Category Archives: trust

being near to God…

“But as for me, it is good to be near God.” (Psalm 73:28)

It is good for me to be near God.

When I am not—when I move away from his presence—my eyes, like the Psalmist, are easily fixed on lesser pursuits. Lesser things. Littered and lower things. Things of the world. Things that will never lead me into the folds of heaven, but rather things that will keep me temporarily tethered to earth. When I go there … look there … live there, my heart and my mouth are prone to fruitless wanderings that often lead me to believe,

“Surely in vain I have kept my heart pure; … ” (Psalm 73:13).

Very loosely translated (and I would encourage you to read Psalm 73 for yourself):

There are those who are seemingly more fruitful than me, richer than me, happier and healthier than me and who, by all outward appearances, don’t seem to possess any tangible relationship with Jesus Christ. I have a relationship with Jesus Christ, yet I have little to show for it. How can this be? When does my commitment to my faith start being fair? When will the scales tip in favor of faith? Surely in vain I have kept my heart pure.

Indeed, when I go there, my heart is prone to fruitless wanderings. But, when I go to God, when I enter into holy truth, I gain a higher perspective.

“When I tried to understand all this, it was oppressive to me till I entered the sanctuary of God; then I understood their final destiny.” (Psalm 73:16-17)

Final destinies. This is when the scales begin to tip in favor of faith. When I begin to measure my earthly commitment to God in terms of the eternal gains that will come to me because of that commitment, then I, like the Psalmist, re-establish my faith’s foothold. The backdrop of an eternity spent in God’s presence is the best benchmark for measuring daily gains, because at the end of the day … at the end of my life … what I have with Jesus will always be more than what they have without him. No amount of health, wealth, pleasure, and prosperity will be enough to surpass the inescapable, certain reality of God in my forever.

None.

I cannot fully hold onto or grasp that kind of wealth in my “here and now.” But what I can hold onto and grasp is the hand of Jesus that will lead me to my “there and then.”

“Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand. You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will take me into glory.” (Psalm 73:23-24).

I have the steady hand of God in mine. He holds me; guides me; strengthens me; hides me. To have the hand of God—to hold the Holy and to be held as holy—is to live a kingdom inheritance on this side of eternity. The treasure stored beneath the visible is the treasure that will lead me into the folds of heaven. What glory! What gain!

Surely, in faith and with hope, I have kept myself pure. Surely, it is good for me to be near God this day. Surely, it is good for you to reside there as well.

Hold onto the Holy, ye pilgrims of faith, and give thanks for the hands that hold you in return. As always…

Peace for the journey,
~elaine

"Go back the way you came… "

“Then a voice said to him, ‘What are you doing here, Elijah?’ He replied, ‘I have been very zealous for the LORD God Almighty. The Israelites have rejected your covenant, broken down your altars, and put your prophets to death with the sword. I am the only one left, and now they are trying to kill me too.’ The LORD said to him, ‘Go back the way you came, … .’” (1 Kings 19:14-15).

 

Go back the way you came.

I have no doubt that this is God’s message to me today. Perhaps to one or two of you as well. Thus, a moment of unpacking it with you if you, like Elijah, are…

  • exhausted from the well-fought battle against Baal on Mt. Carmel;
  • weary from trying to outrun Jezebel;
  • worn out from forty days and nights of wandering toward the mountain of the Lord.

Exhausted, weary, and worn. Anyone? So much so that you’re willing to say, “I’ve had enough, LORD… take my life; I am no better than my ancestors.” Modern day translation? “Even so, Lord Jesus, come and rescue me from my misery.”

I know. A hard truth to admit, perhaps even shameful to some of you. But I’m not ashamed to admit it. I’ve had a few days in the last 365 days when, like Elijah, the span between the pain that I was feeling and the peace of God’s mountain seemed insurmountable. Too far away. Too long in coming. Too high a climb. Too much of a requirement for the feeble flesh that holds my inward parts together. Times when the weightiness of the load that  I was carrying led to my collapse and my “Enough, Lord.”

Who of us hasn’t felt the chasm between our earthly pain and God’s heavenly gain?

