Keep Me

The song

Singing a song in church on Sunday. The pastor doesn’t introduce it as a new one. He just plunges right in as if we should all know it. 

Wondering, why don’t I recognize this? Maybe I’ve never really paid attention to the words. That would be unusual for me. Maybe I tuned them out because I didn’t want to think about applying them in a personal way.

I don’t. I don’t want to sing them, to mean them, to ask God to make them real in my life. It would be too painful.

And yet those words reflect just what I should want. What I need. What Jesus encourages us to long for.

When I go online the next day to print out the words, I’m surprised to discover that it’s been about twenty years since they were first recorded. How could I have missed them in all that time?

The song: “Keep Me,” by the Crabb Family.

The part that I like

I can honestly sing and relate to some of the requests that it voices. “Keep me lost for words to praise you enough … Keep me praying, keep me trusting … Keep me coming back to you.”

I want a God who’s so big and mysterious and sublime that I can’t come up with all the right words to praise Him. I want a God who helps me to continue praying and trusting even when I don’t feel like it, who keeps drawing me back to Him when I wander.

I want a God who makes my life better in ways that I can see and understand. In ways that turn me from feeling lost to finding joy in Him.

The part that I don’t like

But keep me hungry, keep me thirsty, keep me falling, keep me broken? (That’s the one that really gets to me.) How can I sing these words and actually mean them?

Can I honestly say that I want God to keep me hungry for daily manna? No. I don’t want an ongoing hunger even after I’ve just eaten, as those words keep me imply. I want to be so satisfied that I don’t feel any hunger at all for at least a little while.

Can I honestly say that I want God to keep me thirsty for living water? No. I want to take another sip before my throat begins to dry out. I’ve heard that marathon runners are advised to start pre-hydrating a day or two before the race begins. Be prepared. Avoid the suffering and danger.

That’s what I want God to do for me spiritually. Don’t keep me thirsty. Keep me well-hydrated.

Can I honestly say that I want God to keep me falling on my knees in need of mercy? No. I don’t want to constantly carry such a deep sense of unworthiness that I actually collapse. I want to sit in my usual chair at my usual time of day, put my feet up, close my eyes, and go through my usual prayer routine, which sometimes includes a sentence or two regarding His mercy.

Besides, a need for mercy implies some kind of failure. Why can’t I be an overcomer instead? Isn’t that what God wants me to be, as John writes about in the book of Revelation?

Keep me broken??? Who would ever pray such a prayer? Not me. I pray, “Keep me safe. Keep me strong.”

This song isn’t asking God to see me through a tough time, like all the ones that I like so much do. It’s those two words that get to me: “keep me.” I don’t want Him to keep me in a needy state.

The benefits of the painful keep me’s

And yet there are good reasons for being kept in painful situations. Maybe the song hits me so hard right now because God has been reminding me lately that I can minister to others better in my brokenness. Instead of constantly praying for Him to take it away, He’s been encouraging me to appreciate the good that comes from it. To accept it. To be content. (Definitely not there yet.)

And when I’m hungry and thirsty and falling and broken, that’s when I see my dependence on Him most clearly. Somewhere inside, I know I need Him all the time. But when I’m feeling healthy and whole, I’m much less aware of that fact.

The Bible mentions other benefits to God’s keeping me longing and hurting. I’ve commented on them in my various articles, so I’m not going to try to list them here. What strikes me right now is how the thoughts I’ve just mentioned help me to defy Satan. Satan wants to keep me wallowing in self-pity and a sense of entitlement.

Finding balance

So yes, I should be praying the prayers in this song. Even the ones I don’t like. But maybe I could go too far in that direction, too. Just like I can go too far in asking for healing and strength.

It’s also good to nourish and hydrate my soul even in those times when I’m not aware of being hungry or thirsty. Like the marathon runner.

If I hadn’t started reading the Bible and becoming involved in my church as a baby Christian, I probably wouldn’t have had the strength to resist the suicidal impulses a few years later. I might have had a semi-conscious sense of hunger and thirst then, like when I take a sip of water before I really need it, but I didn’t have the constant feeling of deprivation that I’m hearing in this song. And that was okay.

