An Empty Tomb

For the past two weeks, I have been immersed in a project at work on the topic of Easter---a story I've heard and contemplated a thousand times since I was a child.

But this time I saw something new (to me) in these familiar passages.

Confusion.

Imagine the confusion felt by those closest to Jesus after His death.

Think of Mary, mother of Jesus, for example. An angel had come to Mary many years before, telling her: Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you. You will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end (Luke 1:28-33).

Mary believed all this. She trusted. She followed. Her Son would be great . . . He would reign forever . . . His kingdom would never end.

But then Jesus was beaten, degraded, humiliated, murdered. Gone.

Imagine the despair.

Imagine the CONFUSION.

If Jesus was dead, what did that mean about all she had believed? It must have seemed like a contradiction to everything she had trusted and lived out of for so long.

I always thought the tears of the disciples and the women were tears of sadness. I never realized their tears must also have been tears of frightened confusion.

The confusion was so great that after Jesus had risen, when He appeared to Mary Magdalene, she did not even recognize Him: At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus (John 20:14).

And the disciples: They still did not understand from Scripture that Jesus had to rise from the dead (John 20:9).

In their minds, this was the end.

If only they had known.

But they didn't know. And what a beautiful and perfect example that is for us today.

Our understanding is so small. Our pain is amplified and we are made frantic by our confusion. And in this way, our fragile faith is tested to its very limits.

These days, as I shed my own tears of confusion and despair, I can rest and know the pain and loss I am experiencing is not a contradiction to the steps I've taken in the past year under the conviction that I was following Him.

Even if I can't yet make sense of it, I know God is at work for a greater purpose.

What I have thought of as the end is really the beginning.

And the day will most certainly come when I will arrive at the tomb only to find it empty, to hear the gentle voice of my Savior . . . and all will be made clear.

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Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the entrance. So she came running to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one Jesus loved, and said, "They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don't know where they have put him!"

So Peter and the other disciple started for the tomb. Both were running, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent over and looked in at the strips of linen lying there but did not go in. Then Simon Peter, who was behind him, arrived and went into the tomb. He saw the strips of linen lying there, as well as the burial cloth that had been around Jesus' head. The cloth was folded up by itself, separate from the linen. Finally the other disciple, who had reached the tomb first, also went inside. He saw and believed. (They still did not understand from Scripture that Jesus had to rise from the dead.)

Then the disciples went back to their homes, but Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus' body had been, one at the head and the other at the foot.

They asked her, "Woman, why are you crying?"

"They have taken my Lord away," she said, "and I don't know where they have put him." At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus.

"Woman," he said, "why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?"

Thinking he was the gardener, she said, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him."

Jesus said to her, "Mary."

She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, "Rabboni!" (which means Teacher).

Jesus said, "Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet returned to the Father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, 'I am returning to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.' "

Mary Magdalene went to the disciples with the news: "I have seen the Lord!" And she told them that he had said these things to her.

---John 20:1-18

What a Girl . . . Wants?

I keep wanting to know where God is taking me.

Wanting.
Wanting.
Wanting.

In thinking about "wanting," I've come to realize that I have spent most of my life "wanting" things for no other reason than to protect myself from pain.

I "want" her to call me so it doesn't hurt that she didn't call me.
I "want" to be with him so it doesn't hurt that he rejected me.
I "want" to succeed at work so it doesn't hurt to have failed.
I "want" to have a drink so I don't have to feel uncomfortable or bored.

As a result, I have defined myself almost entirely in the context of other people or in the context of objects.

And in the midst of this, I have absolutely no idea what I truly want.

The desires of my heart are a mystery to me.

I have cluttered my life with people and things to make me feel "good" or to help me to not feel "bad."

And, without knowing it, I haven't been living out of who I truly am.

"Lindsey always knows exactly what she wants."

I've heard that so many times.

On the surface my surety and decisiveness looked like a strength. But in reality, it was an illusion, and ultimately, a weakness. It's unfortunate to not know what you want. But it's downright dangerous to not know what you want but still chase after whatever is in front of you with unswerving and hasty confidence.

I've tried to take the reins from God because I've been too afraid or impatient or faithless to let Him drive.

But suddenly, today, a timely answer to prayer . . . I feel refreshingly empty. At least for the moment. Empty of wants. Empty of desires.

Lord, fill me with desire for what You desire for me. Show me not what I want, but what I need. Guide me that I may begin to live, finally and fully, out of who I truly am . . . Yours, and not my own.

The Path of Least Resistance

I used to fight.

I thought I needed to fight everyone. To rage against anyone or anything that hurt me.