I wonder about the motive behind Elijah’s trek to God’s mountain. Perhaps he came for clarification—for the defining purpose behind his next steps. Perhaps to be heard. Perhaps to claim “safe sanctuary” or to cry out “Base!” as I so often shouted as a child during a game of neighborhood tag. But just today, I thought about something else. About another reason for Elijah’s run to Mt. Horeb. Could it be that the memory of Moses’ ascent to Mt. Nebo was running through his mind as he came to God’s mountain? When God called Moses to the mountain, Moses made the climb knowing that he would not return to the valley of God’s people (see Deut. 32:48-52). Moses came to Mt. Nebo to die; perhaps Elijah came to Mt. Horeb with hopes of doing the same. Perhaps Elijah was ready to go home … to be removed from his struggles and to be at rest with his Father.

God had other plans for Elijah. God has other plans for me, and if you’re reading this today, he has some further plans for you.

Go back the way you came. As hard as it seems, go back the way you came.

Back to the desert. Back down into the valley where Jezebel lives. Back to the forty days and nights of having to depend on God to fuel your heart, your thoughts, and your stomach for the ministry season yet to come. There’s more work to be done. More people who need the witness of your story. More strengthening of the remnant that remains behind.

Go back the way you came.

This will be, perhaps, one of the hardest God-given directives over your life. But it is God’s directive to give; yours to obey. In doing so, you will be given what you need to make the descent off of God’s mountain and to live in the valley below. Your earthly work is not over, friend. You must keep to the faith that you boldly proclaim. Mt. Horeb, Mt. Nebo, Mt. Heaven will come to you soon enough. Until then…

Go back the way you came, carrying God’s kingdom with you as you go. As always, may God’s peace for the journey be your portion as you take your next steps of faithful obedience. I’ll meet you in the valley where we can confidently live out our purposes beneath the protective shadow of our Father’s mountain.

on strengthening my bandwidth…

Two things I know for certain as I begin this week:

1. My emotions and the feelings attached to them aren’t reliable; they are ever-changing.

2. God and his Word are reliable; they never change.

In regards to number one, I’m in menopause … an induced menopause due to my ovaries being removed. Forget the 5-6 years of perimenopause experienced by most women prior to the full onset of menopause. There’s been nothing gradual or measured about my introduction to this new phase of life. Eight rounds of chemo forced my body into a medical menopause; the oopherectomy (ovary removal) following the chemo sealed the deal.

What does that mean? The estrogen/progesterone that my body once produced because of the ovaries have now been eliminated. In addition, the adjuvant course of treatment I’ve been prescribed, Armidex, works to prevent the remaining estrogen in my body (mostly produced by the adrenal glands) from growing. Confused? Maybe this will help. According to EMedTV:

“Arimidex is part of a group of medications called aromatase inhibitors. Aromatase is an enzyme found in various places in the body. These enzymes help produce estrogens (in particular, a certain estrogen called estradiol). In postmenopausal women, most of the estrogen in the body is made by aromatase. By blocking these enzymes, Arimidex helps to decrease the amount of estrogen in the body.

Many breast cancers are sensitive to the estrogen hormone, meaning that the tumor grows with the help of estrogen. When a tumor is sensitive to estrogen, it has receptors on the outer surface of its cells. Estrogen fits into these receptors like a key opening a lock. When this connection is made, the cancer grows.”

So … I think it’s fair to say that my emotions and the feelings attached to them aren’t reliable in this season. My body is constantly playing tricks on me, and my reactions are often either “off the charts unreasonable” or “completely unavailable.” There seems to be little middle ground between these extremes as I recently wrote about in this post. My precious friend, Judith, tells me that (as cancer survivors) “We don’t have the bandwidth that we used to have, Elaine.” She’s right. I don’t currently have the range of frequency with which my body can operate effectively, nor the transmission capacity I once had.

For example… a precious lady approached me in church recently, obviously upset as indicated by the tears pouring down her face. She was in deep, emotional pain and desired to share that pain with me. I was mostly with her up until the point that I needed to “feel” for her. I knew what my reaction should be, but my empathy had a difficult time catching up with my should. When this happens, my compassion becomes functional, not felt. For some folks, this is a typical way of handling the issue of another’s pain. For me, this a huge departure from the way I’ve always operated. And friends, I don’t mind telling you that this is a tragic loss for me. Perhaps one of the most costly surrenders I’ve had to make in this journey through cancer.

