Believing is Seeing.

"Faith is to believe what we do not see, and the 

reward of this faith is to see what we believe."

 (Saint Augustine)

Waiting for answers.  Waiting for hope.  Waiting for peace.  

It's exhausting, isn't it?

It is in our flesh-wiring to default to "I’ll believe it when I see it.”  But how do I reconcile that with my faith?  Because if I believe what I say I believe, then my faith isn’t dependent on my sight. 

When I am preoccupied and focused on the circumstances in my life  instead of centering on the constancy of God and in Who God is, my faith-life becomes intermittent, at best.   

Stop…Go…Stop….Go. 

We can learn a lot from the Words that cut through the darkness.  In contrast to Moses, who "endured, as seeing Him who is unseen", the children of Israel did not believe until after they saw the evidence.  They still doubted God when they came to the Red Sea, but only when they saw God open the way, lead them across and drown Pharaoh did they believe. 

Then they believed his promises and sang His praise... (Psalm 106:12)

They led an up and down life because of this kind of faith, and we do the same thing sometimes, don’t we?   

The world says "seeing is believing," but the sight-gift that He offers us is SO much better.  He wants us to believe in order to see.  That is the reward of our faith.

So what about my seasonal blindness in my faith journey? Because let’s just be honest here…there are times when all I can see is the darkness. Sometimes, my cup doesn’t runneth over…sometimes, it’s just empty. How do I wait for hope?

How do I wait for hope when not even a glimmer of it shines, yet still refuse to grow weary and refuse to doubt God’s unyielding faithfulness to me?

How do I experience the pain of a gaping, vacant hole in my heart, yet still resolve not to allow any presence inferior to God to occupy it?

How did Job do it? How did Abraham do it on the road to Moriah? How did Moses do it in the desert? How did Jesus do it in the Garden?

When waiting for hope amid darkness, how do we "endure, as seeing Him who is unseen?” 

There really is only one way. 

To refuse to let go of our empty cup and remain convinced that God’s eyes see eternally further than our own. 

To remain steadfast in our belief that in His perfect timing and in the completeness of His love for us, He will unhide that which is hidden to our eyes. 

To wait with confidence to see what we believe. 

Speaking in Pencil.

She called me today, heartbroken.  Words had been spoken – cruel ones. The kind that leave a wound, then a bruise, and then a scar that remains to maliciously remind. These words had wounded a loved one, and I was overcome with conviction and repentance when she shared her deepest ache through sobs of pain at the effect of the soul-crushing comments.  

You might be thinking that she is the grieving recipient.  She isn’t.  She is the grieving deliverer.  Her cries were so gut-deep that I could barely understand her.                                                             

“Oh Melissa, I hurt the one I love so badly.  How do I fix this?” 

My heart aches for her.  And for the one she loves.  And for me.  Because I have been that person.  I am that person.  While there is a population out there that would boldly proclaim that I have spoken encouraging words over them, there is yet another population (hopefully much smaller) that can describe the painful marks left on their hearts by my ruthless words.  And usually to the ones I love the most.  I don’t even like to think about it. 

Even with the most sincere of apologies offered, and even with the truest of repentant hearts, the memory lingers in the heart of the wounded.  The scar is left to remind, and from that point forward it becomes a battle within that the wounded must fight when someone or something unknowingly opens that scar.   

We write on the slate of one another.  We can trample a heart with 

One.

Single.

Word.

He entrusts us with words.  His words.  Words to edify, exhort, and encourage one another.  Words to build up, inspire, and to humbly lead.  Words to offer hope, comfort, and words to heal.  Words to proclaim the Truth of His love, mercy, and grace.  Yet with the same mouth that we share His words, we shoot sharp darts that can brutally pierce the heart of another.

Sometimes Too many times, I wish I could speak in pencil.  That eraser would be so handy.  As the magical word-remover leaves its evidence of black flecks where punishing words once were, we could point to the dust and show the unlucky recipient the proof that the word was no longer there.  

