All The Things {It Is Finished}- Good Friday

There are two options available to us in every circumstance of every day: love or fear. That is why perfect love casts out fear, because they cannot co-exist. So what are we most afraid of?

For me, it’s the fear of not belonging.

 It’s one thing to be loved. It’s quite another thing altogether to belong.

I have found a safe place to sit and receive love. I sit and listen to the Spirit. It’s a discipline and a practice which is far from perfect, but still it brings comfort and peace.

I sit with my back to the window, so that the sunshine and the breeze come in from behind me, and I wrap myself in my favorite shawl. I sit silently without moving, listening to the birds in the trees and the wind-chimes on the patio. I hold my tea-cup of water in both hands and I dwell with myself and my God.

I try to sort through all the things that bother me, the truth and the lies. I try to find myself, my faith, my Jesus.

I listened to Henri Nouwen’s sermon on "The Life Of The Beloved". He asked his audience to consider the three main lies we tell ourselves- I am what I DO, I am what I HAVE, and I am what people SAY about me.

He asks us to remember that we are each beloved of God, and our only true identity is child of God. Nothing else defines who we are. Nothing else.

It is finished.

What are the lies I tell myself? I don’t belong, I am too much for people, I am insignificant, I am invisible, I am incapable of connection, I have no ministry, I don’t make a difference.

My logical self knows these are lies, but the emotional child inside hasn’t been convinced.

I have been watching a bird trying to repurpose an abandoned nest this week. All throughout the day she comes with things to patch and rebuild this old nest which has gone unused for several years.

I don’t know why I left it there, but for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. Perhaps because it represented such hard work followed by failure, as the original builders were driven away by territorial neighbors. They lost their babies in the fray, and they never came back.

I watch this new bird as she is building up from the ruins, and I think about facing hardship and piecing back together that which was damaged- honoring the past while moving on into new things.

This is hard.

So I sit on that seat by the window and I dwell with my feelings, my thoughts, my spirit and my God.

Today is Good Friday.

It is finished.

That’s what I heard Pastor Rick talk about last night as I tuned into the live feed on FB. I was hoping to catch my favorite female pastor who sometimes teaches online, and when I missed her session I ended up watching the Saddleback Good Friday sermon instead:

The Job Has Been Completed! What Jesus Finished by Dying on the Cross.

The response within me was to post my heart out because I was so deeply moved- not necessarily by Pastor Rick’s words, although they were good.

I was moved by the idea that Jesus said “it is finished”.

John 19:30

When Jesus had tasted it, he said, “It is finished!” Then he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.

What is finished?

This is what welled up in my heart as I asked myself what this meant for me this Easter season:

Looking for closure? Trying to make it turn out perfect? Ahhh, me too. Sometimes I try to force the ending of things I want to have control over- but God says "no, let Me finish it. Let me write the ending, my child. I will finish this chapter for you." That's what Good Friday reminds me about this year. There is nothing that we need to DO because it has been DONE and it is FINISHED. In my own life I struggle with finding peace and acceptance when everything is not completed how I want- things left undone will leave me unsettled. The message of Good Friday is a reminder that there will be some things which never have closure or completion in this life. BUT nothing will be left unfinished when we get to the other side and God welcomes us into eternity. Because He finished for us that which we could never complete on our own, and it encompasses EVERYTHING, including the stuff we feel is left undone. So even if something feels unfinished in this life, rest in knowing that what He has done means I don't have to DO anything except receive persuasive grace with abundant gratitude. God sees the ending of our story and the final chapter says that things which were left undone are now FINISHED in Him. Sometimes closure looks like a cross and sounds like a declaration- It Is Finished. This includes EVERYTHING, even those pieces of our journey without happy endings in this life. Thank you Jesus. Amen. #EasterAtSaddleback

This was the start of 24 hours of deep contemplation for me, a process which bled over into Good Friday.

I asked myself these questions:

~What am I most afraid of?  Not making a difference.

~What are the lies I tell myself about who I am? I am small and insignificant.

~And what was finished on Good Friday? All the things left undone. So many things.

