Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns
If you think Jesus would have come into your home that day and not issued a strong rebuke to the head of household, you are mistaken. These words of condemnation have been haunting me for days now. They aren’t all that different than the soundtrack I play in my head on an almost-daily basis. It’s…
I am nesting. On Saturday I emptied the refrigerator. Last summer’s homemade pickles in their jars. The bread ends that seem to multiply on every shelf. The eggs. The milk. The fruit and veggies. All of it sat on the floor or the counter as I carefully removed the shelves and wiped them down with…
I’ve heard that life is like a highway. And it definitely seems like that sometimes. The pace of life swirls around me at dizzying speeds. We’re all so busy. In such a hurry. Always somewhere to be, something else to do. I’m a get-to-the-point, get-there-quick kind of girl. I don’t like to waste time on…
Grace.
It’s one of those words we use that’s hard to explain. We can’t touch it or hold it, but we know it when we see it. And when we receive it, it blows us away.
This is how Lisa Velthouse describes it in her memoir, Craving Grace.
There’s a certain wooziness that accompanies grace. That much I know. It’s the feeling of being bowled over by generosity and simultaneously being gut-certain you don’t come close to deserving it. It’s the kind of feeling that can leave one awed and overjoyed in an instant, that can throw legitimate doubts and fears out the window.
This leaped off the page at me about a quarter of the way through the book. I get what she’s talking about.
See, Velthouse was trying to earn God’s favor by doing everything right in her life. She wanted to deserve his blessings and his grace. Then she messed up in what, for her, was a big way. Craving Grace is a story of longing — for romance, for chocolate, for significance — and longing fulfilled. It’s funny, but more importantly, it’s real. And therefore, refreshing.
A friend loaned me the book for the Tyndale Summer Reading program. I’m so glad she did. I would have missed out on a great read.
My comfortable life is in jeopardy.
In Christianity there’s this often-overlooked, seldom-preached, rarely-lived theology of suffering. In the Bible it’s sometimes called the “fellowship of suffering” or “sharing in Christ’s suffering.” Faithful Bible readers — I’d consider myself one — know this, maybe even have a verse or two on suffering memorized.
I would agree, most days, that Christians will have to suffer. That Christians do suffer. But I don’t expect this, or embrace it, or seek it, in my own life.
After all, nobody really wants to suffer, right? I’ll say it: I don’t want to suffer. But does that mean I’m rejecting a part of Christ? And can I reject a part of Him and not reject the whole?
Here’s another confession: I avoid suffering whenever possible. This shows itself in little things like holding my son at arm’s length because I don’t want his grimy, supper-slathered hands touching my clothes. (Shallow and vain, don’t you think?) That’s hardly suffering, but in this land of comfort, anything that disrupts the status quo or the appearance of having it all together, we count as suffering.
My attitude when things go wrong indicates how I view suffering. God, heal my back. Lord, make my son’s fever go away. Jesus, provide for this need. Much rarer is the prayer during suffering, Lord, make me more like You through this. Teach me, Lord. Show me something new about Yourself.
I feel bombarded lately with images of suffering.
Like this article I read on human trafficking. (Warning: It’s a disturbing read. I am saddened, disgusted and longing for a world where this is NO ONE’s normal.)
Or this Facebook post from an AP reporter in Somalia.
And the catalyst to this self-analyzation: I read a book about adoption. (Come back Monday, Aug. 1 for the review.) My husband and I once considered adoption, before we were married or had our two kids. It’s still in the back of our minds, but after reading this book, I wanted to run from the possibility. I don’t need family life to be harder, I thought. I don’t want my marriage to suffer because of tension over an adopted child’s needs. I don’t want my children to feel overlooked or neglected.
And the “I” list went on and on.
But the families who shared their stories said they wouldn’t trade all the difficulties, the suffering, for the child who was now a part of their lives.
Suffering does not go unrewarded.
In the grand scheme of things, I have not suffered much. But the times I have suffered have also been times of deepened spiritual awareness. Close times with God. Renewed human relationships. Visible expressions of glory not my own.
I don’t know the future, what sufferings I will or won’t experience.
It’s naive to think I will never suffer, or never again suffer, so I’m praying now for the strength and grace to endure whatever form suffering takes.
And because I don’t know how to end this ramble, I leave you with a song I can’t get out my head.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8HgAVenbUU]