I don’t tell you this to garner your sympathy. I tell you this solely for educational purposes, so that if you’re someone who is going through the same thing or you know someone who is going through a forceful, immediate menopause, you might better have an idea as to the “goings on” behind the scenes.

All this being said (and I realize it’s a lot to digest), all is not lost. Which brings me to number two—my second certainty regarding my upcoming week (really regarding my life). God and his Word are reliable. They never change. They are the consistent underpinning of my heart and life, my walkabout in faith. Regardless of how my emotions are or are not presenting themselves on a daily basis, God is presenting himself as he has always presented himself.

Truthful. Reliable. Strong. Steady. Certain. Fixed. Constant. Unchanged.

Who God IS and everything that he has said about himself in his holy Word is, in fact, reality. The same God who cradled Eden’s soil in his hands and fashioned Adam in his image, is the same God who cradles us, shapes us, and breathes over us his holy validation. The same Jesus who cut through choppy waters and walked his peace on top of those waters to a boatload of fearful disciples, is the same Jesus who walks to us in the middle of our darkest nights to extend his hand of kingdom courage as ministry to our doubting souls.

Creator God, Savior Jesus, Companion Holy Spirit, cannot be anything other than what he has always been. Others have tried to make him less—tried to box him in and call him by another name—but their attempts at renaming him are futile attempts at control. And really, when personal control becomes an issue, then truth becomes relative—easily shifted by the changing winds and temperament of the individual involved.

Still and yet, God does not change, and it is this one reality, this one certainty that keeps me moving forward in my faith. Keeps me digging into the treasure of Scripture to take hold of truth, even though my feelings lag behind my obedience. God’s Word is my anchor, my hope, my “go to” resource as I navigate these strange waters of this new season. In its entirety, it doesn’t feel like it should, but it’s my reality.

The temporal reality of menopause. The eternal reality of God.

In the end, it’s the number two certainty of my season that will trump all others. God doesn’t ask me to ignore the other realities that are present and pressing … just to temper them with the greater reality of his presence. In doing so, my bandwidth increases, and I am better able to engage with the life that he has entrusted to my care.

Whatever temporal reality is staring you in the face today, I pray it tempered by the truth and witness of our living Lord. Spend as much time with him examining eternal truth as you are spending looking into the mirror examining temporal truth. In doing so, your bandwidth will increase and your perspective will regain proper focus.

Lose yourself within the truthful, reliable, strong, steady, certain, fixed, constant, and unchanging God who created you. The Jesus who saved you. The Holy Spirit who sustains you. The Truth that renames you…

Survivor.

As always, peace for the journey!

the ugly side of me…

There is an ugly side to me… two really. One brought about through sin; one brought about through cancer. One remains more veiled—my heart. One exposed for the entire world to see—my flesh. And tonight I hold a candle to them both, and I don’t like what I see.

The ugly me.

Tonight I see anger, frustration, and confusion building up inside my mind, layer upon layer—an indistinguishable conglomeration of yuck not easily identified. I cannot connect the dots to all that I am feeling. There’s an unveiling of a something, and it’s not pretty. It’s hostile and visceral, filled with enough tension to keep everyone around me on edge.

In regards to the other ugly—my flesh—I see a misshapen form of what I used to be. A large scar runs across my chest wall, still inflamed with red and reminders of what was once there only five months ago. I’m bald and I’m fat… thirty pounds heavier from my five months ago. My nails are brittle and yellowed, ready to make their departure at any moment, and my clothes? Well, they’ve gone into hibernation; sweats, t-shirts and duster robes are common fare.

And I’m tired of it all; tired from the inside-out, and wondering if such honest confession of the soul is allowed in this public place. If I can be so real as to tell you that cancer has an ugly side to it. For all the ways it has given back to me, there are a few ways it has exacted its toll on me. And while I wouldn’t turn back the clock and have things live differently, tonight I simply wish it was over. That the ugly parts of me, both inside and out, were no longer, and that I could once again be the woman that I was… five months ago.

~That I could still run.

~That I could sleep on my right side, minus the discomfort of the port.

~That I could have energy enough to get up early and live a busy day and be thankful for the activity.

~That I could take a tub bath without needing help to get out.

~That I could confidently show affection to my husband.

~That I could think, write, and speak clearly the first time around without having to second-guess myself.

