Lord, help me in my unbelief

From week to week, I never really know what to expect when I walk into work. Sometimes it seems that for weeks on end, I witness life and victory and joy. And then there are other times, weeks like this one, where everything seems to be plagued with bad news and heart ache and death.

Last week, I received an email from the family of a little girl I'd taken care of months back. They invited me to come celebrate her birthday and honor her life with them this weekend. I've been meaning to sit down and write them a letter - just to let them know how much their sweet daughter meant to me and allow them see more of what my grieving process looked like after she passed away. I knew this occasion was the perfect time for me to give them this letter - after the intimate time of loss they shared with me, I felt like I owed them this. As I sat down to start, I quickly realized why I've been avoiding it for so long. I have relived so many of the same emotions I felt 6 months ago as she lost her battle with a terrible auto-immune disease. The wound was reopened, and I was reminded that I don't get to tell God when I am healed.

Another family brought gifts and cupcakes up to the unit in honor of their son's birthday. As I watched the kids open trucks and transformers and train sets, I could not help but think about how much that sweet boy would've loved to be there. I thought about the many nights we played trucks on the floor. I thought about his gusto and life and how I watched leukemia steal all of that way from him. His parents' eyes were dark and sunken, they too look like some measure of life had been stolen from them. And once again, I felt a wound reopen. I snuck away to the bathroom cry my tears and pull myself back together.

Then on Monday, I came into work to terrible news about one of my little dudes. The virus that he's been fighting for months is spreading rampantly in his body. Doctors are out of answers, and so am I. I met his mom in the hallway, she grabbed my hand, lead me to his bedside and we knelt there together. We prayed and wept and plead for his very life.

As I sat in my Pediatric Advanced Life Support class yesterday, I could not help but think about the irony of it. There I was, in a classroom learning how to save lives, while at the same time walking with yet another family, another precious child, and am watching him lose his life. This week has been sobering. It's been a good reminder that as nurse, life is really not in my hands. Life belongs to God. The question I'm wrestling with today is this: Do I still believe in a God who intervenes, in a God who cares? Is my hope in a medical prognosis or in Jesus? Do I still believe that he can do miracles? There is a little voice inside that is able to squeak out a small "yes," but I fear that voice is being quieted by the loss and hurt and death I've seen. I fear that the number of times I've dared to hope - and have left disappointed with bitter grief - have started to pile up and harden my heart. And so my cry today is this: God, help me in my unbelief. Give me faith. Give me more of you.

little lessons from the big girl world {v.3}

Today I thought I would write about a few little lessons I've learned in my first year as a pediatric nurse. It's a crazy world, and I love it all. I'm so grateful for all this year has taught me...

1) If a kid looks like he's going to puke, you have about .2 seconds to find something to catch it.
2) Left uncovered, those little boys will pee on you. Every time.
3) Always always always be honest with kids (and, I mean, you should be honest with adults too).
4) Tell the management at your apartment complex that you work nights, otherwise you'll wake up in the middle of the day to a strange man (read: maintenance guy working on the dishwasher) in your apartment.
5) Essentials for surviving 12-hour shifts: coffee, good shoes, coffee, a solid lunch, coffee, multi-color pen, coffee, chapstick, coffee.
6) Warm blankets may be the best part of being in the hospital.
7) Working 6 shifts (72+ hours) in a row does not bring out the best in me.
8) When the special blankie/stuffed animal is missing, it's nearly a medical emergency. Drop whatever you're doing to find that stupid thing.
9) Laughter is really good medicine. Cliche, but true. So what if you make a fool of yourself every day?!
10) Essentials for sleeping during the day: black out curtains, eye mask, ear plugs, fan (for white noise), melatonin.
11) It's generally a good idea to get yourself eye-level with a child... they tend to respond better when they're not being talked down to.
12) Every kid is different. What works for one, probably won't for another.
13) Children have an amazing capacity to love. And they are tougher than we give them credit for.
14) When you work night shifts, you will probably have off-the-wall dreams. Don't worry... it's normal (or so they say).
15) I'm not above bribing kids with popsicles.
16) If a child is old enough to talk, they generally don't want you to call it a diaper. It's a pull up, for crying out loud... You only make that mistake once.
17) Sometimes a bandaid really does make everything better.

little lessons from the big girl world {v.2}

As promised, here are a few more lessons I've learned from my first year in the big girl world. Thanks for being patient with me while I've been moving!

