When Your Cup is Empty

This has been a difficult year for me. The struggles I have face have exposed my many inadequacies. I didn’t realize how selfish I was until I was put in a situation where more was required of me than I was comfortable giving. 

My cup is empty. How can I pour from an empty cup? I can’t. I am depleted. 

I have come to the end of my resources so I take my empty cup and dip it into the Living Water. I have heard the invitation to come and drink. I drink until my soul is satisfied and then I dip my cup again into the water. Now I will have something to share.

Coming to the Living Water in order to fill my empty cup is my picture of being faithful in prayer.

One Day At A Time

 I woke up this morning with this poem on my  mind. I wanted to share it because I thought perhaps it might encourage someone the way is has encouraged me.

http://www.homemakerscorner.com/ajf-oneday.htm

Encouraging Myself in the Lord

I have spent 4 years in the book of Revelation. At first I taught it not by reading commentaries but by looking at the visions John had until I could see them enough to draw them.  Next, I decided that since in the first chapter there is a blessing promised to those who read these prophecies and take them to heart that I would memorize the book. I’ve been working on it for four years. I’m only on the eleventh chapter. 

The key to life that I found through my years in Revelation is this: God has chosen us to be part of a bigger story. The God who is and was and is to come is the author. Our lives can only be understood when we realize that we are part of a story being told. It is the story of LOVE and REDEMPTION. Joy is found when you trust the author to write your part of the story.

The morning of Steve’s surgery I woke up to the words, “ I am the One who goes before you. I will never leave you or forsake you. Do not be afraid or discouraged.” God gave me the grace to not be afraid.

“Do not be afraid or discouraged.” This week I have been struggling not to be discouraged. I’ll be honest. It would be so easy to be slide into depression. I wake up every morning and I encourage myself in the Lord. I offer to Him the sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving. I anchor my soul in truth.

I’m on a path that I would not have chosen, but I trust my Shepherd. My eyes are regularly bathed by tears. Steve and I pray together daily that our lives will magnify the One who is both the author and the finisher of our faith.

Waiting

 “I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits, and in his word I put my hope.” Psalm 130:5

I am in a season of waiting, and it goes against my nature. I’ve always liked to be busy, making goals and planning how to accomplish those goals. But now, I sit by Steve’s bedside waiting. It is clear that I am not in control of what is happening all around me, and so I wait.

What does it mean to wait for the Lord? The Hebrew word quvah used in this verse carries with it the picture of a cord being twisted and stretched. It’s a picture of a cord that is made strong by the tension it endures.

“My whole being waits.” It looks like I’m not doing anything as I sit by my husband's bed day after day, but looks are deceptive. My whole being waits as I look not only through the lens of the temporal but through the eyes of the eternal truths that I believe. It is a test of endurance.

For many years now I have been writing a blog called “The Ministry of Hope.” What is hope? Hope is the confident expectation of good. Hope is believing that God is good and that you can trust Him. “I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits, and in his word I put my hope.”

Lazarus Come Forth

Last week I was praying that Steve would live long enough to have the brain surgery that was scheduled for the next day. I watched all day as he seemed to be slipping into a coma. I prayed as I entrusted him to the Ancient of Days, knowing that all his days had been written in God’s book before any of them had come to be.

Steve went into surgery Monday morning, but it wasn’t until 2 am Tuesday that we received word that the surgery was over. He has been in the ICU all week. The doctors have been watching closely to see if he has had a stroke. The first day I was excited to see his eyes flicker open for a moment. By Saturday he was beginning to talk, though he is very confused.

The morning of surgery I woke with these words in my mind, “I Am the One goes before you. I will never leave you or forsake you. Do not be afraid or discouraged.” I hear these words in my heart every day as I sit beside Steve. Every day I remind him of how good God has been to us. I rehearsed the blessings we’ve shared for 48 years of loving God and each other. They are our Ebenezer Stones, our stones of remembrance. I’m using them to build an altar where we can offer a sacrifice of praise to Jesus.

I think about when we were leaving the hospital to fly home so that Steve could die surrounded by his family. Suddenly, I was stopped by the doctor because they thought at last they knew what was happening. Today the memory makes me smile because I see Steve like a Lazarus whom Jesus called back from the dead.

After Jesus call Lazarus back from the dead He told those around him to remove the grave cloths and set him free. That’s what this time with Steve in the ICU is like, a time to remove grave cloths. Resurrection and the removal of grave cloths, set free to fulfill God’s purpose in our generation!

Holy Saturday

 “What’s today?” “Today is Holy Saturday.” “What is Holy Saturday?”

