One more thing...slowing down enough to do the most important thing
"Don't tell me one more bad thing," I told my friend Jodi on the phone a couple of months ago.
So she did. It was OK. It was really sad and a family in her community needed prayer and it was right for her to share it.
But that followed a list of suffering and loss that seemed to keep growing. Some of the stories belonged to people near and dear to me. Others belonged to people I've never met living up the road, down the road, in another town, another state, another country. They involved shocking diagnoses, broken relationships, and even death. Hurt. Hurt. Hurt.
But do you know what I keep hearing over and over again? Mixed in with the pain that grayed that season dragging long? Faith. Perseverance. Hope.
"They're devastated, but they're cherishing every moment..."
"It was such a shock, but the family is really close and supportive of one another"
"I feel dead inside, but my faith is strong, the only thing I have left"
And do you know what I see? People. People stepping forward to keep pace with the walking wounded. A love box--a collection of encouragement for a friend. A support group. A shared moment between two women fighting the same disease: a gift from one (in the midst of treatment) for the other (the day before her surgery). And countless prayers lifted up out loud and in the silent space of an early morning.
How does so much goodness dwell inside, alongside so much pain? One of the deep mysteries of life is that grace abounds wherever suffering is found.
"Dear friends, let us practice loving one another, for love comes from God." We are called to be God's hands, God's feet.
What does that mean? In the craziness of life we are forced to leave many things undone each and every day. We practice practice practice bringing daily order to our lives and still, the list is long. I am remembering: practice, practice, practice LOVE. And everything looks different. And every obstacle is small. And every accomplishment is meaningless unless love lived there. Unless I first loved.
I can use this. Use it today. The struggle at our house is not catastrophic. Our health, thank God, is good. But our daily living is weary and we have ocassionally lost sight of what is most important--have chosen tasks over loving; have bent to strain, rather than bent our knees. Even hands and feet that mean well can become too busy. Sometimes the best way to be God's hands and feet is to be at rest, so that hearts may notice where need is, where love lacks, where peace may be found.
I don't recommend suffering or struggle to anyone and most often, we don't choose it at all, do nothing to invite its burden in our lives, but if there's something to be said for it, it's this: it gives us the opportunity to love one another in ways we might not have. It stretches us to ask who and what and how can I serve today? That's a to-do list worth accomplishing.
Imagine if we didn't need each other. Didn't need grace. How utterly self-focused we would be. How dead inside. I stand up, the sounds of morning and breakfast and my family readying for the day calling me away from my thoughts. How will I live today? How can I be those hands and those feet?
So she did. It was OK. It was really sad and a family in her community needed prayer and it was right for her to share it.
But that followed a list of suffering and loss that seemed to keep growing. Some of the stories belonged to people near and dear to me. Others belonged to people I've never met living up the road, down the road, in another town, another state, another country. They involved shocking diagnoses, broken relationships, and even death. Hurt. Hurt. Hurt.
But do you know what I keep hearing over and over again? Mixed in with the pain that grayed that season dragging long? Faith. Perseverance. Hope.
"They're devastated, but they're cherishing every moment..."
"It was such a shock, but the family is really close and supportive of one another"
"I feel dead inside, but my faith is strong, the only thing I have left"
And do you know what I see? People. People stepping forward to keep pace with the walking wounded. A love box--a collection of encouragement for a friend. A support group. A shared moment between two women fighting the same disease: a gift from one (in the midst of treatment) for the other (the day before her surgery). And countless prayers lifted up out loud and in the silent space of an early morning.
How does so much goodness dwell inside, alongside so much pain? One of the deep mysteries of life is that grace abounds wherever suffering is found.
"Dear friends, let us practice loving one another, for love comes from God." We are called to be God's hands, God's feet.
What does that mean? In the craziness of life we are forced to leave many things undone each and every day. We practice practice practice bringing daily order to our lives and still, the list is long. I am remembering: practice, practice, practice LOVE. And everything looks different. And every obstacle is small. And every accomplishment is meaningless unless love lived there. Unless I first loved.
I can use this. Use it today. The struggle at our house is not catastrophic. Our health, thank God, is good. But our daily living is weary and we have ocassionally lost sight of what is most important--have chosen tasks over loving; have bent to strain, rather than bent our knees. Even hands and feet that mean well can become too busy. Sometimes the best way to be God's hands and feet is to be at rest, so that hearts may notice where need is, where love lacks, where peace may be found.
I don't recommend suffering or struggle to anyone and most often, we don't choose it at all, do nothing to invite its burden in our lives, but if there's something to be said for it, it's this: it gives us the opportunity to love one another in ways we might not have. It stretches us to ask who and what and how can I serve today? That's a to-do list worth accomplishing.
Imagine if we didn't need each other. Didn't need grace. How utterly self-focused we would be. How dead inside. I stand up, the sounds of morning and breakfast and my family readying for the day calling me away from my thoughts. How will I live today? How can I be those hands and those feet?