Gospel Reflections

For My Young Friends (And maybe the not so young ones also)

~ Ami ~ Leave a comment

From my vantage point at the back, I noticed her radiant smile and his hand raised in worship. Two worshipers juxtaposed across my line of vision. These teens unashamedly and joyfully responded to God, their faith in Jesus on display, and it brought me to tears.

I had spent the worship service much like I spend it every week— passing out paper and markers, rummaging for other quiet activities to keep little hands busy and little voices quiet, hearing bits and pieces of the sermon, bouncing a baby on my hip, whispering variations of “Shh time to stop talking, Pastor Shayne is praying.”—in short, doing every thing I could to keep my children from distracting others. 

Our small church doesn’t have a children’s ministry, so everyone is together. I love much about this arrangement. My children experience all the aspects of church together. They can tell you what the communion elements mean and why we celebrate it every week. They see adults pray and sing.They get to see Daddy play the guitar and preach sometimes. But I’d be a liar if I said it is easy. Sometimes I’m bone tired, weary, and wish I could listen to the sermon without my four little “distractions” in tow. Sometimes I hand out markers with an overwhelmed, grudging heart. And more than once I’ve wished I could send them along to their own classes and call it a day.

So it was at the end of another such service when I noticed two teenagers simply, humbly, worshiping. Neither was putting on a show or drawing attention to themselves. Several thoughts intersected in my mind—

“Is it even worth it?” I’ve asked myself. “Are they taking in anything? Am I teaching them they can worship too, or to just be quiet so the adults can concentrate?” 

First, the teens’ sincerity deeply encouraged me and spurred my own heart to respond. The worship service was not about me or whether I was inconvenienced. It wasn’t about being able to sit with rapt attention in the front with a notebook and pen in hand. Worship is about God. And my heart needed to remember I can worship even when it’s not easy and doesn’t look the way I long for it to look. And how does my attitude seep through to my children? What are the messages I’m sending? My self-focus almost missed something beautiful—the heartfelt responses of others around me, and the opportunity to bow my own heart to God.

The body of Christ is such a marvelous gift. They probably had no idea anyone was watching, but I needed the testimonies of these young ones— their radiant smiles and raised hands. I needed them to encourage and convict. 

The teenagers at our church are fantastic, and not just these two. All of them seek ways to help and serve. I see their willingness to use their gifts and desire to grow in their faith. They participate in community group and add thoughtful comments to the discussion. They give me so much hope for the next generation.

They give me hope that my small people see them also. 

And they do. “When I’m a teenager I’m going to sing and play the guitar at church!” sweet voices proclaim. 

Secondly, I breathed a prayer, “Oh that I would get to see my own children worshiping with joy and zeal! Lord let the Word fall on good ground. Let its roots grow deep. Let it produce fruit one hundred fold.” In the soil cultivating, seed planting days we pray for rain. Harvest seems so far away.

Yet these teens are not so far removed from their childhood—and God is clearly at work. My children not only see adults who love Jesus, but they also get to observe some who are closer in age. These young friends are seed planters also, and they may not even know it. 

And I remind myself that all these hours gathering with the church are not wasted. God is using this time. Small people begin to understand Jesus is not just a word, but a real, living person, the Savior whose body was broken and whose blood was poured out for them. They see he’s worth the center, the focus of our affections. 

Finally, I also knew a moment of grief for another teenage girl, exuberant, “on fire” for Jesus with faith largely untested who knew God could move mountains. She was the girl serving any way she could, eager to go on mission trips, work at camp, and change the world. She dreamed of doing “big things for God.” Limitations? Nah. God could do whatever he wanted. I was that girl. At fourteen my life had turned a 180 and I’d never looked back. 

“Take my life and let it be consecrated Lord to thee,” I prayed upon many a church stair. 

So I grieved the girl with fewer scars and big expectations, the girl with a fresh face, not yet battle worn. For a moment I missed the days when the Christian life seemed limitless. Big things were on the horizon. Opportunities abounded. I couldn’t wait to see what this wild and wonderful life held.

I also missed the freedom of young adult days, when limits and responsibilities still were few, when I could give myself to the ways I wanted to serve God. Life has a way of looking nothing like one expects, however. Even the things we long for, pray for, and dearly love feel lack luster some days. Answered prayer may be a delight, but the life we craved more difficult than we knew. We sing “Father use my ransomed life in any way you choose,” and mean it. But sometimes we wonder if what he chooses truly is best.

Time and trials refract our big dreams, bending them with changed perspectives. I can grieve that zealous, enthusiastic teenager, but also be thankful the Ami in her 40s looks radically different than her. And if I live long enough, the Ami I’ll be in my 80s will also be radically different than the me I am now. Life lived brings maturity, wisdom, and more shades of gray- not everything is black and white. Mercifully, sanctification is progressive.

Perhaps God doesn’t have big things for me to do right now. Perhaps I need to learn faithfulness in the small things. 

Limitations aren’t always a bad thing— The King of the universe limited himself. The limitless one took on limits, fences, boundaries. He put on skin that sweat, stank after a long day, and needed washing just like his brothers. He put on a body subject to fatigue and illness. He limited his understanding so his brain would develop like the other children around him. Ultimately he limited his power, and refused to rescue himself that we could be rescued. 

So maybe my limits are also good.

Maybe I need to remind myself. “Do small stuff for God. Despise not every day faithfulness.” In the upside down (or truly right side up) Kingdom of Christ, small things become big things.

I’m not here to be a cynic, or rob my young friends of zeal or big dreams. Please keep dreaming guys! For truly nothing is impossible for God. You could indeed be a William Carey or Amy Carmichael. Or for more modern references – a Jackie Hill Perry or David Platt. 

The Kingdom still needs dreamers, and the weary moms in the back need you.

But I’ll tell you, young friends, the plans God has for you probably look much different than the plans you have for yourself. The road will take unexpected turns. There will be more thorns and storms than you’d like to think. The valleys may be exceptionally deep. But, there will also be more fragrant flowers and more ravishing sunsets than you can imagine. 

God’s path is hard. But God’s path is worth it. There are indeed higher joys and deeper peace as we learn Christ.

We like to tell the young “God has a spectacular plan for you. He could use your life in mighty ways.” Young friends, we are not lying to you. But perhaps God’s spectacular plan, the mighty things he can do in and through you aren’t visible things. Maybe mighty isn’t always a public platform or large influence.

Maybe spectacular is a heart with bed rock, unshakeable faith. Maybe spectacular is one who gives the shirt off his back. Maybe spectacular is doing the unseen things, without commendation or applause. 

Also, I think we misunderstand spectacular’s time frame. What if we don’t see spectacular in this life? All we need do is step outside or glance at a headline to remember much in a fallen world is definitely not spectacular. So we orient our hearts to eternity, where there’s much we do not yet know. However, without doubt we do know it is there that “God has a spectacular plan for you” comes to its full and marvelous fruition. Look to Jesus—eternity will be beyond spectacular. 

So young friends, set your eyes on the cross. Since we know spectacular will come, you can confidently lay your dreams at his feet. He may shape them, mold them, ask for them, or strip them away. But if he does, know you have a Father who is always good. He might take your dream, remake it, and hand it right back to you when the time is right. Or he might replace it with a different dream. Either way, his plan is better. 

Better doesn’t mean easier, a life always marked by sunshine and cool breezes, but it does mean he is there. And it does mean he is sovereign. And it does mean he is always kind. And it does mean you can trust him. 

Keep on worshiping with a sincere heart. Keep outwardly responding. Hang on to your enthusiasm, and let God’s light shine through. There’s a weary mom at the back who needs you.

One Foot in Front of the Other

~ Ami ~ Leave a comment

Maybe it’s the noise of a thousand children you carried in your body (because surely that’s how many are in the house right now). Maybe it’s 10,000 needs to meet. Maybe it’s working hard to “keep house,” but an outsider might be hard pressed to notice. Maybe it’s exhaustion from being up several times in the night— for the last six years. 

