Hope

The Vinedresser is Your Confident Expectation

~ Ami ~ Leave a comment

Hello dear readers, I genuinely appreciate all those who’ve stuck with me over the years. There has been so much of my heart poured out on this blog. I’m so thankful it’s been a space to process the early tsunami of grief and all the days thereafter, to see reversal, and to share beauty out of ashes. I hope it’s been even a fraction of a blessing to you as it has much as it’s been a gift of grace me. As you know I’ve been a incredibly infrequent blogger these days, and in an effort to be more consistent, be a better steward, and create new pieces to equip and encourage, I’ll be posting most of my writing on Substack from now on. Would you join me on a new adventure in that writing space? I’d greatly appreciate it if you’d click this link to continue reading this article on Substack. But if not, here it is below. Thank you!

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Sleep draws back its blanket, beckoning me to consciousness, and my brain affirms light streaming through the curtains. Before I move or even open my eyes, I direct my first waking thoughts to a long-standing conversation. We pick up where we left off the night before—

Lord this day is yours, I need you before my feet hit the floor. Let love of small duties and small children grow as I drink of living water, as life giving nutrients pass from you to me. Let words and actions be kind and gentle, your fruit in me ripe and hanging low on the branches, ready for a harvest of righteousness.

Later, books and pencils sprawl across the kitchen table as my son and I sit side-by-side. Anxiety spreads across his young face, but at first glance it’s merely bad fruit, anger and defiance rotting what is pleasant. Take another look. This isn’t rotting fruit, it’s fruit shaken about, tossed by a storm. He fears failure— “Maybe this math is too hard.”

I know this child.

He rages because he doesn’t know how to handle his knotted up soul. Since we’ve been here before, I know what to do. And it is not lecture or cajole. Or threaten with consequences. Or in my own overwhelm, raise my voice—“Just do the math!”

I haven’t always gotten it right, and I still don’t always get it right. But I practice. I abide. I know seeking wisdom from above is the only way to meet him in this place, so I draw from the Vine, “Lord what’s the opportunity here? Give me wisdom and compassion. Keep peace in my heart.”

Most of us would like parenting to fit neatly in a box, with the same prescribed formulas and steps to follow for every scenario, thank you very much. But in real life, with real children it’s not always easy to disentangle what is sin, what is childishness, what is developmental, and where these overlap (because they do). The longer I parent, the more I see the need for moment-by-moment wisdom.

Yes, sometimes the rotten fruit of sin is the primary culprit behind my child’s actions. But sometimes much more is happening beneath the surface. I’m thankful the Lord promises wisdom to those who ask for it. (James 1:5).

“Bud I’m right here. I’m on your side, and I’m here to help. This math feels hard and scary, but I know you can do it. Bravery is knowing this this is scary and trying it anyway. And you are one of the bravest kids I know.”

His body is a tightly curled ball, all 100 pounds of his tall-for-eight frame, compressed, a turtle on a kitchen chair. Anger fades, and tears flow.

My hand on his back, I call upon the True Vine, out loud so my child can hear, “Lord grant peace to my boy’s heart. Still the fears and anxiety. Help him find words to talk to you, to name his fears, and run to you for peace. You say we can cast all our anxieties upon you. You are big enough to carry them.”

We stay there, quiet. And I wait.

Slowly he unfurls, leans in.

“Are you ready? Need a break instead?”

But he picks up his pencil with a new look of determination in his blue eyes. For a moment, it’s as if I see armor making him brave. We talk through the scary thing again. And now it’s not so scary, just another step, not so different from what he already knows.

Lord thank you for the fruit of righteousness. You are the Vine, and you alone produce good fruit. Thank you for this particular moment of harvest.

At almost three decades connected to the Vine, prayer has become like breathing, constant, necessary, and automatic. Habit and sanctification have trained my mind; desperate need and delight have compelled my heart.

I know I need Jesus. I need him not just academically, but at the deepest experiential, root level.

Parenting, in particular causes me to turn and turn again to Jesus. Though I’ve always worked with children, my own small people bring me to the end of my patience in a way I never would have expected. Without Christ, I don’t and can’t parent them the way I want to. When I neglect to turn to the Holy Spirit for help, my flesh rears its ugly head more often than I’d care to admit.