I resisted. I refused to accept my brokenness. I was afraid. I fought. I ran. Down a Path of Least Acceptance . . . going fast, nowhere.

I've come to a crossroads.

A Path of Least Resistance calls to me.

It's time to stop resisting the pain. It's time to stop fighting. Time to let God fight for me.

He's a lot bigger than me.

I can unclench my fists.

I can lower my voice and speak honestly about who I am, without shame.

And in this way, I will finally be heard---but what is infinitely more important---I will finally be able to HEAR.

The Path of Least Resistance may sound like the easy path.

It's not.

But I'm certain it leads somewhere beautiful.

Nightmares

Each day is a nightmare.

My heart is mush.

My limbs are weak.

My tongue is thick and sluggish.

Breathing is hard.

My head hurts.

My brain swims through each day.

Everything hurts.

Heavy sighs.

Nothing to say.

Nothing to think.

No one to blame.

I want to lay down.

Sleep.

But then there are nightmares.

The Desert

Life gets stranger as loved ones become strangers.

Bizarre places, bizarre situations with bizarre people who behave bizarrely.

Get behind me, Satan.

Happily Married

I promised you as a pure bride to one husband---Christ.

---2 Corinthians 11:2

My Sojourn

The purpose of life is to bring honor to God, to know, love, and obey Him, to become like Him, and to live for His purposes in this world as I prepare to live in the next one. . . .

Make no mistake about it. Such a life is not easy. It involves discipline, hard work, suffering, patience, and endurance in forming habits conducive and characteristic to this kind of life. It requires taking a long-haul view of life and learning to defer gratification if required of me in my sojourn.

---from Love the Lord Your God with All Your Mind, J. P. Moreland

By Definition

I am not a little blonde person.
I am not an editor.
I am not a writer.
I am not a shy girl with a sharp tongue.
I am not a blacksheep.
I am not a victim.
I am not someone who turned her life around long ago.
I am not a jilted bride.
I am not the poor choices I've made.
I am not the good choices I make.
I am not unique.
I am not an individual.
I am not kind.
I am not mean.
I am not a liar.
I am not mature.
I am not immature.
I am not impatient.
I am not strong.
I am not weak.
I am not healthy.
I am not worthless.
I am not worthy.
I am not beautiful.
I am not intelligent.
I am not stupid.
I am not oversensitive.
I am not sad.
I am not happy.
I am not angry.
I am not sweet.
I am not a lover or a friend or a foe or a sister or a daughter or a fiancee or an aunt or a niece or a granddaughter or a cousin or an ex-girlfriend.
I am not who I was a month ago or a week ago or a day ago.
I am not a good person.
I am not a bad person.
I am not right.
I am not wrong.
I am not yours.
I am not mine.
I am not who I thought I was.
I am not who anyone says I am.
.
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.
.
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I AM A CHILD OF GOD.
.
.
.
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We don’t know the great depths of our being, therefore we cannot measure ourselves. We start out thinking we can, but soon realize that there is really only one Being who fully understands us, and that is our Creator.

---Oswald Chambers

My Utmost

I, as a child of God, belong to heaven and to God. It is not a question of giving up sin, but of giving up my right to myself, my natural independence, and my self-will. This is where the battle has to be fought. . . .

Once we come to understand . . . we bring our soul into the center of its greatest battle.

"Those who are Christ’s have crucified the flesh . . . ." The cost to your natural life is not just one or two things, but everything. Jesus said, "If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself" (Matthew 16:24). That is, he must deny his right to himself, and he must realize who Jesus Christ is before he will bring himself to do it. Beware of refusing to go to the funeral of your own independence.

The natural life is not spiritual, and it can be made spiritual only through sacrifice. If we do not purposely sacrifice the natural, the supernatural can never become natural to us. There is no high or easy road. Each of us has the means to accomplish it entirely in his own hands. It is not a question of praying, but of sacrificing, and thereby performing His will.

---from My Utmost for His Highest, Oswald Chambers

In Christ. Alone.

There are moments when the aloneness is so acute, so weird, I find myself dazed, blinking dumbly in the face of its direct and unflinching stare. I look down and marvel at my feet as they walk up the flight of stairs to an apartment that is now . . . home. I look in the mirror. I shudder. Is that really me?

It came about with such violent abruptness, this new life.

I was part of a family.
Now I'm not.
And that's that.

Blink.

Blink.

So now I've been introduced to the new (to me) discipline of not looking back and not looking forward, of living in the moment. I've been listening to the Lord, waiting for his direction, recognizing his blessings and convictions. God has been heaping grace upon me, but still. It's an ongoing process---learning to find my hope and strength and joy and meaning not just in Christ but only in Christ. In Christ alone.