My grandson Ricky and I were at the breakfast table having this conversation. I told him that Holy Saturday was a day to sit with sorrow and unanswered questions. We talked about how Jesus’ friend had all scattered when the soldiers came to take Jesus away. I told him how they thought that Jesus was going to set up His kingdom, but instead Jesus was hung on a cross.

We talked about the disappointment, fear and grief that Jesus’ friend had on the Saturday between when Jesus died and when He rose from the dead. I told him that all the pain they felt on Saturday was part of the story.

The tears were silently sliding down his cheeks. Ricky’s father died this summer, and now he was having to say goodbye to a grandfather that he loved even though he’s only known him for a short time. My daughter Elisabeth adopted Ricky two years ago, and he joined our family with disappointments, fears and sorrow that I know nothing about.

The first time that I ever met Ricky I showed him my drawings from the book of Revelation. We talked about the mystery of two Kingdoms that were at war. I told Ricky that though the battle was fierce, at the end of time there would be only one kingdom and only one king standing.

But today is Holy Saturday. Today we sit with the sorrow of what we don’t understand. Today we acknowledge our failures and our fears. I told Ricky that it’s ok to cry, because God see your tears and He knows your pain. I told him that his lack of ability to understand what God is doing wouldn’t keep God from carrying out His good plan. Tomorrow we will celebrate what Jesus’ grieving friends couldn’t comprehend. 

Today is Holy Saturday, and I am safe because what is unknown to me is known to Jesus.

Blessings and Comfort

As I walk through this time with Steve I am experiencing the humbling effects of grief. Our lives have been intertwined for so many years, and I am intensely aware of our humanity as we walk together through this valley where death is casting its shadow. But even here I am aware of the kingdom blessings that Jesus promised.

When Jesus spoke about the kingdom of heaven He used the word makarius, blessed, a word that in Ancient Greek times referred to the gods. *They had achieved a state of happiness and contentment in life that was beyond all cares, labor, and even death. The blessed ones were beings that lived in some other world away from the care and worries and problems of ordinary people.* Jesus took the blessing that had been used for Greek gods and conferred it on those who had poverty of spirit. “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 5:3).

Nothing has exposed my helplessness and my humanity quite like the knowledge that my soulmate will soon be gone. My friend Brenda Shutters expressed the loss of her husband this way. “The pain that I felt was like a tearing away of part of my life.” Even in the midst of sorrow I hear Jesus’ invitation to reject the lie spoken at the dawn of time that I can be like God. I recognize that the blessing of His kingdom isn’t for those who have “achieved a state of happiness and contentment in life that is beyond all cares, labors, and even death.” The blessings of the kingdom of heaven are for those who recognize their humanity and their great need, and embrace the fullness of God’s love. 

During this season of grief I find myself wanting to shield myself against the vulnerability that comes with grief. There is the fear of being sucked into a vortex of lament that I can’t escape. There is a part of me that wants to hide for fear that the grief I’m facing will take possession of me. But Jesus invites me into my human vulnerability and He meets me there with these words, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted” (Matthew 5:4).

How is it that Jesus Christ could extend this kingdom blessing and heavenly comfort to us? I believe that it because, “He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed Him smitten by God, and afflicted. But He was pierced for our transgressions; He was crushed for our iniquities; upon Him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed” (Isaiah 53:4,5). He who is God became flesh so that we who come to Him can know the blessings of the kingdom of heaven and the comfort of the one who has borne our grief and carried our sorrows.

*The History of the Word “Makarius” by Brian Staffregn

“I’m dying”

We had a wonderful day yesterday. Steve loves to be surrounded by the people that he loves, and if you know him you are probably included in that list. To each person who came to see him yesterday and asked, “How are you?” he gave the same quiet response, “I’m dying.”

Steve is grappling with the reality that he is dying. We all are. Every morning I go to Psalm 90 and I contemplate what it means to worship an eternal God when you are a transient human. “Before the mountains were born, before You gave birth to the earth and the world, from eternity to eternity, You are God” (Psalm 90:2) I reach for Steve and feel the warmth of his touch and my heart aches within me because I know that our lives are, “like yesterday that passes by, like a few hours of the night” (Psalm 90:4). I know that the day is fast approaching when I’ll reach for him and he’ll be gone.

“I’m dying.” Steve speaks these words as the truth of what it means to be a mortal man is being revealed to him. “You end their life; they sleep. They are like grass that grows in the morning it sprouts and grows; by evening it withers and dried up” (Psalm 90:5,6).