Or perhaps for you it’s something different. Something far more weighty like chronic illness, or being broken by someone else’s sin, or a sudden plummet to the valley of death. 

Maybe today is hard. Maybe it’s crushing. 

Either way, here’s to everyone putting one foot in front of the other…

“The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness, he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing.” Zephaniah 3:17

As a younger believer this verse astonished me. It still does. This is God’s view of his own? He rejoices over them. He delights in them. It’s God’s line in the sand, so to speak, his declaration of his stance toward the redeemed.

He is with them!

He saves them!

He rejoices over them with gladness!

He quiets them with his love!

He exults over them with singing!

“Don’t overuse exclamation points,” they say, but sometimes you need to. Read the verse again like it’s the best news you’ve ever heard. The Lord, Creator of all things is with you, and has definite emotions about you. “This is not an aloof, emotionless contentment but it bursts forth in joyful divine celebration: he will exult over you with loud singing.” (ESV study Bible commentary). It’s the Lord’s own exuberant answer to the people’s rejoicing in verses 14-16. It’s as if he can’t contain himself and his own delight compels him to join the party.

Believer, do not for one instant believe God is begrudging in his kindness and steadfast love for you. While some of the promises of the surrounding context will be fully realized in the new Heavens and the new Earth, this verse came to fruition at the cross. The realities are yours to remember.

“The Lord your God is in your midst.”

Never will he leave or forsake his chosen ones again. The punishment was paid; the veil was torn. No longer does God reside only in the Holy Place. God, in human flesh came to dwell with man. (Hebrews 13:5, 4:14-16, Luke 2)

He sees your weariness when you rise yet again to respond to a child in the night. He gives grace to endure, and a song in the night. His compassion compels your compassion.

He is near when you battle to discern truth from error, to untangle lies you’ve been taught. His Word is truth, and he will lead you in it.

He sees you stop to adore him even when the day goes awry, and he meets you there, filling your heart with impossible joy.

He holds you as you wrestle with the fallout of another’s sin. He knows your faith is clinging by a thread, and he clings to you. His word says no man can pluck you out of his hand.(John 10:28) Your faith is fraying, but he does not despise your weakness. He is strong when you are weak. 

He feels the crushing weight of your grief, and sits beside you in the valley. He won’t rush you through it. But he binds the gaping wounds, his tears mingling with yours.

And he is with you. He is transcendent but he is also imminent, nearer to you than your own skin. If you are in Christ, you are a recipient of his good favor, and only his good favor. 

“A mighty one who will save.”

Unlike earthly heroes, God the mighty warrior doesn’t fail, or quit. He will always win. And when he rescues his people, he explodes in song – for them, rejoicing over them as a groom delights in his bride.

My favorite person to look at when I go to a wedding is not the bride. Of course I see her. She is magnificent and stunning in her bridal array. But it’s the groom who catches my attention. Watch him watch her. Whether he’s sobbing or beaming, his eyes never leave hers. Adoration radiates from his very soul. “This is the one whom my soul loves! Isn’t she marvelous?” 

“He will rejoice over you with gladness.”

Wouldn’t it be a sad marriage for a groom to merely tolerate his bride, to view her as a business transaction, to put up with her? Rather the best groom, the mighty warrior behaves like he’s won the most valuable treasure known to man. He exults over her, but in this case the bride is radiant only because he’s made her so. He deserves adoration, but he lavishes her with it.

Of course this verse spoke volumes to the girl who used to think God’s love was stoic—to the one who thought she still needed to earn God’s favor, though she would have dogmatically said salvation was by grace alone, through faith alone. (Ephesians 2:8-9)

But on my worst days, I already have God’s favor. It was won for me. It was purchased. I can neither diminish it or earn more of it (for there is none to earn).

My goodness, we could keep unpacking this. It’s utterly life changing to remember how God sees his beloved!. But it is the little phrase right in the middle that’s been banging around in my brain for weeks. It’s this phrase I hope ministers to you when you’re putting one foot in front of the other today. 

“He will quiet you by his love.” 

Not silence, but quiet. 

It bears connotations of calming fears, of restoring peace, of wholeness rather than brokenness. He restores rest to to the weary soul. His posture is not a stern, hands on hips, scowling face. His words are not harsh.

He quiets your soul with gentle embrace. Like a weaned child leans agains his mother for comfort, so do we lean on the Lord. (Psalm 131:2) His heart calms our hearts. 

One day my two year old stood before me his cheeks soaked with tears, his words on repeat, “I need you.” I don’t remember why, but my first inclination was irritation. It could have been that he seemed extra “clingy” that day, or perhaps it was another day that felt like too much noise, noise, noise. For whatever reason, I wanted to be frustrated with him. 

But then I saw his vulnerable little face. And the Holy Spirit whispered, “He will quiet you by his love. Quiet him with love.” 

I gathered him in, spoke kindly to him, empathized with his little boy heart, and let our closeness quiet him. And it did. He snuggled against me, tears slowing.

As I’ve interacted with my children these last few weeks, I put that phrase on a loop in my mind. “Quiet them with love.” Sometimes it’s a reminder that love meets needs with grace and compassion. Sometimes it’s a reminder that God himself quiets me.

When they’re screaming, whining, sobbing, hitting, kicking, throwing… quiet them with love. Before anything else, quiet them with love. Because if they are calm, and I am calm we all can learn.

Yet, I am not completely faultless. I’ve lost it more than I care to admit. 

But God quiets me so I can quiet others. He gathers me with words of truth. His Spirit is gentle with me. He fills me with peace and hope. Because of the cross, God has changed his posture and tone.

I love watching my giant husband kneel down and gather one of our children in his arms. He envelopes them with his strength, but holds them tenderly. This is how God quiets me, and you. His Holy Spirit comforts. The Word calms stormy emotions. When we remember who we he is and who we are, there is peace. 

“May the God of all hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” Romans 15:13

When you’re trudging along one foot in front of the other, perhaps it’s time to stop and rest. Jesus is the better rest. Lean into him. Lean against his heart, and he will quiet your soul.

Woman Behold Your Son: The Astonishing Intimacy of Christ’s Compassion

~ Ami ~ Leave a comment

As a Roman soldier hammered iron into flesh, she felt her own body tear also. Her agony mirrored his, and her emotional anguish pierced so deeply it was also physical. She sunk to the ground as hands reached out to bear her up. Her son, her precious son! Prophetic words uttered so long ago, the ones she hadn’t wanted to understand, reverberated in her mind. 

“And a sword will pierce through your own soul also.” (Luke 2:35)

He hung there naked, bloodied, barely recognizable. But she still saw the newborn she’d nursed through long nights, the toddler who’d taken his first steps, the boy about “his father’s business,” the man who had turned water into wine.

“But Mary treasured all these things, pondering them in her heart.” (Luke 2:19)

Couldn’t there have been another way?

She knew what he must do, but grief was a torrent threatening to drown her. The brutality her son experienced was too much to comprehend. But…

“When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, “Woman, behold, your son!” Then he said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother!” And from that hour the disciple took her to his own home. (John 19:25-27)

Though Jesus gasped for breath, and pushed himself up on nail pierced feet to expand his lungs, his compassions failed not.

He took care of her. 

In the midst of excruciating pain, he took care of his mother. Let’s dwell here for a moment, and let its significance not pass us by.

A popular Christmas song poses the question “Mary did you know?” Drama oozes from the lyrics, and the orchestration swells to a climax- “The sleeping child you’re holding is the great, [dramatic pause] I Am!”

Picture some women all dressed in black, complete with white gloves. Their hands move in artistic fervor as they passionately sign the lyrics. And if we want to get real fancy, throw in a black light so those gloves really pop. There you go. You got it, a staple of late 90s churches and Christian school chapels.

And it goes on to list extraordinary things. Did she know he’d walk on water? Did she know he would make the blind see? Rule the nations? Release captives?

