rock vs. puppet

Saturday evening


In my living room, Elmo squeaks a cheerful little ditty.
Eldon sucks on his fingers, clutches his blankie, and giggles.
In my basement, little girls play dress up and and exchange silly bands.

Outside my window, a crowd gathers by the side of a grave.

When sweet babies are afraid, shall I not assure them that all is well?  I buckle seat belts and dice hotdogs, yet I persistently shower my children with phony, smiley optimism, wanting so badly to convince them, to convince myself, that this world is fundamentally safe.

But today, that seems so...  futile.  My voice squeaks like Elmo's, and the fluffy red puppet does not comfort.

Smile!  Elmo loves you!

Hear my cry, O God;
   listen to my prayer.

From the ends of the earth I call to you,
   I call as my heart grows faint;
   lead me to the rock that is higher than I. 

Psalm 61:1-2

on community

"Oh don't worry about me, my grief is nothing compared to what the family is going through."
I have heard this all week from people with red eyes, and I have said it myself, but is it true?


Of course those who lost a son, brother, friend carry the heaviest grief.
Yet we are community, we are one body, and when one of our members is hurting we all hurt.  Today, more than just one hurts.  One is gone, and many hurt.  So, we all hurt.


He wasn't our son or brother, but it feels like he was.
The parents are not our parents, but we hurt for them as if they were.
The sister is not our sister, but we pray for her as a sister.


How can we not feel this way, we who are learning to love each other as Jesus has loved us?
And I wonder, would we have signed up for this had we known it was going to be so painful?


Perhaps not.  But His grace signed us up, and His grace will sustain us even as we learn the hard side of love.

Lord, strengthen us in the grief we all share.  Loving as you love is sometimes painful... of course You know this, as you loved us unto death.  Comfort this community, and hold each one who grieves in your loving hand.  Sustain us in Jesus, that by Your grace we may be preserved until that day you call us home to You.  In Jesus name, Amen.



 ...in Christ we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. 
Romans 12:4-5

on faith and sight

We do not serve a God who wants us to pretend we are blind.

Our God does not require the ridiculous of us: He does not ask that we suffer and pretend that we are not suffering.  He does not require us to look at evil and call it good.  He does not pour suffering out on us, and then wait to see if we can still conjure up "faith" from somewhere inside our own wounded hearts, "faith" that somehow shows Him how sincere we really are, how much we really love Him.

We believe God is good.  When the worst happens, we question and wrestle and accuse God of failing us.  That is what faith does. 

 Like  David, like  Israel, like afflicted children of God,  like Jesus Himself, we cry out.

Faith questions.  Faith suffers. Faith looks to Him for answers. Faith wrestles, argues, shouts.  Faith is deeply grieved when He seems silent. 

Sometimes the prayer of faith is simply, Oh God, Why?

But He is faithful, and He knows how weak we are.  If our faith is to be sustained, it is He who will sustain it.

As we question, let us remember to look where He told us to look. 
His Word.   His Son.
Here, our pain is acknowledged, and yet our hope is not destroyed. 
Truth is still Truth.

Jesus on the cross, proof that He loves us. 
It does not answer everything, but it answers enough.

on the weather and suchlike

Yesterday morning Aggie came in from feeding the dog, complaining loudly to me, "Mom! It's cold out there!"  She really seemed disgusted about this, and quickly explained why.

"I told God to take the rain away, but I forgot to tell Him for it not to be windy!"
Exasperated sigh.

I guess I can see her point... does God really need her to spell out every tiny detail?! C'mon, get with it God!

Aggie is pretty sure she would do a better job than God if she could take over full control of the weather.

I sometimes feel that way about matters of life and death.

Probably, we are both wrong.



And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28

of mothers and sons

The officer came to our door early sunday morning.
Oh no, not my son, fearing that vacation had ended in tragedy
The name given. Relief.  Not my son.  
But someone's son.  Guilt, compassion, sadness

Yesterday, kids in bed, parents enjoying the last quiet of the night,
but things went from awful to worse in that hospital room
and Pastor was called back.

Alone in quiet,
I rocked my youngest son,
thinking about the mother who once rocked hers,
who watched him bloom,
whose ears heard the name of her son from the officer.

I laid the baby down, and sat in the chair staring through tears,
thinking of dark hospital rooms.  Afraid, sad.
Another son walked down the hall.  He complained of dragons.  Afraid, sad.

Afraid and sad we went to bed,
his little head not quite filling daddy's place on the pillow
his little voice asking why daddy went in the night to "be with the sad family."

He curled up close, beating heart, breathing life.
not knowing why tonight mommy hugged him so tight,
held his hand, welcomed him close.

Oh Lord, how much longer must we stay here,
in this world of fragile mothers and sons?

blessed spring

Remember about a month ago, when all the trees looked dead?
No hint of a leaf, nothing but bare, skeletal limbs, dry twigs reaching up to a silent, bleak sky.

Now, they bud and bloom.  The earth awakens, the time for growth has come again.  The whole earth is fragrant and glorious once again.


I look out the widow at the quiet cemetary, and I think on these things.

There is a time when all looks to be lost. There is life silenced, a sleep that no human can disturb.  There is a time for cold, quiet, and waiting.

But that time is a season, a mere season.
Soon our Lord will speak, and that season will end. 

And you shall know that I am the LORD, when I open your graves, and raise you from your graves, O my people.
Ezekiel 37:13

We cannot rouse the trees, nor can we rouse ourselves or our loved ones from the sleep of death.  But like the trees, we can receive life when God pours out on us.  We receive it today, we who are living, and even after our mouths are silenced for a time, He will cause us to receive it again.