The news I never wanted to post....

Even as I type this, my mind and heart is still having a hard time accepting our day.  Today, our prayers for Amanda to be healed were answered.  Today, Amanda went home to heaven.

Over the past few days, it was heavy on my heart to pray that God would be merciful, take her to her heavenly home and not let her suffer long here on earth.  He answered my prayers, and he answered them quickly. 

Please pray for our family as we find ourselves in the days to come unexpectedly planning to say, not "good-bye", but "see you later, alligator" to our beautiful daughter. 

My sister-in-law posted the blog below recently and it spoke to me so strongly when she wrote it and then it came rushing back to me today.  After deciding to share her post in lieu of trying to write something, a sweet family dropped off a beautiful plaque with same scripture reference.  No coincidence in my mind.

Oh, that tonight my heartbroken soul can find the ability to be still and truly feel God's presence and peace.

When Oceans Quake and Mountains Fall: Be Still

By Lindsey Watson

The other day I turned on my audio Bible (aka the YouVersion app) to play through some Psalms while I puttered around the kitchen.  I’ll be honest: I rarely do this.  I’m a terrible auditory learner and I just don’t get that much out of listening to anything more complicated than a familiar YA story.  But this day, I tried it, and sure enough, out of the thirty or so Psalms that played in my presence, one jumped out into my ears.

If you’ve ever walked through the art section at LifeWay, browsed inspirational Bible quotes on Pinterest, you’ve read Psalm 46: 10: “Be still and know that I am God.”  It’s usually superimposed over a beautiful and tranquil nature scene like a calm mountain lake or a beach sunset.  But the reason I had set the noisy dishes down and was listening closely to verse 10 was because my attention had been jarred by the verses before:

We will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging…

Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall; he lifts his voice, the earth melts…

Come and see what the Lord has done, the desolations he has brought on the earth. He makes wars cease to the ends of the earth.  He breaks the bow and shatters the spear, he burns the shields with fire.

Now there’s a pin for you: how about the “Be still” verse on top of an image of wild seas, raging fires, and post-war desolation?  And yet– there is something strangely comforting about the juxtaposition of violence and peace that Psalm 46 contains.

Because it’s easy to feel spiritual and trusting when you’re sitting alone beside at a mountain lake.  I’ll be honest- I can bluff through those moments pretty effectively with or without much spiritual reflection.  But when everything I love and trust is collapsing? There’s no bluffing through that.  True, strong faith is developed by taking refuge in God in those moments when the world is melting all around.

This is is where it gets sticky– Psalm 46 makes it clear that God “brings the desolation” and “makes wars cease.” He’s the God of the raging wildfire and the tranquil beaches.  I remember struggling with this after Sam died:

This means that when I’m sad and missing Sam, I have to deal with the fact that the God I turn to for comfort is the same God who decided that Sam’s 34 weeks of life was long enough.

The image of God that’s resonated in my imagination lately is that of the Lion of Judah.  Lions are loud, and powerful, and scary.  No one runs toward the lion out on the Serengeti when they’re needing a little security and rest.

Of course, as C.S. Lewis famously said Aslan, “He is not safe, but he is good.”

But “good” in an eternal sense is not always comforting.  After all, when I “give up control” (ha, ha!) of my family, it means that I am laying down my loved ones in the paws of the Lion who has already seen fit to take one of them away.

But Psalm 46 holds a bit of an answer: when the fires burn and the destruction surrounds and death yawns in your face and you want to sink into fear and despair, Be still.  Know that I am God.  
Ultimately, this is comforting: when I’m at the end of my own energy and cleverness, when I’ve exhausted all of my money and information and social connections and the mountains are still falling into the heart of the sea, all is not lost.  I am to be still, to rest, even as the chaos reigns all around.  I remember that He is God, not me.

He will be exalted among the nations, and somehow, my suffering plays a role in that.
And even when I don’t understand how or why (or when, frankly, I don’t care, because I’d forfeit my role in the grand drama just to make the suffering go away), Psalm 46 ends in comfort:

The Lord Almighty is with us,
The God of Jacob is our fortress.

The ultimate picture of God With Us is Immanuel Himself, Jesus Christ, who suffered for me and who suffers with me.  In the midst of chaos, this is where I hide.

It doesn’t answer all of my questions, but it answers the one underneath all the rest: will I make it through this?

Yes.  By grace, yes.