Imperishable: My Aunt Debbie

Today, a memorial is taking place somewhere in the rugged Black Hills for my aunt, Debbie. She passed away in March after her third bout of cancer.

Hi, valued blog audience. It’s been a while. Moving across the country, starting a business, taking another swipe at my book – changes have occurred! But as I reflected on my aunt today, I realized there are things about Debbie that people ought to know, things worth a guest appearance on my own blog. As you can probably infer, Debbie was a tough soul. But her soul was tender, to which a long road of suffering will carry only the true disciple.

Out of four aunts on my father’s side (poor guy), Debbie was one of two I am close to (or really know at all). I have some precious memories. We flew across the country to visit a family member in 2003 who was fighting (and won) a cancer battle of their own; Debbie got us lost in downtown Philadelphia looking for the perfect Philly cheesesteak. She drove across two states to make my brother’s wedding in 2015. We witnessed the 2017 solar eclipse together from near her home in Idaho Falls, then talked at length on the way back as the spectators choked the rural Interstate 15 down to a crawl more apropos to its run in east L.A. (where she used to live). We prayed together on the phone during tough times – the salvation of those close to her, the breakup of my family, 9/11, COVID. Or maybe it was that just-because family reunion that saw a carload of us spontaneously break into “Jack and Diane” while hurtling down Bear Canyon. (In my relatively beige life, these are highlights.)

Our last conversation took place less than 48 hours before her passing (perhaps even less than 24, I don’t remember), and despite the morphine, she was still her spunky self. Sincere props to her husband and son for connecting us in time. It’s haunting and rare to converse with someone that close to Heaven’s front steps.

So I had more than enough time with Debbie to know that she was no stranger to suffering. She’s certainly undergone more than I could possibly bear. I will respect her privacy by carefully choosing the details here, but the lessons she bore from them – well, they were right out of Scripture.

Debbie was a hopeful woman. She beat cancer twice and maintained optimism in her third bout. She would talk about prayer seminars, healing conferences, and experimental treatments (of the cheaper and less intrusive variety). Yet in all her pursuits, she made the decision to trust God. It wasn’t a settled emotion for her – it was a decision. She didn’t feel trusting – she decided she would trust. It was right out of Daniel 3 – she knew God had the power to heal again, but if He did not, she would still worship.

Towards the end, she started to demonstrate a trait that can only come from God – forgiveness. She started believing that her illness was being caused, or at least contributed to, by bitterness. There’s some scientific reasoning behind such a belief. Goodness knows a full life will leave you with some enemies to harbor resentment towards. I’ve got some myself.

But, again, reflecting what could only be the Lord’s presence in her heart, the forgiveness she was learning she valued for its own sake, not just its potential to allow healing. After a lifetime of what has plenty of power to turn the average person hateful, sour, and withdrawn from God, she chose forgiveness. It was that light that she emanated as she started climbing those front steps.

This is one of the reasons the Lord, aggrieved and reluctant, allows suffering in our lives sometimes. I was reading 1 Peter 1 this morning and noticed, for the first time, his repetition of the goal of gaining the imperishable. Debbie did. No ordinary human being finishes on the note that she did. Only a follower of Christ does.

She did get some earthly victories. She spent her final years with a husband devoted to her care. Her sons are walking with God. And God did extend her life with two healings from cancer.

But in perhaps the most important thing of all, the imperishables, God granted her great victory. Now she is relieved of her suffering and lavished with her rewards, never to perish again.

I miss her. I miss her sense of humor and her million-watt smile.

But I’m also inspired by her. I’ll catch up to her someday. Meanwhile, the angels praise God for his handiwork on the newcomers.

Trust Is Not An Instinct

I do hope this blog doesn’t become a mere regurgitation of other things I find on the internet. But sometimes you come across something that so simply and perfectly encapsulates something you’ve thought for a while, that it must be shared.

“Faith is not an instinct. It certainly is not a feeling. … It is an act of the will, a choice, based on the Unbreakable Word of a God who cannot lie, and who showed us what love and obedience and sacrifice mean, in the person of Jesus Christ.” – Elisabeth Elliot

I’ve realized this about a close cousin of faith as well – trust.

