Joy and Sorrow: A Beautiful Dance

~ Ami ~ 9 Comments

Stirred anew by the beauty of the gospel, an overwhelming sense of illumination spread like fire in my heart. Joy and sorrow intermingled, two cords of the same braid. I call it a beautiful crushing.

It’s the place where God reminds me of my desperate need for Him, and just how much I’ve been given in Jesus. The worship gathering continued, but I lingered, astonished by a singular concept.

For a married woman is bound by law to her husband while he lives, but if her husband dies she is released from the law of marriage. Accordingly, she will be called an adulteress if she lives with another man while her husband is alive, But if her husband dies, she is free from the law, and if she marries another man, she is not an adulteress. Likewise, my brothers you have died to the law through the body of Christ, so that you may belong to another, to Him who has been raised from the dead, in order that we may bear fruit for God.” Romans 7:2-4 

  • I no longer belong to my husband.
  • One day I may belong to another.
  • I already belong to Jesus.

I’ve read this passage countless times since Jon died, but never have its contents seemed so radical.

Sorrow and joy wove an intricate dance, somehow moving harmoniously together. I still miss belonging to Jon, but joy swelled at thoughts of renewal, reversal, and redemption. Joy blossomed at the idea of belonging to another. A year ago, sorrow would have vastly outweighed joy, but now they feel more compatible.

joy and sorrowI’ve long since realized that counter to cultural expectations, joy and sorrow may be equally present. The ultimate oxymoron, one does not necessarily exclude the other. For Christ had deep sorrow over the weight of sin, but also deep abiding joy to do the Father’s will. Joy and sorrow mingled at the cross, and learned they could dwell together.  And if I didn’t know death, I wouldn’t understand their harmony.

Joy and sorrow: a profound illustration of the gospel, yet death and remarriage exemplify it further. While Jon was here, we were bound to each other by a covenant made before God and man. And of course, I cherished that covenant. As hard as it is to process, at his death, we were no longer bound together.

Clearly the analogy breaks down, for marriage to Jon was not sin, nor was I captive to him. But the application is clear.

“Before receiving the gospel, we are ‘married’ to sin because we have broken God’s law and are chained to its verdict and mastery.” (Commentary, Gospel Transformation Bible)

I once was bound to sin. But now I belong to Another. I belong to “Him who has been raised from the dead,” free from the law’s condemnation and sin’s inescapable vice.

I belong to Someone. 

In marriage Jon was mine and I was his. How I loved belonging to him and miss belonging to him! And how I long to belong to another again someday. However, infinitely more precious than belonging to a husband, I belong to Jesus. I am Christ’s and He is mine. I’m not guaranteed remarriage, but I already belong.

Joy and Sorrow. Death and thoughts of remarriage: an intermingling I wouldn’t have chosen, but I marvel at such a beautiful dance.

Lord, no longer belonging to a husband is a hard thing to grapple. Sorrow. But to belong to You is inestimably better! Joy. In Jesus, I belong. And I always will belong! Oh, God, use the intermingling of sorrow and joy to draw me ever closer to you; through them I see all that Jesus accomplished. I marvel that Jesus embraced sorrow, so I would have joy.

You might also like:

belong

Just a Recipe

~ Ami ~ 1 Comment

Recipe

Guest post by Jill Neff.

I know every word by heart, but today I look at the card as if I expect it to speak to me. Flowing handwriting, faded with time, passed down from one generation to another. The ingredients sit silently in a line on the counter, like little toy soldiers, waiting for me. And I know if I don’t start soon, this pie will not be finished in time.

I linger, letting my mind wander back in time to a young bride. She walks through the field to the house next door. A gentle woman she now calls mother-in-law waits to teach her the intricate secrets of baking so the bride can indulge her new husband’s sweet tooth.  Her recipe book quickly fills with everything from sugar cookies and date nut cake to chocolate and coconut cream pies!

Reluctantly, I’m drawn back to the present, reminded by my “little toy soldiers” that I need to get moving.  How quickly time goes by.

The new bride is now white-haired, and those hands that so eagerly worked in the kitchen are quiet now.  No more enticing smells rise from the oven and no sweet treats cool on the counter.