"See, look, I didn’t mean it.  It’s gone!  We can just forget this ever happened..." 

If only.  Unfortunately, indelible ink doesn’t have a handy little eraser.

I have some good news, though.  

As powerful as our words may be, they are powerless in the presence of the God of the Redeemed...the God of healing and restoration.   No wound is too deep for Him to touch. 
 
For our harsh words, there is grace and forgiveness to cover our sins.  Period.  Done.   

And for the wounded -- with faith, prayer, time, and forgiveness, God can heal a wounded heart.  He has healed mine, and He has healed the hearts of those whom I have wounded with my words.  

May we be reminded today, to pray His words:

May the words of my mouth and this meditation 

of my heart be pleasing in your sight, Lord, 

my Rock and my Redeemer.

(Psalm 19:14)

Would you join me in taking some time to listen to this song as you pray and dedicate your words to  Him today?

(Shane & Shane, "May The Words of My Mouth")

Dad and The Boats.

We sat on the beach this past October, coffee in hand, talking about the water and the boats.  My grandfather was a merchant seaman, and my Dad – back in the day before he met Mom – was a commercial fisherman as well.  Specifically, a shrimp boat operator off the coast of South Florida, where I was born.  I could listen to his stories about his experiences as a young boy and young man, and his escapades in Miami, Coconut Grove and Coral Gables back in the 40’s and 50’s for hours...and he loves telling them! 

By time time I was born, I was the third girl, and I guess Dad knew a son wasn’t going to happen.  I was supposed to be a “Derek”.  Oops.  Poor guy.  He survived three daughters.  I’m pretty sure he deserves a medal!   As the “son he never had”,  I have so many memories fishing with him (and going to the races, too), both of which I still love.  

There’s something about being on the water with Dad.  Anyone in our family will tell you the same thing.  He transforms…comes alive…his whole demeanor changes, relaxes.  Mom said recently that he was born with sea air in his lungs (although fresh water will suit him just fine, too), and a fishing rod in his hand.  And I think she’s right!  

On the beach that day last October, our family was struggling.  I had just learned of my cancer a few days before our trip, and we were all grieving in our own way and trying to figure it all out.  I remember sitting with him that day, just the two of us on the shore, and the water had turned pretty rough.  Although I love to look at the ocean, being in the water frightens me a little, and there were boats out there – I became concerned for them as the waves grew higher and the sea became more and more angry.  I began to ask Dad about the instruments on a boat and how (technically) a boat navigates the waters to determine its location and finds its way home, out of a storm.  So Dad started sharing the names and functions of the instruments…I have to admit, I was only half listening, because a larger truth struck me as he spoke.

As he talked, I was flooded with memories.  Our memories.  

As a little girl, sneaking in to the living room while he slept, lifting one of his eyelids up (literally) and saying “Dad, are you up?”   

Giggling with my friends as he snored, napping in front of the TV.   

Watching him completely destroy our kitchen when he tried to make breakfast.   

Running to him in my little yellow daisy nightgown, with a tray of pretend treats I’d made him in my play kitchen – and he pretended to eat every single one, even when he was so tired!   

Walking proudly with him into the Kay’s Drug Store lunch counter every Saturday for our date.  

Hearing his voice cheer for me louder than any other Daddy when I played softball.   

Eating fruit cocktail with him on our deck in the summer.  

Seeing him and Mom sneak kisses when they thought we weren’t looking.  

Crying on his shoulder when I broke up with my first boyfriend in junior high (and several after).   

In the hospital after his stroke, with about 20 tubes attached to him, as he insisted that he get on his knees to pray (and did).  

Finding a heart-shaped box of candy for Valentine’s Day on my doorstep the first year I had moved away from home.  

And the hours and hours of talks about life, and God, that we’ve had as two adults.  

It all just came rushing back.  My Dad.  My Daddy.  I love him so much it hurts.  Each of those little memories came together in a flood of reassurance that this man I sat next to…my Dad…had authority over my life since my first breath, and that I have a humble warrior whom I call Dad to walk with me through this.