I often ask myself, “Why don’t I trust God more?”

But it dawned on me one day that I was really asking, “Why don’t my emotions feel calmer about trusting God?”

And I saw that although it would certainly be nice if my troubled waters would settle when considering something God is asking of me, it was not necessary. It was an entirely different question than asking whether I trusted God. That answer would ultimately be shown in my actions, not in how I felt about them.

You can plunk a benjamin down into the offering plate and still feel tense afterwards – but you trusted.

You can sign up for that short-term mission trip and be freaking out as the plane descends into your target city – but you trusted.

You can refuse to deflect blame and remain flustered because the theoretical deflectee really did contribute to the problem – but you trusted.

Conversely, our churches are full of people who throw up their hands in response to synthy worship songs but deny Christ with their actions everywhere else throughout the week.

We think we love God. We genuinely do. Many of us simply don’t have stop long enough to see our actions reflecting otherwise. There’s too little reaction time between instinct and result, too little translating work done upon our impulses and hesitations. We live in the nation of sin and haven’t learned its native language well enough to get ourselves to the airport. We never figured out that many of our sins are instincts, not conscious decisions (though that makes them no less sinful) – that the broad and wide road is also the path of least resistance.

Christ calls us to be smarter than that. It takes self-awareness and reflection, which a lot of us don’t want to do. Fortunately much of it is already done for us and laid out in the Scriptures. I encourage you to read them today. They bring us such great hope. You will find, allied with and living inside you, the words of…

“…a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have One who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet He did not sin.” – Hebrews 4:15

Thanking God for My Trials?

You know it’s a great day when I’m cribbing from Mr. T for spiritual content:

Heavenly Father, I thank you for all the Good you have Done in my life, but also for the bitterness and sorrow; by that you also drawn me to you. Amen

— Mr. T (@MrT) November 8, 2022

Yes, I think I can say this as well.

2022 was a humbling year. I was brought low in a couple ways. Moreso than my health struggles, it was a year of redirection. The Lord showed me that the plans He has for my next few years will probably not mirror my own. I do think there are seeds He’s planted; they’ll just be sprouting in a different place. The realization was hard.

It was also a year revealing of my character. Thanks to friends courageous enough to speak, I gained probably more insight into my flesh and my darkness than I have before. And, happily, the knowledge is leading to change.

But I find it yanks at my pride to say that. After all…that aforementioned flesh doesn’t really care about change.

“He makes us walk when we want to run, sit still when we want to walk, for He has things to do in our souls that we are not interested in.” – Elisabeth Elliott

We can hear about all the things suffering is doing for us – molding us into the character of Christ, teaching us to receive comfort so we may pass it on, chastening us as children, or simply loosening our death grip on this world so we may reach for the next one – but if our flesh isn’t on board with His purposes, it’s of little use.

It’s a choice to receive these things. Billions suffer daily. They obviously aren’t all learning the right lessons from it.

It really seems rather audacious of God to not only allow us to struggle, but to insist we rejoice (though He also delivers and rescues us at other times, and will not withhold his justice and vengeance on those who have wronged). If a human said that, we’d call him insensitive, sadistic. Rejoice? I don’t want to rejoice. This sucks.

Of course, a human is not God, so the rules are different. But still, we don’t want to thank. We’d much rather chafe and grow resentful; we’d much rather resort to prayer believing that nothing bad ever comes by God’s hand and that enough beseeching can get us out of it; we’d much rather turn to our own devices and scheme and spin and outwork the bad circumstances.

It’s at this point that I have to ask – do I believe God’s appraisal of things, or not?

Do I believe that what He calls a treasure, really is treasure?

Do I believe that my sanctification really should be a priority?

Do I believe that suffering really is the one conduit to at least some of these good things?

Do I believe that is can and should be received with…openness and gratitude? As an old Promise Keepers song had it,

Let it be said of us
That the Lord was our passion
That with gladness we bore
Every cross we were given

I want to grieve. I want to seethe. I want a reprieve from the mandate to believe. It’d be much nicer to just go on with a simple, easy life and not have to accept any crosses.