I should not dawdle, but today I am compelled to consider this faded old card.  The white-haired, long since bride is my mother, and her recipes are now my recipes.

But time is not my friend. Yesterday we sat together, quietly talking as the world flowed by around us. These days, I gently provide context when she can’t remember, but I do most of the talking. And try to imagine what it will be like when the last ray of recognition leaves her eyes.

I wonder how long my brother and his sweet wife can continue care in their home and how my siblings and I will manage.  I try to be brave, but I am not.  I try to trust, but it’s hard.

And I try to pretend she will not forget me, BUT SHE WILL.

Dementia. It splatters paint with a broad brush with no regard for the subject or the canvas. There are good days. And there are bad days lurking just around the corner in the shadows. Changes and questions without answers abound.

“Will she stop loving me when she no longer recognizes who I am?”

A quote shared by a sweet friend burns deeply in my heart, “Forever remember me loving you!” 

I cling to them like a drowning man to a life preserver.  My biggest fear exposed, yet in five little words, I find my answer.

My mom won’t stop loving me.

She just won’t remember that she loves me.  There’s a big difference.

The Holy Spirit has a deeper lesson for me today.  Walking this path may bring constant changes, but I am walking with the One who is UNCHANGEABLE!   I am walking with the One whose love is everlasting and who will never forget that He loves me, even when my fainting heart thinks otherwise. 

Unchanging promises and never-ending grace. 

There is no other way to do this journey, but with my God. Truth brings peace, and my soul is quiet.

All this. From a faded recipe card.

Lord, when the journey seems unbearable, help me to walk closer and cling harder to you. When the path is rough, give me grace and strength for what comes next.  And I will trust in your everlasting love and rest in your comforting presence!

~Jill

Check out another post by my awesome mother-in-law:

Love the Unlovely?

And for my own thoughts on in-laws:

I won’t shut them out.

Adoption and the County Fair

 

Breakthrough. How Autism teaches me the Gospel.

~ Ami ~ 1 Comment

open gatesWeek after week the toddler fought me. Our hours together were punctuated with severe meltdowns. Kicking, screaming, biting, and hitting: these were the norms (his, of course). I left each session emotionally and physically drained, weighted by sadness.

This little boy could not comprehend that I wanted good things for him. Sometimes he fought in anger, but sometimes he fought because he couldn’t make sense of his world. There is a fine line between a meltdown and a tantrum; the line is often blurry.

A family member struggled to understand, “Why is he so stubborn? Why doesn’t he just stop?” 

But he can’t stop. He doesn’t know how to help himself.

A developmental disconnect akin to a shorted circuit makes typical situations overwhelming. Slight changes in routine seem monumental and devastating, the result of an extreme preoccupation with rigidity.

Trust is not a part of his natural repertoire.

Week after week I sought him, reinforcing expectations through repetition, implementing calming strategies, returning his anger with patience and compassion. I’m constantly aware of my need for grace.

My work as a developmental therapist puts me in complicated situations every day. I regularly work with children with Autism and a myriad of other developmental issues. A common thread runs through the early sessions.

They fight.

They don’t understand.

They run.

They have meltdowns. And tantrums.

They avoid.

They hit.

They bite.

One day, something marvelous occurred. Music calmed. He let me touch his hands. He signed “more” and “please.” In 60 minutes, there was one meltdown. As we read a book, he leaned his back against me. Trust. The lights turned on. Hallelujah! We celebrated like the angels in heaven must celebrate when one sees Jesus for the first time!

Breakthrough.

I walked to my car, sank down on the seat, and shut the door. A sigh escaped, “Finally.”  And I thought of Martin Luther—

“I felt as if I were entirely born again and had entered paradise itself through gates that had been flung open.”

After wrestling with ideas of righteousness and justification for many days, at last Martin Luther received glorious illumination, penning the now famous words—

I hated the righteous God who punishes sinners, and secretly, if not blasphemously, certainly murmuring greatly, I was angry with God, and said, “As if, indeed, it is not enough, that miserable sinners, eternally lost through original sin, are crushed by every kind of calamity by the law of the Decalogue, without having God add pain to pain by the gospel and also by the gospel threatening us with his righteousness and wrath!”

Thus I raged with a fierce and troubled conscience. Nevertheless, I beat importunately upon Paul at that place, most ardently desiring to know what St. Paul wanted.

