A Gift Given

My 18 year old son walked into his first day of college classes this morning. And I’m truly excited for him. Like any mother, truly proud of his accomplishment and expectant for what lies ahead.

All day, however, I couldn’t help but feel the deep mix of emotions knowing that while my boy walked into a college classroom, there are other boys—not much older than him—being brought home today in coffins.

The disparity of these two things is not lost on me.

We’ve talked a lot this year about our rights and the things we deserve as Americans—Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Unalienable rights which our Declaration of Independence set forth over 200 years ago. Truly, a most worthy ideal for all of us, but in no way a “given.” Perhaps, instead, we must see it for what it actually is — a gift.

A gift only made possible by the men and women willing to serve our country with full knowledge they may be required to lay down their very lives. Required to look at what each day brings—not for what they deserve from it, but as their duty to serve in it.

Like the 13 who did just that this past week.

I wonder, as Americans, if we wouldn’t be better off looking at our freedoms through the eyes of those who serve, instead of pounding our fists and demanding what we think we deserve.

My kids learned early on to never use that word with me. They knew the mother-wrath they’d encounter should they ever choose the sore path of that misguided argument. Even this very week as our son headed off to college, we underscored with him not the entitlement of higher education, but the opportunity of this year ahead.

“It’s not a given, son, it’s a gift. A Gift.”

Treat it as such. Work hard. Hold it carefully. Handle it as treasure. Value it as an investment. But don’t dare ever look me in the eye and say, “I deserve it.” No sir.

Our chance to chase dreams, our path to pursue goals, our freedom to live freely … No, not ever a “given,” fellow Americans, but a generous GIFT GIVEN by the brave ones willing to pay with their lives.

For us.

#GodBlessAmerica

Just Me and Us, Mom

He was my little guy. My sidekick. The youngest of our tribe who rode in the backseat of my car for what seemed almost forever. He was always with me; always along for the ride; always on board for the day’s adventure; always … right there.

And today he leaves for college.

And though I’m really okay with this, I’m really not okay.

When he was small and his older siblings wildly piled out of the car on their way to school or practice or playdates, he remained behind. He remained with me. 

He was the child I remember hoisting into shopping carts and buckling into strollers as we tried our best to keep up with his older siblings and their busier schedules. He wasn’t a kid quick to get away. He seemed pretty content with this arrangement. After the great exodus from my vehicle each day he would say to me from his perch in the backseat, “it’s just me and us, mom. just me and us.” 

And for a long time, it was. 

But today he leaves for college.

It might seem a blink from that little boy in my backseat to the young man driving confidently around in his own truck today, but “a blink” isn’t exactly my choice of word for what these past 18 years have looked like.

Every mother knows the road her child takes. She knows the mile markers of struggle and growth. She knows the highway of hurts and hurdles. She knows the path of disappointments and accomplishments. She knows the winding way of “what ifs” and “what nows.” She knows it’s not a blink, but a day-by-day-by-day journey. Sometimes joy-filled, and sometimes just barely hanging on. 

On some of those days we wonder if this child will ever be ready. Days when we worry. Days when we ask why this? Days when we can only wrap ourselves in the knowledge that we are not the ones really in control.

There’s this internal fight we feel as mothers: This certainty that God has them, but this desire that we still want to be the ones who call the shots and control the outcomes. From kindergarten to college, we wrestle wanting to smooth the road ahead, but knowing it’s the very bumps which help to build them strong. We struggle with letting them fall and falter and forget their lunches. We struggle with having to watch them sometimes fail. When we sense potential pain, we are wired to swoop in and fix it like we know we can. 

And if you’re like me, there are times when you have taken the hard stance: “He will just have to figure it out on his own.” And times when you’ve picked him up off the floor and made everything okay again. Because as a mom you are required to do both. And it’s not because we are always consistent, but because we are fiercely compassionate when it comes to our kids. 

They are learning. We are learning. Together.

It’s going to be brutal saying goodbye to this kid who used to announce “it’s just me and us, mom” from my backseat. Even though he’s grown up and gone off a million times on his own in these past years, he’s still a kid who has been content to be part of whatever is happening here at home. He’s truly been my “go-to-guy” for too many years to count. 