But we don’t get that. It’s not part of the Jesus package.

So instead of grudging, “I have no choice anyway” acceptance, I will choose to bear with gladness what I am given, whether it be gravel or meat and potatoes.

Surely God does not begrudge us prayers of deliverance. Pray them.

And surely He does not allow suffering unfeelingly. As Dane Ortlund wrote in Gentle and Lowly, “He does not do so from His heart.”

But He does do them. And if the ultimate destination is being closer to Him, then I will accept His claim that such results really are the greatest treasure of all, and readjust my worldview accordingly.

And when I do, ah, how His love is felt. For when I fully grab the hem of His garment – the Word, unfiltered and full – then the barriers between us fall away. No more halfway comfort, our relationship distorted by my selective belief and my reluctant posture.

He gives and takes away. He is close and attentive through it all. God truly does care about my heart, yearning to see me peaceful and joyful through even the worst, yearning for my heart to be protected, yearning to see me ironclad against despair.

So I will be grateful for that which has made me closer to Him.

“My goal is to know Him and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death, assuming that I will somehow reach the resurrection from among the dead.” – Phillippians 3:10-11

A Long Seven Months

Hello again, friends.

Yeou could say the last fourteen months have been eventful.

At 8:30am on a beautiful Monday morning last August (2021), exhausted from having flown and driven across the country to help relocate my grandmother, I sat down at my living room desk and logged on to begin my remote job. I noticed that my team hangout was empty and there was an immediate 8:30 appointment scheduled for me by management. Without opening it, I knew its meaning: my department had been laid off in my absence. I was the last person to be told. The new offshore employees we’d helped train were going to be our replacements.

God was one step ahead as always. A friend had alerted me to a hiring spree by a local employer just the prior week, and though I hadn’t really felt a need, I’d interviewed on a “what the heck” basis. Now that employer was becoming God’s stepping stone.

The layoff itself wasn’t a huge deal. But it kicked off a series of events that…yes, I think I can say it would try my faith like never before.

Almost right away upon taking the new job, I began experiencing a downturn of spirit that grew steadily worse for three months. It kind of came from a perfect storm.

I don’t usually feel comfortable talking about mental health. It’s a sensitive and oft misunderstood realm. But this was real. The early darkness of 47 degrees latitude in autumn, the new job’s early shift start (6am), the loss of a valued roommate as he moved away to take care of his ailing father, the anxiety over the ripple effects of the attempted vaccine mandate upon our workplace, and what I eventually realized to be a great deal of spiritual warfare on this new factory floor (blue-collar jobs can house a great deal of aimless, lonely men) combined to become the worst depressive episode I’d felt since my time in the Air Force twenty years ago.

A sense of futility, lethargy, and gray with no discernible cause hung around. Loss of interest in food and music and hobbies, confusion, fog, a lot of just quietly staring at the wall. It would continue through the spring. By February, I’d lost twenty pounds. Even as early as Thanksgiving, I no longer had energy to speak to people at church.

(A number of my worship team bandmates are reading this and going “Ahhh…“)

But this story isn’t about that. It’s about God.

During the nadir of this time, I somehow stumbled upon a simple practice. I would wake every morning, fight through the malaise, and simply say out loud, “God loves me.”

It is amazing how much of a renaissance those three simple words aroused. I’d always known it. But Scripture seems to illustrate a power in speaking (and singing) aloud, a bringing of other parts of the brain into play, an expansion of a concept in your soul. We’re told that life and death are on the tongue (Prov. 18:21). Even Jesus saw fit to speak to the forces of evil, the Word speaking the Word. He did it whether people were present to be edified or not.

Over the wintertime, I would speak these three words – “God loves me” upon rising every morning. Each time, they would seem to find purchase against roadblocks of unbelief and abandonment, a spiritual blacklight revealing ink of doubt.

Contradictions live comfortably in our souls, often unseen until choices need to be made. We think we’re ready to tithe, but when the plate gets passed, we hesitate. We think we can avoid the next splurge of addiction, yet when the choice comes, there’s a pause, a check. Our truest beliefs, our heart beliefs, are revealed by our actions. At the deepest level, we struggle to believe that God loves us, that He cares for us, or honestly, that He even exists. If we did, what would our lives look like?