Being the natural rule breaker I tend to be, I always wanted to stand up in the middle of the service and shout, “Yes! She knew!” Then I would sit down smugly, arms crossed. But the Holy Spirit reminded me that maybe it wasn’t the right moment for an outburst. 

Of course Mary knew. From the first glimpse we see of her on an ordinary day turned anything but ordinary, she heard astonishing truth. (Luke 1:26-35) I’m sure there were things she didn’t fully understand, but as we find out later “she treasured all these things, pondering them in her heart.” 

Mary was introspective. She tumbled her thoughts like clothes in a dryer. She had months to think about what the angel had said. Also she would have been familiar with Old Testament prophecies that proclaimed Messiah would make the blind see, the lame walk, set captives free.  (Isaiah 61) Yes, indeed she knew. She knew her son would be the Messiah.

The angel in Luke 1 revealed world altering truth to a woman. And a young, unmarried, likely teenage girl at that. She “found favor” with the Lord. Lest we think this phrase implies something Mary was not—righteous by her own merit, or a further step, perfect—“favor” here literally means “grace.” Mary found grace with God. 

And what earth shattering grace she received. A Son. The promised Son. 

Just what did Mary know? 

Mary knew Jesus would be divine. He would be called “Son of God,” “Son of the Most High.”  This was a title reserved only for the true God, the God of Israel. (Luke 1:32)

Likewise, he would be conceived supernaturally. (Luke 1:35) That she was a virgin underscores this was a birth only God could accomplish. And it also emphasizes Jesus’ divine nature. He would be called Holy. Set apart. Furthermore, she knew he’d be the true King whose reign lasted forever. (Luke 1:32-33)

At his birth she found out even more about the long awaited Son. 

Jesus would be the Savior! (Luke 2:11,17, 30) It was about him whom angels announced, “For unto you is born this day in the city of David, a Savior who is Christ the Lord!” and league upon league of heavenly warriors sang, “Glory to God in the highest and earth peace among those with whom he is pleased.” The exuberant shepherds who burst into her “recovery room” would have made sure she heard the proclamation. 

A few days later faithful Simeon, being promised he would not see death until he had first seen the Christ, rejoiced, “My eyes have seen your salvation!” (Luke 2:30)

The Savior would also bring light to the Gentiles (Luke 2:32) and glory to Israel. Mary’s son would be Messiah, not just to the Jews, but to all people. It was he who would complete God’s redemptive plan, settled from before time began. Also, he would open the flood gates of God’s mercy to gentiles. And he would receive the glory Israel should have had— He alone could fulfill the law and obey perfectly. He would judge the proud and arrogant. He would save the humble and meek. (Luke 2:31-32)

But from Simeon Mary also gained the first glimpse her path would include sorrow. Jesus would be opposed and her heart would break. Being near Jesus included suffering.

“And a sword will pierce through your own soul also.”

Perhaps, the words didn’t mean what she thought they might. 

She watched him grow. Surely she marveled as a caravan of Magi brought him extravagant gifts. Perhaps she pondered the significance of such treasures, gold worthy of a king, incense for a priest, myrrh a burial spice. Later, when Herod demanded the deaths of all baby boys, she fled with her family to protect the promised Son.

She watched his perfection play out daily. Never did he hit a sibling in anger. Never did he selfishly take someone’s toy. Never did he use his words to hurt or deceive. How humbling to be an imperfect parent of a perfect child. 

She would have seen his childishness also. Could Jesus have ever knocked over a vase as he ran through the house? Maybe one day he proudly presented himself covered in mud, “Look at me Mommy!” 

And of course she had witnessed the miracles, and heard him teach. 

“Do whatever her tells you,” she instructed the servants at the wedding feast. (John 2:5)

That simple statement encapsulates her relationship with him. She boiled down all the years of pondering to this statement, the last time we hear her voice recorded in Scripture. Do what he tells you. Trust him. Though his hour had not yet come, she had no doubt he would provide. At this point she’d seen him live only as an ordinary man, no miracles yet. But she knew who he was, believed he would help, and turned attention to him. His was the glory.

Now at the cross, his life came hurtling to an end. His hour had indeed come— the reason he came brought to fruition. As she watched him suffer, perhaps all she had pondered rushed like a flood across her mind. I wonder if Mary’s anguish also mirrored God the Father’s as he turned his face away.

What did Jesus do?

Mary had bled to give Jesus life. Now he bled to give Mary life. As Mary experienced the intense suffering of labor to bring joy, so Jesus experienced ultimate suffering that Mary would have ultimate joy. 

And his suffering was not for Mary only. Rather, the promised Son bore the sins of the world and suffered so we would live. He bled so we would not. He looked into the cup of the Father’s wrath and drank all of it, so we would receive the cup of grace.

In his darkest hour he still met the needs of individuals specifically. The thief hanging beside him. His own mother.

By providing for Mary Jesus honored her even then, fulfilling the law even at the point of death. Amid the incomprehensible pain of crucifixion and even greater agony of being separated from the Father, he gave focused attention to her.

“His tender concern for her in the hour of his mortal agony illustrates his true humanity and compassion.” (The Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Vol 9) He was not some aloof, self-centered god (for had been he never would have gone to the cross in the first place). He was the Savior pouring himself out, intimately concerned, serving humanity but also serving Mary uniquely. 

What an astonishing compassion! Oh friend, his compassion is this deep for you also. He knows you and serves you individually as well.

Some commentators think he used the term “woman” to not pierce her heart further, in essence to create distance, but “there is another conjecture which is equally probable that Christ intended to show that, after having completed  the course of human life, he lays down the condition in which he lived.” (Calvin’s commentary). He laid down the earthly relationship of mother and son, for the slain son would soon become the risen King.

His provision for her was also precise. He laid down the mother/ son relationship, but gave her a new son. Mary a widow in her 40s or 50s would have had little opportunity to meet her own financial needs. Some think Jesus entrusted her to John’s care because his own siblings did not yet believe. Some think it was because he was the closest relative present.

Regardless, because John marveled so greatly at being loved by Jesus, he described himself as “the disciple whom Jesus loved.” He would have poured that love back on Mary. In saying “this is your son” rather than “this is your care taker” Jesus provided family. He gave her someone who would not only provide, but cherish her.

He took care of her. 

And he takes care of you.

John’s response to Jesus was simple. “From that hour he took her to his own home.” He obeyed Jesus’ instructions and cared for her as he would his own mother. 

This is is how the church is to care for one another. Our care flows out of his care for us. 

In the middle of this tender moment, something bigger was happening. Jesus reoriented the family. It was the inauguration of the new Christian family, which supersedes even biological relationships. 

Don’t misunderstand here, natural family is still important. He didn’t throw it out! But at the cross he hints at what he intends for the church. When we become believers, the church becomes our greater family because in the church we have a spiritual connection forged by Christ. 

We’re invited to see ourselves in this new family that meets needs and shows the same (if not more) tangible compassion we would give to blood siblings. In this beautiful gospel moment, Jesus’ care for Mary equips our compassion for others. He equips us to love and serve without selfish gain lurking in the corner. 

The End

“After this, Jesus, knowing that all was now finished, said (to fulfill Scripture),“I thirst”… When Jesus had received the sour wine, he said, “It is finished,” and he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.” (John 19: 28-30)

And they pierced his side, just as they had pierced Mary’s soul.

Jesus’ last act before willingly laying down his life was to take care of Mary, something profoundly personal. What astonishing love! After he entrusted her to John, he knew all was finished.

The contrast is staggering. While he satisfied God’s righteous wrath and paid the penalty of sin for a people more in number than the stars, he simultaneously provided for one.

Our Savior is both all powerful and immanent. And we rejoice with millions upon millions in our salvation, but we also rejoice as individuals beloved by God. 

His body was broken. Her soul was broken. But that wasn’t really the end. 