And I remember the very simple truth that, when Jesus was walking this earth, He healed. He didn’t keep people in their physical pain and paralysis. Maybe what I was missing when this song hit me so hard is the idea that He can keep us continually hungry, and continually satisfy that hunger, at the same time.

Kind of like sitting down to an infinite banquet with a healthy appetite and enjoying every delicious bite forever. The hunger I’d feel wouldn’t be a painful thing. It would be a spur to take the next mouthful, which I could do without any of the negative consequences such as being uncomfortably full or gaining excessive weight.

A "keep me" prayer doesn’t imply that God stands back and lets us suffer in our brokenness without providing the relief that we long for. He still heals.

Maybe I need to pray in a more balanced way, like the song does. Keep me praying and trusting and coming back to You. I can’t do those things on my own, as much as I try to give myself credit for them. But also keep me aware of my intense need for You, even when that means being broken moment by moment and day by day.

 

 

 

Freedom to Move On

The loss

The text comes in as I’m getting up in the morning. Mom has breathed her last breath. She’s gone.

(I’m okay with getting the message by group text. There are many family members to notify. We knew it was coming any minute. It’s a little early in the day for a phone call, especially for those in the times zones west of me.)

No tears fall. I’ve cried them all already. The day she was diagnosed with “dementia, most likely Alzheimer’s.” As I watched her brain wasting away and her personality disintegrating. Each time she took another drastic step downward. Sitting in my rental car after saying goodbye at her bedside for the last time, before returning home a week ago.

I’ve been grieving for her for a while. 

The relief

At this point, the sense of relief is greater than the sense of loss. I’ve never been in this position before. Not sure what to expect.

The last several years have been busy and stressful for me and my siblings. Bad news about Mom’s falls and emergency room visits. Decisions to be made regarding her living situation and medical needs. Increasing difficulty in her ability to communicate. More frequent trips to see her. More frequent phone calls.

But the worst stress, the greatest trauma, was knowing that one I loved was hurting so much. Witnessing her struggles with pain and physical limitations and cognitive issues and depression and fears and obsessive thinking. She was too aware of her own losses. Yet hesitant, like many in her generation, about taking any medication that would make her feel better emotionally. Part of me just wanted her to move on to a better life, to be freed from all her troubles.

That phase has passed now. Mom is at peace. We’ll be making all those decisions that have to be made after someone dies, but that won’t be nearly as stressful as helplessly watching the continuing decline of a loved one in her nineties.

I’m ready to move on, too. To catch up on all the things I haven’t gotten done because of the extra time I’ve spent helping meet Mom’s needs. Because of the emotional energy being drained by seeing her suffering.

I don’t resent losing that time and energy. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. I’d do it for ten more years if she had that long.

But there’s a welcome sense of freedom from the responsibility and stress. Now I can move on.

The grief

Until my body reminds me that I’m mourning. I’ve experienced a significant loss. Yes, there’s great relief. But there’s also the sorrow of missing her, which will come out one way or another.

Right now it comes out, not in intense emotions, but in physical and mental fatigue. A song pops into my head. “Slow Down,” by Chuck Girard (1974). It’s an invitation to slow down, be still, and wait on the Spirit of the Lord. (Thank You, Father, for bringing this song to mind just when I need it. I haven’t thought about it for many years.)

This is a biblical concept that our busy American culture doesn’t often consider. The Israelites are told to be still in Exodus 14:14, when they’re trapped between Pharaoh’s army and the Red Sea. In Nehemiah 8:11, the Levites calm the people as they’re grieving over their sins, encouraging them to be still as they respond to the reading of the Book of the Law of Moses. While prophesying about the coming Messiah, Zechariah 2:13 calls all mankind to be still before the Lord.

Psalm 37:7 combines the ideas of being still and waiting on the Lord. Waiting on the Lord is encouraged in many of the other Psalms and in the prophets.

Every day I feel like I get more behind on all the things I want or need to do. But there it is, right there in the Bible—slow down, be still, wait. I need to hear this at this time in my life when I’m so eager to move ahead. At this time when my body is screaming at me to slow down.