As 2022 arrived and the sunrise gradually grew earlier each day, my doubt began melting with the snow.

Unexpected blessings came.

Worst fears saw themselves into the ditch.

God challenged me to stand before youth, before recovering addicts, and speak of His goodness. I struggled to obey. Yet He gave me the strength.

Turmoil continued at my church, constant change at my new job.

My mother was an angel of prayer and mercy.

Christmas and Easter came. I celebrated the unmatched love of the cross and empty tomb.

Sometimes I’d wake up at 3am in near-despair. At times I would need to pray and read hard. Other times it would take Spotify and worship music. Yet other times, He would just graciously snuff out the internal darkness upon first prayer, waving it off effortlessly. There were times it’d stay away for a few days, other times it would come and go literally every hour. I still don’t understand the rhyme or reason. But gradually, by March, my soul’s twilight was become shorter than ever.

In Gentle and Lowly by Dane Ortlund, I saw a Scriptural truth whose pieces I had always held but somehow never assembled: Jesus doesn’t grudgingly accept the frail, sinful, and downcast. He runs to their side. It’s the very thing that gets Him going. It is true that it’s not the healthy that He seeks, but the sick; not the rich, but the poor; not the strong, but the weak. He sought me, and He lifted me up.

The storm has passed. In its wake, God’s winds are moving me in new directions; it’s been made clear to me that circumstances will now need to change for various reasons (vagueposting much, Brandon?). There is a sadness to that. But, like all movements from God, there is also excitement, readiness, curiosity.

Moreso, more than ever, I see God as a Father, a Friend, an Ally, a Lover of my soul. For perhaps the first time, I now register a hesitation to doubt. I have developed an actual mustard seed. I’ve come to know hope. The joy of the Lord is now an everyday occurrence.

And I revel in the knowledge that, one day, darkness itself will be laid off, laid out, laid to rest. For good.

“I will be glad and rejoice in your love, for you saw my affliction and knew the anguish of my soul.” (Psalm 34:7)

Fear and Anger Have No Place Among Us

Thus ends my roughly year-long blogging sabbatical, in which I refrained from sharing my thoughts on the COVID world because they’d be merely one drop in an already deafening ocean. Others have covered it nicely.

(In case you’re wondering, I did contract COVID-19 this year – around Halloween – but my symptoms were thankfully mild. The six-week loss of taste and smell were disconcerting, but given the tragedy others have undergone, I will merely grieve with them.)

So…it is good to see you again.

I find myself barging clumsily back onto the scene again because today has the potential to be a definitive day, one that could solidify a lot of people’s fears and frustrations – on either side. I’m referring, of course, to the Georgia Senate elections. Many have been waiting on that particular delayed race to decide the shape of this interminable election season.

There are two emotions that serve as one’s frequent, almost constant companions in political dialogue: fear and anger. There’s a reason politics has a prominent place on the list of “things you don’t talk about at guests’ houses”. What raises the hackles on the back of your neck as fast as politics? Though we all hold a morbid fascination for these conversations, we know they get us tweaked. To focus on politics without leaving oneself tense, irritable, and judgmental for the rest of the day is a feat of considerable emotional discipline. (Maybe you can do it, but it should be self-evident by now that not everyone can. Or wants to.)

But is is a necessary feat, because fear and anger are not options for Christians.

“Don’t fear those who kill the body but are not able to kill the soul; rather, fear Him who is able to destroy both soul and body in hell.” (Matt. 10:28)

“Be angry and do not sin. Don’t let the sun go down on your anger, and don’t give the Devil an opportunity.” (Eph. 4:26-27)

I know there are people in the world that view the Bible as polite advice, or perhaps second-tier emotional guidance not to be taken all that thumpingly. But for those just discovering this blog, I tend to take the Godhead’s words literally whenever the text merits. If God says fear and anger don’t belong in our emotional profile, then that is the way.