{6} Friends are hard to come by...
Sure, you're pretty much always going to be able to find someone to grab dinner or catch a movie with, but that's not the type of friendship I'm talking about here. Friends - the kind who know your junk and love you all the same, the kind you share your life and heart with - well, they just don't come along every day. I was blessed with some insanely amazing friendships in college - our little group formed within the first week of our Freshman year and we've been tight ever since. I was expecting something similar to happen when I moved to NC, but it's been a much more difficult process. In talking with other twenty-somethings, it seems like I'm not alone in this. Between our crazy work schedules and the demands of grown-up life, it takes a lot of intentionality and effort. It's definitely more challenging to find those deep friendships, but I'd still argue that it's so worth the fight. This time has really taught me to cherish the true friendships in my life - both here and far away.

{7} You can run from hard emotions, but you can't hide.
I've made no effort to disguise the fact that this has been a tough season emotionally... From loneliness and fear, to confusion and anger and bitter grief, I've run through the whole spectrum. It's not my nature to confront uncomfortable feelings head on - In fact, I know very few people who operate that way. For me, it's been easier to avoid those feelings and just put on a smile. I learned (the hard way) this year that suppressing emotion is incredibly unhealthy. And, let me tell you, those emotions will find you. You cannot outrun them. A big part of the growing up that has happened in my life over the past year has involved learning sit in hard emotions - learning to trust that God's grace is big enough to be with me and carry me through as I process.

{8} There is not a one-size-fits-all response to people in pain.
Every time I show up to work, I interact with people walking through deep seasons of suffering and pain. It's a privilege and responsibility that I do not take lightly. God has taught me so much about what it looks like to walk with people through desert times (I'll try to get around to writing more about this). The biggie I've come away with this year, though, has been that there is not a magic formula, a perfect saying, or a cookie-cutter response to people who are hurting. Sometimes you just need to be present. Sometimes words are needed. And sometimes tears. But I've learned that everybody grieves differently, as such, I too need to grieve with them in a way that's personal and appropriate to their situation. All things to all people, right?

{9} You cannot be present in two places.
I cannot be in Utah and North Carolina at the same time. This is another one of those "Duh!" lessons, but it has been a hard one for me to accept. In moving here, I wanted to be able to keep up with all my friends and family back home. Attempting to keep up with all-things-Utah while trying to invest in a new place is just not possible. I have missed weddings, parties and the day-to-day goodness of living close to those people I love... and that's okay. That's part of the sacrifice I made when I moved here. It doesn't mean I love them any less.  I still make time for phone calls, snail mail, and skype dates, but I'm slowly learning to devote my greatest energies and attention to where I'm at. It's a balancing act, one that I'm learning more and more about with each passing week. But I've had to give myself permission to be here and not feel guilty about what I might be missing out on.

{10} My life looks different from those around me, and it's okay.
Up until this point, my life has looked very similar to those around me. But as a young twenty-something my friends are all over the place. Between all of us, we're working minimum-wage jobs, dream jobs and everything in between. We're single, married, dating, and engaged.  We're living in our parent's basement, settling into our first apartment, and buying a house. We're adventuring and seeking roots. We're going back to school and trying all sorts of different crazy things. This is a time of becoming. And we're all becoming different things, which is okay!  In fact, it's something to be celebrated. We may not have the luxury of looking on either side to tell us we're on target, but we get to cheer each other on and that's a beautiful thing. In this past year, all of my close college friends have gotten married... At first, that was a source of insecurity for me. I felt like I was getting left behind in some way. Throughout this year, though, I've learned to trust God's creativity in His plan for my life. Just because I'm doing things differently from my friends and my peers does not mean it's wrong. The moment I came to terms with that, I experienced a huge amount of freedom and peace.

little lessons from the big girl world {v.1}

After Monday's blog post, my mom encouraged me to take some time to write about different things I've learned during my first year in the big girl world. Our conversation got me to thinking about all the little lessons that have come out of the past few months. So much of how I understand myself and the world has changed. I thought it might be a fun venture to write about a few of those things. Please know that I am going into this with a big ole helping of humble pie - I realize that I'm only 23 and that am nowhere close to having things figured out. I'm not claiming to have it all together. I'm just writing from my experience and perspective. Hope you'll hang with me on the ride! Now, let's get to it.