Grief gave way to exceeding joy, for he rose just as he said.

No More Gloom (Remastered Edition)

~ Ami ~ Leave a comment

Imagine not hearing from God for 400 years. He said he was going to act. He said a Promised One would come, but year after year, generation after generation there is nothing but seemingly stony silence. No prophets, no voice from heaven.

“But for you who fear my name, the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its wings, and you will go out and playfully jump like calves from the stall.You will trample the wicked, for they will be ashes under the soles of your feet on the day I am preparing,” says the Lord of Armies. (Malachi 4:2–3)

Among the last prophetic words given to Israel, these radiate hope, but where is this healing? Where is this sun of righteousness? Has He forgotten His promises?

Sometimes the world seems to hold nothing but injustice, oppression, and gloom. Many have turned away; it is they who have forgotten the promises. But a remnant remains waiting eagerly, or perhaps in anguish, as they long for Messiah. Generations come and go; still, in darkness, they sit and wait. Gloom settles in, a dense blanket of fog.

Gloom. It’s a state of partial or total darkness, of despondency or depression.

Two thousand years later, our world today is much the same. Wars and rumors of wars, corruption, violence, school shootings, human trafficking, refugees displaced from their countries, abortions by the millions, natural disasters. Sometimes it’s just too much.

There’s a handsome, smiling face, a man surrounded by his wife and three children—the photo is all joy. But in heartbreaking, devastating contrast the words paired with it are ones no one ever wants to write, “My Michael has gone to Jesus.” 

Sometimes darkness crushes.

What hope is there when gloom overtakes? What hope is there when darkness is a heavy blanket or heaven seems silent?

Oh, my friends, there is indeed hope, for one magnificent word turns the world on end—But.

“But there will be no gloom for her who was in anguish” (Isa. 9:1 esv, emphasis added).

No more gloom! Let that sink in for a minute. No more gloom.

Rather, light has dawned. Joy has come. 

This imperishable, unfathomable, confident and sure expectation has a name. He is King Jesus who eradicates the gloom!

For, 

The people walking in darkness
have seen a great light;
a light has dawned
on those living in the land of darkness.
You have enlarged the nation
and increased its joy.
The people have rejoiced before you
as they rejoice at harvest time. (Isaiah 9:2–3)

Like fissures spreading in cracked glass, so the Light of the World penetrates the darkness.

Like fissures spreading in cracked glass, so the Light of the World penetrates the darkness. The astonishing, glorious Sun of Righteousness has arrived. A Son was given. He multiplies our joy! He ends anguish and distress.

“That light shines in the darkness, and yet the darkness did not overcome it.” (John 1:5)

Light always overcomes darkness. Jesus, the Light of the World, penetrates to the depth of our souls, pushing back despondency and despair. Gloom gives way to hope.

Sally Lloyd Jones wrote, 

In the little town, in a little shed, in a little window a candle flickered in the dark. And a tiny cry rang out in the cold night air. And high above a single star set in the highest heavens shone out brighter than all the others and poured down silver onto the little shed . . . A Light to light up the whole world! (Sally Lloyd Jones, Song of the Stars).1

That first Advent long ago may have begun as a candle flickering in the dark, but Light burst through, lighting the whole world. 

Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
’Til He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, 
for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!2

But wait, the news gets exponentially better.

The Light Is Precise

But there will be no gloom for her who was in anguish. In the former time he brought into contempt the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the latter time he has made glorious the way of the sea, the land beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the nations. (Isaiah 9:1 esv)

Now compare Isaiah 9:1 to Matthew 4:12–16:

When he heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew into Galilee. He left Nazareth and went to live in Capernaum by the sea, in the region of Zebulun and Naphtali. This was to fulfill what was spoken through the prophet Isaiah:

Land of Zebulun and land of Naphtali,
along the road by the sea, beyond the Jordan,
Galilee of the Gentiles.
The people who live in darkness
have seen a great light,
and for those living in the land of the shadow of death,
a light has dawned.

Do you see it? 

A seemingly insignificant detail: the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but it is a laser beam of precise care. God redeems with the skill of a surgeon and the craftsmanship of a master artisan. Way back in Israel’s history, the people of Zebulun and Naphtali were among the first taken captive by the Assyrians, among the first to “sit in darkness.” 

BUT when Jesus began his public ministry, He went to them first! The Light of the World dawned first on the ones who were captives first. I don’t know about you, but that pierces my soul and makes me sing with joy. Jesus could have started anywhere. How easily such a small detail could have been overlooked. Not so with God. Jesus not only fulfilled prophecy, He did it with exquisite precision. He couldn’t wait to rescue the ones who sat in darkness first!

God’s sovereignty is not an indifferent wave of the hand, a vague maybe. Instead, “I will” is the persistent drumbeat of His plans. 

Is His care for you not also precise? Is He not thoroughly committed to His promises?

Oh, friends, how deeply He cares for you. He knows your needs and fears far better than you do. He knows the hurts you never voice. He sees you when no one else sees. 

We can rest in his precise, intimate care.

Fall on your knees! O hear the angel voices!
O night divine, O night when Christ was born!
O night, O holy night, O night divine!

What’s more, God became man at an exact moment in history. As a fully human, yet fully divine embryo formed in Mary’s womb, God hurtled His redemptive plan forward. Jesus was born, lived a perfect life, died on the cross, and rose from the grave. Redemption reached its pinnacle on the cross, and Christ’s resurrection sealed it for eternity.

The Light Reverses

When the Light dawned and shattered the darkness, He began the work of reversing the curse. Isaiah 9 radiates with shocking contrasts. God reverses.

Gloom          No gloom

Darkness      Light

Remnant      Multiplied

Sorrow         Increased joy

Captives       Liberated, delivered

Oppressed    Free

This is what He does for His own! It’s astonishing.

I’m reminded of the Holocaust museum in Washington D.C. Even the architecture tells a story. When you first walk in, the rooms are gloomy, cramped, and chaotic. Folks shuffle through the exhibits in reverential quiet. No one laughs, tears trail down cheeks. It’s a scene of horror—a history of genocide and a sober indictment that we never let it happen again. 

Finally, just as despair permeates and hope seems a vapor, patrons wind their way to “Liberation,” the end of the war! The lighting and design of the museum shifts noticeably as Allied forces liberate captives, righting what was wrong. There is light. Dissonant crossing beams give way to clean, straight lines. Normal conversation resumes, and the claustrophobic soul can breathe again.

So much greater than mere architecture is God’s reversal. This is redemption. He makes the world right side up. The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light.

Chains shall he break, for the slave is our brother,
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we;
Let all within us praise His Holy name!

The Light Reigns

For a child will be born for us,
a son will be given to us,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
He will be named
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Eternal Father, Prince of Peace.
The dominion will be vast,
and its prosperity will never end.
He will reign on the throne of David
and over his kingdom,
to establish and sustain it
with justice and righteousness from now on and forever.
The zeal of the Lord of Armies will accomplish this. (Isaiah 9:6–7)

Jesus is the Wonderful Counselor. This royal title combines the idea of “doing something wonderful, extraordinary, and miraculous with the skill of giving wise advice or making wise plans.”3 The divine, second Person of the Trinity reigns with infinite wisdom.

He is the Mighty God, the mighty warrior. His power is divine, and nothing is too hard. The Lord of Hosts fights battles for us.

He is the Everlasting Father. Literally the title means, “My father is eternal.” He never begins, He never ends. He is the ideal protector. By eternally exercising perfect wisdom and perfect power, He accomplishes intimate fatherly care of his people. 

And He is the Prince of Peace. Jesus comes to make an end of war. “He will limitlessly expand His influence and create peace without end.” The world is certainly not at peace, but one day it will be. Even now, our hearts can know peace that passes understanding as we’re guarded by Christ Jesus (Phil. 4:7).

This is our King.

But you say, “There is still gloom in the world. Still horrific things. Still death and sorrow. Where is this King?” 

