The Spirit in Family

Easter is hard in our house for multiple reasons. I have an adult son with mental retardation who struggles with seeing anything depicting Christ on the cross. It’s hard for him to grasp. For that fact, it’s hard for me. It is for most of us, or at least it should be.

The mere thought of what Jesus suffered tears me to shreds. It breaks my heart and then knowing that Christ chose this in my stead. My heart grieves that my sin, our sin, is that grim and gritty.

Isaiah prophesied His death and its depth years before Christ came as a baby. He laid it out piece by piece. The Son of Man would be oppressed and afflicted, led like a lamb to the slaughter, never opening His mouth but humbly submitting. The Messiah would be judged and protested. Rejected by men, suffering, despised, and considered of low esteem. And if that were not enough, He would bear our transgressions and be crushed for our iniquities. He. Would. Brutely. Die.

Who can get their head around that? Who could understand the depth of love involved? That the Father would offer His Son as an atonement for us, but that Christ willingly walked the path of man’s cruelty. He died for us—me and you.

When I say those words, “He died for us,” there is silence—dead silence. I imagine that the moment Jesus died, silence fell over the world. For a moment in time, the world had to take it in. There must have been a global gasp. For an instant, there was no choice but to believe.

I understand the joy of Easter fun for children, but for me, it’s different. I feel the loss. I cry for a sacrifice that shouldn’t have been required but was necessary—and given freely and fully in love so redemption could follow.

When I read the words, He is not here; he has risen, just as he said (Matthew 28:6 NIV), I feel the joy of not just Christ but of a Savior. The burden is lifted. The sadness is gone. His arms are open, and death is not just overcome but defeated forever.

Mourn your sinful nature and then look upward. Rejoice at the gift of life given to you, for Christ has risen. He lives. And He will come again. Hallelujah and amen.

I asked Christ to come into my heart as a little girl. Since then, I’ve hungered and thirsted for many things besides Christ, even though He’s the only One who promised to satisfy the hunger and quench the thirst in my soul.

But when I read Isaiah 55, God reminded me how beautiful—and relevant—the gospel is. I realized I was spending my time, money, and effort on figurative bread and water that couldn’t satisfy my hunger or quench my thirst.

Although I had a relationship with God and had heard the gospel countless times, God used Isaiah 55 to open my eyes to a powerful truth: only He offers the food and drink that can fully fill my soul.

God gives us opportunities to find satisfaction in Him—not just at the point of our salvation but every single day afterward. We must keep returning to our true fulfiller, especially when Satan tempts us to satisfy our hunger and quench our thirst with other things. By communing with God—reading Scripture and praying—we can find refreshment for our souls.

In the life to come, we’ll no longer hunger or thirst because we’ll be in the presence of the Lord. But until then we must commune with Him through the spiritual disciples.

God wants to commune with you. Think about what prevents you from communing with Him. Then, surrender those things to Him and seek the genuine fulfillment only He alone offers. 

I wish I did not worry. As a child, I would pray aloud as we crossed a bridge, “Lord, protect us.” I once passed out praying on the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. My momma used to call me a worry wart. It turns out Worry Wart was a comic strip character from the 1920s.

The Bible has plenty to say about worrying. Philippians 4:6 says, “Do not be anxious about anything.” 2 Timothy 1:7 says, “For the Holy Spirit does not want you to be afraid.” So why is it so difficult not to worry? Maybe God knew just how hard it is to have faith. I like to think He understands our lack of trust, so He filled the Bible with many reminders.

Over the years, I have worried about my students’ welfare when they asked if they could go home with me. I worried about my family, young and old, knowing I could not solve all their problems. And I worried about my coworkers and the heavy load they carried. So, I gave snacks to the hungry students and hoodies to the cold ones. I called to check on the elderly and read to the little ones. I sent notes of encouragement to coworkers and shared lesson plans.

I once heard, “Work as if everything depended on you and pray as if everything depended on God.” That gave me something to do. I want to say I quit worrying, but I would be lying. We do the best we can. I thought if everyone knew I worried, they would question my faith in God. Now that I am older, I believe God gets me. He is still working on me.