{1} Making time to write is a must.
I've got to write. I just have to. I don't claim to be good at it. It's just how I'm wired. It takes a lot of time and discipline, but I've learned that I'm somewhat of a ticking time bomb without it. Until this year, I never realized that writing was such a major outlet for me. Whenever I sense tension rising or feel like my head is spinning, it's usually because I haven't taken the time to sit down and sort through all the tangled thoughts in my mind. If I am able to put a name to something - a feeling, emotion or experience - generally my head is clearer and my heart is calmer. As evidenced by my sporadic blogging/journaling this year, I have not always been the best at making it a priority. But I'm slowly learning to make space for it in my daily rhythm.

{2} There is a difference between idle time and rest.
Laying in bed, watching 3 hours of Modern Family episodes then getting lost on facebook/pinterest/blogger may seem like a good way to spend a day off, but at the end of that day I won't feel rested or new in any way. I'll inevitably end up feeling more tired and less ready to face the work week ahead. Learning what is truly restful for me has been a slow process. There are mindless actions, and there are restorative actions. Both may appear to be good for my tired body and soul, but only one actually brings about renewal. Idle time is appealing - sometimes I just need to veg and let my mind be blank, but I have learned that I absolutely cannot stay in that place for long. I need to rest wisely. For me that looks like taking my hammock out for an afternoon, going on a walk, writing, praying, reading, taking a yoga class, laying down for a nap, doing something creative, and/or taking time to be quiet/still.

{3} Just because you're working a full time job, does not mean thousands of dollars will magically appear in your bank account.
I know, I know... That seems like a ridiculous statement, but I think it's one that most twenty-somethings grapple with at one point or another. Life is dang expensive, and it's easy to spend mindlessly. I am so grateful to have wonderful parents that taught me the value of a dollar and smart money management - they definitely helped to steer me away from a lot of common pitfalls. Upon becoming completely financially independent this year, it's taken some time for me to work through how I want to relate to money and why. I have come up with a budget that works for me and have had to learn some discipline in sticking to it.

{4} You can have what you want... you just cannot have everything you want.
My nana almost always ends a meal by saying, "Well, my eyes were just bigger than my stomach." I  have learned that I have a similar syndrome with my perspective in life - I tend to overestimate my capacity to accomplish and achieve. Like I said on Monday, I came into this year with a crazy set of expectations and goals. I started to see early on that the growth in my life was going to be slower than I anticipated, and that it was ok. A big part of growing up is learning to prioritize what's most important - best over good. This applies to so many areas of life - time, money, emotional energy etc. As an example, a biggie from this year came with how much I had (and wanted) to travel - I learned that I cannot expect to travel every month and still have time to invest in deep relationships in a new place.

{5} Sleepy Jarah = weepy Jarah.
Working 13-hour swing shifts has been rough on me. Sometimes I feel like an insomniac and a chronic over-sleeper all in the same messed up body. There are times (particularly after a long string of night shifts) where I am completely exhausted - mentally, emotionally and physically spent. When that happens, I just need to have a good cry. I didn't understand why that was happening to me at first - remember, I was convinced I had no emotion. I've learned to give myself time to cry, to rest and get on with life.

Stay tuned for part 2 in the next few days...

Unpacking

One year ago today I started a new adventure here in North Carolina.

One whole year, folks.
Goodness gracious.

I suppose like much of life, the past year has felt like one big time warp... Somehow the days/weeks/months seemed to crawl and fly by all at the same time. As much as I'm struggling to get my head around how that time has already come and gone, my mind is even more tangled in trying to make sense of all this year has held and meant. It has been hard, and confusing and so different from what I envisioned.

But, let's be honest here... I had some crazy-high expectations.

