Smoothing choppy places

“We have here only five loaves of bread and two fish,” they answered. ~Matthew 14:17

Do you remember this story, maybe from Sunday School? The disciples were freaking out, because Jesus told them to feed 5,000 people with nothing but a couple fish and a few measly loaves of bread.

I freak out, too, when I feel life calls me to be and do way more than I’m capable of:

• School’s starting soon. How will I ever get myself and my kids organized in time?
• I don’t tithe enough. But the bills are overwhelming. Will I ever obey God fully in this area of my life?
• I thought I was done with healing from abuse. Will that certain sore spot ever go away?
• I yelled too much at my child last week. Why can’t I parent with ease and grace like so-and-so?
• My house is so much smaller than theirs. Will we ever get ahead? And what’s wrong with me, that I can’t keep from comparing myself to others?

My basket of smelly fish and stale bread is so insufficient . . . leaves me starving for more . . . makes me feel like a fish-out-of-water in a dry, barren world. (Sorta like this bluegill my kids caught last night.)

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Cor 12:9)

But Lord, I reply, nothing feels sufficient. I fight every day to catch my breath in the midst of madness. My spiritual gills can’t siphon what they need from everything swirling around me.

“Those who cling to worthless idols forfeit the grace that could be theirs.” Jonah 2:8

But Lord, what am I clinging to? (Isn’t it obvious?!?) Help me not to cling to anything but You.

“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.” (2 Cor. 4:15-16)

Renew me, Lord. Breath life into the stale parts of my soul. Help me put behind the things of this world that ensnare and choke me with worry and fatigue, so that I may give You what little I have to take and divide and bring You glory.

How great is God—beyond our understanding!
       The number of his years is past finding out.

He draws up the drops of water,
       which distill as rain to the streams;

the clouds pour down their moisture
       and abundant showers fall on mankind. (Job 36:26-28)

Lord, please send Your showers of grace to fall upon those feeling inadequate, incapable, and woozy from life today.

Replace our myopic view of our pitiful ponds with a heart which extends way past ourselves for You and Your Kingdom.

Make the ripples of Your Holy Spirit flow through the pain and smooth the choppy places into peace as still as glass.

“And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.” (2 Cor. 9:8)

This post was also submitted to Tuesdays Unwrapped and the One Word at a Time blog carnival on “ego” this week.

First Dip

Is there anything better about summer than the first dip into the pool?

The electric chill creeping up through your toes, up your legs, daring you to go deeper, farther.

David Crowder Band sings about taking the plunge, metaphorically.

“If His grace is an ocean we’re all sinkin’,” they sing.

Going deeper into God’s grace is a challenge.

Indeed, sticking a toe in can be the last thing I want to do, especially if there’s a chilly breeze of fear or distrust in the air.

Though I wonder, perhaps He made the waters for this very reason: Enigmatic, ungrasp-able, fathom-upon-fathoms of water.

So we’d trust Him to take us through them.

Again.

And again.

And again.

I loved the thrill of the first day at the pool with my kiddos this weekend.

But in the back of my mind, I wondered: how far will I allow God to take me?

How deep will my trust for Him run?

In the night and in the day.

In the chill and in the warmth.

In the possible and the impossible.

How far?

Psalm 78:9-16

He split the Sea and they walked right through it;
      he piled the waters to the right and the left.
   He led them by day with a cloud,
      led them all the night long with a fiery torch.
   He split rocks in the wilderness,
      gave them all they could drink from underground springs;
   He made creeks flow out from sheer rock,
      and water pour out like a river.

Joy: lilacs in the rain

I admit it.

I don’t “get” joy.

At least not the sort of joy that’s been preached and re-preached over the last several decades.

 

You know–joy comes in the morning and joy isn’t the same thing as happiness because joy comes from God and you can have joy 24/7/365 if you’re really following Him.

 

I’ve walked around this round ball of dirt for close to 40 years now. I’ve seen friends lose children. Spouses lose spouses. Predators ravage the lives of the innocent.

 

Many are the times I’ve seen folks, knees bent to the earth, heart spilling over the waterfall of ever-falling pain.

 

Joy, in those moments, is elusive.

Impossible.

I did a little research–my own, ignorant, probably inaccurate research–into the background of instances when joy is mentioned in the Bible. Indeed, the Bible mentions joy 50-60 times. 

 

But I couldn’t find any verses where God or Jesus or Paul or David talk about joy being a necessary constant in the life of a believer. (Some one with a degree in theology feel free to correct me here.) Rather, Jesus lists it along with the fruit of the spirit.  

 

Interesting, joy and all those other lofty characteristics.

Jesus compares them to fruit.

Fruit is seasonal. Fruit ripens. Fruit can miss a season if it frosts at just the right time in the growth process. Fruit flowers then buds then grows and ripens. And it only does this once or twice a year.

 

Maybe that was Jesus’ point. Maybe He knew how delicious the fruit of joy is, but maybe He also knew how difficult and fleeting it could be for us sorry bunch of humans.

 

And take David. Sure, he sang plenty of psalms about joy. But he sang plenty of others about pain. Ok, so sometimes David talks himself into joy in the last couple stanzas. But sometimes, he just laments. Sometimes he just rants about how much life hurts. 

Because sometimes, it does.

In John 16:20-22 (Amplified version), Jesus says this about joy:

 

I assure you, most solemnly I tell you, that you shall weep and grieve, but the world will rejoice. You will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will be turned into joy. A woman, when she gives birth to a child, has grief (anguish, agony) because her time has come. But when she has delivered the child, she no longer remembers her pain (trouble, anguish) because she is so glad that a man (a child, a human being) has been born into the world. 

  

So for the present you are also in sorrow (in distress and depressed); but I will see you again and [then] your hearts will rejoice, and no one can take from you your joy (gladness, delight).

 

In Strong’s Greek definition, joy is more like something we receive, like a sunrise, implying we can’t make it happen.

 

Moreover, the root word, chairo, means to thrive and be well.

 

Plants can thrive and grow without showing fruit for a long while. 

Perhaps you can relate.

This morning, after two days of long, hard, rain, my lilacs are blooming.

They’re in season.

Their sweet fragrance floats in the kitchen. 

 

Reminds me of  that old song: Joy and pain. Sunshine and rain.

 

Today, and often times, joy is a peony waiting to burst and lilacs in the rain.

 

And I don’t think Jesus minds that. 

I don’t think He minds that at all.

 As long as I grab the joy and hold it for a while, sinking my face into the sweet fragrance of its blossoms, letting the juice of it run out the corners of my mouth and laughing all the while, the next time He sends some my way.

rain

cool relentless

driving  pounding cleansing

river stream ocean heaven

running waiting hoping

fleeting lasting

joy