“We end our years like a sigh. Our years last seventy years or, if we are strong, eighty years. Even the best of them are struggle and sorrow; indeed, they pass quickly and we fly away” (Psalm 90:7-10). Steve turned seventy this year. We sit close together holding hands and reminiscing about the years we’ve spent together. Each of us is amazed at how fast the time has gone.

Recently a health care provider confronted Steve with the reality that he was dying. Then she asked, “Are you afraid?” He was quiet for a few moments then replied, “No, that’s been taken care of.” This is Holy Week. This is the week we celebrate the faithful love of God who gave His only begotten Son so that anyone who believes in Him might not perish but have eternal life. In Jesus Christ death was swallowed up in victory. Yes, Steve is dying, but death will not be the end. That was taken care of when Jesus conquered the grave.

The Storm Rages But The Anchor Holds

Looking back over the last few days I am amazed at how quickly things can change. Steve wanted to take me away for my birthday. He couldn’t decide if we should rent a cabin in the mountains or take our little camper and go to the beach. Before he could make up his mind he was in the hospital.

We had anticipated being together and watching the sun set over the mountains, or perhaps watching the sun rise and cast its light on the waters. The last week of February had begun with questions about where to celebrate a birthday. That same week ended with my calling my son in Lithuania and telling him to come home because we didn’t know how long his father had to live.

During this month we have been in and out of the hospital, without answers but with the understanding that something terribly wrong was happening. This morning I was looking through the pages where I record my days. On Monday of one week I found the hopeful entry that a well-respected doctor had told me that at last we would get to the bottom of this mystery. On Friday of that same week I was told that Steve only had a short time to live.

At first I felt that one doctor had given me hope and the next doctor had taken it away. Then I paused, took a deep breath and remembered the first time that I had begun to understand hope. It was at a funeral. The preacher said, “ Hope is a confident expectation of good. Hope is based on the Person and promises God.”

My hope isn’t something that circumstances can  give or take away, otherwise I would be at the mercy of the storm that we are in right now. Instead, my hope is an anchor that grips a solid rock. The storm is raging all around me. Life is changing so fast that sometimes it’s hard to breath. But I’m not at the mercies of the storm, and my confidence is in an Almighty God.

Hallways

We took Steve to the emergency room unsure if they would keep him or send him home. Faith, Elisabeth and I had all gone with him. Because of COVID restrictions, only one person could be with him in the hospital.  I asked Faith to be that person while Elisabeth stayed with me in the car waiting. By 3 am I was exhausted and asked if Elisabeth would take me home. When I woke in the morning I looked for Steve but found a note instead, “Mom, Dad’s okay, but they wanted to admit him for observation.” I inhaled deeply, got dressed, and drove to the hospital.

The room was dimly lit by the light streaming in from the window. Faith filled me in on what had been happening during the night. She told me about the tests that had been done and those that had been scheduled. Then we traded places. She went home, and I took my place beside the hospital bed. Steve slept. He didn’t wake to eat or drink.

The neurologist came to check on him and then asked if I would come out into the hallway where we could talk. She paused for a moment and then said, “I want you to know that this is very serious.” She paused again and said, “This is very serious, but we don’t know what it is.” As I stood there trying to absorb the impact of her words, her phone rang. An expression of pain crossed her face and she said, “I’m so sorry. Someone has had a stroke in the ER and I have to go.” I was alone in the hallway with her ominous words echoing in my mind. 

Hallways are not a destination. When you are in a hallway you are in between where you’ve been and where you’re going. Standing in the hospital hallway alone with the words of the neurologist ringing in my ear, I began to realize that Steve's and my life together was entering into a transition.

Slowly I began to see the different doors in the passageway. Steve and I were about to enter a hallway that would take us in different directions. As my eyes began to sting with tears, in my heart I heard these comforting word, “Blessed are those whose strength is in you, whose hearts are set on pilgrimage. As they pass through the Valley of Weeping, they make it a place of springs; the autumn rains also cover it with pools. They go from strength to strength, till each appears before God in Zion” (Psalm 84:5-7). For 48 years Steve and I have been on this pilgrimage together. It appears that for a time we will be separated, but just as hallways lead from one place to another, so do pilgrimages.

Learning to Measure Time

How do you measure time?

I remember waiting for the day that I would marry Steve. Each day seemed that it would last forever. Every night I would kiss his picture and put the picture frame under my pillow so that I could dream of the days to come. Finally, the day came and we made our vows to God that we would love each other in sickness and health, in poverty and with wealth. We vowed to love each other until death would part us.

He took my hand, looked into my eyes and whispered, “I love you Mrs. Jones.” Time stood still. I thought my heart would melt. We walked down the aisle hand in hand. 