At last, by the mercy of God, meditating day and night, I gave heed to the context of the words, namely, “In it the righteousness of God is revealed, as it is written, ‘He who through faith is righteous shall live.”’ There I began to understand that the righteousness of God is that by which the righteous lives by a gift of God, namely by faith. And this is the meaning: the righteousness of God is revealed by the gospel, namely, the passive righteousness with which merciful God justifies us by faith, as it is written, “He who through faith is righteous shall live.” Here I felt that I was altogether born again and had entered paradise itself through open gates. -Luther

Now before I go on, let me make something abundantly clear. I am not saying Autism is sin. But other parallels are unmistakable.

He fought.

He didn’t understand.

He ran.

He had meltdowns. And tantrums.

He was angry. He raged.

As a small child fought me, so do we fight. Without Christ we’re blinded, and our comprehension of glorious truth is short circuited.

We cannot understand that He wants good things for us; God seems like the enemy, the great punisher. When we’re honest, though, we recognize the heavy burden of attaining “righteousness.” And our failures seem to mock us, “It’s impossible. You’ll never measure up.”

We don’t know how to help ourselves. Moreover, we’re thoroughly incapable.

But how wide the gates of paradise fling open!

Righteousness is a gift—“the righteousness of God through faith in Christ for all who believe…and are justified by His grace as a gift through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus” (Romans 3)

As I pursued a toddler with patience and compassion, so does Jesus pursue me. And you. As we celebrated the small graces, so does your Savior celebrate!

But how quickly I forget. Once again glorious truth is short circuited. No, I don’t lose the gift of His righteousness, but I forget that He is for me! I fail to trust. Sometimes I throw tantrums. Sometimes I try to run away.

When I look at toddler throwing himself on the floor, kicking, screaming, and eventually succumbing to exhaustion, so clearly I see myself.

But God gathers me up, pursues my heart, and again restores me to glorious comprehension. Breakthrough.

I can rest in truth.  He is for me. 

“What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare His own Son but gave Him up for us all, how will He not also with Him graciously give us all things?” Romans 8:31-32

Check out more posts about God’s character, God’s grace, and the Gospel:

 

 

I won’t shut them out.

~ Ami ~ 5 Comments

Okay, let me be real with you. I am well. Life and ministry thrive. God has provided a sustainable, flexible career. I get to disciple others, be involved in Kingdom work, and I have deep friendships. My daily needs are met, and my emotions feel stable. I laugh often.

There is much beauty.

But there are moments when still his “absence is like the sky spread over everything,” and missing him is a little more poignant. Certain occasions still create the now familiar heaviness. It’s not debilitating pain of the early days, but rather a slow, dull ache. It’s an undercurrent of longing that shifts the tide and returns my heart to a place of introspection.

absence

Let me set the scene.

“The past tense of three!”

Laughter erupts at the ridiculous clue. Past tense of three? A shouted answer, a round disc passed, voices intense, and an intermittent beeping creates a fever pitch as it hurtles toward the timer’s end. Groans mix with whoops, and the guys leap from their seats. High fives all around, one would think they won the Super Bowl rather than a round of Catch Phrase.

Laughter comes in rolling wave upon wave. It’s a perfect moment frozen in time. But Jon’s not there, and it feels like he should be.

I’m one of the “lucky ones” (though luck is truly a myth) who has always adored her in-laws. I fell in love with Jon’s family immediately. And in death they have still counted me their own. I am so very thankful.

But this time it was hard to be with them. To me his absence was a startling contrast to the laughing family around me. Lies crept in.

They’re done missing him.” 

I guess we’ve exhausted the storehouse of shared memories.”

He’s being replaced.”

Without realizing it, I retreated to the safety of my thoughts.

“Ames, are you okay? It seems like this trip has been especially difficult. Sometimes it seems like you hurt more when you’re with us.”

“I do hurt more.”

And given the opportunity to process aloud, my words came in a flood. “It feels like he should be here. When I look at Ben with Holden, I see what Jon would have been like with a son.”

“I’m so excited for another brother to come into the family. (My youngest sister-in-law is headed toward marrying a fantastic guy) “But sometimes I think–‘a new adopted son to replace the old.‘”

“We’re not done missing him. You know there are lies among those thoughts, right?