He solves problems, he runs errands, he drives his sister, he picks up groceries and dinner and random last minute requests. He gets yard materials and milk and mails packages and makes his own appointments. He’s been doing his own laundry since middle school and knows his way around the kitchen better than the average adult. He is possibly my most ready and independent kid heading off to college, but he is also the one who has seemed to be here the longest. The kid who was always right here when the others left.

But today he leaves for college. 

It will be hard to let him go. Like with each of our kids, there’s a piece missing when they leave. My prayer is for peace in that missing piece. I know it’s God’s plan. I know it’s a good plan. I know, in fact, God has a great plan for his life which includes so much more than driving around in the backseat of his mama’s suv. 

Still … letting go is hard. It's a holy process which continues to refine the one who leaves and, maybe even more, the one who releases.

Recently a friend asked if it is easier saying goodbye to the 4th child. My answer is no, not easier, but you do gain the gift of perspective. I know the leaving is a timely end to a certain sweet season, but I also know there is a new kind of loveliness in what lies ahead. I’ve watched his older siblings come home softer in heart and stronger in purpose than when they left. And, for their mother, that is a most beautiful thing to see. We give them everything we can in their growing up years, but they must leave in order to grow up.

All summer I’ve watched mama birds set up nests in the ferns on our front porch. Just a few weeks ago I had the thrill of witnessing the fledglings, one by one, take flight. They tentatively left their tiny, safe, little nest and the next minute they were up on the branch of a majestic Maple nearby. I sat on the porch rocker and wept for the beauty and design of it all. They were never meant to stay in contained nests or backseats of cars, they are meant to fly. To soar. To see. To experience the beauty of this big, wonderful, wide-open world. 

Like my son. 

Who, today, will leave for college. 

"There are two things we should give our children: One is roots and the other is wings." ~ unknown

Walking Each Other Home

Recently I had to go back to a group of my dearest friends and ask their forgiveness. We had been out to dinner and, I guess, unfortunately, my filter had been out to lunch. You know the filter—The one which measures the words and curbs the tongue; that filter which keeps us from doing, thinking or (a-hem) saying things we shouldn't. Yep, that one. 

For believers, that's the Holy Spirit. And though the Holy Spirit isn’t really ever out to lunch, sometimes that thing in us which hears him and obeys certainly is. Sadly, I wasn't listening to his prompting that night at dinner. My tongue wagged without restraint and I used it to discredit another person not sitting around the table. I shared too much. Bottom line: I gossiped. And I was wrong. Doesn’t even matter if what I said was true, saying it was wrong. I was wrong. 

I’ll admit this tongue and all these wild words inside of me, well, they get me in trouble sometimes. Bella’s been listening to the musical, Hamilton, on repeat this summer—she’s trying to memorize all the lyrics/raps (bless her). There’s this line in one of the songs between Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton which I keep running into: “talk less, smile more.” Gosh, what a zinger! Every time it comes on, I am convicted. Yes, Jody, yes! “talk less, smile more.” 

Why is this so hard for me? Ugh. 

But hard it is. For a lot of us. So hard that James devotes an entire chapter to “taming the tongue.” Actually all five chapters of James touch on the topic. Interestingly enough, Bella is also spending this summer reading the book of James as part of her summer assignment for school. So there you go: I just can’t escape this topic, can I? Similarly to Hamilton, James instructs us right away in the very first chapter to “be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.” Later in the book James writes, “no man can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison.” (James 3:8). "Deadly poison" - yikes! 

But here’s the deal. Though I could go on and on about the tongue and it’s temptations (because, as we have already established, I am quite familiar with this particular struggle) the point of my writing today isn’t really about my repentance, it’s more about the response of my friends. Every one of them was quick to offer forgiveness. No one hesitated. It was beautiful and a true example of genuine grace. They all had kind, encouraging words, but my wise friend, Cathy, said something which pressed most deeply into me. “Ooh Jody, I love your heart. 'We are all just walking each other home.'” 