I pray not because it makes me abide. I pray because I do abide. Conversation with God flows out of a deep rooted sense of who he is and what he’s done for me. Because he abides in me, I abide in him.

Being connected to Jesus was so important, that even as he headed toward death, he included the idea among his last words to his disciples.

Urgent Instructions

“Let us rise and go from here.” (John 14:31b)

And Jesus stepped into darkness. Imagine the scene. Jesus and his disciples have just left the upper room where Mary anointed him with costly perfume, where God himself washed filthy feet, where he prophesied Peter would deny him, where he declared Judas would betray him. With reeling minds, the disciples try to process the rapid events like children drinking from a fire hydrant.

As they walk, the narrative is a speeding train, propelling itself toward its climax. Jesus walks as a man headed to his own execution, but not as a dejected or defeated prisoner. His is a single-minded focus. Whereas Judas walked into darkness toward his own destruction, Jesus walked into darkness so we would not be destroyed. He’s still their teacher. He’s in complete control, and he has a few, last, urgent words to tell them. Even has he heads toward death, he focuses on his friends’ needs with overflowing compassion—it’s important he prepare them for what’s to come.

It’s easy to imagine they walk past a vineyard that provides the perfect, concrete backdrop for his instruction.

“I am the True Vine, and my Father is the vinedresser.” (John 15:1)

In the old testament, Israel, compared to a vine, foreshadowed what was to come. But Israel failed to produce good fruit. Jesus contrasts Israel’s fruitlessness to his fruitfulness. Because Jesus is the genuine vine, believers can rest in two truths— we will abide, and we will bear fruit.

We will Abide

Early in my Christian faith, as a teenager and fledgling believer, I remember first hearing John 15 preached. “Abide in me and I in you…” Most of the sermon is lost to time, but I recall feeling the crushing weight of responsibility. I had to abide. I had to abide.

“If anyone does not abide in me, he is thrown away like a branch and withers.” (15:6)

And if I didn’t abide, like a dead branch I’d be thrown away because it meant I never truly believed in Jesus. What if I didn’t truly believe? What if my efforts to abide weren’t good enough? What confusing and terrifying ideas for a few months old, baby Christian. To the preacher’s credit, I might have missed something.

I’m thankful for growth over time, for wisdom, for instruction, for shepherding, and new understanding. Abiding isn’t about my boot-strap efforts to keep myself connected to Jesus. It’s not even about my failures to obey always. I’m not the one who keeps me connected to the vine. Jesus, the True Vine, keeps his own. (John 10:28)

I long to continue abiding in Christ, but I also rest knowing I always will. Jesus, the True Vine, grafted me in and has kept me ever since. Because he first connected himself to me, I stay connected to him.

While followers of Jesus do have responsibility to continue in daily relationship with Christ, we also know that genuine followers will continue in relationship with him. (15:3, Philippians 1:6) Effort flows out of identity, not the other way around, and fruitfulness is a result of our position in Christ. He initiated the work. (15:5) There must first be a vine before there can be branches, and branches grow only because there is a vine.

At our house we have an exceptionally toddlery toddler. We also have a sapling peach tree, purchased this year and newly planted. It bore eight remarkable green spheres, and we looked forward to a delectable pie. One day, as toddlers do, our tiny girl noticed the tempting little balls. Sadly, there will be no pie for us after all.

“Oh Clara, did you know that the peaches needed to keep growing? They can’t grow bigger unless they are attached to the tree.”

“Mommy, you can put them back on the tree,” her tiny voice proclaimed confidently.

“Well, even if we tape them on, they won’t grow anymore.”

Trying to connect ourselves to the vine is like trying to use duct tape or super glue to attach a branch to a tree. The branch may look connected for a time, but without life giving sustenance flowing from vine to branch, eventually the branch will wither. It certainly won’t produce the fragrant blossoms of new life, and that withered branch is good for nothing except fuel for the fire.

Jesus said, “I am the vine, you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, it is he that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.” (15:5-6)

Saving grace and regeneration belong only to Christ. Without him, it’s impossible to save ourselves. A dead branch can’t rise up, and it certainly can’t graft itself in to the vine.

