Month: April 2015

I don’t want to write about grief.

~ Ami ~ 5 Comments

A post for widows, but perhaps truth for many…

comfort

I don’t want to write about grief.

I sat brainstorming for my upcoming post for A Widow’s Might. “How can I encourage other widows today? What do these hurting sisters need to hear?”

A revelation lodged itself firmly in my heart. Though I’m responsible for a post about grief, I don’t want to write about it.

How utterly marvelous and liberating!

“Why? What do you mean?”

Let me back up a moment. Two weeks after my husband died, I was compelled to chronicle the aftermath publicly, to let others see the crushing pain, to not shy away from places some fear to tread.

I’m not one to run away, so I attacked grief, aggressively processing facet after facet. I allowed myself to be in the deep places. And it was not wrong for me to be there.

I’ve unpacked layer upon layer of sorrow, filling 100s of journal pages and constructing nearly 60 blog posts. Writing is an outlet where confusion turns to clarity, where tears funnel into something productive.

More importantly, writing is the place where I preach truth to myself. I had to be raw and honest, but I also had to show the radical hope found in Jesus Christ. Writing about my grief cemented the truths God made clear in the valley:

It’s been an immensely necessary and beautiful part of the journey. I think it may yet have its place, but today my heart says, “It’s time to write about other things.”

Perhaps then, the most liberating and radical truth I can share is this: we don’t have to stay in the stranglehold. Through Jesus, grief cannot utterly destroy. Rather, He crushed death to death, and He turns mourning into dancing. He teaches us to write about other things.

Grief does not define me, nor is it my identity.

“I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. and the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who love me and gave Himself for me.” Galatians 2:20 

Christ lives in me, and He defines me. Redeemed. Chosen. Adopted. Beloved. Complete. Whole.

Now don’t miss this, I’m still madly in love with my husband and miss him daily. I’m sure tears will still come at needed moments. Yet by grace, I walk forward.

And today, I don’t want to write about grief.

Father, through Jesus there is immense hope, confident expectation. Jesus took my spiritual death, and one day even physical death will be no more. Eternity awaits, forever with You. And these things fill my heart with joy! You will turn mourning into dancing and sorrow into gladness. God You were with me in the valley of death. You wept beside me there for many weeks. But now, I’m thankful You have led me from it. 

“You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; you have loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness, that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever!” Psalm 30:11-12

This post by Ami appeared first at anewseason.net

Stop Saying You’re Sorry. Thoughts on True Community.

~ Ami ~ 2 Comments

stay in the mess

“Stop saying you’re sorry. You say it all the time.”

“I do? Oh, I’m sorry.”

Their looks said it all. Then we dissolved into laughter.

“Seriously though, you don’t need to say you’re sorry; you’ve done nothing wrong. And you say it a lot when you talk about Jon.”

She was right. I thought I talked about him too much. Perhaps my friends were tired of hearing the same stories? Perhaps they were weary of memories replayed? Somewhere along the way, I began to feel self-conscious.

They have their own sorrow. Their grief is fresher. One friend is approaching the year mark, and it’s been merely a couple months for the other. I don’t want to draw attention to my own hurts when they are still in the raw, deep places.

I want to comfort. I want to listen and let them talk (or not talk). I want to help bear the heavy weight, as so many have done for me. Laughter turned to tears. “But death is so much nearer for you. I should be here for you. I want to carry your grief. So, I shouldn’t talk about my own.”

These priceless friends wouldn’t have it. And this is what they said.

“But it still hurts. And you still need to talk about him. When you grieve with us, it shows us we have freedom to struggle.”

“It’s beautiful that you let people see reality. You don’t wear a mask, and that gives hope. Jesus takes the junk.

“Your sorrow is still valid. Your husband died.”

“And you need to remember that this is a safe place. We carry each other.”

“Yeah, I mean we just take turns crying, right? It’s what we do.”

And then we laughed again.

This is community, the friends who carry the crushing burdens together. We laugh until our sides hurt. We weep together. We’re family.

My friends weren’t intentional teachers that day, but their words have stuck with me.