“Yes.”

“We’re your family. You don’t have to put the walls up.” And then I understood she was right. I had begun to shut them out.

But I need them. And I have a sneaky suspicion that they need me too.

The heaviness lifted. I don’t have deep theological truth to share this time, just simple thoughts. An emotional wall is the opposite of grace.

  • Grace gives permission to handle things differently.
  • Grace remembers the dull aches of others.
  • Grace does not steel itself against hurt.
  • Grace loves and cherishes.
  • Grace does not believe lies.
  • Grace laughs.
  • And grace arrives with open arms.

So as long as they’ll have me, I’ll have them. I’ll keep my heart open. When the missing is more poignant, I won’t shoulder it alone. For grace recalls its family.

“I hold you in my heart.”thank

“I thank my God in all my remembrance of you, always in every prayer of mine for you all making my prayer with joy, because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now. And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ. It is right for me to feel this way about you all, because I hold you in my heart, for you are all partakers with me of grace”

Philippians 1:3-7a 

For more about adoption, in laws, and grace check out these posts:

The dream must shatter: Revisiting 2008.

~ Ami ~ Leave a comment

Remember “back in the day” when people used to post notes on Facebook? It was a precursor to or perhaps a weak competitor with the blogosphere, I think. My how social media has developed. Well, I came across something I wrote in January 2009. An eternity ago, I’m a little astonished I had such thoughts.

Reflecting on the last several years, some blend together in ebbs and flows barely able to be discerned. Year builds upon year. Challenges and trials fade. For example, 2005 was stable, fairly smooth, and without major valleys. It’s labeled by no remarkable events but by the stage in life- grad school. I file it away as a peaceful year that must be consciously meditated upon to recall specific details. 2008, however, is not likely to be one of those years. Or maybe it will be. Perhaps it’s just a matter of perspective that will change with time.

But for now it’s black and white, in a word, volatile. An honest statement, yet without malice, regret, or bitterness. On the contrary, my heart swells with thankfulness because I see God’s hand moving in distinct ways. Loss and brokenness are the catalysts to something greater.

Most of us don’t wish for sorrow. Rather, we want life to come wrapped neatly in a package with a shiny bow on top. We want everything to go according to the dream plan we have so thoroughly imagined (and in some cases worshiped) that it seems it will surely become reality.

But God who loves his children more deeply than we can fathom, wants us to cling to Him, to the cross–not the “plan.” And sometimes the dream plan must be shattered for us to see beyond ourselves. Loss and brokenness. They are words that often fill with dread and fear, but they are also words that have potential to represent life, love, beauty, repentance, and vision.”

Continue reading →

Not my Symphony

~ Ami ~ 7 Comments

lightning More breathtaking than fireworks, lightning exploded in the night sky. For miles around there was nothing but fields and lightning. Black filled with light; blazing paths and brilliant flashes of light sliced across rolling clouds. It wasn’t raining. But we were surrounded by God’s own melodic composition. I’d never seen anything quite like it. We drove in silence, mesmerized. Perfectly timed, a song began.

Our God is great. The Father of creation, His splendor fills the earth. The lightning crash. The thunder sings His praises. The galaxies can’t help but shout His worth. My soul must sing to You an offering. How great You are! My soul must sing, oh, let the heavens ring. How great You are! Oh, how great You are!”

An invisible drummer synced lightning and song. Percussion, strings, rhythm, tempo- all aligned in radical harmony with God’s creation. And the heavens burst with the glory of God! My struggling heart soaked it in, overwhelmed with God in His spectacular beauty.

On my mind had been thoughts of a family and the long wait. I’d been grappling with another month’s disappointment. Two red lines had not appeared. Not pregnant. “Ami I’m doing something bigger.” 

Continue reading →

Sometimes I still have nightmares.

~ Ami ~ 2 Comments

I was running. Fear coursed through my body, adrenaline pushed me forward. Terror. Maybe that’s a better word. I paused, making a split-second decision.

Seized from behind, arms from nowhere pinned my own to my sides. A hand clapped over my mouth. Kicking, fighting, biting, I tasted blood. My attacker cursed, reactively examining his hand. I heard myself scream.