“Walking each other home.” Now I know that phrase is attributed to Ram Dass and he and I probably don’t agree on a whole lot spiritually, but I think we do agree on the fact of an “after life” and that we are moving toward it together in community. And regardless of our differences of theological belief, I really do love those words. 

Mostly, I love how Cathy used them in the context of Christian friendship. I love her heart behind them. I love the grace, understanding and empathy in them —None of us are doing it perfectly. None of us have got it all figured out. None of us always come up smelling like roses. None of us can go out to dinner with friends and not make a choice which might later call for some confession. What Cathy was saying was—“girl, we are in this together!” We are helping each other along. We are holding each other’s hands. We are steadfast when a sister stumbles. We are faithful when a friend falters. We are dependable when a daughter of the King takes an ugly nose dive. We are here. We are present. We are along for the ride. We are all doing the best we can walking home together — home to heaven. 

It’s not easy. We need each other. We need accountability. We need opportunity to ask forgiveness. We need community, and, what's more, we have a responsibility to extend grace. 

If we call ourselves true followers of Jesus, then THIS is how we must treat each other. When God’s word instructs us to “confess our sins to one another,” (James 5:16) it also instructs us how to respond — 

1. “Be merciful…” Luke 6:36 

2. “Bear one another’s burdens.” Galatians 6:2 

3. “Encourage one another and build one another up.” 1Thessalonians 5:11 

4. “Stir up one another to love and good works.” Hebrews 10:24 

5. “Have … sympathy, brotherly love, a tender heart…” 1 Peter 3:8 

6. “Live in harmony with one another.” Romans 12:16 

7. “Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another.” Ephesians 4:32 

8. “Show hospitality to one another.” 1 Peter 4:9 

9. “Beloved, let us love one another.” 1 John 4:7 

10. “Keep loving one another earnestly.”1 Peter 4:8 

Nope, not always easy. I agree. But these words aren’t given as a list of God’s top 10 popular suggestions. They are required behavior for us as believers. Truth is, they make our life here on earth better when we work in tandem as empathetic sisters and brothers. God makes it clear in His word: We are in this together. And it can be beautiful -- like the grace my girlfriends showed me. We need to confess to one another, but we also need to come alongside one another.

Because, dear ones, we all [hopefully] are “just walking each other home.”

"My home is in heaven. I'm just traveling through this world." ~ Billy Graham

 

Understanding My Mother-In-Law

My mother-in-law, Marilyn, would have been 76 today. She lives now in heaven and my guess is she’s probably celebrating her birthday with a stroll along some kind of glorious ocean shoreline. Sunrise or sunset, didn’t matter, that was her happiest place here on earth—the beach. We shared that love. Actually, we shared quite a few big loves: the ocean, laughter, mission trips, dessert, Jesus, good books … and her son, my husband. 

I don’t know why that strikes me as most poignant today on her birthday, but it does. Out walking the dog this morning and a song randomly hit my playlist which always reminds me of her. It is called “Love Remains.” (lyrics/link below). I'm pretty sure the dog might have wondered what was wrong with the weepy-eyed lady walking him. Maybe a few neighbors wondered as well. But just go ahead and listen and then try tell me it doesn’t stir up something strong in you too. 

Melancholy songs aside, in the strangest of ways, it has been in this past year I feel like I have grown to better understand my mother-in-law ... to better know her. That might sound odd as she has been gone for over 6 years. I haven’t talked to her in quite some time. Sure wish I could. We had a wonderful relationship when she was alive, but in this past year, I have felt even closer to her heart. 

Her heart as a mother of a son. 

I am certain it has something to do with my own sons’ growing up. Our youngest boy is 18 and about to head to college—the same age and place when I first met Marilyn’s son, Rick. We found each other in our first month of freshman year and were immediately smitten. It’s pretty safe to say, like with most college-coeds, I never once saw that through her eyes. Sometimes we can’t see. It takes time and life to show us how to see things from the perspective of another. 

I know she was happy to have her son find the girl he would someday marry — but there’s a bittersweetness to watching our children grow up and go away with someone else. We can't help but feel a little bit left in the dust. Even when we fully approve and sincerely rejoice. It's a thing. In addition to my youngest son heading to college, I have perhaps, even more so, been impacted by our oldest son marrying this past year and giving me my very own daughter-in-law, beautiful Brooke. It was an amazing day and I couldn't be happier for him, but ask any mother about her boy getting married -- it's a big thing.