But that wasn’t all … In that moment on the beach, I realized something else.  My Dad was speaking with authority – he KNEW those instruments and how each of them worked.  As he spoke, my concern for the boats lessened, because my Dad convinced me that they had the tools they needed to find their way home.  

And in that moment…I knew I did, too.  

My heavenly Father has been my Daddy, too, since before my first breath …my Abba... lovingly readying me for such a time as this over many years before.  My future?  It’s His memory.

I have what I need to get Home and all the shelter I need for the journey.  As my earthly father spoke with authority about his knowledge of how the boats find their way in the storm, my Heavenly father speaks with authority about His promise that I may soar on wings like eagles to rise above it. 

The rough waters?  They aren’t nearly as uncharted as we think they are.

Hallelujah.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad.   

Thank you for fiercely fighting for me and our family on your knees.   

I am a woman richly, richly blessed and proud to call you my father. 

Big Eyes and Belly Laughs.

In the waiting room of the hospital, a very curious little three-year old approached me, with her head tilted, and asked, “What happened to your leg?” So I explained to her that I had surgery and was still healing. We had a lovely conversation, asking each other about our favorite colors, favorite cartoon characters, and favorite games. Before I knew it, she crawled up in my lap. Her mother apologized and moved forward to retrieve her, but I assured her it was fine with me if it was OK with her. And I was so grateful that it was.

As Eva sat on my lap, I decided to try out one of our little family traditions on her. Mom used to do this with us, and in all of her years teaching children has had a 100% success rate with the giggle factor on this little gem. Some of you may have heard of this little song/game. I have no idea of what original context the song was written or when it was written…but it goes like this…

I had Eva hold her cute little hand out, palm up. I gently traced a circle on her palm with my finger as I sang, “Round round circle, put a penny here…” and then, slowly…very slowly, “walking” my fingers up her arm toward her shoulder, I sang “one step...two steps…” and then, unexpected to Miss Eva, I sang “tickle under here!” and tickled Eva until I heard the BEST SOUND IN THE WORLD…the belly laugh of a child!

Of course, you know what happened after that, right?

“Again, Miss Missa!” (She had a little trouble pronouncing my name - so sweet.) So over and over again we went, and each time, when I got to the “….two steps”, I would pause dramatically, purposefully making her wait until she was about to come out of her skin with expectation. Her eyes were huge with anticipation about the best part -- the inevitable tickle-fest to come! She knew that after that second step up her arm was done, it was all about belly-laughing joy.

I drove home thinking about Eva’s big eyes and belly laughs.

Do I anticipate the next move of God’s hand with that kind of anticipation?

Eva knew the game. She knew after the first time that the outcome resulted in her joy. In her mind, it was simple: “Miss Melissa did it last time, so she’ll do it again.” And each time, she believed the outcome was going to result in her joy. She trusted me to deliver it. So every single time, her eyes grew big in anticipation of what was to come. Because she remembered the last time.

God has always brought joy from waiting, uncertainty, or darkness in my life. There has not been one single time in my life when I have sought Him and not found the doorway out of the valley and into hope. I’ll bet you can say the same thing. How quickly we are to forget it. Maybe it’s just me, but it doesn’t take long for me to lose my focus on Him and gaze at the struggle instead.

How quickly I forget that I’ve been here before.

How quickly I forget to look into His eyes and remember that He has never, ever let me down.

How quickly I forget that I can be confident in my current circumstance because of God’s past performance on my behalf.

For this reason I kneel before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name. I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge —that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever! (Eph. 3:14-21, NIV)

This morning I caught myself belly-laughing in anticipation of what God has waiting for me on the other side of the door.

Because I remember the last time.

Thanks for the reminder, Eva.

Walking Wounded.