In life, we can control some variables. We can set an alarm to wake us up. We can plan and save for a rainy day. But some things will come our way over which we have no control. For some, there will be no worry. For others, like me, there will be some wringing of the hands and restless nights. We press on.

Think about what worries you, then plan what you can do alone and what you must leave for God. 

The fiddler crab scooted past me, its big dominant claw high in the air. A sign to other fiddlers that it was just passing through—no harm intended or trouble wanted.

The crab joined hundreds of its fellow fiddler crabs in an exodus off the beach and toward the relative safety of the swamps that lay several hundred yards behind the barrier dunes. The crab knew, without any connection to the internet or satellite television, that a hurricane was coming. Perhaps it was the beginning of a subtle drop in barometric pressure that would continue until the hurricane eye was overhead. Maybe it was the change in the rhythm of the breakers coming ashore … the heartbeat of the beach. Or it could have been the sudden disappearance of the soaring seagulls with their harsh cry, along with the accompanying absence of the sandpipers dashing in and out of the surf.

It was time for me to leave as well. I loaded my small brown Pinto station wagon with the keepsakes from our family oceanfront cottage. The knickknacks Mom didn't want to leave to the vagaries of wind and storm surge. I said goodbye to the cottage and Mr. Crab and headed inland.

Whatever sign that propelled the small crab and his kin inland, the rest of life along the beach followed suit. Even as the ominous dark clouds appeared on the southeastern horizon to embrace the setting sun, the beach emptied of the wildlife that called it home. They knew.

God's Word is full of hints, suggestions, warnings, and scenarios that point to what we call collectively the “end times.” Jesus Himself told us, “So also, when you see all these things, you know that He is near, right at the door” (Matthew 24:33 NKJV).

I don't need the Weather Channel to tell me a hurricane is coming. The beach speaks to those who listen, and so does God's Word and Spirit. And yes, I think they speak of a gathering storm.

But Jesus also said not to be afraid. To be prepared. To rest in His peace. No matter the signs or how much the next few months may rock our little boat, the peace of Jesus rides with us. The same Jesus who said to the storm, “Peace! Be still!”

Rest in God’s peace. Yes, I am coming soon. “Amen. Come, Lord Jesus” (Revelation 22:20 ESV).

(Photo courtesy of pixabay.)

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Each morning when my hubby heads toward the pasture, our cattle get excited—really excited. These massive beasts know the human in the brown coat has something good in store for them. They start bellowing and bawling, executing their best version of running … boxy, awkward, bovine running. It’s a sight. Some mornings I giggle as I watch their giddy anticipation from the window. (Picture small children on Christmas morning in one-thousand-pound bodies.)

One morning—just any old morning—the truck door opened, Farmer Doug stepped out, and the race was on to see what delight was heading their way. But sometimes, it is not a treat-bucket day. The plan de jour was pasture rotation. The weather had turned chilly, and good grass was becoming scarce. But we still had one area left with abundant juicy, green goodness. And that was precisely where the cattle were headed. They just didn’t know it yet.

My husband opened the gate and walked in the direction he wanted them to follow. The older beasts quickly realized they had been led into the Promised Land and started feasting. But one young heifer was confused. She followed my hubby for quite some time, fixated on his empty bucket, obviously disturbed that nothing yummy was coming out of it. He talked to her as he walked along, wondering when she would realize the treasure was not in the bucket but under her feet. She stood right in the middle of it. My husband had led her into green pastures.

I can be like that dear heifer. I know the Lord is my provider, and I remember how He has led me into green pastures. But when my treat bucket is empty, sometimes I fret.  Aren’t You going to provide for me THIS time? If so, why isn’t it working out like LAST time?

All the while, God patiently waits for me to notice today’s provision—usually something right under my nose (or hooves). Again and again, the Lord has to re-direct my gaze. I am certainly still providing for you, dear one. Look around. 

Next time your needs are unmet and anxiety is rising, try standing still and looking around. Sometimes, when yesterday’s bucket is empty, today’s field is fresh and full. Take time to enjoy your green pastures.