No doubt Judas is fresh on the disciples’ mind as they walk. He had been with the Jesus for three years and played the game so well, no one pinpointed him as the betrayer. But he’d merely glued himself to the vine. It’s a weighty thought and a call to examine oneself. Am I truly connected to the vine? But it’s also not meant to induce fear or terror. It’s meant to produce rest.

As Jesus and the disciples near the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus prays aloud pleading, “Holy Father keep them in your name, which you have given me, that they may be one, even as we are one. While I was with them, I kept them in your name, which you have given me. I have guarded them, and not one of them has been lost except the son of destruction, that the Scripture might be fulfilled.” (John 17:11-12)

While he was with them, he protected them and guarded them from falling away. And he boldly declares that not one of his true followers was lost. I can’t read this prayer without imagining Niagara Falls— Jesus’ prayer roars like the thunder of water rushing over a cliff and crashing to the rocks below. It’s like he cannot contain his love and care for them.

“I have kept them!”

As he kept them, the Father keeps us. The disciples overheard a brief moment of the never ending conversation between Father and Son, but the Son still pleads. He still intercedes. He still calls on the Father’s faithfulness. (Hebrews 7:25)

If abiding was the only gift of the Vinedresser, it would be enough. But it get’s better. We’re not just branches grafted to the vine. We are branches destined for fruitfulness.

We Will Bear Fruit.

Prayer, worship, obedience, joy, faith, and, trust are all examples of how believers abide in Christ, but also they’re also fruit of abiding in Christ.We produce fruit because we know Jesus. In theological terms, we call knowing Jesus, justification—We were declared innocent, called righteous by the blood of Christ. We rest knowing, nothing can cut us off from the vine. Likewise, being a new creation in Christ, being connected to the vine—this is in itself, also fruit.

And we rest knowing the vinedresser is a master at his craft. He will do what is good for us, that we would produce much fruit. He’s not a lazy gardener content with scant, sour fruit. Rather because he loves us, he desires we’d produce abundant fruit, dripping from the vine, beautiful and decadent. And he is committed to that growth.

I love the idea of growing things, though I’m not always excellent at execution. Last summer, I tried a bit of “chaos” gardening—throw the seeds in the ground, and see what happens! Hooray! But as one might expect, my chaos yielded little fruit. I should have thinned my sprouts to give my crowded plants space and nutrients. I should have cut off brown, dead leaves. The best gardeners know that to produce more and higher quality fruit, they must prune the dead parts of the plant.

One way to describe the Father’s pruning is sanctification. Sanctification is the process where we are transformed to be what God has already declared us to be. It’s the life-long reality of becoming more like Jesus. When the Father prunes, he cuts away aspects of our lives that are fruitless, that we would produce more fruit.

Pruning sometimes looks like God withholding something we think is good. Sometimes it’s removing something we have begun to worship— that thing we think we think we need to make life work. Sometimes it’s conviction of sin. Sometimes it’s trials. Being pruned is far from fun or easy, and sometimes it feels like a mercy too severe. But the end result is always good. (Romans 8:28) If we surrender to God’s work, it produces abundant fruitfulness. Pruning can make us the most flavorful, most tightly packed grapes, fit for costly, rare wine.

Because he loves us the Father desires we bear much fruit. Fruit proves we belong to him. Fruit glorifies him. (John 15:8) And fruit brings us abundant joy. (John 15:11)

Oh friend, what hopeful truths these are! You are not left to your own devices. You are not called to bootstrap your way through life. The Vinedresser grafts you in and works on your behalf. He ensures you remain in him, guarded, kept, and protected from storms that would rip you from the vine. All he calls, he equips.

“You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide.” (John 15:16)

He chose you to abide. Therefore, abiding is delight, and fruitfulness is a gift. The Vinedresser is your confident expectation, and he will produce a harvest of righteousness in you as you drink from living water, and as life-giving nutrients flow from him to you. Believers rest in this astonishing hope today.

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)

That’s going to come out of me?

~ Ami ~ 1 Comment

He was an irresistible week-old newborn, and it was his first Sunday at church. When his mom held him to her shoulder he bore the trademark “I’m just gonna mold completely to your body” newborn snuggle. Talk about baby fever right there!