Still fighting him, words registered.

“Lovee, Lovee it’s ok. I’m here. You’re ok”

Arms still held me. They were strong, but tender. And the voice familiar. Feet stopped kicking, arms stopped flailing. Desperately I turned toward him, burying my face in his chest. Shaking with great heaving shudders, heart pounding, and on the verge of hyperventilation, the fear was still just as real.

“Honey it’s ok. It was a nightmare. It wasn’t real. I’m here and you’re safe.” My husband stroked my hair, not letting me go. 

It took several minutes for calm to return. He prayed peace and comfort over me. He dried my tears and kissed my forehead. Finally I turned back over. And he kept me close, his arms still around me from behind.

Until I got married I never realized how prone to nightmares I am. Perhaps it’s because I don’t always remember them in the morning. Indeed when I’m awake, fear is not usually a prominent adjective. Sure, I don’t like scary things, but I don’t live dominated by fear. Yet my husband told me it wasn’t unusual for him to be awakened by my kicking and thrashing.

I do, however, remember the first nightmare after he died. Waking to the sound of my own voice screaming his name, touching his side of the bed and realizing he wasn’t there—just weeks from his death, it was too much to bear.

Sometimes I still have nightmares.

Just the other night I awoke with tears streaming down my face. I’d been crying in the dream. I was crying in real life. These days nightmares about Jon are infrequent, but they still rattle me. I don’t know why I still have them two and half years later.

I guess it’s because I still love him. I guess it’s because I still miss him.

Time has vastly lessened grief’s intensity. Truly, “grieving” isn’t often a way I’d describe myself anymore. Days are abundant and joy-filled. I’d use words like vibrant, content, growing, and excited. Even most nights are peaceful. So, these days a nightmare is a stark juxtaposition.

I recall a few things.

nightmares

Nightmares aren’t real. But the God who keeps me safe is. He is present in moments of fear whether danger is real or perceived. He is safety. He is peace. He is refuge. I can say with the Psalmist,

“But you, O LORD, are a shield about me, my glory and the lifter of my head. I cried aloud to the LORD and He answered me from His holy hill. I lay down and slept; I woke again, for the LORD sustained me. I will not be afraid of many thousands of people who have set themselves against me all around.” Psalm 3:5-6

Ultimately, the psalmist’s declaration was fulfilled in the person and work of Jesus, the true Shield. Deliverance comes from the “holy hill” of sacrifice, the same hill upon which Christ laid down his life.

To be safe is to know that nothing can harm my soul. Nothing can separate me from the love of Christ. (Romans 8) He is the Shield that absorbed the fireball of the Father’s wrath. He is the Shield that blocks the enemy’s fiery darts.

He the Better Protector. Amen.

“In peace I will both lie down and sleep; for you alone O LORD, make me dwell in safety.” Psalm 4:8

Seems like a good time for a nap.

Trade loneliness for peace.

~ Ami ~ 4 Comments

not alonwWide open skies, green fields, glimpses of rich dark soil between the rows: I soak up the landscape, marveling at the God who made it.

No music plays. No phone calls are made. Instead I relish the silence. And I realize I’m content to be alone with my thoughts, content to pray, content to slow down and listen.

This is a gift of grace.

Though I love music in the car, I’ve learned to be comfortable with silence. When my heart is quiet, I can meet with God.

Thank you, Lord, for wind and rain. Thank you for suffering. Thank you for seasons of refreshment. Thank you, Lord, for life.

My heart floods with peace and grace quantifiable. I’m happy. It’s a moment in time void of struggle. Words like security, stability, protection, and joy spring to mind. These are the mercies of God, flowing from His heart to mine. He protects. He secures.

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:6-7 ESV

A heart guarded, a running conversation between God and me, we pick up where we left off.

Solitude is word that speaks peace to some, dread to others. In my life, it extends beyond a quiet country drive. God has taught me how to be alone. He has transformed solitude to prayer.

In past days solitude would have been a different word, however.

Lonely.

“I’m so lonely I could scream!”

When half of me was ripped away, I knew a loneliness that permeated every interaction, every worship service, every evening by myself. “Alone” felt like a curse word. Loneliness was a profound ache at the core of my heart that sometimes made me feel crazy.