Oh, friend, He is coming again. Like Israel of old we long for his Advent. Let us hold fast to our confident expectation. Remember the promises. And the next time, not only will light dispel the darkness, it will utterly eradicate it. 

The Light Pursues

The zeal of the Lord of Armies will accomplish this. (Isaiah 9:7)

It’s His zeal and passion that initiated redemption. We turned from Him, but “while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Rom. 5:8).

Jesus pursues even to the point of the cross. He pursues even those who seem beyond hope.

“With unassailable zeal, determination, and passion,” says one commentator, “God will concentrate His efforts to accomplish this marvelous deed . . . His people can be absolutely sure that an omnipotent, sovereign God will stand behind the fulfillment of this wonderful plan.”4

When darkness threatens to crush, when holding fast to promises seems impossible, when our faith is weak, when we are the faintly burning wick—He holds us. And he spares no omnipotent effort to keep His promises. 

The blessing of His people is guaranteed. Victory is won. The Light has dawned. Heaven isn’t silent anymore.

So we rest and we worship.

Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we;
Let all within us praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! O praise His name forever!
His pow’r and glory evermore proclaim!
His pow’r and glory evermore proclaim!

That light shines in the darkness, and yet the darkness did not overcome it. (John 1:5)

Amen.
 

The Light breaks through the darkness! That’s why we love to celebrate the Christmas season here at Revive Our Hearts. And as a ministry, we have so much to celebrate this year. Want to celebrate God’s goodness with us? Check out our 2022 Annual Praise Report. It’s a dynamic good news review! 

1 Sally Lloyd-Jones and Alison Jay, Song of the Stars: A Christmas Story (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2015).

2 Hymn lyrics in this post by Placide Cappeau, “Oh, Holy Night,” Hymnary.org, accessed December 16, 2022, https://hymnary.org/text/o_holy_night_the_stars_are_brightly_shin.

3 Gary V. Smith, New American Commentary: Isaiah 1-39 (Nashville: B&H Publishing Group, 2007), 240.

4 Smith, New American Commentary, 240.

(This version of the post No More Gloom also appeared at Revive Our Hearts)

Open Hands in Life and Death

~ Ami ~ Leave a comment

As I held my shaking hands out, palms up, one desperate word formed, “Help!” I knew God understood what I could not pray. Help me open my hands to you, Lord! I sat on a hospital bed, and the steady rhythm of a heartbeat echoed from a fetal monitor. I was twenty-four weeks pregnant, and my placenta had begun to abrupt, or tear from the uterine wall. The delivery of our baby girl seemed imminent. 

Up to that point it had been a smooth, “boring” pregnancy as my ob-gyn jokingly and reassuringly quipped. I’d even had less nausea than with my firstborn.

A gentle breeze and gorgeous, blue sky had beckoned us outside. As I pushed Hudson in the stroller, a sharp, knife-like pain suddenly pierced through my lower right abdomen. I doubled over and then stood, breathing deeply for a minute before I could walk again. 

Not a rookie pregnant lady, however, I didn’t want to overreact and thought the sensation could be round ligament pain. We walked home and sat on the front stoop to rest. I snapped pictures of my grinning toddler in his muscle shirt and red baseball hat. Still feeling some pins and needles pain and cramping, I thought I might need to use the restroom.

I sat Hudson on the floor in the bathroom (because, you know. . . mom life). It was then that I saw blood on the tissue—every pregnant woman’s fear.  I stood and there was so much blood.

Instinctively I glanced to see if my precious girl was in the toilet.

While my nightmare fear (I’m losing her!) crashed around in my mind, I screamed for my husband. “David! David! We need to go to the hospital right now!” Praise God, David had not yet left for work.

He wasn’t crying, but fear etched Hudson’s fifteen-month-old face. I scooped him up and put on my best calm voice. “Buddy, we’re going to get in the car. And Mamoo and Papa will meet us at the hospital. Mommy loves you, and it’s going to be okay.” 

I desperately hoped it would indeed be okay.

As we drove I felt Charlotte kick. She is moving. She is alive.

A Familiar Question

When something is critical, hospitals become a flurry of activity. Medical staff moved quickly, starting an IV, giving me a steroid shot to develop the baby’s lungs, starting magnesium to forestall labor, checking vitals, hooking up monitors, calling an ambulance for transport. Thinking of the frenetic pace still brings up residual trauma from my first husband’s death.

Alone in the room of a major teaching hospital, I called out to God. As I prayed, a vivid question sprang to my mind. What if I take her?

The words felt familiar; I had been in that moment before, where God held someone beloved across my mind’s eye. I do not claim to hear God’s voice audibly, but He has asked me that question three times.

Once he “took” a fiancé through a broken engagement.
Once he took my husband home to Himself.
Once he spared the life of my daughter.

Once I said, “No! God, I’ve waited too long.”
Once I said, “Lord, I want to say yes, but I don’t know that I can. I do know you will help me open my hands if the time comes.”
Once I said, “Yes, Lord. She’s yours.”

Father, you know my hands are open to you. She is your baby. I know you will do what is good. But could you please spare her and protect her?

In His mercy and grace, He did. We had eleven more weeks of countless doctor visits, two more occasions of bleeding, multiple inpatient stays, multiple outpatient hospital trips, along with medications, steroid shots, preterm labor, and contractions for weeks and weeks. We made it to thirty-five weeks before my water broke.

Now she’s a vibrant, precocious three-year-old with a love of marker tattoos and stickers. Still, I open my hands to God. She is still yours. They are all still yours.

I opened my hands and God protected her. 

But let me also be extremely clear. Open hands do not guarantee healing in this life.

I opened my hands when my first husband, Jon, lay motionless under the weight of chest compressions, his airway intubated. I prayed the same prayer. My hands are open. He is yours. But please God, spare him. Nothing is too hard for you.

Yet, much sooner than I ever dreamed, God didn’t heal (in this life, anyway).

God was still good, though. Romans 8:28 assures that He works all things together for our good and His glory. He designs the course of history in ways I cannot understand, but ultimately I trust His providence, “His wise and purposeful sovereignty.”1

A common thread between life and death stitches the words “open hands” over and over. Motherhood, grief, all of life—they are studies in having open hands. None of these things follow the well-ordered designs we create in our minds.

The Savior’s Answer

Sometimes God’s will feels crushing, His mercies too severe. And we cling to our plans as a child clutches a grubby penny though he’s offered far more. But Jesus opened His hands. He opened them wide, and they were nailed to a cross.

“Father, if you are willing, take this cup away from me—nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done.” (Luke 22:42)

In agony Jesus pleaded that there might be any other way for humanity to be rescued. As He looked into the metaphorical cup, all He saw was wrath brimming and boiling over. He anticipated a depth of suffering that is incomprehensible to us. Yet He lay down His own will, opening His hands to the Father’s perfect plans.

With open hands, He held out far more than we have ever been asked to give. For the first time He knew separation from the Father. He held out His identity, His authority, His riches, His unity, and His holiness. He would become sin personified (2 Cor. 5:21).

When we lay down our lives, we find true life.

If Jesus has truly accomplished redemption and if God is truly who He says He is, then we can hold our hands open to Him. Again and again, we can surrender our plans because His will is better. He does know all things and is in control of all things. When we lay down our lives, we find true life (Matt. 10:39).

And when holding life with open hands feels too big, He meets us with lavish grace. For me it was grace to face the valley of the shadow of death. For me it was also grace to walk through a pregnancy full of complications and the gift of humble submission regarding the timing and circumstances of my daughter’s birth.

It’s strange that it’s almost easier to open our hands in the defining, life-altering moments. But surrender is also daily. It’s the mundane plans that are sometimes hardest to hold out with open hands—the days when a long awaited nap doesn’t happen, when teething keeps us all awake, or when a toddler expresses his big emotions through hitting and biting. 