And then I thought, “That is going to come out of me? That baby is huge!”

Now, it must be said that this little guy is a perfectly average, healthy baby. He wasn’t a 16 pounder.

Though you’ve likely read between the lines, (and noticed the picture) I should probably bring some of you up to speed. I suppose you can tell that I haven’t written in awhile. I guess there is less need for deep processing in the happy, hustling and bustling seasons. Well, I do write all the time these days, but technical reports for work don’t really seem to count.

Anyway, for those who don’t know me in real life or at least on Facebook, I am 5 1/2 months pregnant with our first child! Hooray!

And he’s a boy! We are so delighted to be having a son. He’s a gift long prayed for. The feeling of little kicks from the inside, hearing his heartbeat, seeing him move on ultrasound; these are among the best things I’ve ever experienced. We already know his name, but I’ll save that story for another day.

But I digress. I met a sweet little newborn at church. He was adorable; thoughts of awe and terror simultaneously flitted across my mind.

“Wow God you are amazing!”

“But someone that big is going to come out of me?”

Being pregnant has produced its own set of fears. Fears about labor and delivery. Fears about parenting. Fear that something would happen to our baby—There I’ve said it out loud. It’s uncharted territory, a completely new avenue in which I am learning trust.

I’ve wanted to be a mom for as long as I can remember. It’s one of those desires that had to be stripped away for me to see what it had become. An idol. It was a dream I had begun to worship, something I thought I had to have to be happy. It was a good desire I had let turn into an ultimate desire.

You may remember that my first husband and I tried to get pregnant for a year and half before he died. God did a lot in my heart over that year and half. But the battle was real and intense. So often I prayed for a child. So often I tried to hold my hands open to the Lord.

And when Jon died, all the hopes and dreams of being a mom shattered also. I remember when I started my period about a week after he died: I crumpled on my bathroom floor and sobbed.

So here I am, turning 35 tomorrow and pregnant! They say I’m of “advanced maternal age.” That makes me smile.

And I am amazed at God’s goodness and grace. In the years of widowhood He taught me much about living with open hands. He was good when my hands were empty. And He is good now.

The day I found out I was pregnant, I again knelt on the floor, tears streaming. Y’all know I have a strong relationship with crying.

“Lord, even from the very beginning this baby is yours. I hold my hands open to you. Do what you want with this little life. I pray you would give us grace to point this baby to Jesus. ”

But sometimes open hands are hard.

We’re five and a half months down this path, and already we’re trying to make decisions for the good of our son.

Am I eating the right foods? Taking the right vitamins? Drinking enough water?

Do I go get a Tetanus shot because I cut my toe on a screw?

The flu. Severe dehydration. “I think we better go to the hospital.”

In all this I’m starting to understand that trusting God with our son is life long. We can try to make the best, most informed decisions but ultimately God is sovereign.

He is weaving this little one together in his mother’s womb. Our son is fearfully, and wonderfully made. How much richer are those words now! God will do what brings himself honor and glory.

We’re going to make mistakes. Sometimes we’re going to have no clue what we’re doing. Maybe a lot of times. I’ll probably freak out. Meltdowns will happen—both from me and the baby.

Sometimes we’ll even sin against him. What?! I’m not going to be a perfect parent?

I see your looks of incredulity, but yes friends it’s true.

Therefore, as I learned to preach the gospel to myself in marriage, widowhood, and marriage again, so must I learn it now.

I’m well aware that my highly sensitive heart and strong need for introspection can lead an internal dialogue of fear. We all have our sin tendencies. So I have to change the dialogue.

  • God is the perfect parent. Therefore I don’t have to be.
  • If God did not spare His own Son, will he spare any omnipotent effort to do good to me? (or to my son?)
  • The cross and resurrection prove that the Lord is trustworthy. He always does what he says he will. Because I have been made alive, new, redeemed I can trust God.
  • My Father has promised to sanctify me. He is committed to transforming into the image of his Son. Therefore, he will give grace to admit when I am wrong. Grace to say, “Mommy is sorry. Please forgive me.”
  • God loves our baby far more than we do.