Somehow, it has been my own processing of these two milestones this year with my sons which has drawn me closer to Marilyn. I loved her from the very start, but I didn’t always fully understand her role. I didn't understand her need to stay so connected. I didn’t always understand her desire to ask questions and care deeply for my answers. Back then, I wasn’t a mother and I certainly wasn’t anywhere close to becoming a mother-in-law, I was just a girl who loved her son. And I guess in my young mind, when Rick and I married, it was really just about us. Embarrassingly enough, I wasn't so good at thinking about how our union impacted the others around us; how it felt to those who loved us most; how it felt to Rick's mom. 

Our wedding day - 1990. The day her son was married.
The day Marilyn became my mother-in-law.

As a mother, Marilyn was never overbearing, she was just appropriately and authentically interested. And though I really liked that, I probably didn’t always "get" all the emotional juggling behind it. I do now. With my recent experience of watching several kids go off to college and two go off and get married, I have a clearer glimpse into the art of letting go. 

It’s a fine line with our adult children —

This desire to speak into their lives, but not too loudly or for too long. 

This desire to be involved, but not be too instrumental.

This desire to coach, but not to coddle. 

This desire to help, but not to helicopter.

This desire to encourage, but not to enable. 

This desire to demonstrate our love, but to not demand theirs. 

It’s a little tricky, right?

And all of the mother-in-laws in the world give a collective and adamant “A-men!” 

Gosh, how we want to love our adult children well. But a big part of loving them well is fully releasing them to the lives God has waiting for them. Lives which we hope include us, but lives which are no longer very dependent on us. 

And this is how it should be. "Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh." Genesis 2:24

And sometimes, like in this year of watching my own grown boys enter college and marriage, I am reminded. Reminded of what an amazing mother-in-law God gave me almost 31 years ago. Marilyn McNatt modeled for me what it looks like to love our adult children even from a little distance. She modeled what faith looks like when our fingers can no longer be wrapped around their little hands. She modeled well how to stay within reach, but with respect for their independence. Mostly, she modeled what it looks like to say less, but to pray more.

She was truly a gift in my life ... and even continues to be one as I enter into this next season. It's pretty awesome to have a wonderful mother (and I do have one), but to also get a wonderful mother-in-law, is an extra special blessing. It's the beauty of two mothers -- and it's a gift I never want to take for granted. 

Today, on Marilyn's 76th birthday, I honor her. I loved having a mother-in-law and I now get to love being a mother-in-law. It's all truly connected and love truly does remain. 

Love Remains - by Hillary Scott

We are born, one fine day

Children of God, on our way

Momma smiles, and Daddy cries

Miracle, before their eyes

They protect us, till we're of age

And through it all, Love remains

Boy moves on, he takes a bride

She stands faithful, by his side

Tears and sweat, they build a home

And raise a family of their own

They share joy, and they share pain

And through it all, Love remain

Kingdoms come and go, but they don't last

Before we know, the future is the past

In spite of what's been lost or what's been gained

We are living proof that love remains

I don't know, baby what I'd do

On this Earth, without you

We all live, and we all die

But the end is not good-bye

The sun comes up, and seasons change

And through it all, Love remains

An eternal burning flame, 

Hope lives on, 

And Love Remains.

Love Remains - spotify

take up your cross

“If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.” ~ Luke 9:23

It’s possibly one of the most contrary and least popular verses in the whole Bible. It's definitely a hard one. 

I mean, deny myself—Really? Take up my cross—Daily? Follow someone other than myself--Seriously?

Doesn’t everything in us just want to push back on those words and that request--excuse me--that command! Of course it does. That’s because we have this tricky thing woven right into our wiring. It’s called human nature. And, gosh, is it a pain. And even more so, it is the source of pain. Our pain.

Especially when the world loves, instead, to tell us, “to follow our hearts.” To “listen to our feelings.” To "do what feels good.” To “put ourselves first.” To “protect ourselves at all cost.” 