In the first twenty minutes of the movie Saving Private Ryan, an extremely graphic scene of the Omaha beachhead assault of June 6, 1944 is depicted. Although it was nearly fourteen years ago, I vividly remember seeing this movie on the big screen and will likely never forget some of the images in those first few minutes. The directors of the movie explained that the intensely graphic nature of the opening scene was so that the viewer could truly understand the reality of war and the raw nature of wartime violence and death, which was critical to the viewer’s connection with the main storyline for the film.  

The images that I remember most from this powerful movie are those of the walking wounded in that opening scene. Like the soldier who lost his severed arm and searched for it, found it, picked it up, and carried it with him as he sought shelter from the enemy fire. Broken, dismembered bodies with one goal – survival.  With severed limbs, trying to find refuge in the midst of warfare that they had grossly underestimated.

All of us have walked, are walking, or will walk the long journey from the valley of woundedness and pain to the refuge of hope. Like the walking wounded in this movie scene, those of us walking in emotional and spiritual woundedness seek shelter, but with broken hearts and crushed spirits. Like the walking wounded soldier, we, too have one goal…survival.  With shattered dreams, trying to find refuge in warfare that we had grossly underestimated.

When we’re in survival mode, living isn’t really living, it’s more like just … existing. The difference between broken bodies and broken spirits is that we can hide a broken spirit. We can appear to have it together spiritually.  But inside, we’re dying. And too proud to tell anyone about it.

If our wounded hearts are walled with pain, shame, and guilt, and our wills are walled with fear and anxiety, then where do we go for refuge and healing? Usually not to the One who can heal. Usually, to other people to fill the void that has consumed us, because even though we are wounded, we still crave love, joy, and peace. God created us to crave it. But we forget that there is only one True Source for our wholeness. We forget that He created us to crave it from Him. To seek it from Him.  Sometimes I lose sight that although God gives me the amazing blessing of experiencing love from others here on earth sometimes, that it will never be truer, deeper, or wider than His love, His joy, or His peace available to and flowing through me all the time.

But there is good news.
Great news.
Wonderful news. 
The BEST news.

The heart of the Holy Spirit lives in those who believe and call upon the name of God and His ultimate sacrifice, the risen Christ. The heart of the Spirit in me…and in you…gives us direct access to the healing that can only be found through the mind and heart of Christ.

God has revealed it to us by his Spirit. The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God. For who among men knows the thoughts of a man except the man's spirit within him? In the same way no one knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. We have not received the spirit of the world but the Spirit who is from God, that we may understand what God has freely given us. This is what we speak, not in words taught us by human wisdom but in words taught by the Spirit, expressing spiritual truths in spiritual words. The man without the Spirit does not accept the things that come from the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him, and he cannot understand them, because they are spiritually discerned. The spiritual man makes judgments about all things, but he himself is not subject to any man's judgment: "For who has known the mind of the Lord that he may instruct him?" But we have the mind of Christ. (1 Cor. 2:10-16, NIV).

As believers, we talk about the “power” of the Holy Spirit, and often.  May we remember that the power of the Spirit comes from the heart of the Spirit, who always only wants the best for us. If we allow our heart to meld with the heart of the Spirit, the walls come down. We receive his heart toward us, so we can give it to others. The way we give to and receive love from others is radically changed.

Our goal becomes SO much more than to just survive.

We are no longer the walking wounded. We are alive, and we love without walled hearts. We live and love from wholeness.  

The heart of the Spirit makes us whole.

Give and Take.

I am working on some new posts that aren't quite ready yet, so for today, I dug deep into the blog archives.  This one deeply moved me in its timeliness, and as it reminded me that just a few years ago, the truth He was weaving into my heart was for then, but also to prepare me for a future yet unknown.  God is faithful to remind us of His love.  May we not forget in the darkness what we once remembered in the light.  Be blessed, friends!

