ridiculous to do so.

Romans 8:32:

Thea, if I gave up that which was most precious to me for your benefit, I’m certainly not going to skimp on anything else.

I want and need to be held this Christmas, because I’m trying to hold up my fellow man. I know I’m no Atlas, and I’m not trying to be. But how can a person not offer a hand when one of her companions is in danger of sinking?

And yet…

The Lord makes certain promises about how much reign He will let grief have in our lives.

I’m holding Him to those promises.

So, I’m doing each next right thing I know to do. Since tomorrow is the arbitrary deadline we silly humans have set for ourselves to celebrate the immortal becoming mortal for a few decades, I’m going to take care of some ritual essentials. I’ll finish wrapping my packages. I’ll whip up some holiday recipes. Etc., etc., etc.

But I REFUSE to let said rituals destroy my communion with the One we’re supposed to be celebrating. And I REFUSE to endlessly seek some heartwarming feeling that always eludes and always promises more than it can deliver.

Because the Delivery has been made. It arrived 2,000 years ago in a stable. And it mattered – and matters – more than any Hallmark memory or Amazon drop-off ever could.

Our Savior foresaw the ambivalence we would feel at the holidays and all throughout our lives. He knew expectations would go unmet and joy would be tempered with pain. He felt that tension in His own heart while preparing to give His life for our traitorous race.

And yet…

If the trials I’m facing – and those I’m walking through with people I love – are the chisels that render me more like the Savior I strive to emulate, then I will try to yield to the pain without numbing myself. I’ll keep looking for “Dear Thea” love notes wherever He chooses to drop them. And I’ll keep reminding myself that His mercies will always be right on time.

God bless us, everyone.

 

I Am Peter Part 2

Taking one's own medicine is not for the fainthearted. It's Christmastime, season of all seasons to forgive and extend mercy, and yours truly has to admit again to having feet of clay. Let me tell you, slogging around in righteous indignation makes for some pretty clumsy steps.

Awhile back I angrily blogged about the lack of forgiveness someone in my world was showing to a repentant sinner who had wronged my children and me. How dare this person, I railed, hold a grudge on my behalf? Yet, here I stand in this season of peace on earth and good will toward men, finding myself in the same mindset for which I castigated others.

Matthew 7, anyone?

This time last year, my Lord offered me the privilege of extending grace to people who had hurt folks I love. They had also snubbed me, but in minor ways that affected my life only peripherally. In all honesty, I've been hurt far worse by much more skilled offenders; yet somehow my rage on this occasion was rancorous. True to form, over the holidays these individuals showed a callousness toward my family, and one member in particular, on whose behalf I seethed. What made their behavior so unconscionable (in my judgment-dispensing eyes) was that these wrongs were perpetrated by fellow believers!

When they entered the room, I quietly fumed to my conversation partners, whose puzzled looks and conciliatory comments contrasted starkly with my wrathful ones. I'm just telling it like it was; no point sugar-coating the ugly truth. I continued to vent in hushed tones to the select few who had the un-looked-for honor of being within hearing range.

Realizing, thanks be to God, that public accusations would only hurt the ones whose case I'd be pleading, I limited my diatribe to the aforementioned bewildered ears. Presently, the culprits greeted me (warmly), and I followed the course I had decided on the moment they set foot in the door: absolute coldness.

I hadn't seen them in years. There should have been much to talk about, but I eschewed polite conversation and instead spoke minimally and superficially. I feigned no interest in their (to my mind) self-absorbed lives. I suspect - no, I'm sure - they noticed, and probably felt hurt. Part of me cares, yet part of me rejoices that I accomplished what I set out to do: wound them the way they wounded the people who matter to me.

Fast forward to today. I'm in much the same mood. Critical, grumpy, un-pleasable (that may not be a word, but I'm breaking lots of rules today). As I sat (make that stewed) in Sunday school this morning, I made a mental checklist of all the sheep who weren't going along with the shepherd's agenda. They were interrupting his train of thought with questions, of all things! Such a recalcitrant flock, I grumbled to myself. A few in particular didn't meet with my approval; I passed judgment, then moved onto the next black sheep to be disapproved of.

In a few hours, I'll be hosting a belated birthday celebration for a dear friend who has miraculously managed to escape the ire I feel for all things breathing today. Between now and dinnertime, the Holy Spirit sure has a lot of work to do.

For more like this, check out: Morsels for Meditation...: I Am Peter

Old Grudges

... have a way of not going away. Yesterday I conquered one, and felt the wonderful freedom of forgiveness wash over me.

My mother has been gone for over ten years, and I have been holding onto a resentment on her behalf ever since. I confess to being guilty of the same charge I leveled at others in my impassioned post from August 9.

The history in brief is this: as I've shared previously, my family lived with estrangement for many years on my mother's side. The main culprit has never admitted to any wrongdoing, but professes ignorance to this day as to the reasons for the rift. My mother never joined a church, attended a twelve-step program, or read any self-help books that I'm aware of; yet, somehow, she must have been guided by a Spirit that slumbered inside her from a long-ago salvation experience, to take the high road. And so she did. How well I remember the "reunion" at my mother's sick bed (which would soon become her death bed) after a decade or more of not speaking -  the haughty tone taken by the offender, to which my mother (no shrinking violet herself) chose not to react. Instead, she conducted herself like a lady, setting an example of grace and mercy for the sake of the younger generation, who had expressed a desire to end the silence.

