It’s 3am on Easter Sunday. It’s still, dark, and my feelings are raw and tender. For a few moments yesterday, I thought I was losing my husband, Brian, and the image of what I thought could be him dying is now etched in my brain.
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It’s Good Friday. Today is an invitation to reflect on a complex mystery. If you pause long enough to see Jesus Christ on the cross, it’s hard not wonder, “What is He doing there?”
I was talking with one of my podcast co-hosts recently and she admitted that she just didn’t believe in the story of Jesus. She wasn’t sure He even existed. She’s not alone. I was scrolling through social media the other day and someone in one of my Facebook groups equated the story of Jesus with mythology. I’ve seen some TikTok videos that claim similar views. But with all due respect to both my beloved co-host and people I don’t know on social media, history and those who actually study it are virtually unanimous: Jesus Christ was a real person with real followers who died on a real Roman cross.
And so Jesus lived and He died. So what?
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Does beauty speak of a good God who loves you?
Who sees you?
I went to a Christian conference this past week and while I was there, I was constantly pondering that question. Not only was I researching and presenting on the topic of beauty, and talking to my peers and young women about it, but in my own times of quiet, I found myself asking the same question.
Does beauty speak of a good God who loves me?
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And other life lessons I probably should have learned by now… Last night, we had some sweet friends over for dinner and they brought the makings of ice cream sundaes for dessert. I LOVE ice cream. In fact, in my twenties, I went to bed almost every night with a three scoop bowl. Ice cream is my choice comfort food. But in my mid-twenties, I began dealing with chronic inflammation and random health issues that seemed like a mystery at the time.
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I remember many years ago, when my mom’s friend turned forty. My mom was ten years younger and 40 seemed SO OLD to me. I don’t remember if back then they celebrated with boxes of Depends, “Over the Hill” signs, and black streamers – but I’m pretty sure that was part of the general messaging.
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When I was fifteen, I traveled to the Philippines on a three-week missions trip with leaders and other kids from my youth group. It was a large group- I think over 40 of us. And for over a year beforehand, we had prepared a one-hour long drama called “Toymaker and Son.” Toymaker was an allegory of the Biblical story- from creation to resurrection. We had makeup, costumes, props, and a pastor leading us who had grown up in the Philippines, knew the local culture, and spoke Tagalog. It was an incredible experience as we went around to various towns and areas, performing for crowds of people. At the end of each performance, there was a “come to Jesus” invitation and, sometimes people made decisions to give their lives to Christ. It was powerful stuff to witness, especially as a teenager.
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I remember the first time someone betrayed me.
I was four. She was my favorite person in the entire world. She told me how special I was and how much she loved me. Then she walked out the door. I’ll never forget her leaving me. For the next sixteen years she’d be in and out of my life, at times, showering me with affection when it served her interests. At other times, discarding me like I was nothing when it was inconvenient to have me around. As a young woman, I often wondered how foolish I must have been to love someone so deeply who only pretended to love me back.
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All is quiet at 6am. Except for the hum of central forced air, a soothing Spotify list that hums in my ear, and my seven year-old (who I swear is chronically sleep deprived) who is on the couch trying to repair a toy with a pair of dull scissors.
It’s dark outside and the lights are down. I have a candle lit and several LED candles flickering as well. My cozy socks and a soft blanket cover my feet…
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I made the mistake of buying a planner this year.
I don’t mean my normal, spur of the moment purchase from the attractive end-cap at Target.
I mean, a bonafide Cultivate What Matters 2021 Powersheets Goal Planner.
I think I was so relieved the world didn’t immediately end after the US Presidential Election that I decided if 2021 was actually going to happen, I was going to be ready for it.
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For the past 15 months or so, I’ve been hosting a weekly podcast called “Finding Something REAL.” When I describe it to people, I say it’s a podcast for seekers and believers needing encouragement. But lately as I pause to reflect about who it’s really for- I know it’s for the young woman figuratively sitting in the back of the church. It’s for the girl who grew up in a Christian home and now struggles to know if she can really trust what she’s been taught all her life. And it’s also for the girl who has never experienced the love of Christ but has started to wonder if maybe He’s legit. The Finding Something REAL podcast is for the believer struggling with faith and the skeptic struggling with doubt.
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This month, I’m going to be talking with guests about living with confidence on the Finding Something Real podcast. And I’m excited, because I could use a reminder or two of where real confidence comes from- especially in the current state of our fear-infested world.
One of the guests I’m talking with this month is Abby McDonald. Abby is the author of the new book, Shift: Changing Our Focus to See the Presence of God. I’ll be sharing my conversation with Abby later this month, but in the meantime, you can find out more about Abby and her heart for women here.
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This month so far has been full of ironies.
I knew I’d be talking about marriage and the concept of “living happily ever after” over on the Finding Something Real podcast this month. I knew I wanted to invite my husband, Brian, to along with me, share our mistakes and victories.. I knew being vulnerable about our marriage was part of the plan…
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Sitting here, watching the Celebration of the Life and Legacy of Dr. Lois Evans, also watching the snow fall down, glancing up to see my four and six year-old children eating their lunches extra slowly- because they’re trying to delay their nap times.
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There’s a Chris Rice song I love called “Go Light Your World.”
Some of the lyrics,
“There is a candle in every soul. Some brightly burning, some dark and cold . There is a Spirit who brings a fire. Ignites a candle and makes His home. Carry your candle, run to the darkness. Seek out the hopeless, confused and torn. Hold out your candle for all to see it. Take your candle, and go light your world.”
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Do you need a fresh start?
I don’t know what it is about this time of year, but it sometimes makes me a sentimental head case.
The year gone by feels like a blurry haze, the pressure’s on to make time count, and the constant admonitions to do better clutter my thought life as I put my head to the pillow each night.
I start questioning where I’ve been and where I’m going.
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Whoa- it’s already almost mid-September.
This is my first blog post since the end of June.
And I gotta tell you, this summer went by fast and was one for the memory books.
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