I have yet to decide what is more life altering, the death of a husband or being a mom. Right now they seem neck and neck. I did them in reverse order, so for me motherhood is sometimes colored by loss. My first husband died when I was thirty, and I became a mother at thirty-five. 

Of course, there are radical differences between the two. The death of a spouse is like being hit by a freight train. Being a new mom is sometimes like hanging on to the freight train for dear life, and sometimes like sitting at a crossroads that is blocked by what seems like a never-moving train. However, being Mama is also full of precious delight.

But the similarities between motherhood and grief are striking.

Both have the potential to crush us.

Both bring us to the end of ourselves.

Both cause us to evaluate our identities.

Both aren’t always what is expected.

Both teach us to hold out our hands, palms open.

Whether in birth, death, or all the in-betweens, God is accomplishing so much more than we can see. And grace empowers our responses.
 

I realized that the deepest spiritual lessons are not learned by his letting us have our way in the end, but by his making us wait, bearing with us in love and patience until we are able honestly to pray what he taught his disciples to pray: Thy will be done.2 —Elisabeth Elliot

1John Piper, “Are God’s Providence and God’s Sovereignty the Same?,” Desiring God, October 20, 2022, https://www.desiringgod.org/interviews/are-gods-providence-and-gods-sovereignty-the-same.

2Elisabeth Elliot, Passion and Purity: Learning to Bring Your Love Life under Christ’s Control (Grand Rapids, MI: Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group, 2013). Ebook edition accessed at https://www.google.com/books/edition/Passion_and_Purity/rTATEAAAQBAJ?hl=en&gbpv=1&pg=PP1&printsec=frontcover.

For Everything a Season

~ Ami ~ 2 Comments

Folding laundry may be my undoing someday. Seriously, it’s my least favorite chore. The clothes are clean, and they’re doing just fine over there in a tumbling mountain not hurting anybody, thank you very much.

We seem to produce a lot of laundry for just the two of us. My husband is a giant, so that makes a difference, I suppose. Eventually my love of order trumps the chaos.

One day it occurred to me what a privilege it is to get to fold laundry. It’s a lovely side effect of God’s lavish grace on my life. I have another husband to love, care for, and to serve. I missed the every day things of being a wife.

Here we are in the beautiful mundane, the place of dishes and laundry, of ministry, work, and cooking dinner.  I should note that upon reading the draft, David interjected “Except nothing’s ever mundane when I’m around.”  He makes me smile.

Life buzzes with the hum of daily tasks. Ordinary days. After several years of deep sorrow, waiting, and big changes, this season feels a little foreign. I haven’t been here for awhile. I don’t always know what to do with it.

But I love it.

After loss, tiny moments become treasures. Playing games, seeking new adventures, dancing around the living room together, having quality time, being held tightly,—all are things I soak in.

Oh that I could bottle up these mundane days, storing them to revisit through a trip in Dumbledore’s pensieve. And if you don’t know about the pensieve, I’m not sure we can be friends.

I’m thankful for the beauty of mundane days. I well remember how much I longed for them. But sometimes I feel guilty about this calm and peaceful season. Maybe that seems weird.

Perhaps it was easier to worship God in the midst of trial than it is in the normal, typical every day sort of days. Am I wandering away from God because something “big” is not going on?  But what about my friends who are sufferingly deeply? Is it wrong that I am not suffering also?

But the older I get, the more I see how God often deals in seasons.

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die: a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and  a time to cast away; a time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace.”

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

As physical seasons reflect reversal, redemption, and newness of life, so do life’s seasons. They reflect the character of our God, and His unrelenting zeal to transform.

J. I Packer put it this way.

Live in the present, and enjoy it thoroughly; present pleasures are God’s good gifts. Though Ecclesiastes condemns flippancy, he clearly has not time for the superspirituality which is too proud or too pious ever to laugh and have fun. Seek grace to work hard at whatever life calls you to do, and enjoy your work as you do. Leave to God its issues; let Him measure its ultimate worth; your part is to use all the good sense and enterprise at your command in exploiting the opportunities that lie before you… We can be sure that the God who made this marvelously complex world order,… and who compassed the even greater redemption from Sin and Satan knows what He’s doing, and ‘doeth all things well.’ even if for the moment He hides his hand. We can trust Him and rejoice in Him even when we cannot discern His path.”

Therefore, I get to enjoy the lovely early days of still being considered “newlyweds.”  Life is not about always being happy, but sometimes happiness is part of God’s grace. There is no need for guilt. God is sovereign over the ebbs and flows. His narratives are complex, and there are appropriate times for every emotion. Of course, beauty and calm are His good gifts.

A year and a few weeks ago, some of my dear friends experienced the deaths of their twins born too early. Apart from Jon’s death, being with them that night was one of the hardest things I’ve experienced. Grief was deep and heavy. But what a privilege it was to hold their tiny, perfectly formed babies, to see God’s grace surrounding them, to cry out to the Lord for them, and to weep and ache with them.

In the same week these friends remembered what would have been their babies’ first birthdays, David and I traveled for a family member’s wedding. We were in the thick of wedding preparations and all the delights that come with them. It was an exhausting, but immensely joy-filled week. What an tremendous privilege it is be in a wedding and to share in a couple’s radiant joy!

Seasons. Contrasts. Walking beside others both in joy and sorrow are God’s good gifts.  Likewise, in my life sorrows and joys are equally God’s good gifts. Though it’s not always easy to understand, both kinds of days teach me the gospel, pointing me to Christ.

  • I remember the sorrow and suffering of the cross.
  • I recall the triumph and joy of the resurrection.

Both are necessary.

As long as this season lasts, I’ll just keep soaking up the sunshine with raised hands and a thankful heart.

Thank you Lord, for good and beautiful gifts in every season.

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No More Gloom

~ Ami ~ 5 Comments

no-more-gloom“But there will be no more gloom for her who was in anguish.”  Isaiah 9:1

For me it’s been a year of “no more gloom.” Rather, 2016 has been mostly light and overflowing joy! How thankful I am for such a happy season, a beauty out of ashes sort of year. It’s been awhile since sweet didn’t mingle with bitter; I’m enjoying the stark contrast. I delight to be married to the second love of my life, my new best friend. And I stand in awe of the God who reverses, who brings light out of darkness. It’s been a pretty great year, I’d say.

Of course there’s been some sorrow. I didn’t expect my dad to die this year. His death has felt so different, though. At 79, he was completely ready to be with Christ, to leave the decay of old age. I dearly love him and miss him, but for me it hasn’t been “hit by a freight train, life altering grief.” I suppose, in this occasion joy has eclipsed sorrow. I guess after the death of a spouse, it’s easier to process the death of a parent.

But I also know it’s been a difficult year for many. The world is full of gloom. Wars and rumors of wars, corruption, violence, racial tension, an endless election cycle, civilians caught in the middle of a firestorm, refugees displaced from their countries—I’ve heard it called it the “worst year ever.”

For some I love dearly, 2016 has been thoroughly devastating. I clapped my hands and wept for joy when my friends found out they were expecting twins after a long journey with infertility. Then I sobbed with them as they cradled two perfectly formed, precious babies who were just too small to survive. I have family facing chronic illness. And I’ve wept with those whose marriages have collapsed. I’ve seen them reel with the pain of betrayal. These are the sorrows so deep they feel physical. 

If I could, I would jump in front of the crushing blows so my loved ones would never experience them.

The world is still broken, and sorrow comes.

Gloom. It is “total or partial darkness, a state of melancholy or depression.”¹ As 2016 draws to an end, people clamor for the new year, grasping for the hope of something better. We’re a people constantly searching for something better. What hope is there when gloom overtakes? What hope is there when darkness is a heavy blanket?

Oh my friends, there is an imperishable, unfathomable, confident and sure expectation. His name is Jesus! He’s the King who eradicates the gloom. He is something better.

“There will be no more gloom!”

For, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness on them has light shined. You have multiplied the nations, you have increased its joy; they rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest…”  Isaiah 9:2-3

As a smoldering wick grows to blazing flame, so the Light of the World penetrated the darkness. The astonishing, glorious rays of sunshine arrived. A Son was given. He multiplies our joy! He ends anguish and distress.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” John 1:5

Light will always overcome darkness. 

But wait there’s more! Have you ever had the moment when a familiar passage leaps from the page, and the words are fresh and new as if you’ve never truly seen them? Hang on to your socks kids, there’s some serious truth ahead.

Our God is precise. He reverses, He reigns, and He pursues.

The God who is Precise

“But there will be no gloom for her who was in anguish. in the former time he brought into contempt the land of Zebulon and the land of Naphtali, but in the latter time, he has made glorious the was of the sea, the land beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the nations.”  Isaiah 9:1

Now compare Isaiah 9:1 to Matthew 4:12-16

“Now when he [Jesus] heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew into Galilee. And leaving Nazareth he went and lived in Capernaum by the sea, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali so that what was spoken by the prophet Isaiah might be fulfilled: 

The land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali
the way of the sea, beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles—

the people dwelling in darkness
have seen a great light
and for those dwelling in the region and shadow of death
on them a light has dawned.’ 

Do you see it? 

I’ve read these verses a thousand times, and never before noticed the seemingly insignificant detail: Zebulun and Naphtali. This is the God who is precise. He brings redemption with the skill of a surgeon and the craftsmanship of a master artisan. Way back in Israel’s history, Zebulun and Naphtali were among the first taken captive by the Assyrians, among the first to “sit in darkness.” 

BUT Jesus went to them first. The Great Light dawned first on the ones who were captives first. I don’t know about you, but that pierces my soul, and makes me sing with joy. Even now it makes me a little teary. God not only fulfilled prophecy, but He did it with exquisite precision. 

His sovereignty is not consumed by vague maybes. Instead, “I will” is the persistent drumbeat of HIs plans. Is He not then precise in His care for you? Is He not thoroughly committed to His promises?

God perfectly orders my life. In His unequivocal concern for my good and His glory, I walked through the valley of death and made it to the other side. In His explicit care, He brought me a second great love.

More than these, God became man at a precise moment in history. The Father propelled His redemptive plan forward, and brought it to its pinnacle at the cross. He didn’t send the Savior His people wanted, but the One we drastically and desperately need.

The God who Reverses

Isaiah 8 ends with gloom and anguish, but Isaiah 9 is light and joy, radiating with stark contrasts. God reverses.

  • Gloom               No gloom
  • Darkness          Light
  • Remnant          Multiplied
  • Sorrow              Increased joy
  • Captives           Liberated, delivered
  • Oppressed       Free

This is what He does for His own.

I’m reminded of the Holocaust museum in Washington D.C. Even the architecture tells a story. At first the rooms are gloomy, cramped, and chaotic. Folks shuffle through the exhibits in reverential quiet. No one laughs, and more than one tear is shed. It’s a scene of horror, a history of genocide, and a sober indictment that we never let it happen again. 

Finally, just as despair permeates, and hope is a vapor, patrons wind their way to “Liberation,” the end of the war! The lighting and design of the museum shifts noticeably as allied forces liberate captives, righting what was wrong. There is light. Dissonant, crossing beams give way to clean, straight lines. Normal conversation resumes, and the claustrophobic soul can breath again.

So much greater is God’s reversal. He makes the world right side up. He has taken this hopeless captive and set her free, trading my sinfulness for His righteousness.

And He is also the God who Reigns.

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulders; and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the increase of His government and peace there will be no end, on the throne of David and over his kingdom, to establish it and uphold it with justice and righteousness from this time forth and forevermore. The zeal of the Lord of Hosts will do this.” 

Jesus is the Wonderful Counselor. This royal title combines the idea of “doing something wonderful, extraordinary, and miraculous with the skill of giving wise advice or making wise plans.”² He reigns in infinite wisdom. 

He is the Mighty God. A mighty warrior, His power is divine, knowing no limitations. Nothing is too hard. The Lord of Hosts fights battles for me.

He is the Everlasting Father. Literally it means, “My father is eternal.” He never begins, He never ends. He is the ideal, good protector. By exercising perfect wisdom and perfect power, He accomplishes intimate, fatherly care of His people. 

And He is the Prince of Peace. Jesus comes to make an end of war: spiritually and physically. “He will limitlessly expand His influence and create peace without end.”² The world is certainly not at peace right now, but one day it will be. And even now, my heart can know peace that passes understanding. (Philippians 4:6-8)

This is our King.  

Finally, He is the God who Pursues.

“The zeal of the Lord of Hosts will do this.” Isaiah 1:9

It’s His zeal and passion that initiated redemption. We turned from Him, but “while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”  Romans 5:8

From eternity past, God planned to bring His people home.

He is the subject, the main character, the author, the narrator. Jesus pursues even to the point of the cross. He pursues even those who seem beyond hope.

With unassailable zeal, determination, and passion, God will concentrate His efforts to accomplish this marvelous deeds….[His people] can be absolutely sure that an omnipotent, sovereign God will stand behind the fulfillment of this wonderful plan.”² 

The blessing of His people is guaranteed. Victory is won.

Does He not pursue you even now? 

Therefore, whether 2016 was devastating or delightful, there is bright hope for tomorrow. My soul rests in the God who overcomes darkness, who shepherds me with precise care, who reverses, who reigns, and who pursues. 

I’ve got a sneaky feeling 2017 is going to be a great year; Jesus already defeated the gloom.

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¹ Webster’s Dictionary, ²The New American Commentary

He doesn’t choose the wrong color.

~ Ami ~ Leave a comment

IMG_1794I snuggled under a blanket with coffee in hand and a stack of well loved, leather bound books beside me. Any day that includes coffee and reflection is music to my slightly introverted and massively introspective soul. Sometimes, I need to reflect on where I’ve been to know where I’m going.

Though distinguished in pattern and color, certain characteristics unite the beloved tomes. I have a decided tendency to underline key words, pepper the pages with exclamation points, deem paragraphs unnecessary, and draw boxes around the really important stuff. Smudges and tear stains bear traces of emotion, of words flowing from heart to page. My handwriting remains the same, and the pile grows larger with each passing year.

It’s just ordinary ink on paper.

I’ve written in journals for almost 20 years. Over time, themes weave from page to page. God’s sovereignty is a bright blue thread prominently stitched across the design. I couldn’t see it in the moment, but hindsight’s vantage point adds perspective. His faithfulness is gold mingled with pure, silver grace.

His love is saturated red, another color sweeping across the years. Its pigment deepened as my understanding grew. Provision, security, and longing each play their parts in shades of green and yellow. Life felt beautiful in the purples. On other pages worry and fear add splashes of gray. Repentance is a fiery orange. And then there is the black of grief. Some pages have lots of black.

All of these intertwine against the backdrop of brilliant white, a dazzling radiance, enhancing the beauty of every other stitch. Even the black.

A brilliant white–Jesus. The cross. Redemption. Lavish grace upon grace.

“…to the praise of His glorious grace, with which He has blessed us in the Beloved. In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of His grace, which He lavished upon us, in all wisdom and insight making known to us the mystery of His will according to His purpose, which He set forth in Christ.” Ephesians 1: 6-9

I turned page after page relishing the prayers and memories. In the depths I cried out. To green pastures I was led. In the torrents I clung to the Rock. Beside the still waters I sang with praise.

My journals will probably never be read by the masses. And frankly I’d be appalled if some pages were. Yet if my ramblings last into eternity, let dazzling white be the focal point, the element unifying and completing the design!

It’s just a stack of well-worn leather books. Nothing special. Ah, but perhaps you need really look with eyes to see. A glow of intense, rich color streams from the pages, replacing ordinary ink with embroidered works of art.

I didn’t make it a beautiful thing. But God did.