The challenge

But I don’t want to slow down! I want to plunge forward, to check more and more items off of my to-do list.

Why?

As I’ve said, it’s partly because I want to catch up on the things that I’ve put on a back burner while Mom’s been wasting away. That’s the most obvious reason. And it seems fully justified.

But I think it goes deeper than that. If I slow down I’ll feel the grief. I’ve been grieving for so long, I just want it to be over with. I don’t want to deal with it anymore. I’d rather be fixing things.

I’m a problem solver. I can see all kinds of problems with my house. The dust bunnies under the bed and the grunge on the windows and the minor upgrades and repairs that I’ve been postponing. I see problems with weeds and overgrown plants in my yard. Problems with my mismatched and aging wardrobe.

Now that I have more time, I can fix all those things. Fixing things feels better than being still.

But I need to be still so that I can move ahead. Just like physical healing, emotional healing won’t happen if I’m too busy and active.

Slow down now. Have the strength to do more later. I’ve faced this lesson so many times (including here and here and here), but it’s still hard to rein in my impulse to push on. I guess I’m a slow learner.

The biggest reason for slowing down, though, comes at the end of the song. “Know that He is God.” An echo of Psalm 46:10.

My desire to solve problems, do things, be done with the grieving, to move on, is partly my desire to be my own god. To take charge of the situation. To do the things I want to do, in my way and in my timing. To see my will being done.

When I slow down, I have to listen, contemplate, and consider, not just act. Listen to what the Bible says. Listen to wise pastors and teachers. Listen to the Holy Spirit within me. Contemplate His will, His direction, as it’s revealed in His Word, through other Christians, and in my own heart. Consider the fact that many of my to-do’s are trivial in God’s eyes.

I need to slow down so that I’ll stop trying to be God.

 

 

 

Drawing Nearer

Drawing nearer in the storm

“Jesus Draw Me Ever Nearer.” One of my favorite worship songs. We first sang it in church when I was going through a tough time.

The initial plea: “Jesus draw me ever nearer as I labor through the storm.” I felt like I was lost in the darkness of a raging storm, alone in the middle of nowhere with no sense of direction, being drenched and blinded by the downpour and blown about by the wind. Laboring hard but not getting anywhere.

I needed Jesus to draw me nearer to Him. I was too helpless to approach Him in my own strength.

Over the next few years, as I sang that song in my head in difficult situations, I took the prayer to mean that special kind of drawing me closer temporarily to comfort me in a time of pain. Like a child sitting in her mother’s lap after she’s fallen and bumped her knee. When the storm passed, I wouldn’t need that same kind of help.

But recently, as I thought about the words, I realized that God’s been answering that prayer in an even bigger way.

Remaining nearer

A loving mother snuggles a crying child in her lap. When he’s feeling better, she encourages him to go back to playing with his toys. Even though he’s physically more distant from his mom, he remains just a little bit closer to her emotionally because of that moment of snuggling.

In the same way, even after my need for comforting has passed, my relationship with God remains stronger than it was before He drew me into His lap. Having a fresh taste of His nurturing love, I’m more aware of His presence more of the time. I know Him better, I understand Him better, I see the beauty of His character more clearly, than I ever did before.

When it comes to thinking about how God grows me through suffering, my thoughts have a tendency to go in two main directions. One, there are many lessons that I couldn’t learn any other way. As a fallen human being, I can’t understand the most important things in life when I have an easy time of it. I need the pain.

Two, one of the primary purposes behind my suffering is to enable me to minister to others. God comforts me so that I can comfort others (2 Corinthians 1:4). Suffering is intended to take my eyes off of myself.

Both of these ideas are biblical and important. But that’s not the whole story.

I get so focused on how God’s comfort makes a painful moment more tolerable that I don’t even think about the long-term effects of that comfort. The drawing ever nearer, not just for the moment.

Being comforted builds a bond that doesn’t simply go away when I no longer need that personal sense of comfort. And each time He comforts me, that bond grows stronger.