It still feels surreal sometimes. In a few short months we’ll be responsible to keep a tiny human alive, to meet his needs, to instruct him, to protect, to shepherd him. We pray many things for our baby, but most of all we pray he would know Jesus.  Because who’s the real Shepherd? Who’s the real Provider and Protector? It certainly isn’t me.

That I think, is the sum of what God has called us to do—point him to the marvelous grace found in Christ alone. We are channels, channels only to the one who is the answer to all fears, to the one who fully satisfies.

Anticipating Tomorrow. Looking toward 2015

~ Ami ~ 4 Comments

The countdown began. The ball descended slowly, inching to its destination. 3-2-1! Happy New Year! The room filled with streamers, noise makers, and lingering kisses. He wrapped me in a giant hug, eyes dancing, grinning broadly. When he smiled, his whole face smiled. And of course, he kissed me with gusto. Goodbye, 2012. Hello, 2013!

The trip to the emergency room several days earlier already seemed a fading dream. I stole a tender glance at my husband. Thoroughly alive, passionate, vivacious, charismatic, and definitely goofy; these embodied him. Sure, there’d be valve replacement surgery in the near future, but medication would manage the problem till then. Jon would recover, and we’d go on living, dreaming, and pursuing Christ, worshiping Him together. We expected the trial, but we were ready. God had always taken care of us. He’d see us through this one as well.

But our hearts were light, hopeful, looking toward the new year with anticipation. We’d recently moved to a new home. Jon had started a new job. And we hoped this year God would bring a child.

New Year’s Day I awoke thinking about fresh starts and new beginnings.

“Lord, You’ve brought us so far this year! 2o12 was a year of abundance. I’m so thankful.  Father, in the coming year, consume our hearts with You. More than anything we want You to be magnified. Would You use us for the sake of Your kingdom, Your gospel? We’re hopeful, Lord. We’re excited.”

Fresh Starts. New Beginnings. Hope.

In the middle of the night, less than a month after we greeted the new year with gladness, I lay in a tight ball, clutching my husband’s wedding ring. How does one describe that first horrific night? Shock. Numbness. Nausea. I think there are no adequate words. A single thought repeated endlessly, “Jon died. My husband is dead.” My brain could not process reality.

Hope? Excitement for the future? What future? It died with him.

Or so it seemed.

Almost two years later, at the dawn of 2015, again I look toward the coming year with hope and anticipation.

“But how could that possibly be? You were utterly crushed, your dreams wrenched away, ripped apart like a doll house in a hurricane.”

Yes, that’s true. But remember what I prayed that New Year’s Day. “Consume our hearts with You. More than anything we want You to be magnified.” He has done it. Through tragedy, God was there, meeting me with grace upon grace. Gradually I remembered that I had not also died, and I recalled the One who promises a “future and a hope.”(Jeremiah 29:11)

It was the death of my beloved that caused me to be captivated with Christ. I’m mesmerized by Him, utterly fascinated with Him, and long for eternity with Him. And in this place, there is profound, penetrating, soul satisfaction that this world cannot hope to provide.

It’s an anticipation of things to come, the not yet. I’m looking toward a day when the church will be perfectly united, glorified in heart and mind, rejoicing forevermore, face to face with the One who redeemed it! I wouldn’t have chosen God’s answer, but He faithfully heard the cry of my heart. “Teach us to know You. Lord, be magnified through us.”

With the apostle Paul I’m learning to say, “Indeed I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.” (Philippians 3:8 ESV).

Yet I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the second prayer. “Would You use us for the sake of Your kingdom?” If you had known my husband, you’d know this prayer was his heartbeat, even more so than mine. And, oh, how God has granted that desire, multiplying the fruit! Confidently I see God using Jon’s life and death to strengthen marriages, to call a man to preach, to save the life of another heart patient—literally, to push me to things I never would have tried. Through writing, I get to proclaim to thousands that Jesus is hope, that He is life, and that He alone makes reconciliation between God and man!

These are merely glimpses. I know there’s exponentially more than I understand. So, I kneel in awe and humility. For God does not need me or my husband. I cannot add to His sufficiency. When I ask that God be magnified, it’s a prayer that men would ascribe the honor to Him that He already has. T

hrough Christ there are always fresh starts and new beginnings. And He satisfies. How then, could I not face tomorrow with gladness?

This post appeared first at aNew Season Ministries