Who can possibly argue with the lovely allure of those sound-so-good suggestions? 

They might be easy on the ears, but, dear ones, they are lies of the lips. Dangerous because they really don’t sound all that bad. Like a flashy ring or a first love or a breath-stealing sunset, they come delightful. They come dressed in beauty. Attractive and captivating. Hard to resist and sounding so right, so wise, so wonderful. 

They sound so much like exactly what we want to hear. 

And we turn the phrases over in our minds and hold the words wishfully in our hearts. And temptation flies in our faces and taunts us something fierce.

We want these words. We want what they have to offer. Because, the truth is, we want to do what we want. 

We want to seat ourselves on the throne of our own life. Put ourselves high up on the self-made pedestal of our human desire. The world paints that picture as enlightenment and freedom. But, in actuality, it is a dark path of  bondage and emptiness. And there’s not one person walking this planet who hasn’t encountered that struggle and felt the grip of those lies all over his life.

All the way back to the beginning of time in the first garden to grow on this freshly created earth, the evil one sat ready and waiting to whisper his wanton words into the wide open ear of Eve. He played perfectly on this very thing which he knew would be her (and, ultimately our) absolute undoing. 

Asking her ...

 “Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree’? Are you sure you heard it correctly? Are you sure it was translated perfectly?

Are you sure its meaning wasn’t misread? 

Misled? 

Missed all together?

Come on girl, you know you want it---The Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. And you will be good. In fact, “You will be like God.” You will put yourself up on the throne of your life and “you will know good and evil.”  Think of it! Take a bite of the apple and take control of your destiny. Take! Just a bite. Bite!

The devil urged just an innocent little nibble which he knew would bring the bitter bite of destroying sin for Eve, for us, forever. He knew what he was doing—What he was undoing. 

He knew it all along: This serpent, slippery and slick. This snake, cunning and crafty. Why has our world been so greatly deceived? Because the great deceiver knows exactly what he’s doing. Knows exactly how to get us to take a tiny bite and make us long wildly for so much more.

And the more we bite, the emptier we are. 

He knew back then and still knows today that at the root of our undoing is our unbelieving---our unbelief. So he does everything within his power to create questions in us about God. 

Asking us ...

Did he really say you couldn’t? Is he really all-powerful? Is he really all-loving? All-forgiving? All good? All you need? Are you sure? Does he really love you? Can he love you? 

And with the help of this depraved worldly kingdom he ignites these questions in the kindling of our hurting hearts. And these questions lead to grow the chasm of our unbelief. 

Even when we have all the right answers, our minds and hearts are still prone to wander, still prone to question whether God could possibly love us with our long list of lost ways.  

And so people run. Because it, sometimes, becomes easier to widen the chasm then it is to wrestle with all of our unwieldy what-ifs and our wonderings. Easier to increase the gap, than to investigate this God. If I can get myself far enough away from Truth, then maybe I can cover myself deep enough in the lies of ambiguity.

And we believe that lie because it’s easy. At least, easier. Until the cracks come. Because come they will. These cracks which will at some point begin to feel more like chaos than the promised calm of the crafty one. These cracks which will begin to seem more like questions than the peace and quiet of his wily words.

This, dear ones, is the spiritual battle which wages war in all of us, whether we recognize it or not.  And we find ourselves back at that uncomfortable verse in Luke 9. “Deny yourself. Take up your cross. Daily. Follow.”  Faced with a decision: To Surrender, sacrifice and submit. Or ...  to add another layer of the world’s lovely lies and life-stealing darkness. 

Deny. Take up. Follow.  None of it easy, but all of it good. None of what the world is selling, but all of it true and life-giving. 

That cross is problematic for us though, isn't it? Rough and heavy. Burdensome and bulky. But when we decided to follow Jesus we received the promise of not only eternal life, but also of a crucified life. At least here on earth. A life that means taking up the cross. Dying to self. Daily. Hourly. Always. Not perfectly, because, oh friend, that is far from possible, but daily committing ourselves and renewing ourselves in His Word and His Will for our life.