Over time, I poured loneliness into pages and pages of prayer. Talking to God began to be like breathing– constant and necessary. Prayer was no longer a short chunk of time, but blossomed into flowing streams of conversation with the One who made me. Yet again a gift of grace.

He met me with patient, gentle refrain. ”You are not alone.”

And therein lies the catalyst, Jesus satisfies. If I have Jesus, I have all I truly ever need. Peace emanates from Christ.

“You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you. Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord God is an everlasting rock.” Isaiah 26:3-4 ESV

He offers perfect peace.

Like everyone else, sometimes worry and anxiety barricade peace, but today belief affects actions. Because Jesus satisfies, loneliness gives way to solitude. And solitude is fertile ground for time with God.

Conversation with Him reflects a mind “stayed on” Him. And He guards my heart. Anxiety and fear have no choice but to flee.

People and things temporarily fill the space called “lonely,” but at the end of day, I’m left with a vessel that leaks.

But “lonely” filled with Christ is a cup that never leaks, overflowing and inundated.

Jesus, you satisfy. By grace I know it to be profoundly true. Draw me ever closer to you. Fill me with you, for you obliterate loneliness. Teach me to embrace solitude as a catalyst to prayer.  When my heart is afraid, anxious, or worried, lead me back to peace that surpasses understanding. Guard my mind with you.

This post by Ami appeared first at anewseason.net

guarded

Hate will not win.

~ Ami ~ Leave a comment

It’s bigger than racism. It’s bigger than hate.

No doubt racism is still a raging and important issue in our nation. As a middle-class white woman, no doubt I don’t fully understand it.

America’s most recent, devastating tragedy, a shooting spree in a church, underscores reality again. And my soul grieves with the families and friends whose loved ones died.

I’m thankful for the response of the Charleston community. I’m thankful riots haven’t broken out, but rather prayer. I say with these brothers and sisters-

“There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”  (Galatians 3:28)  The gospel creates unity.

But the problem is bigger than racism alone. We live in a broken society, a world fractured by the sin that courses through every person. I need only lift my head to see shattered fragments all around: shootings, bombings, abuse, rape, racism, terrorism, war, corruption, scandals, adultery, identity crises, abortion…

In my lifetime alone, the list is exhaustive.  Gulf War. Oklahoma City Bombing. Columbine. 9/11. Sandy Hook Elementary School. And I will not neglect to look at my own brokenness. I see my own sin.

So we cry for peace and we cry for change!

As I watched the suspect’s bond video this morning, a message from the victims’ families resonated across the court room.

“I forgive you.” 

“May God have mercy on your soul.”

“We would like you to take this opportunity to repent. Repent. Confess. Give your life to the One who matters the most, Christ. So that He can change you. He can change your ways no matter what happened to you.”

“I admit I’m a work in progress. And I acknowledge that I am very angry… But we have no room for hate, so we have to forgive.”

Over and over families offered forgiveness. More powerfully, they pointed the man who destroyed their families to One who will restore everything. Issuing a clear call to repentance, they pleaded for this man’s soul.

Not explicitly stated, but certainly implied was an undercurrent that forgiveness was possible because they had been forgiven.

So here’s what I want to say.

In a world gone mad, Jesus is the only hope. He alone will make things right. He forgives because He paid the penalty for sin.  

Since God is holy, forgiveness couldn’t merely be a wave of the hand, a dismissal of penalty. Rather forgiveness cost something. Atonement was absolutely necessary.

Issuing forgiveness cost the Father His Son, and it cost the Son His life. The legal demands of sin no longer bind me because Jesus took them! The Great Substitute. On the cross He became sin so that we could be righteous.

These grieving families can forgive because they have been forgiven.  They have been forgiven because Jesus satisfied God’s righteous wrath.

How beautiful the response of these dear ones! Turn to Christ. Run to King Jesus, who will one day make all things right. Amid a pain that hurts “every fiber” of their bodies, they offered Jesus. Such grace.

Hate will not win.

Sin will not win.

Yes Lord. Refine Me Again.

~ Ami ~ 5 Comments

slaveryWhen I found myself sobbing on Mother’s Day, it shouldn’t have been a surprise. Happy tears. Sad tears. Angry tears. An external processor to the core, it gets embarrassing sometimes.

