A Beacon of Hope

My Spiritual Director says that "life is about getting blindsided alot."  She's right.  Sometimes that blindsiding is merely frustrating or disappointing.  But at other times it goes deeper and leaves one fighting to see through the maze that surrounds them.  It's the place I am finding myself in at present.

My dear friend Ruth Anne http://breadandhoneyrab.blogspot.com/ penned words a number of years ago which resonate in new ways for me today.  I love how Jesus meets us in such beautiful and intimate ways and shines a beacon of hope into brokenness.

Broken Praise

I say a song of praise to God my healer,

To Whom all of my broken adoration is due.

To the One who takes my pain upon His shoulders,

And lifts me up to wholeness.

I am weak and needy.

I am the broken one.

This way of being,

     here and now, in a fallen world of sickness and disease and dysfunction,

          leaves me gasping, limping, desperate.

This “lesser than I was created for”,

     “Not in original condition”

          “Damaged goods” way of being

Proffers my tears

     Salts my wounds.

          Offends my soul.

And I would be left there,

Helpless

Were it not for the Healer God who loves me.

Who comes for me.

And stays with me in the darkest days of my pain.

And walks with me in the hardest hours of my therapy.

And talks to me in the loneliest moments of my recovery.

He is my medicine.  He is my rest.  He is my healing.

So I say a song of praise to God my healer

Who hears my broken adoration

And makes me whole again.

--Ruth Anne Breithaupt

August 20, 2006

Remembering

The following was penned on April 13, 1997

In Time

Days, weeks, months, and years have passed since

that day you were so quickly snatched from my little life

For so many, you are only a memory, the pain has subsided and life has gone on.

But for me, I feel the agony of your loss

for the first time

and my life has come to a screeching halt.

You, my mother, just died

and what I could not do as a child

I do as a grown woman…I mourn your death.

Oh, to have you hold me as a child in your arms

to feel the security a mother’s touch brings

How I long to hear you call my name

to enjoy the sound of your laughter filling a room

What I wouldn’t give to have you hold the children

I have birthed and to soak in the delight they give.

And my husband…do you know Mom, that I have a man who loves me

with a love so close to the Perfect One’s love,

it takes my breath away.

Friends…precious friends I would love you to meet,

my list could go on…

of people and places and happenings I wish I could

share with you

but it wouldn’t add or take away

from the ache of not having you here

You are gone from this life

And I like all the others must move on

But not today

Today I will once again gaze intently on pictures of you

hoping to catch a glimpse of life

I will weep and think of you throughout my day

hoping that just maybe, today

will be the day you walk through my door

And I will work through this thing called “grief work”

not because I want to, but because I have to

And then one day

In time

I too will be content

with memories of you

forever impressioned on my heart.

Juanita

April 13, 1997

It's hard to believe I wrote those words 22 years ago.  I could not imagine the healing that would come...in time.  Today marks 49 years since my mother was taken from my life.  While still a shadow of sadness--there will always be this shadow-- there is no longer the anguished empty longing of yesteryear.  Jesus has been so very present and faithful and abundantly good to me.  The expansive view of eternity is not for me to see.  I only trust that this mystery is in His wise safekeeping.

"Remembering you today Mom, with love"

My own Betrayal

"Jesus,

I have betrayed you.

Every time I say, 

'You are not enough.'

When I complain and weep in my spirit 

over my weakness and limitations

When I despise my frailty

and compare the me You created

against another...

When I fail to be at rest because

I keep frantically trying to be more of something...

The fullness of You completes me--

only because of the cross...

only

the

cross.

Jesus,

forgive me.

Let me be empty in Your fullness

Let me be weak in Your strength

Let me be humble in Your provision

Let me live in Your sustaining grace

Let me be at rest in Your sufficiency

Let me live this life you've ordained in me

 through Your "once for all" sacrifice

Let me be quiet in Your love

that was broken and spilled out

for me 

Good Friday

"To partake of sin is to participate in this rupture of reality, this torture procedure, this murder, this death. Never has the consequence of sin been clearer. When we forget, the broken and bleeding Man on the cross reminds us.

It’s so easy to forget in our atonement theories and theological reflections on Good Friday that a real man, a living and breathing human being was beaten to just this side of death, that he was put on display for people to mock and spit on, and that finally he was crucified by the power of the State. And why? Because we sin. Because each of us stands in the Garden of Eden and choose to become like God. Because each one of us eats the forbidden fruit.

And still we remember his words, “Three days…”

Joshua Bocanegra
Excerpt from Lent Project
Biola University, California

The Path of Lent

This always happens.

I start off with such purposeful plans for Lent and all that I desire it to mean for me.  And then well before I have reached Holy Week I am sorely aware that it's not just my plans that have come undone but I myself. 

That which I have "given up" for Lent seems minuscule and empty.  Because it is.

My pledge to focus on Christ and His sacrifice gets seemingly swallowed up with "life" and I am fighting to overcome my failure to Him.  Because somehow I think I can.

My awareness of my sinful self comes at me in the subtle ways and I recognize all of my vain attempts to do more and be more so that I will earn His favor.  Because I don't know what to do with His free gift.

I see the ugliness of my sin and despise it because I hate being imperfect.  Not because it was paid for with the blood of Jesus.

This always happens.

I start off Lent somehow thinking I can be holy for 40 days and always,
always I come crashing into the wall of my sin...
and the rest
and provision
and purity
and redemption
and beauty
and mercy
and sufficiency
and promise
and wonder
and forgiveness
of His love.

And I collapse
in relief
and gratitude.

O Praise The Name (Anástasis)