Some years went by slowly, some went by so fast that they took my breath away. But he was always beside me holding my hand. Sometimes we fought, sometimes we laughed, sometimes we cried because that’s how it is when you choose to love.

I have loved Steve for 48 years. Our time together now feels like a calendar that was left out in a windstorm. The wind seems to be blowing so hard that it’s causing time to blur and move to fast. I want to savor each moment, and to simply stare into the face that I have loved for so long.

I want time to stop, but I know an eternal truth. “As for man, his days are like grass—he blooms like a flower of the field; when the wind passes over it, it vanishes, and its place is no longer known. But from eternity to eternity the Lord’s faithful love is toward those who fear Him, and His righteousness toward the grandchildren of those who keep His covenant, who remember to observe His instruction” (Psalm 103:15-18). Too soon the day will come when Steve will not be there to hold my hand. 

I am learning to measure time through the lens of eternity.

Cure for the Homesick Soul

Once when I was on a small boat I began to experience motion sickness. The owner of the boat recognized my distress and advised me to fix my gaze on the shore. Keeping my eyes on something that was stable helped to ease my discomfort. During these turbulent times I find that I need to focus my mind on eternal, unchanging truth.

I find myself feeling off balance as day after day I encounter the storm of news. I am desperate for a frame of reference. Rather than the motion sickness that I felt on the small boat, my soul feels homesick. As the dark clouds gather, blinding my vision, I use the words of the Psalmist to express my longing. “How lovely is your dwelling place, Lord Almighty! My soul yearns, even faints, for the courts of the Lord; my heart and my flesh cry out for the living God” (Psalm 84:1,2)

I think the prophet Daniel had a homesick soul. As a youth he had been taken captive and brought to Babylon. He lived through stormy, uncertain times, and yet he was known for his wisdom. The kings who ruled over him sought out his counsel. How did he keep his equilibrium? Three times a day Daniel got down on his knees and with his windows opened toward Jerusalem he prayed, giving thanks to his God. He never forgot his true citizenship. He anchored his soul with prayers of thanksgiving to an unchanging God.

Like Daniel the storms we face are real. There can be a feeling of helplessness when it seems that there is nothing stable beneath our feet. In times like this if you are relying on your own strength your heart will be filled with anxiety. But if your heart and mind are set on pilgrimage you can know a deep and settled joy. During these turbulent times I rely on a strength that is not my own as I fix my gaze on the kingdom of God where I have my true citizenship.

“One thing I ask from the Lord, this only do I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze on the beauty of the Lord and to seek him in his temple. For in the day of trouble he will keep me safe in his dwelling; he will hide me in the shelter of his sacred tent and set me high upon a rock” (Psalm 27:4,5). 

My soul is homesick for the day when faith becomes sight, but until then I will, like Daniel, find my security on bended knees praying with thanksgiving to my Heavenly Father. He is the Lord of the storm and my soul is anchored in His promises.

Good News!

During this time when the news is full of political upheaval and unrest I find myself longing for the good news that Jesus preached. Jesus preached the good news of the kingdom. *The Greek word for kingdom is basileia. It comes from the word which means king. A kingdom always requires a king.* The good news that Jesus preached was that “the kingdom of heaven has come near” (Matthew 4:17)! The kingdom was near because the king had come.

Jesus came not only with the proclamation of the kingdom, but He came with the power to heal. The kingdom of God is not the only kingdom that exists in the universe, there is another kingdom—the kingdom of Satan. **The Bible shows us that in ages past there was just one kingdom, the kingdom of God. But, through the rebellion of an angel named Lucifer (now known as Satan), another kingdom was established over which the Prince of Darkness rules.** Jesus came not only with the power to establish His kingdom, but also with the power to heal the suffering caused by the Prince of Darkness.

“The people who live in darkness have seen a great light, and for those living in the shadow of death, light has dawned” (Matthew 4:16). The light of the world had come at last to break the curse, to proclaim liberty  to the captives, to give sight to those who had been blinded by the darkness. Jesus had come at last to set at liberty those who are oppressed.

“Repent, because the kingdom of heaven has come near” (Matthew 4:17)! When Jesus came, those who lived in darkness were presented with a choice. Those who had been slaves to the kingdom of Satan could at last find liberation. Jesus had come to break the curse of death and bring life. But in order to enter the kingdom of heaven there needed to be repentance. 

Repentance means to change. Jesus preached that the kingdom of heaven had come near, but He began by saying, “repent.” The good news is that the kingdom of heaven has come near. What is our response to the good news? No one can serve two kings. 

*HELPS Word-studies

**Selwyn Hughes