If we’re not to fear the worst possible fate – being killed in the body – then nothing else should be feared.

If we’re not to stay angry beyond the temporary righteous anger that is promptly snuffed in grace and forgiveness, then it really is possible to forgive.

Indeed, God seems serious enough about this emotional destination that he has the author of Hebrews point out believers who “accepted with joy the confiscation of your possessions, knowing that you yourselves have a better and enduring possession.” (10:34). It takes immense sanctification to be able to pull that off. It almost seems monk-like.

Or perhaps, what it takes is a view of something else – that better and enduring possession.

See, fear and anger are substitutes for faith.

Fear is the belief that God does not see the future.

Anger is the belief that God does not see the past or present.

I know that sounds harsh. They seem like such natural, innocent emotions. But this is one of those times where God’s perspective seems frustatingly inhuman, yet perfectly holy. “Fear not” is one of the Bible’s most oft-repeated commands, and you need only to look at the world around you to see what sustained anger does. He knows what he’s talking about.

And if any doubt remained, Christ forgave the very centurions who nailed him to the cross.

If that is the reach of his love, and if we are to follow him, the mandate is clear.

The truth is, fear and anger evaporate when we see God as he truly, fully is. When we know his omniscience and omnipresence, when we know his father’s heart and his firm hand, all reason to fear or stay angry fades away. That will be our glorified reality one day.

Alas, we’re not there yet. I am just as capable of anxiety and grouch after a good political roundtable as the next guy.

But we can start to move. We can again take up the cross of keeping our eyes inwards, watching our feelings, surrendering them to Christ with every passing minute, taking them captive for his sake. We, as God’s people, should not resemble an ocean in turmoil, but a glassy sea.

There is no time like today to start.

I’m glad you tuned in today. If you found this post to be of value, feel free to share it on social media. Thanks a bunch!

Appeal to Your Caesar

In recent weeks, my church has been studying the “farewell tour” of Paul from Acts 20 onwards. It’s an inspiring but haunting account, overshadowed by Paul’s knowledge that he is moving towards life imprisonment for the Gospel’s sake and will never again be a free man. As he prepares to journey to Jerusalem, his fate is confirmed by prophetic signs. He is convinced enough that he tells the believers in Ephesus and Caesarea that they will never see him again.

Sure enough, the “least of the apostles” gets only a week in town before the local Jews start rioting for his head. This kicks off a series of events during which God continues to weave and dodge and navigate Paul out of deadly situation after deadly situation – yet he never actually gets out of Roman custody. Paul dodges, literally at the last second, a potentially fatal Roman scourging. He adds four (23:10, 23:12-35, 25:3, 27:42) to his already considerable list of escaped assassination attempts. He survives a shipwreck, then a viper’s bite. He rifles through a series of Roman bureaucrats to which he (successfully) appeals his legal innocence.

It’s an incredible streak of escapes, too much to attribute to luck. This is God keeping Paul on his feet.

Yet…he never gets free.

Have you ever asked why God keeps kinda coming to your rescue – but not really?

Have you ever found yourself on a sixth march around Jericho, acknowledging the role of God’s sovereignty in the fact that you still have strength in your feet, but wondering when the walls are scheduled to come down?

Have you ever admitted with a sigh that there’s been a lot of good along the way, and a lot of joy, but you’re still weary and unhappy?

Have you ever sneakily wished that God’s deliverance would take a different form?

It is revealing that the Lord found it appropriate to encourage Paul after the uproar in the Sanhedrin. He must have needed it. He kept having to prove his innocence of both the Jewish and Roman laws, consistently a razor’s blade from vindication, bailed out repeatedly by Rome’s respect for procedure and even once getting a military escort of hundreds to the next town to protect him from Jewish assassins. But the culture of political corruption kept rising up and pulling him back down. “Out of the frying pan, into the fire” was his motto by now, but where was it all going?

In Chapter 25, standing before yet another two-bit flunkey stating his case, Paul appears – to the casual reader – to have finally had enough. After years of house arrest, rather than allowing his can to get kicked down the road again, he decides to quit dinking around and requests his case be taken to the highest court possible. Announcing his innocence yet again, Paul speaks four glorious words: “I appeal to Caesar!”