Stop Saying You're Sorry - Living in true, Christ-driven community means letting others accept your good, bad, and ugly.

For me that means, don’t make “I’m sorry” a defense mechanism. Don’t use it to put up walls or change the subject. Sometimes I use “I’m sorry” when I think I’m the only one who struggles. And that is just a lie.

“I’m sorry” is for asking forgiveness. The words exist in conjunction with “I was wrong.” They are for turning from sin, but they are not for talking about struggle. For when I use them in that context, I rob others the opportunity to bless.

Loving one another is mutual care, compassion, and sacrifice. It is speaking the truth in love. It is serving. But sometimes it’s a willingness to be served. It’s giving and receiving.

Community- It means I can stop saying I’m sorry.

According to Webster, community is “a group of people who live near each other, or have a particular characteristic in common.” Communities rally around a plethora of interests- sports, board games, causes, trends, pop culture, you name it. Yet these are shadows.

True community exists when Christ is the focus. Jesus called it His body. (I Corinthians 12, Ephesians 5) A body’s parts are woven together, utterly dependent on the others for the good of the whole. One part can’t hurt without the entire body feeling it. One part can’t rejoice without the entire body rejoicing also. Like a physical body, each part needs the rest.

If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored all rejoice together.”(I Cor. 12:26).

True community runs deeper than exchanging pleasantries once a week at worship gathering. It’s more than potlucks. It’s even more than prayer meetings. Christ-driven community exists when we’re willing to get dirty, be vulnerable, do ugly, and stay in the mess for as long as it takes.

Gospel community

…meets each other’s needs (Acts 4:32)

This looks like actually knowing the need and doing something about it. It could be groceries, a box of kleenexes, or merely a listening ear. It could be a single mom arriving home to a freshly made bed with clean sheets.

…speaks the gospel (Galatians 6:1, 1 Corinthians 15)

This is what my friends did for me. “Jesus takes the junk.” Sometimes we need others to tell us truth when we struggle to tell ourselves. This looks like speaking the realities of reconciliation, adoption, redemption into each others’ lives.

…takes off the masks (James 5:16, 2 Corinthians 12:9-10)

Folks who dwell in real community know it’s okay to struggle and to let others see the struggle. Because Jesus was perfect, we don’t have to be. Grace says there is freedom to be weak.

perfect jesus

…reconciles with each other (Ephesians 4:32)

If I am part the body of Christ, then refusing to reconcile would be like cutting off my own arm. Enough said.

…prays for one another (Acts 1:14, James 5:16)

…loves one another (I John 3:11, John 13)

This is the love that sacrifices, that gives, and puts its own selfishness aside.

…bears burdens together (Galatians 6:2)

This is the devastating load that is too big for one to bear alone.

…knows it’s a family (2 Thessalonians 1:3, Hebrews 2:11)

One of my favorite things is “family night.” Most of my community group doesn’t have blood family in town, but we still have family. Each week we take turns cooking dinner for “the family.” We sit around the table and dive into each other lives. I need these people. And I think it’s safe to say we’d take bullets if it came to that.

Viewed this way, community is no longer an obligation or an “extra thing.” Rather it’s necessary for my spiritual health. I need others to point out my blind spots.

True Community fosters God’s intended plan for the church- a family, woven tightly together, a body interconnected and interdependent.

As for me, I’ve stopped saying I’m sorry.

The post by Ami, appeared first at  Intentional By Grace.

So she started to walk.

~ Ami ~ 10 Comments

she sangA fourteen year old kid sat alone beneath the moonlit sky. New life stirred within her spirit. Hope. It was a word she hadn’t known for many months. All had seemed futile. But now, oh but now, everything was different! She saw. She understood. She wept with joy, clearly comprehending for the first time, the debt paid on her behalf. Peace.

And in her heart she counted the cost. To this One, the Redeemer who died and rose again, to the One who set her free, she’d give anything.

“Child of weakness watch and pray, find in me thine all in all. Jesus paid it all. All to Him I owe…”

“Oh Lord, I am fully and completely yours. I will not run from the hard paths. You’ve given me life and hope. And you are worth everything.”

