GOOD FRIDAY

Dear Jesus,

Can we talk? About today? I need to be honest about my thoughts on this Good Friday.

Today marks the anniversary of Your death. If I were honest, I'd say I'm right beside You today. I feel stripped of everything I've known: exposed and on display, and bleeding from every pore.

Last night marked the night You went to the Garden of Gethsemane to pray. I read that You sweat drops of blood. I, too, spent last night in prayer and agony. The difference is that You were praying to avoid death, and I'm not certain I would do the same right now.

So the world mourned Your death, and darkness covered the land. There was thunder and lightning and monumental events. Today, there is sunshine and deafening silence and mundane events and nobody knows I'm dying a thousand deaths every hour.

But the purpose of Your death was to redeem us, and to bring us hope. So I'm here today, saying thanks for that. Because even small steps in the right direction are steps, and You have a history of moving toward those who move toward You. So I prayed over his feet last night, because I think he's a good man who just needs You to order his steps: to put his steps in order, as it were. First toward You, then toward me.

When they took Your body off the cross, everything on Your shoulders moved to the grave. The burden of our sin, the weight of our cares, and the tears of our shattered hearts. I believe You left it all in the grave; so when You tell us to take every thought captive, we can bury the unproductive thoughts where they belong. So I prayed over his head last night, too: that if he's too weak to take his thoughts captive, You would stand in the gap. Send him thoughts of worth and value, and steer him away from thoughts of defeat.

Sunday is coming. You rose victorious. I will rise, too. I just have to get through these nights in the dark. Sealing my sorrows in Your empty grave, and waiting for the promise of a Sunday sunrise, where every chain is broken.

Every chain. Even addiction. Every addiction.

And that will make today *my* Good Friday. *His* Good Friday. Your are good...even on Good Friday.

Amen.

IN THE PIT

In my distress I screamed to the Lord for his help.
And he heard me from heaven; my cry reached his ears.
~ Psalm 18:6 TLB

It was the morning after the biggest betrayal in my life. The wind had been completely knocked out of me. Arriving in the office was like an escape for the day: where it would be okay to stay busy and not acknowledge my emotions. Out of habit, I flipped my desktop calendar past the weekend, and found the day's inspiration was Psalm 18:6, as written above.

"In my distress" seemed to be putting it mildly today. I had devoted my life to choosing someone who - as it turns out - was actively choosing anyone but me. I had literally invested blood, sweat, tears, finances, gifts and prayers into this relationship. And in a moment, none of it mattered. In a single heartbeat, I had been tossed aside. I was old-fashioned, fat and boring. Less than...again.

Zapped of air and void of strength, I had yet to confront my betrayer. Questions swirling in my head were held in by this lump in my throat. My emotional pendulum was swinging rapidly between deep hurt and fierce anger. Silence, I reasoned, was my best modus operandi until I had words and a plan.

"...I screamed to the Lord for His help." This must be one of the most realistic verses in the entire Word of God, and it found me. On this day. King David didn't come to God with a professional prayer. He didn't come to the house of God with joyful thanksgiving or with respectful whispers. Instead, David screamed to God from his hiding place. And although we aren't given David's exact words of choice, I bet we've used them a few times ourselves: God, where are you? Can You even hear me? Do You even care about me, still? 

In Biblical times, a person in a pit was associated with death. Pits served a purpose, such as watering crops and animals. To place a human body in a pit indicated someone was deceased, their body used to feed wild animals or fertilize soil. There are only 2 - perhaps 3 - times a person is recorded as surviving the pit. 

Joseph was the first. Remember when his brothers stripped him of his colorful robe and threw him in a pit? Jealousy can drive a person to do things they would otherwise deem unacceptable. Thankfully, conscience got the better of them, and the sibling group retrieved Joseph, selling him as a slave. Still, he remained stripped of his identity and far away from everyone he knew and loved. I'm so there.

Daniel was the second recorded survivor. He had done everything right, essentially becoming second-in-command in the kingdom. Still, jealousy found a way to sabotage him and Daniel found himself in a pit. Surrounded by lions. Stripped of position, void of companionship, in a place of complete darkness. Again...I'm so there. 