Caesar. The big dog. The emperor. Gladiators and coliseums, singing-while-Rome-burns Caesar. That guy.

What’s Paul’s purpose in this appeal? He has a track record of defending himself to encourage the church and keep The Way clean of criticism, but I wonder – did Paul finally see the purpose of it all? Did he appeal because he spotted an opportunity to take his testimony from dust to marble? He knew God wanted him in Rome, but he could have contented himself with gaining his freedom and then preaching in the streets. A man of lesser character would have just accepted the bribes offered by Roman officials, justifying it with “this will give me the chance to preach to the commoners in Rome!”

Instead, Paul aims high. He grabs the chance to preach Jesus to the loftiest authority he can reach – and only his long custody could have given him the opportunity.

Paul doesn’t get an audience with Nero, but with Agrippa II, the last of the Herodians. So many parallels to Jesus’ life – unjustly accused, beaten, dragged before a Herod – Paul must have been delighted to follow in his master’s footsteps. He does not hesitate to proselytize directly to this governor. And when Agrippa asks, “Do you think that in such a short time you can persuade me to be a Christian?”, you know Paul is thinking, I’ve seen shorter.

The old Apostle understands that all the narrow scrapes that seem to have gone nowhere – all the obedience and miraculous escapes that still never lead to freedom – were for a purpose all along. Through them, and through his appeal to Caesar, God maneuvered Paul into a room with Roman royalty to share the gospel.

This is what we Christians must do when we find ourselves beleaguered yet again – another illness, another termination, another failed visa, another year of loneliness – and wondering what could possibly be the point of spending a lifetime pressed but not crushed.

Appeal to your Caesar.

By which I mean, find the highest audience to whom your pain gives you unique access, and share Jesus. Ask God to show you what it is. Use your story to reach the most people you can. Ask God to turn what was the enemy meant for evil into a demon-crushing good.

This is a request God will not refuse. He would have all people, eloquent or not, share his Word. And that Word is the opening to an eternity with God that leaves all earthly suffering in the dust, as Paul said: “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us” (Romans 8:18).

Paul could have gone faint. He could have groaned and given up. But he chose to defy the purposes of Satan, who desired Agrippa II to hear the Gospel about as much as he desired a hole in the head. Despite the weariness and the devastating string of setbacks, Paul kept fighting.

Do the same. Appeal to your Caesar. Ask God for the opening. Let the enemy know his worst blows have no purpose except what God sets for them.

I’m glad you tuned in today. If you found this post to be of value, please feel free to share it on social media. Thanks a bunch!

The Restful Obedience of the Women at the Tomb

Sometimes it’s the smallest Easter eggs that bring the best lessons.

I was reading through the Easter account of Luke and stopped on a verse I probably would have normally overlooked.

The women who had come with Him from Galilee followed along and observed the tomb and how His body was placed. Then they returned and prepared spices and perfumes. And they rested on the Sabbath according to the commandment. (Luke 23:55-56)

If any verse were to win the “Most Likely to be Overlooked” Award for the Passion accounts, this might be it. Instead, it’s once again proven that no verse from God’s hand is an afterthought.

The women watching their Savior being laid to rest in death…rested on the Sabbath.

Am I the only one blown away by this little detail?

These women have just experienced the greatest disappointment of their lives. As far as they could see (before Jesus opened their eyes), their faith was left in tatters. Jesus, the Savior they’d come to believe in, was gone. No redeeming Israel, no salvation of the people…just a victorious Roman oppression and stifling religious leadership.

Yet these women rested on the Sabbath.

You have to wonder about their state of mind as they watched Jesus’ burial. Did they expect a resurrection? They were preparing enbalming spices, so likely not. Precious few, if anyone, seemed to understand what was going on that weekend before the risen Jesus opened their eyes. What had come of the prophecies that shared a scroll with those Sabbath commandments? What had come of their hope, their anchor, their very light?

Yet these women rested on the Sabbath.

I don’t know that many people who’d be that obedient to God in the face of such confusion and letdown.