I listened to a podcast from Fun Therapy by Mike Foster in which a woman named Annie Downs does an on-air therapy session. She talked about feelings of rejection and what it means to truly belong.

Such a powerful interview, and I cannot recommend it highly enough to my readers: Fun Therapy is an amazing listen.

The guest, Annie, talked about how we sometimes try to deal with pain by numbing out or medicating/managing the emotion instead of facing it head on.

So I asked myself another question as I sipped from my cup, there in the quiet sun on a Good Friday.

How do I medicate?

 Off the top of my head, I can answer with four things that seem most apparent:

~Eating- No I don’t have an eating disorder, but yes I can sometimes use food as comfort in order to cope. When I am sad I consume sugar like there is no tomorrow. Or I chew gum like a fiend. Or both. It has been especially noticeable the past few months- I am actively making a change in my diet (cutting candy) and gum habit (only after a meal), and the resulting struggle proves just how often I use food to make me happy.

~Cleaning- I feel the most productive and useful while I vacuum, fold laundry, make beds, clean up toys, pack lunches and wash dishes. My self worth goes up because, as Mr. Nouwen pointed out, I sometimes believe the lie that I am what I DO with my hands.

~Social Media- Sometimes this is a blessing and other times it’s a curse. When I am in a low and empty place, social media can be a way to find a quick fix for loneliness. I am trying to become more mindful of what mood I am in when I surf, and what I am seeking when I share.

~Music- My earphones and my iTunes are wonderful when I am feeling whole. But when I need to process an emotion, these can become an easy distraction from thinking too deeply. I can drown out the things I don’t want to think about. Even if it’s worship music, it can still become an idol.

I am learning to stop trying to manage the emotion and start surrendering it to Jesus.

So I find myself spending a good amount of time sitting by the window in my bedroom today, back to the sun as I contemplate Good Friday.

What is finished?

All the things left undone.

I need to teach my body that it does not need to medicate emotion, because what I need has already been accomplished for me.

What I need is already provided.

I just need to receive love today.

I smile at the pillow that sits across from me on my bed, which says “all you need is love and the beach.”

Yes, because it is finished, so all I need to do today is sit with Jesus on the shore of my tumultuous sea of thoughts and feelings and simply receive His love.

Tonight I will go and worship with my church family at Saddleback; I will lovingly take the bread and the cup. My neighbors invited me to a different Sadddleback campus than the one I serve on Sunday. But it doesn’t matter what church I find myself singing at, the emotion is always the same- I love the church and I just want to worship with my beloved tribe of Jesus people.

I go to lay down my fears, my management tools, my doubts. I surrender it all to Him once again.

I will nail all. the. things. to the cross.

And tomorrow I will go and see my son get baptized, and I will witness how God has brought such good out of such a hard season.

And I will be grateful for this Good Friday.

All the things which feel undone, the past which brings pain, that chapter is written and closed out.

There are two options available to us in every circumstance of every day: love or fear. That is why perfect love casts out fear, because they cannot coexist. So what am I most afraid of?

I am deeply afraid of not belonging.

It’s one thing to be loved. It’s quite another thing altogether to belong.

I watch the little bird on my patio as she builds up from the ruins, and I think about facing hardship and piecing back together that which was damaged- honoring the past while moving on into new things.

This is hard.

So I sit on that seat by the window and I dwell with all the things: my feelings, my thoughts, my spirit and my God.

Today is Good Friday.

And so I receive this today: I am beloved of God, and my only true identity is child of God. Nothing else defines who I am.

All the things that are still left undone and imperfect, they can have closure because Jesus said it is finished.

It is finished.

Amen.

Rebecca

~*~

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Choosing To Bless {Dear Church}

Dear Church- Please forgive me. I have wronged you. In my attitude regarding our differences I have not been gracious or kind. I have sat in judgement of you.

I have allowed a bad experience to taint all of Gods' people. I drew lines and threw labels and cast accusation on people I did not know.

And with time, God has shown me that the love of His church, for all its imperfection and flaws, can still be genuine and nurturing and welcoming.

I want to start again. I want to love you better.

I want to bless you from an abundance of love, because you are my dear church family.