After Mom's passing, I found myself disgusted and angered by the octogenarian offender. While we rarely talked about those years of separation (in fact, we rarely talked at all), on at least one occasion she tried to villify my mother in a charade of make-believe bewilderment about Mom's choice to put distance between them. I hung up the phone livid, and have struggled to feel kindly towards her ever since. It was as if, since Mom couldn't be here to feel furious herself, I had to carry the vitriol for her.

Recent years have brought much heartache and ill health to this family member. Yesterday I saw her for the first time in several years. Her home, once lovely and regal, is crumbling around her. She is quite frail and can barely walk. The family she produced has known much suffering. I decided then and there to let go of the past, tell her I love her, and mean it.

I can think of no better way to honor my mother's memory than to follow the path she opened to reconciliation, even with (perhaps especially with) those who don't know they need it.


Check out Newsboys' Million Pieces

For more like this, check out: Morsels for Meditation...: Lack of Mercy

Morsels for Meditation...: Barbara Anne Horton Whitten Parrish

Lack of Mercy

        Saints and Sinners

When somebody yields to temptation 
    And breaks one of man’s or God’s laws, 
We look for no good in his make-up, 
    But oh! how we look for the flaws! 
No one cares about how he was tempted, 
    Nor praises the battles he’s fought; 
His name becomes food for the jackals -- 
    For us who have never been caught.

           He has sinned!” we shout from the house-tops,

             We forget the good deeds he has done,

          We focus on that one lost battle,

          And forget all the times he has won.

         “Come, gaze at the sinner!” we thunder,

         “And by his example be taught

      That his footsteps lead to destruction!”

          Cry we who have never been caught.

      I’m a sinner, O Lord, and I know it,

          I’m weak, I blunder, I fail.

     I’m tossed on life’s stormy ocean

        Like ships embroiled in a gale.

   I’m willing to trust in Thy mercy,

   To keep the commandments Thou’st taught,

    But deliver me, Lord, from the judgment

Of saints who have never been caught!*

   
Lack of mercy really troubles me.                             

Last night I had the ugly chore of telling a repentant sinner he wasn't welcome in another person's home. It was an unsavory, difficult duty that had to be done because others would get hurt if this person were not excluded. This was a utilitarian task made necessary by someone else's leftover resentments. It's complicated; just trust me. The worst of it is that most of the offenses committed were done to my children and me; they only affected the other person collaterally. In other words, the grudge being held was much more mine to forgive. I fail to see how, if I can let go of wrongs done to me in the distant past, someone else has the right to hold onto them on my behalf.

Long ago, I had the privilege of hearing a sermon by Andy Stanley** regarding good works vs. faith. He made the point that the "thief" on the cross was actually referred to as a "malefactor," which carries the implication of a life of hard-core sinning. I'll loosely paraphrase Andy's main point, since I can't locate the exact sermon:

What kind of bad works did this guy do? Real bad. What opportunity did this guy have to make up for his life of debauchery? No opportunity. Yet, Christ transformed his nugget of faith into a ticket to Paradise. All the ill will, missed opportunities, perversion, disgrace, and yes, horrific sin, turned into a pile of ashes when stacked up against the payment being made for same on the cross his neighbor was affixed to.

In other words, Christ did not withhold forgiveness from the lowest of the low.

Further examples of wanton grace include Christ's dealings with Matthew and Zacchaeus, both tax collectors, whose presence was about as welcome as an inflamed boil; the woman at the well, whose low status as a female Samaritan was compounded by a life of sin; and the woman taken in adultery (I've always been disturbed by the absence of her male counterpart, as if her lack of a Y chromosome somehow made her more guilty of an act which required complicity). The common thread in all these scenarios is societal rejection due to "unpardonable" offense. Astoundingly, Jesus, holy God in bodily form, embraced and welcomed these transgressors when their unholy peers would not.

So, someone explain to me please how we as flawed humans (and professing Christians, no less) can pick and choose who is worthy of forgiveness, when God incarnate took no such stance.
I realize forgiveness and reconciliation are two different things, and I'm not suggesting we pronounce BFF status after years of estrangement and hurt. What I am asking for is a bit of compassion and recognition that "there but for the grace of God go I."

The Savior did no less.

* PoemHunter.com attributes Saints and Sinners to Zambia's Changu Chilwesa, written in 2009. However, I seem to remember hearing it much before then. Contacted Ms. Chilwesa to clarify.

** Contacted In Touch Ministries for link to paraphrased Andy Stanley sermon.

For more like this, check out: Morsels for Meditation...: Old Grudges

Exceedingly Abundantly (Ephesians 3:20)

This will have to be a really quick post, but I just had to thank the Lord publicly for His amazing goodness to my family today. I accompanied my older son to his college admissions meeting this morning so he could sign up for fall classes. At the end of the registration process, we were told to go to the cashier's office, where we were given a bill to be paid within 48 hours. Our next stop was the financial aid office, to see how we could offset the damage. When all was said and done, we not only didn't owe anything, but have more than enough left over to buy books!

Never in my wildest dreams did I envision such mercy and grace.

Now if I can only remember this the next time something goes wrong.     

"When times are good, be happy; but when times are bad, consider this: God has made the one as well as the other." Ecclesiastes 7:14