Strength for the future

Sometimes, when a child who’s been abused is fostered or adopted by new parents, she becomes clingy. She runs to them over and over again, seeking comfort in what might seem to be trivial situations. She has a hard time venturing out into the big bad world.

Although it might seem like an unhealthy need for attention, this behavior has a purpose. Each moment of comfort draws her nearer to her new parents, not just temporarily, but for a lifetime. Each moment of comfort builds a greater bond that keeps on growing until the child has the strength to play with friends for hours without having to continually turn back to her family. And that’s a good thing.

She isn’t cutting herself off from them. She’s not declaring her complete independence. She’s carrying that comfort and that bond with her as she stumbles out into the wider world. A world that she’s meant to be a part of.

In the same way, God’s comfort strengthens me, not just for the moment when I feel it so intensely, not just to give me a temporary high that I can treasure, but for my long-term growth. When I’m not feeling the immediate need for His comfort, that doesn’t mean that I’m walking away from Him or declaring my independence from Him. It means that His comfort has done the work that it was intended to do.

Because I was comforted for a moment, I’m now strengthened for a lifetime. I can venture out into the world having that greater bond to my Lord. I can love others better and serve Him more effectively.

My life has been tough in certain ways. I almost had to laugh when a woman at church commented to me a few years ago that we’ve reached that age when life starts getting harder. Starts? I hit that point in my early thirties. Didn’t have to wait till my sixties, like I was apparently supposed to do.

So I’ve thought a lot about suffering. I tend to think that the most biblical view is one that confirms that growth comes through pain. It hurts, God gets us through it, and we learn some valuable truths that we wouldn’t pick up any other way. I knew that, with each lesson, I would grow in my understanding of God’s love. I knew that He would comfort me in my trials. And that I could look back on those times of comfort to provide hope when the next trial came.

But I didn’t really think about the ongoing effect of that comfort in drawing me nearer to Him. I’ve sung so many times, “Jesus draw me ever nearer,” without recognizing until now that that’s exactly what He does. His comfort doesn’t just have a short-term effect. A moment of comfort draws me nearer for ever.

 

 

Light in the Darkness

Expectations

Let your light shine!

There’s a dark world out there. But if you’re really a good Christian, then you’re always filled with a cozy warm glow. You’re doing all you can every day, every minute to pump up the brightness. You’re making sure it’s always flowing out of you to where it’s needed so badly.

That’s how I usually take this admonition. And I don’t take it well.

Then one Sunday morning we’re singing in church and the words jump out at me: Let your light shine*! But this time I get a new mental image.

What if I’m dim and dreary inside? Can I shine a bit of light even when I’m hurting? Will my attempts to crank it up turn it into a cold artificial glare?

Can God shine His light through me when it seems like there’s nothing but darkness within me? The darkness of a painful loss. The darkness of financial fears. The darkness of loneliness or depression or guilt.

Can God still use me, when I’m in this condition, to brighten other people’s lives without denying my own darkness?

In the same service, the pastor comments on our responsibility to praise God even when we don’t feel like it. I’ve always been intrigued by the phrase “a sacrifice of praise” (Hebrews 13:15), which Pastor mentions here.

How can praising Him involve sacrificing? Sacrificing hurts. I usually associate praise with feeling good. Isn’t that why we sing happy songs?Aren’t those the only ones that truly praise Him? (That seems to be the subtle implication in many of our worship services.)

But maybe that sacrifice of praise occurs when we’re suffering and we don’t seem capable of praising Him in that moment. Or when we’d really rather be doing something else. Or when we’re actively rebelling against Him. To resist our impulses and follow His will (not just lip service, but genuine praise) would be a sacrifice. Maybe it’s an example of intentionally letting His light shine in spite of our own darkness.

An illustration

A few years ago, I was in one of those bleak places. One Saturday night I got bad news concerning a family member. It hurt so much, I seriously considered skipping church in the morning. I didn’t think I could make it through the service without weeping, and I hate to cry in public.

I couldn’t share my burden with anyone, because it concerned a confidential situation. I wouldn’t be able to explain my tears if they came. But it hurt so much, I knew I needed to be there, in my community, in worship with my sisters and brothers in Christ.