The spring before I graduated from college, I digested a whole slew of books that helped to plant big dreams and amp up my already-idealistic self. It all started when a copy of A Million Miles in a Thousand Years (by Donald Miller) was placed into my hands - I read it in a single sitting - it left me challenged to live each day with intention and to write a good story with my life. Then came Radical (by David Platt) - this book messed with me big time - it challenged me to take big steps of faith and to radically obey Jesus. After that, I picked up The Hole in Our Gospel (by Richard Stearns), which pretty much convinced me to commit to a life of poverty so I could go do big things and change the world. The Irrisistible Revolution (by Shane Claiborne) came along and sparked an even greater interest in living an authentic faith that was rooted in love and extended to a hurting world. And surely I cannot neglect the go-to graduation gift, Oh, the Places You'll Go (by Dr. Seuss) - "You're off to Great Places! Today is your day! Your mountain is waiting! So... get on your way!"

With the exception of the last mentioned (despite what Hallmark tells you, college grads don't want 4 copies of that book. Don't do it), I would strongly recommend reading each and every one of the books I listed. They are well-written and inspiring. Do hard things! Be radical! Change the world! Make your mark! Live on purpose! Do big things! Tackle that mountain! My rapid consumption of this material was like one big pep talk. Without any buffer or bigger perspective, though, it communicated something dangerous to my young heart: if it's not big and courageous, it's not good enough.

With all of that in mind, I walked across that stage in my cap and gown, and a few short weeks later moved across the country. You know, to do a "big thing." I was going to go love on kids with cancer and serve their families and change the world. Oh, and on the side I was going to run a marathon, make a lot of awesome friends, travel every month, go on mission trips, memorize entire books of the Bible, pray for an hour a day, serve at my church, bake 50 batches of cookies, blog 5 days a week (clearly, I tanked at that one), maintain each and every relationship back home, and "broaden my interests/hobbies." (Think I'm exaggerating my expectations? I have 11 pages in my journal detailing/planning all of these goals. 11 pages, for crying out loud!)

Things seemed to be going pretty great for a little while, but as the newness of this whole thing started to wear off, so did the "bigness." The day-to-day started to feel so ordinary, so small. I remember thinking, "If one more kid pukes on me, I am going to lose my mind. When did I go from changing the world to changing endless diapers?" On top of that, the day-to-day started to get really tough. As much as I've loved my job, it's been one of the hardest things I have ever done. The pace is exhausting, the demands are insanely high, and the emotional toll is even higher.  Watching kids fight for their lives (and often losing that fight) has felt impossibly difficult to reconcile at times.

One morning I distinctly remember waking up and thinking, "Man, this is not the life I intended to lead when this whole thing began." Work has not been the only difficult thing - friendships have been hard to come by and slow to grow. My energy has often felt entirely zapped. And there have just not been enough hours in my days or money in my bank account to accomplish all of the goals on that list. I revisited that ridiculous list of goals about 5 months into this year and felt like it was taunting me, reminding me of what a failure I was, how I wasn't measuring up. 

I became completely disenchanted with all of the ideas that had intoxicated me just months earlier - no more changing the world, no more tackling mountains, no more radical anything. I grew weary of trying to do big things for God. I hated feeling like I was a screw up. I hated feeling like my days were insignificant. The big life I had planned for myself seemed pretty great. But it wasn't the life I was living and I didn't understand why. And I certainly didn't understand where God was in all of it.

I walked in that dizzying tension for months. I don't know if my quarter-life crisis hit a couple years early, or if all of this is normal in fresh post-college life, but it was incredibly unsettling and terrifying. I started to question everything about myself, about my life - picking it apart to the smallest detail. Sometimes I felt like I woke up a different person on each and every one of the past 365 days, and I honestly still feel a little confused about which one (if any) is the real me.

God has been so patient and gracious to me through it all. He's brought so many things across my path to gently teach me that - though it is wonderful to be zealous and seek to radically obey him - there aren't actually big things. I know this sounds super cliche, but as Mother Teresa is oft quoted, "We can do no great things, only small things with great love." God is slowly teaching me what it that looks like to be faithful in the small - maybe impacting the world really does look like changing diapers and being puked on. Maybe the most audacious thing I can do is continue to show up. It's not glamorous or sexy, but praise God for taking our small acts of obedience and turing them into something beautiful. The pressure is off my shoulders. I can let God be God, for in him is the only hope the world will ever have for change. I tried being the hero, and I was real bad at it. How silly of me to think it was my job.