I want to impress upon you that I don’t think this is easy. For our human hearts which tend to desire the path of least resistance, this feels unnatural and even sometimes downright impossible. Why can’t we just float along leading comfy, compartmentalized lives doing a little bit of what we want and little bit of what He says and call it a day.

It’s hard. For all of us. For you, if you’re honest. For me, when I'm honest. So hard. 

But hard doesn’t mean wrong. Just as easy doesn’t mean right. 

Take up your cross. 

“In this world you will have trouble.” Not might have. Not possibly have. You WILL have trouble. But even in that trouble, Jesus promises good news: “But take heart! I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

Take up your cross.

I know. It feels kind of opposite of what the world urges. But He tells us clearly that that’s how it will appear to this world. Like foolishness. Like folly. Like freakish behavior. “For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.” 1 Corinthians 1:18

Take up your cross. 

I know. It is heavy. Somedays, too heavy. But he isn't asking us to carry it alone. "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will rind rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." Matthew 11:28-30

Take up your cross.

I know. It doesn't feel good. It doesn't feel like what our hearts are telling us to do. But His word is clear--even our own hearts are not to be trusted. That seemingly sweet advice “to follow your heart,” man, it sounds so good. So spot on. But, guess what God's word says? “The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?” Jeremiah 17:9 The evil deceiver strategically uses the deceit of our hearts, because he is a swindler, a con man, and a thief. “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it ABUNDANTLY.” John 10:10

The devil uses the heart deceitfully leading to death. 

But, God redeems the heart eternally leading to life.

Abundant. Eternal. Crucified. Wonderful Life.

Take up your cross. 

Deny yourself. 

Daily. 

Follow.  

Him.

And live.

Canceled

Canceled. It’s a word being tossed around quite a bit these days. Our culture is quick to it. We are fast to embrace the belief that we might be able to remove or wipe away anything we deem wrong, inappropriate, untoward.

I kind of get it. As a mother, I have experienced all sorts of words, behaviors and attitudes over the years which I would have really liked to flat out cancel. “You’re going to talk that way to your sister? Well then, guess what? You’re canceled! Go to your room.” Bam! Problem fixed. Child removed. Door closed. Peace restored. 

Except that it doesn’t really work that way in real life. There’s more to address. There’s something deeper to the problem and there’s definitely more to this process than just shutting down behaviors, sending people away and slamming doors. 

There’s the heart. 

There’s the SIN in the heart. 

And there’s only One who can truly get to the root of it. Jesus. 

There are all sorts of very real and terrible issues in our world. All sorts of words, behaviors and attitudes which need to be removed, wiped away and eradicated. 

Not just in my world, but in my own heart.

But these things aren’t just culture problems, they are sin problems. And they cannot be curbed without the power and the blood of Jesus. I don’t care who you think you are or what moral authority you think you have — Jesus is the only One who can penetrate the heart, expose the sin and CANCEL it completely.

He died on the cross for this very reason: To Cancel Sin! Not the person, but the pain. The sin. The debt. The disease of our ugly human hearts. 

The answer isn't canceling people, it's coming alongside them. Like Jesus did. It's not pointing out the PROBLEM, it's pointing them to the ANSWER.

We can close the doors all the day long. We can shut people down and cross people off. We can point our fingers and shake our fists and stomp our feet and shout our accusations … but it will always end in futility, frustration and further fear. Because at the end of the day behind the closed door and the canceled person is STILL a broken heart which only Jesus can heal. 

“And you, who were dead in your trespasses. … God made alive together with him, having forgiven us all our trespasses, by CANCELING the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands. This he set aside, nailing it to the cross.” Colossians 2:13-14

Colossians 2 captures the truth  —

We are dead in our sins. 

God makes us alive in His forgiveness. 

He CANCELS our debt.

He (already has) NAILED it to the cross. 

Dear broken, messy, mixed up world ... THIS is Good News!

THIS, and only THIS, is what brings True Life, Real Healing, Restored Relationship, Right Living, Respect, Freedom, Grace, Hope …  and Love. 

Jesus. 

“There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death. For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do.”   Romans 8:1-3

Take Heart!