~That understanding was my portion rather than confusion.

~That worry would keep her silence.

~That faith would speak her voice.

I know this won’t last… all my “thats”. In time, I’ll get a handle on my concerns. God will replace my frustrations with his peace, his truth, and his hope for my future. He can’t help himself. His character precludes his absence from my pain. He appropriately interrupts my issues with the beauty of his witness, reminding me that for all of the ugly I currently see, a cross was given as the remedy. That what is seen is not always what is true. That sometimes life’s accumulated layers need the benefit an amazing grace that not only salves a wounded heart but that correctly frames the broken fragments together to make a portrait worthy of the throne room of heaven.

Every now and again, I glimpse that beauty, and I am grateful for the reminder. But tonight, what I see in the mirror isn’t easily salved by a few words of well-spoken faith… my faith. Tonight requires something far greater—a faith that holds despite the human condition. The “sure and certain” of those mentioned in Hebrews 11. A settled confidence in the King and his promises.

Friends, faith is where I want to live… all the time. But faith, unchallenged by unsettling times, never anchors at its deepest level. Faith uncontested by adversity simply resides at the surface of the human heart. Mind you, it is enough to carry you home to Jesus; not all of us require a rigorous workout along these lines. And I suppose, on nights like tonight, I’d enjoy a float on the surface of my faith. But that’s not what I’ve been allowed.

Instead, I’ve been allowed a deeper dig into the coffers of what I profess to believe. I get the Refiner’s fire, and I don’t mind telling you it hurts; it burns. It purges and it cleanses. And all I can do is surrender to the heat, hoping that the ugly in me gets gone and that God’s beauty in me returns, from the inside-out.

Oh to be entrusted with the process. To live in the flesh, all the while being transformed by faith. It is a weighty condition, perhaps the reason so many forego the invitation to salvation. Living with ugly is sometimes an easier load to carry than lighting a match to one’s heart. But without the flames of Calvary’s love, we are left as we are… unfinished.

I don’t want to get home to Jesus unfinished. I want to get there complete. Accordingly, I look into the mirror this night. I shed some tears for the undoing of my heart and my flesh, and I confess to my Father (and to you), the ugly side of me. And I pray for healing, for understanding, and for faith enough that will carry me through to the other side.

Cancer is ugly, friends. In its wake, it can leave a soul ugly. But God, in his wake, can take the ugly and transform it into holy understanding, which breathes a beauty all its own. A beauty that moves a soul from despair to celebration. From unbelief to strong conviction.  From being tired of it all to being transformed because of it all. And that is what I’m praying for tonight… my ugly made into God’s beauty.

Even so, come Lord Jesus, and interrupt my ugly with the witness and truth of your beloved cross. I long to move past the seen and visible in order to embrace the unseen depths of a living, anchored, and vital faith. You, alone, are the restorer of my flesh and heart. Come and liberally apply your grace to every fragmented layer of my life, and give me the settled confidence regarding who you ARE and in your love for me. Amen. 

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winter’s white

Like the advent of new-fallen snow, so arrives the freshness of God’s Word to my soul.

A picture really, just as clear and crisp and breathtaking as the pristine white that my northern neighbors are experiencing this day. When I hear them speak of winter’s gift, a bit of envy creeps over me. I love seasonal shifts and their accumulations therein. Unfortunately, where I live doesn’t accommodate the four seasons in their fullness, especially winter. We just pretend down here in the south; bump up the thermostat and pull out the sweaters when the temps plummet below sixty degrees, thinking white might come at any moment but never really experiencing its arrival… at least not in the way that we had hoped.

So I was surprised today to receive a first snowfall… to look up and feel the flakes as they gently touched my cheeks and tendered my soul; not literally, but spiritually speaking. No forecaster predicted it; even I was skeptical of its arrival, but it came despite my being ill-prepared. Not from a cloud as some might imagine, but rather from the pen of a friend. Her words stirred my longing for a further look into God’s Word, and the deeper I dug into Scripture and subsequent thought, the greater the accumulation of white around my feet.

Tonight, I’m knee deep into Jesus, and I can’t think of a better way to honor my friend’s work (a.k.a. Leah Adams) than by telling you about the snapshot I’m holding in my heart because of her obedience to write her first Bible study, From the Trash Pile to the Treasure Chest: Creating a Godly Legacy.  