Please hear me in this, I haven't forgotten my passions or set aside all those dreams. I still have that ache deep inside for my life to count for something great. I want to do wild and wonderful things. The important piece I failed to see as a new college grad was this: "The usefulness of my life is God's concern, not mine." My responsibility is not to go out and change the world. My responsibility is to be faithful in what He's given me today. The eternal call on my life is not to a person, a place or any one thing on this earth, but rather to an increasingly deeper relationship with Jesus. Throughout my life there will surely be a number of different circumstances that follow as an expression of that call, but my concern is to be a lover and follower of Christ. 

This year has been a tough one. The progress in my life has been slow and hard, but I can feel God chiseling away, making me to be more of the woman I'm supposed to be. Sometimes I still feel like a mystery to myself, but I'm learning that's okay. Even when I feel like I don't know who I am, God does - and that's enough. Sometimes I still feel super anxious about the life I'm living.  I still struggle with wanting to tackle that big proverbial mountain I had planned for myself. And I'm still trying to figure out the balance between seeking a great story and hanging in there when life feels monotonous.  Little by little, though, I'm learning to lean into this bigger reality: the life that I'm living is the right one for me because God's got me - and He's got you too - in ways that we cannot even wrap our little brains around. In Romans 8, we're told that God is working all things for our good and His glory. I'm learning to rest in that - to trust that He knows what He's doing. 

So... what does life look like from here? Well, I just signed another year lease here in NC. I'm still enjoying my job and feel like I want to give it another year (at least). Beyond that, I have ZERO idea of what I'm going to do. Maybe I'll be here, maybe I won't. But I do know that today there are two little kiddos that will be entrusted to my care - and I want to give them all the love and courage I can - even if that means getting puked on for the thousandth time. This is my life - my crazy, messy, beautiful life. My prayer is that God would take it and write a bigger story than I could ever conjure up myself. The beautiful thing is, it rests in His hands - His capable and loving hands.

“All that is not the love of God has no meaning for me… If God wants it to, my life will be useful through my word and witness. If He wants it to, my life will bear fruit through my prayers and sacrifices. But the usefulness of my life is His concern, not mine. It would be indecent of me to worry about that.” ~ Brother Dominique Voillaume (quoted by Brennan Manning, All is Grace).

Batch 9 // Fluffernutter Cookies

Hey all! I promise I'm still here... I've just been on the move. This morning I realized that I have either been working, traveling, or hosting guests for the past 16 days. This introvert needed some time to  regroup and recharge today... which usually means either baking or organizing something. Baking won today - I decided to whip up a quick batch of cookies. These delicious little cookies (inspired by a favorite childhood sandwich) only have 3 ingredients... You read that right, only 3! They turned out really soft and chewy. Whip up a batch this week!

{Recipe and image via Picky Palate}

1 Cup creamy peanut butter 

1 large egg 

1 cup marshmallow cream 

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.  

In a large bowl mix the peanut butter and egg until well combined with a spoon. 

Slowly stir in the marshmallow cream until just combined. You want to see the marshmallow cream not fully incorporated, almost like swirled through. 

With a small-medium cookie scoop, scoop dough onto a parchment or lined baking sheet. Bake for 12-15 minutes or until baked through. Let cool for 5 minutes on cookie sheet before transferring to a cooling rack.

i am changed

{via}


On my way to work last Friday night, I got a call from the charge nurse letting me know that one of my sweet patients had taken a turn for the worse and had only a couple of days left to live, at best. The charge nurse asked if I would be okay taking care of her that night. I swallowed a rush of fear and hesitantly agreed. I'd walked through too much with this little girl and her family to shy away in fear. I knew this day was coming - when a patient close to my heart would pass away - but I wasn't sure I was ready for it to happen on my watch. As I cared for her that night and watched her gulp for air time and time again, I physically felt my heart break. The feisty spirit I'd seen in her for months was still very present as she fought to hang onto her life. I sat with her family - Mom, Dad, Big sis, Mimi, Paw-paw, Grandma and Pops - and cried with them over the loss that was sure to come. I sat at her bedside, held her hand, and prayed for God to hold her close.

The twelve hours of my shift came and went, and somehow she was still hanging on. I went home and tried my best to get some sleep, but my mind continually played through various scenes from the five months I had cared for her.
...I thought about Christmas, how excited she was to see Santa Claus and how she tore through that mountain of gifts... 