As I was leaving my house on Sunday, in an attempt to turn around my obsessive thinking about my own problems, I prayed, “Lord, let me be a blessing to others.” I didn’t think of it this way at the time, but I was basically saying, “Let Your light shine through me in spite of this darkness inside.”

It wasn’t until I was almost ready to head home that I realized that God had answered that prayer without my even trying to make it happen. He allowed me to be honest with Him about the suffering I was enduring. No denial. No fake smile. No pretending it didn’t hurt. But He also used me to minister to others.

During the service, Pastor interviewed a couple about a difficult experience that they’d been going through for the last several years. They didn’t minimize the pain and confusion. They’d had a tough time understanding what God was doing and why.

But He was there for them in ways they hadn’t anticipated. They could see (and so could I) how much they’d grown in their relationship with Him because of their circumstances. The service was a time of celebrating God’s goodness and wisdom.

(One of the fascinating things about the morning was that during the nearly ten years that I’d been at this church, Pastor had never replaced the sermon with a conversation with someone from the congregation. He hasn’t done it since then, either. The timing of this unique presentation was perfect in light of my prayer and my need.)

I’d met this couple at another church that I’d attended. I’d listened sympathetically to the wife’s stories about thwarted hopes. I’d shared the burden of her sorrows. But our paths hadn’t crossed very often since then. After the service, I made it a point to find her in the crowd and let her know how much I appreciated their testimony.

Her response: “I’m so glad you were here. I was hoping you would be.”

Without even planning it, without knowing that she and her husband would play a large part in the service, without having any idea that she was thinking about me, my presence had been a blessing to her. Out of my darkness, I’d shone a bit of light into her life.

Later, I talked to two or three people in my Sunday school class. I didn’t want to. I wanted to just sit like a lump and listen to the teacher’s message, hoping it would help me somehow. I had too much pain inside to intentionally reach out to others. But they reached out to me.

And I found myself speaking words that brought them a little deeper comfort and understanding. Being a blessing to them. Shining a light from my darkness into theirs.

The blessing

By the end of the morning, it hit me. God had gone way beyond what I’d expected in answering my prayer. (And I didn’t even cry!)

It doesn’t always work this way, and that’s okay. I don’t want to be pressured, every time I’m really down, to shine my light all over the world. I don’t think God wants me to feel that kind of pressure, either. Sometimes I need to be the one receiving an illuminating and refreshing and purifying light from others.

But when it does happen, when God shines His light through me even when I’m feeling so dark inside, it’s not just a blessing to those around me. I am richly blessed, too.

*Sorry I can’t give a reference here. We were singing a medley of songs, so the title wasn’t given in the bulletin. When I tried looking it up on the internet a few weeks later, I found several different songs with this phrase, but none of them sounded like the one I was looking for.

 

Joy and Sorrow at Christmas

Different views of Christmas

Words to a Christmas carol, as I remember them from my childhood:

Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat.
Please put a penny in the old man's hat.
If you haven’t got a penny, a ha’penny will do.
If you haven’t got a ha’penny, then God bless you!

My impression of our expectations of the Christmas season today: Get excited! Be happy! Put up flashy decorations. Enjoy the great American pleasure of shopping. Eat holiday foods. Drink holiday drinks. Party. Escape from the hardships of life.

But then I look at the thoughts in the old carol. First joyful anticipation—looking forward to the birth of Christ and a fat goose to feast on. Next a poor old man. A prayer (expressing hope and compassion) for God’s blessing if you’re so broke you can’t even give away half a penny. All enfolded in an upbeat melody. Real joy in the presence of real suffering. A joy that opens the heart to give to those in need.

Which of these two images is more consistent with the first Christmas?