I know a lot of people who would walk away instead. Who would run from fear, like his disciples. Who would conclude God had earned their abandonment. Who have concluded that very thing, looking upon the pain and destruction God allows in the world and telling God, “I don’t like your terms. I’m not following you anymore.” People I know.

Yet these women rested on the Sabbath.

Sure, it was habit for them after a life of faithfulness. But it was a habit tied to promise, a promise that now seemed dashed. Cutting that string should have dropped their faith right through the earth. If the prophecies weren’t reliable, why bother with anything else?

Yet these women rested on the Sabbath.

I am inspired – and exposed. This seemingly small detail challenges me. Am I willing to obey God in the details great and small despite the disappointments life has brought me? Am I willing to follow him when he doesn’t appear to be following my life that closely? If he slayed me, would I trust him, as Job did?

These women came back days later to enbalm their Lord. Instead, he buried their doubt.

May ours meet the same fate, proven through obedience.

 

I’m glad you tuned in today. If you found this post to be of value, please feel free to share it on social media. Thanks a bunch!

Encouragement for the Lonely During Quarantine

Despite the memes reminding us that personal quarantine is not the end of the world, social distancing is going to be rough on some people.*

Yes, we should keep perspective and praise God that we are not fighting another world war (or an infection). But if you’re going to trot out that line every time someone struggles, it gets hard to have a conversation. Loneliness is real. And we are all – accustomed and unaccustomed alike – going to learn new things about it in the coming days.

Scripture acknowledges loneliness. David cries out “Turn to me and be gracious to me,
for I am alone and afflicted” (Psalm 25:16). Well-known verses like Ecclesiastes 4:10 – “For if either falls, his companion can lift him up; but pity the one who falls without another to lift him up” – reveal that God meant us to need each other and record the pain when it doesn’t happen. We are meant to need God more, but if you were to interpret that as license to run off to a cabin in the woods and commune with God alone for forty years (something my Montana people might know about), theologians would hasten to correct you. We were not meant to live this life alone.

When community is denied, struggle comes. Someone has said “Joy shared is multiplied; sorrow shared is divided.” The mathematics of fellowship, if you will. The church was meant to do good things in the world that few pairs of hands can’t, as the disciples acknowledged in Acts 6. My state and local guidelines still permit me to visit friends (for the moment), but even if we were to mutually agree on it, most of my friends have small children. That makes me hesitant to seek out companionship right now. I think that’s probably right.

Our elderly, currently the most at-risk demographic, are lonely already. We are not a country that honors its elders, unless they’re celebrities. That’s our loss and always has been (and it also happens to make us an exception amongst people groups). But we aren’t doing much about it, and they feel it in their assisted living homes and empty nests. And now, most states have ordered or strongly advised them to self-quarantine regardless of the advice given to younger citizens.

Singles are not the only lonely people, but I have a heart nonetheless for my unmarried brethren. Its not just that the common and usually fair encouragement of “it could happen any day now!” has hit a rare suspension for you. Some of you know what it’s like to spend a weekend alone with a cold. Or spend your days with no family in your immediate area. Or attend a church that doesn’t pay much attention to you. Depending on your personality and circumstances, singleness can be a socially isolating experience.

Or perhaps you’re the type who’s been feeling alone in a room long before pestilences usher everyone else out.

And, most of all, there are those who have actually gotten sick. Or those for whom “watching Netflix for a couple straight weeks” also happens to mean losing a job.

These are the people we can love and serve and pray for.

Right now, quarantine doesn’t seem too bad. This is partially because it’s still novel (any “shelter in place” orders are only days old), partially because everyone else is ignoring them, and partially because many states haven’t gotten there yet.

That will all most likely change. If other states inch closer to stricter measures and quarantine becomes more strongly enforced, Satan will not miss opportunities to oppress people in their homes. I say this sincerely not to scare, but to prepare. The church should be ready to care for people’s emotional health as well as their physical and material health.

I have a few thoughts that I hope will lift you today. They’re honestly kind of random, but I offer anyway.