But I laugh a lot too. So I suppose they balance out. A friend put it this way, “Ami, you just feel a lot on the outside.” Ok, I’ll take that.

Therefore, I should not have been blindsided. But I was.

A sucker punch straight to the gut, an imaginary referee counted down. These weren’t a few tears at the corners of my eyes, but shuddering waves, a flood impossible to stem.

I’ve been there before. Sure, I anticipate struggle on the major days, Christmas, anniversaries, birthdays, but Mother’s Day falls off the radar.

When I realize a “grief day” is coming, I actively prepare. I have learned to expect grace, to look for tangible manifestations of God’s compassionate care. And He faithfully turns dreaded days into peace, joy, and laughter.

The most difficult days, though, are the ones unexpected.

But the cause is not what you think. The sorrow wasn’t about motherhood and unmet dreams. Instead it had everything to do with a passage of Scripture.

Have you ever been deeply pierced by the Word?

For you, O God, have tried us as silver is tried, You brought us into the net; you laid a crushing burden on our backs, you let men ride over our heads; we went through fire and water; yet you have brought us out to a place of abundance.” Psalm 66:10-12

The words leapt from the page, forever connected to a memory blazoned in startling clarity.

Only a week before he died, God and I talked about those words. I didn’t know death was at my door, but I sensed a season of suffering.

“Ok, we can face the wind and the rain together.”

Peace dispelled the fear that day. God would walk with us through the fire and water. We were precious in His sight. (Isaiah 43) I expected us to come through the fiery trial together. I thought abundance meant a return to the delightful circumstances of my choosing.

But I had to change my definition of abundant.

A 27 month journey to date, from one side of the valley of death to the other, now I call abundant something different.

Abundant is being rescued from the wrath of God by the blood of the Son of God. Abundant is a slave turned radiant bride.

Abundant is not determined by my physical circumstances.

“How wealthy is the place of every believer, and how doubly does he feel it to be so in contrast with his former slavery; what songs shall suffice to set forth our joy and gratitude for such a glorious deliverance and such a bountiful heritage. More awaits us. The depth of our grief bears no proportion to the height of our bliss.” – Charles Spurgeon.

So, confronted anew with Psalm 66, it compelled me once more to wrestle its heavy truth.

“…tried us as silver is tried…” Must I continued to be tried?

Though my flesh shouts, “No more refining,” my souls whispers, “Yes, Lord. Refine me, and refine me again. For you are worthy of pure worship.

A whisper, a wisp of flame, kindles again a blazing flame. “Yes Lord!”

“You have brought us out to a place of abundance.”

Do I still believe this?

Yes, Lord.

Jesus is the abundant place.

Crushed dreams, a broken house. But let the house be rebuilt on the solid rock whose name is Jesus! I hold dreams loosely. God is the designer of my expectations.

Often I’ve asked “Isn’t it enough God? Must I be refined further still?”

But I am not called to be “just enough” sanctified. God deserves the most precious, costly silver, the rarest vintage of wine, the most brilliant diamond.

yes Lord

Refine me, and refine me again.

Sobbing turned to praise, as entirety of the Psalm slid into view.

Shout for joy to God!

Sing the glory of His name!

Give to Him glorious praise!

Say to God, ‘How awesome are your deeds!’

So great is your power that your enemies come cringing to you.

All the earth worships you!

And sings praises to you; they sing praises to your name.
Come and see what God has done….

Bless our God, O peoples; let the sound of His praise be heard, who has kept our soul among the living! …

Come and hear all you who fear God, and I will tell you what he has done for my soul! …

But truly God has listened; He has attended to the voice of my prayer.

Blessed be God because He has not rejected my prayer or removed His steadfast love from me!” – Psalm 66

I don’t want “just enough” of God. I want all of Him. And He wants all of me. And I will shout, “Come and see what God has done for my soul!’

He makes me rest in His abundance. He showers me with good things. He remains steadfast in his love. He refines, and His visage radiates ever clearer from my life.

Even the knockout, sucker punch days are beautiful. Even a grief day can be the catalyst for greater depth. And tears for me are a door to illumined truth.

Then make me what you will, Lord. Refine me, and refine me again.

This post by Ami appeared first at Intentional By Grace