The truth is we need each other and we are better together.

I forgive you and I’m sorry. How may I serve you now? What gifts can I bring?

I have shared my story with you because it was the first fruits of my transformation. This is the obvious contribution which I have made, but which now seems to be lacking continuing momentum as I press forward into more.

Claiming my story has been integral to my growth in moving forward, but holding onto the bitterness will close the door of opportunity for our reconciliation. To love you well I must release you from your mistakes, as you must release me from mine.

Dear church. You were part of my failure. Now you are part of my victory. For this I am grateful.

For all that you hurt me, if I had to do it all over again, I would. Certainly I would make different choices, but if I had to endure the pain again, I would. Because God has put a love in my heart for you that no amount of misunderstanding or disappointment could ever erase.

I love you even more now, church, because I see you and you see me, and we can come to an understanding that surpasses all past failures.

I listened with you on Sunday to the guest pastor, Dr. Ed Stetzer, as he spoke about Choosing to Let God Use And Bless You.

“This week and beyond you will be choosing to bless others on mission,” he said.

Yes, there have been many firsts since we gave each other a second chance.

Most notably, this week I served on one of your serve teams- it’s been a long time. This past Sunday I chose to bless you from the work of my hands and the service of my time to show that I still care. 

This week I took yet another step towards emotional and spiritual transformation, thanks to you, my church.

It was a risk, but it was worth it. And I realized this:

I was wrong about so many things, like people and love and community and forgiveness and second chances.

The rejection from one Jesus person does not signify rejection from the entire Jesus community.

So on Sunday, for the first time in many months, I showed up at 7am, when the truck was full of rolling carts and boxes that had not been fully unloaded, when the air was crisp and the classrooms were still cold, when the campus was empty except for the dedicated few who rise early.

This is still my favorite part of Sunday. I love our early mornings together.

I have prayed to love this about you again, and here I am now writing it with joy.

Thank you, Jesus. It’s the simple things that make me happy now, the little things which I will never take for granted again.

 “Does God consistently answer your prayers?” Dr. Stetzer asked us on Sunday.

Does He?

I talk to God often, but usually it’s about what I’m currently frustrated with rather than what I hope for the future. As I have brought my conscious awareness to the persuasive abundance of blessing God has poured over me though you, the church, there has been a shift in what I hear in His replies to me.

I hear things like “I see what the church has done to you and I will make things right. Trust me- that which has wounded you can also heal you. I can use anyone and any place- my power is not limited by the name they may call themselves. My work goes deeper than words or titles or denominations.”

Some of my recent prayers, the mindful ones which come from a place of abiding in the present moment and surrendering fear and worry, some of these prayers have begun to be answered.

I asked for second chances, friendships, a ministry role among the followers of Jesus.

I asked God for my transformation story

to continue on.

God said YES. He used you, the church, to open me back up so I could surrender to His promises. 

You, the very people I have feared the most.

He speaks to me in subtle messages in my heart- “You are loved, these are your people, too. Let’s work together, I want to bless you, so move when I move and always know that I am proud of you. Don’t give up on My story for your life. I know what I am doing, and I can accomplish it here and now amongst these people, in this place. Be still and trust. Watch and listen.”

He also speaks to me in loud proclamations, which come in the form of personal victories accomplished by you and through you, dear church-

~Victory looks like going to a leadership conference and hearing about the power of forgiveness within church ministry.

~It looks like the words “I forgive you” in the most simple and straightforward way possible, not for the sake of another this time, but finally extending those words for me and my own sake, regardless of the outcome, the reception or the impact.

~It looks like planting a seed of deep healing within myself that can grow from the inside out.

~Victory looks like like driving home down an old road with a new attitude on a Sunday afternoon.

~It looks like taking an entire afternoon to go shopping for myself alone at the mall, investing in new clothes after many months of not caring.

~It looks like doing my makeup for the first time in 2018 because I was too weary and too wary to do otherwise.

~Vicotry is showing up at 7am to help set up the children’s ministry rooms.

~It looks like getting my team t-shirt. It looks like getting one for my son.