...I thought about the treasure hunt I set up for her and how we went around the unit searching for "gold" and "diamonds."... 
...I thought about the day we shaved her head and the big smile that came to her face when Pops told her she looked beautiful...

...I thought about her favorite Curious George pillow and how frantically we had to search for it one day during a major meltdown...

...I thought about the day she was finally able to eat again and scarfed down at least 12 cheese sticks...

...I thought about the night that she quit breathing, and how her momma sobbed into my chest after we had resuscitated her...

...I thought about the volcano we built with her dad and how she erupted into laughter as the explosion hit the ceiling (whoops!)...

...I thought about Valentine's Day, when she woke up at 4 a.m. and would not go back to sleep until her cards had been delivered to each box...

...I thought about how she and Paw-paw would banter back and forth: "I love you more"... "NO, I love you more."...

...I thought about how her eyes glittered and could almost hear her sweet little laugh."

As I laid there sleeplessly, I could not help but think about how that 6-year old little girl had stolen my heart, and how I absolutely cherished each person in her family. As memories continued to reel through my mind, I felt a rising anger begin to boil beneath my chest. I tossed and turned, all tangled in the sheets, and my heart was doing much the same within. God and I wrestled back and forth for hours...
"God, why this little girl?"

 "Why this family?" 

"I don't understand why she had to suffer so much..."

"This isn't fair... Don't you care? How can you just let this happen?"

"I am struggling to believe that you are still good in the midst of all of this."

When I woke the next day, my head was pounding and my eyes were still puffy and tear-stained. I went back to work on Saturday night and the family told me they were waiting on one more person to arrive to pull her life support. I marveled at the bravery of their decision and held hands with them, with her, for another night as she continued to gasp and fight. Another shift came and went, and she was still holding on. On Sunday afternoon, after many restless hours and shallow sleep, I woke to my phone ringing. It was work, calling to tell me that she had died. It wasn't a surprise, but I still felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. Immediately I felt tears flood my eyes and I broke down. I went into my bathroom, filled the tub with hot water, and sat there for who knows how long weeping over her loss and the knowledge that her family was surely in deep mourning. The water just couldn't get hot enough nor could I sink low enough to drown out the sorrow. As I climbed back into bed, the tympani of my own heart beat was deafening. I laid there thinking, "Why is my heart still beating? Why not hers?" And God and I did some more wrestling.

On Monday I woke up and told myself that I no longer had permission to sit and wallow. It was time to start trusting and processing and reconciling. I went to my favorite coffee shop and journaled and prayed and read and realigned my heart with the promises of scripture. It took an active choice to cling to Christ when everything in me wanted to run and cling to bitterness and distrust. As I was sitting there reading, I got a call from a precious woman back in Utah (the one and only Tamara Anderson) who had heard from my momma about my rough week... She called to encourage me and love on me. We talked for a few brief minutes, but I'm convinced that her words were a gift from the Lord. She said to me,

"Jarah, God is big enough for your questions... 

But you've got to remember that life is not always about the answers."

As I hung up the phone, I quickly jotted down the words she had spoken. I knew that I needed to remember them, to chew on them and revisit them in the days to come. I then picked up my book (Where is God When It Hurts? by Philip Yancey... a must read), and read the following:

"God did not exempt even himself from human suffering. He too hung on a gallows, at Calvary, and that alone is what keeps me believing in a God of love. God does not, in the comfortable surroundings of heaven, turn a deaf ear to the sounds of suffering on this groaning planet. He joined us, choosing to live among an oppressed people... in circumstances of poverty and great affliction. He too was an innocent victim of cruel, senseless torture. At that moment of black despair, the Son of God cried out... 'God, why have you forsaken me?'
Jesus, the Son of God on earth, embodied all that I have been trying to say about pain. Like Job, an innocent sufferer who preceded him, he did not receive an answer to the questions of cause: 'Why?... why?' he called out from the cross, and heard nothing but the silence of God. Even so, he responded with faithfulness, turning his attention to the good that his suffering could produce: 'for the joy set before him [Christ] endured the cross' (Hebrews 12:2). What joy? The transformation, or redemption, of humanity.
The Gospel writers stress that Jesus' suffering was not a matter of impotence; he could have called a legion of angels. Somehow he had to go through it for fallen creation to be redeemed. God took the Great Pain of his own Son's death and used it to absorb into himself all the minor pains of earth. Suffering was the cost to God of forgiveness.
Human suffering remains meaningless and barren unless we have some assurance that God is sympathetic to our pain, and can somehow heal that pain. In Jesus we have that assurance.
Thus the Christian message encompasses the full range of anger and despair and darkness... It offers a complete identification with the suffering world. But Christianity takes a further step as well. It is called the Resurrection, the moment of victory when the last enemy, death itself, is defeated. A seeming tragedy, Jesus' crucifixion, made possible the ultimate healing of the world.
Did God desire the Holocaust? Ask the question another way: Did God desire the death of his own Son? Obviously, because of his character he could not possibly desire such atrocities. And yet both happened, and the question then moves from the unanswerable, 'Why?' to another question, 'To what end?'
At the instant of pain, it may seem impossible to imagine that good can come from tragedy (It must have seemed so to Christ at Gethsemane). We never know in advance exactly how suffering can be transformed into a cause for celebration. But that is what we are asked to believe. Faith means believing in advance what will only make sense in reverse." (emphasis mine)

I went back and reread the words again... they resonated almost eerily with those spoken by my wise mentor. The second time through the point started to take root and I realized that God wasn't going to give me answers, but he was going to give me himself. He was speaking to me in very tangible ways and as I processed it all, I began to cry... and not the pretty kind. There I was sitting in the corner of that coffee shop, full on ugly crying. I'm talking chest sobs, people. My heart was arrested with the beauty of a God who is sympathetic to our pain... a Savior who willingly came and endured ultimate suffering to bring us wholeness and life eternal.

After another tearful hour, I pulled myself together long enough to rush past a sea of awkward glances from fellow coffee shop dwellers. I made my way back to my car and it hit me that I had been changed over the course of that afternoon. God was doing work in this heart. But I suppose the process started about 5 months ago when I met a spunky little 6-year old who grabbed my heart and would not let go.

That night as I laid in my bed, my mind was reeling once again, but in a different sort of way. I thought about the words Jesus spoke from the Sermon on the Mount,  "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted." "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God." "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."  And, you know what? I think I'm starting understand a little more of what Jesus meant as I've held hands with the sick and dying, and walked alongside those who suffer and mourn. They are blessed, because their lowly position befits the coming of His Kingdom. It comes in big ways and in small, and almost always in paradoxical forms that take us by surprise and open the floodgates for God's grace to rush in. God is teaching me to see His Kingdom, even now in all of the brokenness of this world.

I can see it in a little girl whose favorite color was purple,

who fumbled with a tiny cross bracelet as she bravely faced death.

I can see it in family blood thickened in the face of fear and uncertainty.

I can see it in a pink satin cape that transformed a little girl into a superhero.

I see it in laughter over a ridiculous 'code brown' (post 12 cheese sticks, of course).

I see it in sharing a Christmas meal, crammed around a bed in a tiny hospital room... shrimp dip never tasted so good.

I see His kingdom in blowing bubbles, reading bedtime stories, and putting on sock pupet shows.

I see it in death, in Christ restoring wholeness to a child who was physically broken her entire earthly life.

I saw His kingdom while sitting at her funeral, as the sorrow of death and suffering was transformed into a cause for celebration. I witnessed hope rising and love overcoming. 

And, dear friends, I saw his kingdom as I held on to the necks of that family and cried and heard them proclaim their hope in the resurrection.

All of these good and perfect moments were a taste, just a small taste of what God truly intended. "On Earth as it is in Heaven." Let that be my cry!

This week has been quite the journey, dear readers. I can honestly say that I am a different person walking out of it than I was walking in... Not because I found an answer to the cause for this suffering, but because I encountered a God whose heart bleeds with those who mourn.

This God who was, and is, and is to come,

Well, I can say now that I know, in that part of my heart where knowing lives, that He is good.

Yes, even in pain

and in suffering. 

Even in great loss

and in death.

"Oh, death where is your victory? Oh, death where is your sting?"

Come Lord Jesus.