It was December 30th, 1944—just days from the New Year when Corrie ten Boom was released from Ravensbruck. Released from a Nazi concentration camp which stole from her her beloved sister, Betsie, and subjected her to horrors unparalleled. Corrie lived through perhaps the darkest time of humanity and walking out of this death camp she might have been quick to claim the New Year as her New Hope. She might have been sure 1945 would be better than 1944. But Corrie walked away—more likely, limped away — with her eyes fixed firmly on Jesus and the New Life only He can bring.

I know we are all feeling the weight of the world right now -- And it’s only the first week of January. This was my concern when I kept seeing the barrage of verbal hope being placed on the flip of our calendar year. Goodbye 2020, here’s to a New Year in 2021!

But, here we are: The start of a new year and yet so heartbroken and heavy for our nation. For our children. For our future. For ourselves. Whether it’s been the miserable covid or the continued mayhem of our country. Here we are.

Last week, on the eve of this New Year, my cousin buried her husband and my dad got news of his best friend’s passing. Heavy days for my family, but I’m sure we weren’t alone in these sad events. My guess is that even one week in and many of you have already been handed diagnoses, disappointments or, are right now, dealing with some kind of incredible burden.

Dear ones, we’ve got to stop looking to ourselves or our circumstances or our leaders … OR even to our new calendar year. They are not enough. They won’t be. They can’t be. These things will always fall short. Always.

Corrie’s sister, Betsie, died just two weeks before her freedom. In her final words in the final month of a horrific 1944, Betsie, eloquently encouraged her sister,

“we must tell them what we have learned here. We must tell them that there is no pit so deep that He is not deeper still. They will listen to us, Corrie, because we have been here.”

I know things are rough right now. I know we are all angry, outraged and, frankly, tired of the chaos and the constant issues.

But as Corrie said so beautifully, “You can never learn that Christ is all you need, until Christ is all you have.”

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But TAKE HEART! I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

[if you'd like to read more of Corrie's story, I encourage you to read her book, The Hiding Place. It is one of my all time favorites].

It Will All Be Okay

a church in Aurora, where I was staying this week

I just wanted to share a little story on this New Year’s Day. A story of something good. A story of something I hope encourages you. 

This past Tuesday I flew into Cleveland for a family funeral. Not a planned trip and definitely not the best of circumstances. After landing in Cleveland, I was standing in line at Hertz when, to my horror, I realized my wallet wasn’t in my purse or my bag or anywhere. I had a rental car waiting for me, but I had to get back on the shuttle and return to the terminal and to the Delta desk. Of course I was frantic. I couldn’t remember seeing my wallet since I had checked into the airport hours earlier in Atlanta. All of my identification, credit cards and money were gone—apparently somewhere between Atlanta and Cleveland. Here I was coming into town to “help out,” and I found myself, instead, totally helpless. And let me just admit, I don’t like to be helpless. Not one bit. I like to be the one helping. I like to be the one who swoops in and takes care … and takes over. But there I was stuck in the airport with no immediate options but to rely completely on others.

The driver of the shuttle saw me return and kindly asked if anything was wrong. I suppose my distress was pretty evident. I explained my predicament, saying I’d need to return to the terminal and find a Delta agent. He quickly reloaded my bag onto the bus and knowing I was probably near tears kept saying, “It’s okay miss, it’s going to be okay. These things have a way of working themselves out.” All the way back to the terminal he encouraged me with gentle words. As I jumped back off the shuttle, he shouted after me one more time, “I’m going to pray you find your wallet!” 

I didn't get his name. I sure wish I had, he was such a kind soul and I was so grateful for his words. In addition to the shuttle driver, I also need to give a sincere shout out to Delta Airlines. We have always loved this organization, but they were amazing as well. I guess it happens all the time, but it’s the first time it had happened to me. The people at the desk did everything in their power. They called the gate and checked the plane. One agent personally took off running to the departure gate and removed seat cushions as the plane was about to leave. He came back and told me how the new passengers were all helping search, some even holding their iPhone flashlights for him to see better. The Delta agents assisted me with the correct numbers to call and the websites to visit. In today’s fully automated world, this is not exactly an easy process to navigate. The Cleveland police were close by and they sent word to the other side of the airport to have someone check the restroom. On and on it went … all the while the Delta agents encouraged me “it would be okay.” 