~It looks like having your face staring up at you from the church bulletin and realizing you are actually being noticed.

~It’s allowing my writing to float freely along on a vast sea of content and being peacefully OK with not getting noticed, read, followed or promoted.

~Its about realizing you are making noticeable progress on the road to emotional freedom.

I am tasting emotional victory one day at a time.

Dear church, some of you are reading Pastor Holladay’s book with me, Putting It Together Again When It's All Fallen Apart.

I love this line from page 112- “Be humble enough to recognize how easily you could slip back into the old patterns that got your relationships in trouble. Build in some new patterns. With every success there is a slump. With every mountaintop, there is a valley. We always expect a loss of energy after a failure, but we are often surprised by the physical and mental slump that follows a success.”

I think here of our brother Elijah, who in 1 Kings 19 experiences the depression that comes from peaking in ministry. He wished to die after accomplishing the greatest church service ever known to mankind.

Because one hard thing you taught me, church, is that leadership is painful. Especially when your expectations are for the bent and broken people of Jesus to be God Himself incarnate.

Dear church, can you forgive me for holding you up to an impossible standard and blaming you when you couldn’t measure up?

The truth is, I just want to love you and I want you to love me.

I want to help lead you, which means sometimes making the hard choices before you do, and being the first one to take the first step towards reconciliation. This is why ministry sometimes hurts.

Pain is the mark of leadership. And for me, it’s hard to let go of pain, because the void it reveals is empty and full of frightening possibility.

Pastor Holladay also wrote this about the pain of serving: “It is a combination of the natural letdown from the adrenaline of the success and the emotional depletion that comes from the giving of yourself. Be prepared for it. Don’t let it overwhelm you, and let God carry you through.”

I let this very thing overwhelm me, church, and it brought out my messiest self in your very midst.

But you have helped me see that all is not wasted.

When I watched Pastor Rick do the Easter Prayer Breakfast for pastors this morning, I was struck by his testimony and his statement-

“Your greatest hurt can become your greatest ministry.”

And it did, through you, dear church! I once wrote this about you back in my confession:

The church is a community that reminds me of my highest highs and lowest lows.

We are coming up together now from of a low point, which requires lots of trust and intentionality. So to declare my determination to heal our past, today I showed up for you. And I will do it again.

I decided to try meeting you in the middle, somewhere between past hurts and future victories.

I choose to bless you, beloved church.

So I showed up at 7am to set up on a Sunday morning, and I will do so again and again without needing to be asked. Because I’m starting over. I’m building a foundation. I’m tasting victory, and I am trying to allow myself the space to recover from the history between us. I want to show you how much I still care.

Emotional progress is wonderfully difficult to navigate, so I will not go it alone. I will make connections and allow myself to be noticed- and as you have shown me, I am indeed being seen.

A deep thanks to the Jesus people who are reaching out to me and helping me to trust again.

I will choose to bless and let God use my gifts to serve you, church- and I will do it scared, because otherwise it will never get done.

I cannot bless from a place of bitterness, so you motivate and encourage me to keep letting that piece go. But I discovered this week that it is possible and sometimes necessary to bless from an initial place of fear.

Because I am scared to love you, after everything that has happened between us. This is why I write so much about you.

I used to write here for the sake of our past. And my readership has dwindled and that’s OK. Because I have now begun to write for the sake of our future together. And I don’t need a big audience to make a big difference.

It’s no longer about numbers, it’s about connection and contribution to a community I’m committed to loving, in good times and bad.

Dear church, we have quite a history. Its full of so much baggage. As I continue to sort through the past, God is showing me that your love, for all its imperfection and flaws, can still be genuine and nurturing and welcoming.

Let’s start again. I want to love you better.

I am here to bless you, beloved church.

I forgive you and I’m sorry.

The truth is we need each other and we really are better together.

Just like Dr. Stetzer said, “This week and beyond you will be choosing to bless others on mission.”

Yes, I will.

For us, this mission looks like moving towards each other at a pace we can both trust, in God’s timing and with a servant’s heart. It looks like moving with the Spirit and meeting in the middle.

Dear church, I look forward to blessing you and being blessed by you. I look forward to a fresh outpouring of persuasive abundance.