It's hard to even comprehend that. And then to accept it . . . and then to do it. In Christ alone? Really?

It was especially difficult this Sunday. I felt terribly forlorn as I sat alone in the back of a church I'd never been to. In a moment of self-pity, memories grabbed hold of me . . . Sundays were special days for us . . . Drew would make pancakes with the girls and I would pick out their outfits. We'd sit side by side in a place we loved. Church was a time of quiet affection passed between the four of us. A soft pat on the arm, hands held, sweet little notes written in the margins of a bulletin, a head resting on a shoulder. The closeness of the we four was palpable on Sundays.

So it's no wonder that this Sunday, alone and in an unfamiliar place, I wept.

But as I sat there, the tears flowing, feeling so small and vulnerable, God moved me, once again, with the sufficience of his grace. And I was gradually and gently overwhelmed and indescribably moved by his presence and power and love.

I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be. And I don't just mean the church building. I mean all of it. Every single bit of what has happened.

When I got up to slip out of the service a few minutes early, an acquaintance of mine stopped me at the door and asked if she could pray with me. She held me in her arms and said the right words. And I cried reverent tears born out of a deep and aching kind of joy.

I realized that this aloneness, this sorrow, is a tremendous blessing.

A blessing.

I could see the good and the necessity in it: "Godly sorrow produces repentance leading to salvation" (2 Corinthians 7:10).

And I was grateful. And I am grateful.

My lonely soul was and will continue to be glad---in Christ alone.

Yogurt, Coffee, and Sweet Surrender

This morning, for my portion: yogurt, coffee, and immense and beautiful pain.

As I eat and drink and hurt, I find myself also filled with a new and profound kind of encouragement.

I can't even form the words to express what I am learning and experiencing at this amazing and challenging time in my life.

I hope these words from Elisabeth Elliot will speak for me. I know it looks like a lot, but please, do me a favor and read it.

It is not a very robust faith which in order to survive, must ignore or distort the facts. True faith, I learned by facing the unanswerables, must rest in God Himself . . . We must allow Him to do in the world and in you and in me what He wants to do. As the apostle Paul said, "I know Whom I have believed, and I am absolutely sure" (2 Tim. 1:12).

It is a matter of obedience, this matter of acceptance. Amy Carmichael wrote, "If Thy dear home be fuller, Lord, for that a little emptier my house on earth, what rich reward that guerdon were." And the psalmist said, "Be still my soul," which means, "behave yourself." Frequently we do not behave ourselves in a way which is seemly to a Christian.

In Proverbs we read about the weaned child. You know what it's like if you have babies---it takes a bit of doing, doesn't it, to wean that child? There can be all sorts of frustrations and difficulties, and the child gets furious and angry, but the weaning has to go on. Are we like a weaned child in God's hands?

Psalm 16:5 says, "LORD, You have assigned me my portion and my cup and have made my lot secure." That's one of my favorite verses.

In Philippians 4:11-12 the apostle Paul says, "I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation." I think all of us need to be taught that again and again. The Lord allows things to happen that are not to our tastes and preferences.

Just think, the apostle Paul was in prison when he was writing these things. We don't hear a word of complaint from Paul about that. He was writing some of his greatest writings right there in a miserable dungeon---perhaps filthy, perhaps cold, perhaps full of lice or rats . . . And he wasn't talking about those things; he was talking about these other wonderful things that he had been learning from his Heavenly Father. . . .

Now, what did the Lord say to you this morning? Anything? Were you listening? Did you hear what He said? Did you ask Him what you want Him to tell you? What are you going to do about it? The Lord teaches me graciously and quietly and over and over again that in acceptance lies peace. So if you are a complainer, I've got five suggestions for you.

Number one, don't allow yourself to complain about anything at all---not even the weather.
Number two, never let your imagination run away with useless wishing that you were where you are not.
Number three, make no odious comparisons.
Number four, never dwell on what might have been---thank God for what is.
Number five, remember that tomorrow doesn't belong to you---it belongs to God.

Someone has said the heaviest part of sorrow is to look forward to it. Remember that you only have this one day. Yesterday is gone, tomorrow is not here. There is no point in looking forward to sorrow. The heaviest part of sorrow is to look forward to it. But the Lord will provide, and in acceptance lies peace. . . .

In acceptance lies peace.

May the Lord give you the grace of acceptance today.

God bless you.

---from The Art of Acceptance: An Interview with Elisabeth Elliot. Copyright © 2008 The Good News Broadcasting Association, Inc. (Back to the Bible) Lincoln, Nebraska, USA. http://www.backtothebible.org/