Finally after an hour of communicating with Atlanta, my wallet was located. They assured me it was in a safe and secure location— albeit in a different city. Praise the Lord. The agents all celebrated with me. So sweet. Later that night, after checking into my hotel, another Delta agent called from Atlanta “just to check on me” and, one more time, assured me the wallet was secure. She repeated that same phrase, “don’t worry, we have it and it’s going to be okay.”

How many times in a long couple of hours had I been told those same words — it’s going to be okay.  Amazing. And sweet.  And much needed. Not only were these strangers wonderful, but I also have to acknowledge all the other people who came to my rescue—My sister Jess who had to make the unplanned hour drive to the airport to retrieve her big sister who, now without a license, was unable to rent a car. No fun for her as she was in town busily helping my parents ... as well as just having dropped off a meal for our extended family dealing with funeral arrangements and loss. What a can of worms I opened, right? What drama I had caused. But Jess gave me a ride and a credit card and my cousins gave me an extra car to use for the week and my kids helped me get Apple Pay and a credit card loaded on my phone and they sent me photos of my passport and when I got to the hotel, the people at the sweet little Aurora Inn were so kind — they even had a golden retriever behind the bar for me to pet!  While ordering food (and petting the dog) the gal taking my order heard a tiny bit of my story and responded with, you guessed it: “oh, I’m so sorry, but it’s going to be okay.” 

All that to say, I was well cared for—From Delta to my family to complete strangers. I ended up feeling greatly blessed in my need. I guess it’s true: Sometimes we have to become needy to receive certain blessings. 

All week long, I have been giving thanks for all the little things which had to come together to get me out of my pickle and allow me to love my family best I could. Today flying home my brother and niece dropped me off at the Cleveland airport not knowing exactly how that would work going through TSA with no identification except for my passport on my phone and my Delta app. Knowing the tricky situation, I had family members praying for me. And again, Delta was awesome. They gave me zero problem. Cleveland just opened up “Clear” and I was able to go right through security with just my eye print and fingerprint for identification, never needing the license. And it was, indeed, all okay.

I’m quickly pounding out my little story while up in the air headed back to Atlanta. The weather conditions are less than ideal. The plane is shaking and dipping something fierce.The (Delta) pilot, like everyone else this week, keeps assuring us from the cockpit, “don't worry folks, everything will be okay.” Seems almost impossible how many times I’ve heard that phrase this week. But these words of encouragement and all the acts of kindness from this week have me feeling overwhelmed today as I head back south. Staring out my airplane window I can hardly hold back the tears. Lots of emotions coursing through me thinking over the events of this week—Mostly, the tragedy in my cousin’s life burying her husband on the final day of 2020. The image of her four boys lined up in their suits at the funeral saying goodbye to their father. The extended family I saw and hugged this week. The family that had to stay home because of Covid precautions and distance. Spending New Year’s Eve last night with my parents who are aging and not leaving their home much  these days. My little mishap and all the caring people who helped. Even just being back home in Ohio (which always gets me). And here we all are in this New Year with all of our hopes for something better. Everyone’s hopes and wishes and words for a better year. Everyone’s prayers that it truly will “all be okay.” All of it. So much. It feels like so much.

Friends, I have to be honest, I don’t know if 2021 is going to bring something much better than 2020. I don’t know that. I do know we are putting a whole lot of stock in the flipping of a calendar year. And I'm a little worried about this. I worry that we think all the hard and tragic things will miraculously come to an end because 2020 is behind us. I guess I’m not much of a realist, but even I think we have to be careful in what we place our hope. It’s not a new year. It won’t ever be a new year. If that’s the case, I’m afraid we are setting ourselves up for some great, great disappointment. No, our hope has nothing to do with January, it has everything to do with Jesus. And even Jesus doesn't promise perfect days ahead. In fact, He tells us "I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. but take heart! I have overcome the world." John 16:33

And ...when we do encounter hard things in this next year--as I am certain we will--like my many new friends told me this week, I want to truly remember “it will all be okay.”