Let’s celebrate the small victories together on the road to rebuilding our relationship.

See you all on Easter Sunday, my friends. God willing, I will be there at 7am to set up and serve your kids.

With A Hear Full Of Love,

Rebecca

~*~

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Waiting For An Open Door {Traveling Desert Roads}

Have you been hurt by the church? Then my story is for you.

This Sunday sermon will be served dry and on the rocks. The refinement of desire is done best in the desert, which is why God has strategically placed me here.

There I was on a Sunday morning, listening to Pastor Rick preach about choosing the right doorways to walk through. I found myself on a mansion balcony in the Arizona desert. The morning sun was shining on my back as I sat in an expensive patio chair, feet propped up on an equally expensive footstool.  I had headphones in my ears and I surveyed the brown dry landscape, observing the rocks piled up atop of one another along the mountainside. I tuned into the live feed to listen to Pastor Rick talk about doors and why we should walk through the ones that are open and thank God for the ones that are closed.

But what if all the doorways in the desert are presently closed?

How do you wait in that dry place with confidence and dignity?

What do you do when you have been hurt by a church that was made for people who were hurt by the church? (read that twice to let it sink in).

The road home might be a straight line, but it is long and monotonous and seems to stretch on for eternity.

This was the first Sunday that I would miss a service at my newly adopted church- this is meaningful to me. It’s the first opportunity to show myself that I have learned not to hold to tightly, not to grasp so desperately, but rather to allow my refinement to come slowly as my discipleship unfolds gradually.

I am learning to let God fill the absences in His own way instead of cramming them with my chosen substitutes.

As a former church addict, missing a Sunday now and then is probably a good thing for my faith. Although I don’t want to learn about closed doors here in the desert, this is most likely the best place to begin again.

And so my rebellious nature protests in defiance as God patiently refines my desires.

This is also the first week that I am writing a blog without direction or intent. What am I doing here, God?

My blog came on the scene with a rapid fire confession back in November of last year- it was epic and unprecedented in the history of my own personal writing. Then came a fresh outpouring of creative writing, a continuation of the healing process during a raw time of public sharing. After that I blogged straight through Genesis, beginning with Abel and following all the shame stories in Scripture I could get my hands on. I closed it out last week with the last chapter of Joseph’s story, because I felt myself longing to wander into new territory.

So here I am typing without structure. What am I writing for? 

I am actively and daily talking to God about this, and I don’t have an answer just yet. As with so many things in my life which have the power to shape my future, I am waiting on a higher power to move so that I can move with it.

I am surrounded by closed doors, waiting to see which one opens next. My faith stands in the hallway, a long stretch of highway through the desert with barred exits on both sides.

I have joined a small group and am reading through the Saddleback bible study which is appropriately themed: “Putting It Together Again When It’s All Fallen Apart”. This week I find myself in the chapter by Pastor Holladay titled Expect And Reject Opposition. I have been spending extra time circling, highlighting, underlining and marking up the sub-section called discouragement.

When I face closed doors, I tend to get discouraged- it’s my personality and my internal programming. Whether doors are closed by my own doing or by God’s grace, or a combination of both, I languish as I wait for another one to open.

And as I contemplated discouragement this week, I found myself clicking into a website about how to turn your blog into a money-making business. Follow specific consecutive steps to increase your traffic, grow your following and start making money in less than 6 months!

Do I qualify? Sure. Am I capable? Absolutely. Am I willing?

Nope.

Writing is my calling for this season of life, not my agenda for financial success. So I paused my latest promotion on Facebook because I needed to do a recheck on my heart and my emotions. I took time to reflect on where I am at in the present moment. Why am I still writing now?

I have a history of putting doorstops into the very doors that God wants to close for me.

He has had to wrench me away where I stood defiantly in the doorway, hands planted firmly on my hips, stubborn look on my face, with the demeanor of a defensive warrior.

“Oh no, not this door, God. You won’t ever close this door.”

Oh yes, He did.

For my safety, He closed it firmly, and he pulled me back inside before I made yet another stupid mistake.