It’s a picture I’ve skimmed over a few times before, but never quite in the detail as I’ve witnessed it in the last twenty-four hours. A portrait from the third chapter of Joshua where the Israelites are crossing the Jordan River in order to take possession of the land promised to them by God. Prior to their marching across on dry land, the priests carried the Ark of the Covenant ahead of them. The ark represented the presence of the living God. It preceded the faith of God’s people, always “going before” them to mark their path and to lead their way. As the ark moved, so did the Israelites. And so it was on this day in biblical history. The ark took the lead; the people followed behind.

But then, the ark stopped… midstream. It stood still as the people passed it by, a fact most of us know and carry as truth. However, there is a lesser known understanding that comes with this truth… one I hadn’t considered before. When the Israelites caught up with the ark and stood parallel to God’s tangible presence, they had a choice to make. To stand still and wait for the ark to lead them forward or to move beyond it without the benefit of its visible leadership. This, my friends, is the fresh-fallen white I hold in my heart tonight. A portrait of faith from a people who walked the Jordan through—not with God at their lead, but with God at their backs. Not a go before God this time around, but rather a come behind God after faith took its first steps toward promised freedom.

Certainly, God pointed them in the right direction. Faith always initiates with God; it ends with him as well, but in the middle of the Jordan—when faith arrives at what Leah calls a “hinge moment”—we have the unbelievable privilege of walking resolutely forward, all the while knowing that behind us are a set of eyes keeping watch to make sure that our backs are covered. To follow in our shadows and to protect us from a rear vantage point.

So often in our faith journeys, we focus on the forward aspect of the road—our “up ahead” and what might be coming. So often our prayers are directed accordingly. But do we ever take the time to consider our “over the shoulders”—the backward actions that accompany our forward steps? I know I certainly haven’t thought about it very much… about all the ways that God is backing me up to ensure my safe landing on the other side. In fact, if I were really honest, it’s those backward shadows that sometimes trip me up the most. I’ve always seen God in the lead, but rarely do I consider his faithfulness from behind.

In the wake of my cancer diagnosis and treatment therein, I’m tempted to keep God at the lead in all things, even though some days I strain to see his discerning movements on my behalf. But as I progress, as I move forward through the Jordan (a river that seems to be perpetually at “flood stage” status), I feel the weightiness of my movement… of what it has cost me, and I sometimes feel left to my own devices to recover from its effects. Almost as if God is out in front, but as it pertains to my behind, I’m all alone. And I know it’s not truth; still and yet, knowing isn’t always enough fuel for my believing.

So God graciously sends me a picture—a fresh-fallen white as pristine and clear as I’ve ever experienced. A seasonal shift for my understanding. A portrait of a faithful Presence who stands mid-stream, not to abandon my forward progression but to buoy my backward angle. To make sure that everything left in the wake of my tentative steps of forward faith are covered by his grace and mercy and watchful care.  

And this helps me understand God a little more. Helps me see his covenantal love from another angle. Helps me formulate a better perspective regarding the behind that inevitably follows my forward. Helps me know that he’s got me covered from every angle and that no matter the consequential results of my stepping through the Jordan, the waters will remain stacked on my behalf until I’ve made it through to the other side. Only then will God release those waters to cover up and cleanse every last remnant of my left behind that isn’t in keeping with his perfect conclusion.

It’s a portrait worth holding onto in this season, friends, and as I made my way outside this afternoon for a walk, there came a moment when I looked back over my shoulder, literally. I could almost see God there… faithfully gazing in my direction, waving me on and nodding his approval. And even though the temperature read fifty degrees and the skies were cloudless, I could have sworn I felt a snowflake on my face… wet and pristine, with a heart accumulation beyond measure.

A winter’s gift of white. I’ll make sure and carry this picture with me in the coming week, believing that my up ahead will arrive with a guarantee of God’s come behind.

Thank you, Leah, for leading me to deep waters and for obeying God’s prompt to pen this study. He is using it mightily in my heart, and I feel so privileged to be walking my winter season with your thoughts at the lead and with God’s Word at my side. Keep to it, mighty woman of faith. May the Lord bless you, keep you, and watch over you as you walk forward to the Promised Land. I join you, alongside all of my readers, on the road. Until next time…  

Peace for the journey,

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