I remember that kid. Life immediately turned a radical 180. She grew like wildfire, with the unshakeable faith of fresh belief. She prayed and Heaven answered. God heard her. It was as simple as that. There was nothing He could not do.

She began to walk, and the path was filled with wonder. Marveling at beauty she’d never seen before, her heart felt light and airy.

Over time, however, the path began to twist, and she couldn’t see what lay ahead.

“I will guide you with my eye upon you.” the Redeemer reassured.

As she walked, she noticed thorns amid flowers and tangled vines beside and above. At times the sky grew dark, and rain soaked her through and through. She stumbled. Muddy and bruised, the way wasn’t always as pleasant as she’d imagined.

She thought of that initial surrender. “I will not run from the hard paths.”

All the way the Redeemer led her, keeping his eyes steadfastly upon her. And she returned his gaze.

There were steep hills and deep rivers. There was wandering in the wilderness. She staggered, but the Redeemer gently pulled her to her feet.

Sometimes she wanted to quit. Sometimes she looked around and thought that other paths seemed a little more fragrant.

“The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup; you hold my lot…In your presence is fullness of joy.”  She reminded herself often.

And there were also flowers and many days of sunshine. She rested in green meadows. She drank from peaceful streams. Ocean breezes cooled her face. Breathtaking landscapes crept over the horizon.

There were fireside chats. And music. And laughter. And night skies filled with a million stars. There was even beauty among the thorns.

The path was a winding ribbon, taking her places she’d never expected. Sometimes it was hard, much harder than she’d initially guessed. But she was cared for, loved, free, clean, and known. It was completely worth it.

One day, without warning, she walked right off a cliff. Terrified, she tumbled end over end, falling deeper than she ever had before. The chasm seemed to have no end.

How she did not die when her form slammed to the ground, is a mystery of grace.

She lay crumpled, broken, and devastated. Looking around, she knew the place. The path had led her to the valley of death.

Sobbing. Pain. She couldn’t get up. Looking from the mountain above, others saw her sitting there, knees drawn tightly to her chest, head down, rivers of tears forming at her feet.

Some offered platitudes from the safety of their own paths above and some wanted to but couldn’t make the treacherous descent. But there were others who climbed down the steep incline and sat there with her. They let their tears mingle with hers.

The Redeemer knelt beside her, tenderly binding her wounds.

Broken, she couldn’t leave the place for many weeks. And in the valley of death, she sat. The winds rose around her, a hurricane. The waters rose in that valley, threatening to drown her.

“Didn’t you know I was headed toward a cliff?”

There were days when she shouted and beat her fists on the ground. Yet more often than not, she sang. For she remembered the Redeemer. And he spoke precious words.

“I will guide you with my eye upon you. Not one millisecond of your journey is outside of my control. Not one instant is without purpose. You are mine. I am here with you.”

And there in the valley she began to see things with new eyes. The stars. Oh how magnificent! Indescribable, infinite in  majesty, they were more brilliant than she’d ever realized.

She caught glimpses of the End. A word formed in her heart to describe that place. Eternity. She began to long for it. And the Redeemer, how she saw him! It was there he took on startling clarity. She’d known his power before, but now she experienced his suffering also. She understood how he had suffered for her.

He was the goal. Eternity. It meant being with the Redeemer.

Over time the broken bones healed. Color returned to her cheeks. She bore jagged scars, but she thought they were beautiful. She noticed flowers growing. She felt a gentle breeze. Eternity called her name.

It was time to get up. She glanced at the incline leading out of the valley. It twisted and turned, and she couldn’t see where it went.

She saw thorns on tangled vines. But she also glimpsed blue skies and rolling meadows ahead.

“Ok, the path may yet be hard. But there will still be beauty, immense beauty. And the Redeemer, He awaits.”

So she started to walk.

“I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you.”  Psalm 32:8

“The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup; you hold my lot. The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance….You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”  Psalm 16:5-11

Looking back, I know I left the valley a while ago. Praise God for beauty. Praise God, He is fullness of joy.  Amen!