And now I am in the desert learning about closed doors on a Sunday morning, listening to Pastor Rick-

 “How many of you have walked through what you thought was the right door, but it was actually the wrong door? There are some doors you walk through and it takes years to get back on track.”

Yep. The story of my life for the past year. I nod and blink in the direction of the dry mountainside before me.

The desert rocks stare back at me in stony silence.

“Sometimes God shuts a door for my protection. God knows how to close doors to protect you and how to open doors to bless you.”

I don’t like closed doors- they make me feel punished.

Should I feel protected? I had never considered…

“Sometimes God removes a harmful person from your life for your protection. Do NOT run after them! Don’t do it! When you do, that’s called co-dependency.”

Oh God, this resonates deep. I devoted an entire blog of my confession to this very topic. I still struggle, even now. Some days I want to forget all the healing progress I have made and run full speed back into the arms of the past.

“You do not need them. God has shut the door- do not run after them. Some of you need to hear that today.”

Yes, I do. The desert is a hard teacher, Pastor Rick.

“They have walked out and you need to let them walk out. God has a bigger plan, a better idea and a greater door for your life. He often shuts a door for your protection.”

A better plan- one that includes the firm and abrupt shutting of doors? I process this logic as I go about the rest of my day.

My family and I eat peanuts and watch baseball and catch the Blue Angels in action.

And all the while I think about doors and desert mountains, co-dependency and new hope.

I watch those blue and gold jets make lines in the sky and I wonder- what am I doing here, praying and seeking answers in this dry desert place?

“Sometimes God cracks open a door to give me a glimpse of my future long before I am ready to walk into it.”

Well this seems unfair- closed doors feel like punishment.

Should they feel like hope?

“When God gives you a vision He never gives it to you all at once- He wants to keep you growing.”

Ok, but I am discouraged. Tell me more. I need more.

“Some of you have no idea the success and blessing and ways that God wants to prosper your life, but you are not mature enough to handle it yet. Right now you are a little bit too selfish.”

Yep. This is true- I will own this one. Keep preaching...

“We need to prove we are capable of handling the blessing He wants to pour out on our life.”

Oh- like a lengthy assignment or a long-term stake-out. A sojourn through the desert on the long road to a wellspring of abundance.

This I can understand. This I can do.

But when do I get my new ministry?

“In God’s timetable He will bring it to pass.”

Of course- this again. The unknown, the uncertain. The call for trust.

Because an immature child needs to grow naturally through each stage of development.

My childlike stubborn pride presses back hard against this truth.

Later in the week, as we ride back home on the long stretch of highway where there is nothing but dry rocks and brown dust and tumble weeds, I think about that sermon and how appropriate it was for me to hear at this point in the journey.

“Ok, God, I accept that this door is shut, I will stop jiggling the handle and trying to pick the lock. I surrender! So, where to from here? You can open the next door now!”

The desert is dry, quiet and empty. The waiting is pregnant with hope, but it is still a waiting.

I remember the words from Sunday that struck me deeper than my pride-

“Here is the problem- a lot of times God opens up the door a little bit and you get a little glimpse and think ‘oh, that’s my dream for my life, I would LOVE to do that, it’s what God made me for, this is what I really want to do!’”

Yes, precisely.

I munch on communion crackers as I dwell on God’s timing, consuming the last remaining evidence of my previously broken dreams. I had purchased a box of communion crackers on day when I was certain I would never step foot into a church again. In my stubborn pride I decided to never return to the people of God for all the ways they had disappointed me.

That lasted all of two Sundays.

Now I consume that holy and forgotten bread like a starving wanderer on the long road through a dry arid landscape, listening to words of retribution and correction from this new spiritual father I have adopted.

“We immediately, without waiting on God, run out and try to accomplish the vision in our own way and in our own time, and we fall flat on our face.”

Oh yes, I most certainly did that, in a most epic and ungraceful manner.

I pass the communion bread back to my family as I share the broken remnant of unholy dreams. I know that boredom and long desert roads will make us all into consumer Christians if we are not mindful of our deepest needs.

“And then we come crawling back to God and say, ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry, I really let you down. Did I just miss the vision?’”