“Father right now life feels flowery. ‘The sea of life’ is calm. Spring is here literally and figuratively. So much redemption and so much beauty radiates right now. Hope blossoms. The possibilities spread before me like a great feast.. Storms aren’t raging, and the sea billows don’t roll. But in this time of abundance I’ve noticed something. How tempting it is to neglect running to you with the same intensity as when the world felt blackest black. I haven’t always pursued you first. Lord ever draw me closer to you. Be the Captor of my affections even in the springtime greens. Keep me longing for my First Love.”

Keep me longing for my First Love.

Writing helps me process. Reflecting makes me remember. God is the weaver, the master designer. And He never chooses the wrong color.

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Please give them many years.

~ Ami ~ 2 Comments

IMG_1890My friend was radiant, glowing in her white gown, a gorgeous bride. But her physical appearance paled against the backdrop of Christ radiating through her.

She’s one of those rare, costly gems.

We’ve laughed a lot over the last several years. We’ve cried a lot too, processing much grief and grace together. And we’ve dived deep into Jesus.

We’ve also spray painted countless (well 250) wine bottles, and have borne the black, stained hands to prove it. It’s been such a joy to share in the excitement of my friends’ wedding and marriage planning. Such a joy.

The edges of her veil sparkled, the tiny beadwork complemented her dress perfectly. I know the veil well; it has hung in my closet for the last six years. It’s not uncommon that I stop in my tracks and admire the delicate pattern sewn into the tulle, lingering to recall the day it adorned my own hair. Sharing my veil with Bobbi made my heart sing.

Standing behind her, with my hand on her arm, I brushed away tears, while others prayed. It felt like such a privilege to be counted among her closest friends, together bringing her marriage before the throne.

I began to speak, my turn to pray. I thanked God for such dear, beautiful friends, and asked that God be exalted in their marriage, that the gospel of Christ resonate from them. I asked God to grow them in grace and love for one another.

And then I pled  “Lord, please give them many years together.”

A sob caught in my throat. I paused long, willing myself to go on, to push through my own emotions and the collective emotions around me.

My emotion was for her, knowing she has faced the death of both parents, knowing her new husband has leukemia. He has an excellent prognosis, and doctors believe there is no reason he won’t have a long, healthy life. But sill they have faced many unknowns over the last few months.

I don’t want any of my friends to know the reality of a husband dying young. So I pray, “Lord if it be your will, give them many years. Let them grow old and gray together.”

So I suppose my sob was a little bit for me too, There was a moment of grief for the years Jon and I did not have.

But also tied in the tangle of emotions, was another face, a hazel-eyed, six foot two, giant teddy bear who has stolen my heart. I’ve been given another good gift. And I marvel that I am again cherished. So much overwhelming joy!

I have said it before—because of the gospel, joy and sorrow mingle in a beautiful dance. And they danced flawlessly in this poignant moment where time stood still.

I think it’s only when we walk through the deep grief, that we begin to understand how joy and sorrow can complement each other like intricate beadwork against a stunning wedding gown.

So clearly I saw the gospel.

On her wedding day, she was spotless, a dazzling bride, completely ready for her groom. Abundant joy overflowed. But there were still mixed emotions.

She missed her parents.

I missed Jon.

Because we’re caught between the already and the not yet, we miss them. We know we’ll see them again, but still we await eternity. There’s still sorrow because the world is still broken.

But I also saw restoration for my friend and for me. Jesus has given us beauty out of ashes. Ultimately He gives it in Himself, the best gift! He took sorrow, so we have joy. However, in great compassion, He gives beauty in ways that seem more tangible to our finite minds. Our God is that good.

Praise God for abundant, overflowing joy that is deeper, richer, and higher in the face of sorrow. Because of sorrow, joy is richer and peace is deeper. It’s one way He sanctifies.

And one day the mingling will cease. Sorrow will give way to inexplicable joy. And all the tears will be wiped away. He will glorify.

No matter how many earthly years my friends have, eternity awaits! Therefore, I pray confidently, “Give them many years.” Though they’ll no longer be joined in human marriage, they’ll  be a part of the Great Marriage. They’ll have countless years.

And so will I.

As she eagerly anticipated her wedding day, so we long for the Grand Wedding when Christ returns to claim His bride.

It was delightfully happy day. I love weddings.

Though sorrow mingled, it graciously slid to the background, and made room for an explosion of vibrant joy that captivated the fore.

What a foretaste! How we long for the true Groom, with whom the years will be unending!

Come, Lord Jesus. Come

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It Changes Everything.

~ Ami ~ 3 Comments

hello.-2I’ve never been a part of a 12 step program, but we all know the classic “Let’s introduce ourselves” moment.

“My name is Ami. I’m 33. And I’m a widow.”

Hi, Ami.

I’ve now boiled down the sum of my existence into ten words that “define” me, and everyone turns to the next poor sap. It seems like such a sad reality.

Is this all that I am?

And of course, we’ve all been in similar situations any time a new person is added to a group.

Say your name, where you’re from, what you do, and one interesting fact about yourself. Or if we’re really getting creative, “What super power would you have?”

What do I say about myself?

  • My name is Ami.
  • I’m 33.
  • I’m originally from Virginia.
  • I’m a teacher, a developmental therapist, and a wannabe writer.
  • I walked down the runway at the Miss America Pageant when I was a kid (a story for another day).
  • I am a widow.

I don’t usually say the last one. But it’s often on my mind. And I never know what superpower I would choose. Maybe I’d have the power of instantaneous housework. Snap my fingers and it’s done. I digress.

It’s a little more defined picture, but still so limited. I’d much rather get down to the business of really knowing and being known.

WAIT A SEC. SOMETHING’S WRONG HERE.

The crevice widens, creating a gaping schism. The tectonic plates below the surface shift, altering the landscape until it’s something new entirely. As an earthquake creates a radical shift in topography, so do I sense a profound shift in my thinking.

The lame introductions are arrows landing far short of the target. None of those things define me. They’re all part of me, but are they really what make me me?

I’m not who I think I am. My thinking is fundamentally flawed.

What if I were to introduce myself this way?

“My name is Ami. I am a new creation in Christ. I’m adopted, redeemed, reconciled, and justified. I am being sanctified. And I happen also to be a widow, a teacher, a developmental therapist, and a writer. Someday I’ll also happen to be wife again and perhaps a mom, but those are all tangential. I am a new creation.”

Well, the average person sitting around the circle might look at me like I’m crazy, but I just flipped my identity on its head.

If I’m defined by my circumstances, profession, age or anything but Christ, I place my precious hopes and dreams in something fleeting, ever changing.

But in Christ, identity is constant, sure, and real.

If I define myself as wife, mom, teacher, or a myriad of other callings, what happens to my identity when they’re stripped away? What do I hang my hat on then?

I’ve walked that road. And it’s not pretty.

BUT IDENTIFYING MYSELF AS A NEW CREATION CHANGES EVERYTHING.

Identity in the cross of Christ supersedes whatever struggle I am going through. It frees me from fearing future suffering. For even if I were to walk through the death of a second husband, I would still be chosen, redeemed, beloved, cherished, biggest need already met, and lavished with grace. I would still be complete in Christ. I would still know that He is good. And I would still be me.

It reminds me that the power of sin has been broken. I am new.

I am bought with a price, and my life is not my own.

It transforms my responses to the paper cuts and the gaping wounds.

I’ve been given a new name and a new identity.

“The nations shall see your righteousness, and all the kings your glory, and you shall be called by a new name that the mouth of the Lord will give. You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord, and a royal diadem in the hand of your God. You shall no more be termed Forsaken, and your land shall no more be termed Desolate, but you shall be called My Delight Is in Her, and your land Married, for the Lord delights in you.” Isaiah 62:2-4

This is way God speaks of His own. What an incredible earthquake sized reality!

I am a new creation in Christ.

WHAT IF WE ALL THOUGHT THIS WAY? DANG. THAT’S LIFE CHANGING.

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