The passage concerning King David is somewhat unclear as to whether he was in a pit or a cave. Either way, it was a place of darkness and isolation. A place of soul searching. As far as I can tell, the only thing that separates David's dark place from Joseph's and Daniel's, is what happened inside.

We do not read of any response from Joseph from the depths of darkness. There is no record of his begging or pleading with his brothers: no cries for mercy or for help. Similarly, nothing indicates that Daniel cried for escape. Though I am certain they both prayed, we are led to believe their prayers were relevantly quiet and dignified.

King David, though? He was more like me. I love that 1 Samuel 13:14 refers to David as "a man after [God's] own heart," because it gives me hope that all my human ways are at least forgivable. In all of the Old Testament, David is the only character I recall described as screaming at God. Certainly Job had cause to, given the scope of his losses. If I were Abraham, I may have protested loudly when asked to sacrifice my child. Still, David's is the only confession to screaming at God in his distress.

I am in a dark place at the moment. I know that there is a way out, and that "Emmanuel" means "God with us." But I may need to scream to confirm to my heart and soul that God hears me, sees me, and has great plans for me. I would love it if my screams were balanced with some whispered prayers from friends like you. 


Blessings,

Vicki

The Lull

Lull. The very word is soothing, isn't it? And I love its association with stillness or respite. It conjures up an image in my mind of a time of refreshing, like an oasis in the desert.

It has been slow in my workplace this week. I commented to my direct supervisor today that we are either experiencing the proverbial calm before the storm, or I have missed something really big! His words were so reassuring: "It's the calm. Enjoy the lull."

What does this look like in the office? For me, it looks like arriving before the lights have been turned on and brewing the coffee. I pull a stack of coffee filters so it's easy for people to grab one at a time, and spend some time with my Bible while my e-mails load. I invite Jesus to walk through this day with me. Slow, easy starts to days that are steady, but not driving busy.

The busy days are coming. In a matter of weeks, there will be hundreds of registrations and warranty claims demanding my attention. Phones will ring off the hook, meetings will require attendance, and my daily devotional e-mails will be buried under hundreds of messages that may appear more important. I will struggle to find my balance some days. Until then ... enjoy the lull.

Confession: I wrote the above paragraphs a week or so ago. I was going to talk about how life in general was also on pause in my world. I would have told you that my word for 2018, "Refresh," has really summed up the first two months of the year for me. Winter is a season of hibernation, but a season nonetheless; I have found myself in a season of stillness. Sometimes the most refreshing thing we can do is to rest.

Today, though, the lull is over. In speaking to God aloud a couple of weeks ago, I thanked Him for the pause. I recognized my tendency to worry so much about what's coming next that I neglect to enjoy the moment. I apologized, and praised God for the fact that no matter what's coming, I do not face it alone. Then came the storm - both physically and virtually.

We had known the snowstorm was coming. It was a rare weekend where no travel was required, so I took full advantage of the opportunity to spend a whole Saturday in my pajamas with a book. It's easy not to worry about impressions when nobody is moving. A good storm can be anticipated in this part of the country, where you are required to drive for everything except your mail. Snowplows are a commodity reserved for parts further north, so a good storm can halt traffic for days at a time here.

Saturday, though, came and went without a single flake falling. Sunday morning arrived with light drizzle, but salt trucks were already on the highway as I drove to church. By the time I headed home, the commute was a challenge best met by restrained speed and whispered prayers. Still, it was early evening when the skies opened and the house across the street from ours seemingly disappeared.

Internally, I made no connection of how fitting it would be for physical and emotional storms to collide. So it was that I was blindsided. First by the letter in the mailbox, dated an entire year ago. Then by the letter in a social media inbox, advising me to have my Goodbye talk with my dad. Then by the discovery of a social media account under an alias name, belonging to someone who once meant everything to me. It has called me to question everything I thought I knew, and has cast a huge question mark over the future.

I am so grateful for the peace that passes all understanding! I am grateful that no matter what happens in coming days, I do not face this storm alone. Mostly, I am grateful for the lull. There is always a time of rest: a time to gather and restore strength. I will need another one when this time of turbulence has passed; how grateful I am to know that God's vision and His plans for me far exceed my own!

How blessed I am to have spent my time in the hallway, the lull, praising Him! This, too, shall pass. It's just another test becoming a testimony.