This has become a great fear of mine. Did I misread my calling? Because honestly, multiple people in high and authoritative places in numerous faith communities have told me I was chosen rightly, that I have a special gift, than I am more than qualified.

Did I misunderstand the vision for my life?

“And God says “No, no! I gave you that vision, I gave you that dream, it’s from Me. You just didn’t wait for part two and part three!”

I really needed to hear this Pastor Rick. Did you know you were preaching right to me?

As we come closer to home, we approach the burnt hillsides from a fire that raged through the landscape several months ago.

I notice that green things are starting to bud up from the destruction.

“The way God intends to fulfill the vision in your life is often the exact opposite of the way you think you should do it.”

There is a cross that survived the fire- it stands tall as the tiny leaves of green poke stubbornly up from the burnt earth.

My intentions were burned in a refining fire because I did not wait or call on God’s guidance.

“And that’s why you fall flat on your face.”

I was in such a hurry that I tripped over God’s perfect plan.

Thankfully green can still rise up from the charred remains.

It may take a year or two before that hillside looks resurrected, but each day is an opportunity for growth.

“When you are waiting, it’s not as if God isn’t working. When you are waiting you are supposed to be preparing, and when you’re waiting God is getting things lined up in the way that He wants to. And God can do more in five minutes on His timing than you can do in fifty years on yours. He can flip things around in amazing ways. So when He cracks that door it’s just helping you see where He wants to take you.”

So putting it together again when it’s all fallen apart? For me, this is a season of waiting.

And waiting can feel like punishment.

Or it can feel like protection and hope.

I heard Pastor Rick say “God doesn’t sponsor flops.”

Which means my story is not a failure, because His hand is still so clearly upon me, even when I am stubborn and obstinate.

And I am learning to wait like the author of Habakkuk 2:3-

³ This vision is for a future time.
    It describes the end, and it will be fulfilled.
If it seems slow in coming, wait patiently,
    for it will surely take place.
    It will not be delayed.

This barren wilderness of patience has its good days and its bad days. Sometimes it feels like a lot of impatience and some disappointment. Other times it feels like a drink for my thirsty soul.

 I pray and ask God for peace on an almost daily, sometimes hourly, basis. Since my epic failure, it is rare for me to feel fully “at peace” with myself, to be certain of my purpose and my identity. But these closing thoughts of the Sunday sermon were a consolation in the desert and water for my thirsty soul-

“You are not going to feel peace on this side of the door. You only get the peace that surpasses understanding after you go through it in obedience, while you are scared to death. But once you get through it then God gives you the peace.”

The closest thing I can find to support this is when I became a member of my new church. I was in spiritual and emotion turmoil about it up until an hour after signing my name. I would alternate from apathy to terror, back and forth, again and again. I was so afraid of making another mistake.

 But after we drove away from the church as “official” family members, I felt covered with joy and peace like I had not known in many months.

It was the rare kind of peace that surpasses understanding. The kind that grows from within.

“When you walk through that door and you come out on the other side then the peace comes. Don’t expect the peace to come before you obey, it doesn’t work that way. God only gives you peace after you obey.”

So yes, perhaps some peace will not come to us until after we walk through the door of opportunity, and we must sometimes wait a while for it to open.

And as I wait in there in the hallway, I will consume communion in the desert place, and I will pray.

And I will listen, always listen, for wisdom comes on the wings of hope and lands in the barren wilderness for the thirsty soul to drink.

There is only one Scripture you forgot to mention in your sermon, Pastor Rick. It’s the one about me, about my story of slowly blooming where I am planted here in your faith community:

¹⁴ “But then I will win her back once again.
    I will lead her into the desert
    and speak tenderly to her there. ¹⁵ I will return her vineyards to her
    and transform the Valley of Trouble^[b] into a doorway of hope.”

-Hosea 2:14-15

This is my prayer, for myself and for anyone else who has been hurt by the church.

There is an open door for us, too, and the journey begins here in the desert place.

God is the Author of our stories and His vision for us is beyond our biggest dreams.

Amen and amen.

Rebecca

~*~

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