1. No hole is too deep for God.

As you can tell from the article, I don’t believe in airbrushing or diminishing hardships. If a hole is there, let us admit it. God seems to.

But even as God grants the greater depth of a hole, he shows his reach is still greater. Through any storm, he is able to reach us, calm our turbulent seas, and set our feet on dry ground (or water!).

It will require vigor and intentionality to secure that piece. Don’t cop to self-pity. Believe it and receive it.

2. No permanent solutions to temporary problems.

Sadly, suicide and self-harm hotlines are recession-proof institutions. I pray desperately that those who face these demons will not succumb amidst their isolation. Use the phone and internet lines. Stay connected. Heck, send me an email. I’d rather answer them than see you hurt.

3. Better days are coming.

I’m not talking about the passing of this darkness, when we all emerge from our holes, rediscover each other, and get it on like Endgame. I’m speaking of the next life.

I personally believe that God has configured heaven to cure and renounce every defining hardship. For illness, we get new bodies; for poverty, we shall never want again; for injustice, God will right all wrongs.

It’ll happen for loneliness, too. We shall enjoy perfect communion with God and with each other, never to feel isolated again. We will be known.

For some, the isolation might prove a restful and much-needed pause, a chance to get back on the spiritual disciplines wagon and move closer to God and family. For others, it might be the thing they’ve most dreaded. The two groups should not judge each other. Let’s all just love instead. God has given us incredible tools at our fingertips; let’s be intentional, gracious, and available during this time, and let us hope. We have no shortage of it in Christ.

* Despite the hardships quarantine may cause, this blog does not endorse modifying or disregarding federal, state, or local guidelines regarding public health and safety. We should put others before ourselves, show the Christian witness, and “submit to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except from God, and those that exist are instituted by God” (Romans 13:1). Do this, and God will see to our affairs.

The Value of Knowing Your Value

Can’t be said enough. The one who doesn’t know their value in Christ is dangerously vulnerable.

Brandon J. Adams

I ran across the following meme the other day (who says the Internet is useless?):

It is an incredible quote, for it brings many of our lives into sharp relief. It went straight onto the Facebook page for my blog, for it was propulsive and illuminating, at least for me. All of a sudden, through this idea, many of the regrettable actions we take (or see taken around us) gain an interpretation they never had before.

Most of what we interpret as immaturity are unhealthy attempts to prove our value.

The office worker who stirs up drama is trying to prove his value by bringing others down.

The family member who deflects or passes the buck when called out on a mistake does not realize that she can be valuable and wrong at the same time.

The one who turns every conversation towards themselves is too busy securing their…

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What’s Your Ask-to-Thank Ratio?

I’ve gotten two terrific answers to prayer in recent months. One within my family, one within my church that has been shared by many (which I’ve cryptically alluded to).

The number of individual entreaties I made of God in these two matters are well into the hundreds for both. When the answer came back from the throne, I committed myself to thanking him. I didn’t want it to be another “thanks God, see you next crisis” on my already considerable list.

But it occurred to me…how much thanks is enough?

What if God got one thanks afterward for each request beforehand?

For a fleeting moment, I thought that was a great idea. Until I remembered that this is probably exactly what God’s been getting at in the Bible this entire time.

Don’t worry about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. (Philippians 4:6)

Nobody is without grounds for thanksgiving. Every one of us can look backwards to something we once spent hours on our knees for, something which once gripped our hearts with a fierce desperation, something which we’d give anything to see God grant us.

Maybe that’s one reason we’re constantly commissioned to give thanks: we’re being urged towards a respectably low ask-to-thank ratio. Doesn’t every pleading, every session, every “amen” deserve its own thank-you? It seems to fit the rich, vigorous, austere tone that the true faith always holds.

I won’t let that desperation evaporate into complacency, as the enemy would desire. Tonight, I will go to bed and give thanks for these two things and others, not because I must to earn his grace (though that grace will also get its thanks), but because I wish it. Because God deserves it.

It’s the least I can do. Because there was once nothing I could do, and God did it instead.

 

I’m glad you tuned in today. If you found this post to be of value, please feel free to share it on social media. Thanks a bunch!