Give and Take (Repost from March, 2010)

I was reminded recently of a powerful short story that I read a few years back. In preparing to write this post, I tried to find it but to no avail. The details I remember are this: a young girl and her mother were living in a poor and war-torn area, and the only Bible they had was badly ripped and damaged. They were at home one night, and the little girl came running to her mother, joyfully shouting “Mama, Mama, look at this…” She showed her Mama one of the badly torn pages, with only the first few words remaining from John 3:16.   “For God so loved the world, that He gave…” The little girl was joyful, her eyes beaming and smiling brightly. “Mama do you see that? God loved us so much that He gave!” “Gave what?”, her mother asked. The little girl replied, “It doesn’t matter what He gave, Mama. Isn’t it just great that God loved us so much that He gave to us!”

I wish I had the heart of that little girl, in its unjaded, uncompromised ability to receive the powerful simplicity of ultimate truth.

Recently talking with a woman going through an emotional time of loss, she was crying out to understand why God takes away things (or people) that we love so deeply. Her loss was new and fresh, and even as a strong woman of faith, she was trying to find His perspective in it all. She knew and had always claimed the promise of Romans 8:28:

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. (NIV)

Her dilemma was in trying to understand how He could have dangled something in front of her that she loved so much, and that she felt Him calling her to, only to take it away from her.

I’ve been there before, too. Have you?

Just as a loving parent gives his/her child gifts, so, too, is the act of love of taking away something that will harm his child.

Remember the little girl in the story…"God gave!"

God, how do I find and share the heart of this little girl, the content and utter joy of simply knowing and believing that God gives?  What is this beautiful mystery of how You give to us sometimes through taking away that which can harm us?

This is what I heard Him say:  "It is because I gave so much, that I CAN take away."

He gives bread so that He can take away our hunger.

He gives water so that He can take away our thirst.

He gives light so that He can take away the darkness.

He gives peace so that He can take away our fears.

He gives comfort so that He can take away our pain.

He gives rest so that He can take away our weariness.

He gives love so that He can take away our loneliness.

He gave His only son so that He could take away our sin.

God gave. God gives.

Silence.

This past weekend I spent some time alone in silence. Sometimes I forget just to be still and to turn off the noise – all of the noise. I’m often amazed at how uncomfortable silence can be, for in the silence we remember that we feel, and we can hear our own thoughts.  Silence usually speaks much more loudly than any volume of noise used to try to drown it out.  

Sometimes, I don’t like what I hear in the silence…my own thoughts… which should make me want to flee from it.  But as usual, He draws me in.  It is often in the still, silent solitude that those all-too-often-whispered-lies merely serve to remind me of what I forgot in the chaos…that the Victory Banner is already raised over them.  So as I exhale into the complete rest that waits for me in the shadow of the His Banner over me, I melt into the One who stands ready to take those thoughts…those lies… captive.  

Victory. 

Sometimes the victory banner is raised before many to the sounds of trumpets, shouts and pomp and circumstance.  

And sometimes, the victory banner is quietly raised over a single shattered heart, as the Master tapestry-maker sews it all back together with threads of grace, mercy, and peace. 

The more I embrace it, my pull toward spending time alone in deep reflection and prayer has become more and more intense. Scripture tells us in several places to go to the “secret place” to pray to the Father.

On this day, I thought about a long list of things and prayed about an even longer list of things. As I looked out on the water, I caught a glimpse of something beautiful. The water was perfectly still and smooth, like glass. The reflection in the water was perfect…a gorgeous blue sky…heaven. If the water had not been at rest, I could not have seen this incredible picture. Only when we are perfectly still … when we are at rest in Him … only then can we reflect heaven. Only then can we reflect Him.

There are so many times when God speaks to me through music, other people, and of course through serving others. And I am moved to incredible heart change during corporate worship at times. But nothing can replace the intimate time I spend alone with my God. He says things and shows me things in the still, quiet place that I cannot hear or see anywhere else. And I sure would hate to miss that. 

"The more I seek You, the more I find You. The more I find You, the more I love You. I want to sit at your feet and drink from the cup in Your Hand… to lay back against you and breathe, to feel Your heartbeat. This love is so deep, it’s more than I can stand. I melt in your peace." ("The More I Seek You", Christ for the Nations)