The up side

There were many happy moments surrounding Jesus’ birth. When Mary visited Elizabeth during both of their pregnancies, they praised God and celebrated together. (Luke 1:39-56)

An angel of the Lord appeared to lowly shepherds, bringing good news of great joy. A great company of the heavenly host suddenly joined them, praising God. (Luke 2:8-20)

Wise men from the east followed a bright star to Bethlehem to worship Jesus and present Him with precious gifts. (Matthew 2:1-12)

It’s good and right for us to celebrate His birth with joy and thanksgiving. God living among us in the flesh was the greatest gift the world had ever been given. The very idea that He would live a human life, with its roughness and dirt and hungers, leaves me in awe of His undeserved love and compassion. How can I help smiling and laughing and feasting and giving generously?

But what about those who are experiencing sorrow and pain at this time of year? Are they supposed to just ignore the aching, plaster on a fake smile, and join the celebrations? Should they feel guilty if they’re unable to pump up the enthusiasm that the season seems to demand?

The down side

There was another side to the months surrounding the first Christmas. A solemn side. A dark side. A painful side.

Mary and Joseph faced the unjust judgment of all their friends and neighbors when she became pregnant before they were married (Luke 1:26-38). They were required by a decree of Caesar to make a difficult journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem shortly before Jesus was born. When they arrived in that overcrowded little town, the only lodging they could find was in a stable. That’s where she had her baby. (Luke 2:1-7)

I have a tendency to romanticize their lives at this point. Look how they loved each other, if they were willing to go through so much together. Look how strong their faith was, as they obeyed God every time an angel gave them new instructions.

It seems almost blasphemous to think that they might have questioned God or complained or even just felt weary and discouraged. And yet they were human. And young. They didn’t fully understand what God was doing through them (Luke 2:33). They probably weren’t the perfect pair that I’ve always imagined.

When the Magi came, King Herod was so alarmed by their statement that they were seeking the king of the Jews, that he ordered all the baby boys in and around Bethlehem to be killed. Mothers were helpless as their precious children were murdered. Joseph and his little family fled to Egypt for safety. Another uncomfortable journey. (Matthew 2:1-18)

We could easily make Christmas a time of mourning and sorrow if we chose to look only at the dark side of the times. That obviously wouldn’t be appropriate.

But I think it would be okay to grieve even as we rejoice. To recognize that, as long as Satan is active on this earth, he will attack most viciously when God is pouring out His greatest blessings. And as long as we live on a planet broken by the Fall, pain will always hover around even our most joyful days.

Being both up and down

In spite of my caricature above, in some ways we Americans do experience both joy and sorrow at this Christmas season. We’re more aware of the needs around us now than at any other time of the year.

People give more generously. Organizations provide holiday meals. Children with impoverished or imprisoned parents receive special gifts. We recognize certain kinds of suffering and our obligation to help reduce it.

But do we allow those who are hurting in other ways to feel their pain? Or do we subtly pressure them to get with the program and rejoice?

A Christian friend shared a recent experience with me. Her husband’s health is declining. When she went to an event at church (alone, as her husband was too sick to attend), her heart was heavy with the sorrow of watching him suffer and of knowing that their marriage of more than fifty years was coming to an end. Her pain was intensified as she noticed other women in similar positions laughing and joking.

Her conclusion as she was telling me the story was that she’d had a bad attitude. She should’ve been able to put her grief aside, as those other women were apparently doing, and rejoice in our Savior.

Why can’t we do both? Both grieve and rejoice. Feel the very real pain, as many of the writers of the Bible did. (Especially the prophets and psalmists.) Even Jesus wept. Even when He knew that great rejoicing was only a moment away. (John 11:1-44)

This is the Christian life. It hurts. We suffer. We can’t and shouldn’t downplay that suffering. But the rejoicing is so much fuller than the sorrow. Jesus was born and walked among us. He died to give us eternal life. He rose from the dead. There is now no condemnation for those who follow Him. Nothing can separate us from the love of God. (Romans 8:1, 38-39)

But the pain still lingers. We can get through it because, as one who lived life in the flesh, Jesus is with us in that pain.

Just like in the Christmas carol. We can enjoy the feast without ignoring the sorrow. An old man stands on a street corner begging. Others are so poor they can’t help him out. But Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat, we have the privilege of praying to a compassionate God to bless the needy, and the overall melody is upbeat.