Author: joyfuldomesticity

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Out of these ashes

Beauty Will Rise
By Steven Curtis Chapman

It was the day the world went wrong

I screamed til my voice was gone
And watched through the tears as everything
came crashing down
Slowly panic turns to pain
As we awake to what remains
and sift through the ashes that are left
behind

But buried deep beneath
All our broken dreams
we have this hope:

Out of these ashes… beauty will rise
and we will dance among the ruins
We will see Him with our own eyes
Out of these ashes… beauty will rise
For we know, joy is coming in the morning…
in the morning, beauty will rise

So take another breath for now,
and let the tears come washing down,
and if you can’t believe I will believe
for you.

Cuz I have seen
the signs of spring!
Just watch and see:

Out of these ashes… beauty will rise
and we will dance among the ruins
We will see Him with our own eyes
Out of these ashes… beauty will rise
For we know, joy is coming in the morning…
in the morning…

I can hear it in the distance
and it’s not too far away.
It’s the music and the laughter
of a wedding and a feast.
I can almost feel the hand of God
reaching for my face
to wipe the tears away, and say,
“It’s time to make everything new.”

“Make it all new”

This is our hope.
This is the promise.
This is our hope.
This is the promise.
That it would take our breath away
to see the beauty that’s been made
out of the ashes…
out of the ashes…
That it would take our breath away
to see the beauty that He’s made
out of the ashes…
out of the ashes…

Out of these ashes… beauty will rise
and we will dance among the ruins
We will see Him with our own eyes
Out of this darkness… new life will shine
and we’ll know the joy is coming in the morning…
in the morning…beauty will rise!

Oh, Beauty will rise
Oh, Beauty will rise
Oh, oh, oh, Beauty will rise
Oh, oh, oh, Beauty will rise
Oh, oh, oh, Beauty will rise

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Rough Wrappings

There are secrets of Providence which God’s dear children may learn. His dealings with them often seem, to the outward eye, dark and terrible. Faith looks deeper and says, “This is God’s secret. You look only on the outside; I can look deeper and see the hidden meaning.”

Sometimes diamonds are done up in rough packages, so that their value cannot be seen. When the Tabernacle was built in the wilderness there was nothing rich in its outside appearance. The costly things were all within, and its outward covering of rough badger skin gave no hint of the valuable things which it contained.

God may send you, dear friends, some costly packages. Do not worry if they are done up in rough wrappings. You may be sure there are treasures of love, and kindness, and wisdom hidden within. If we take what He sends, and trust Him for the goodness in it, even in the dark, we shall learn the meaning of the secrets of Providence.

–A. B. Simpson

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Cookies

My little boy helped me bake Christmas cookies this year. I’m thankful my Gabriel loves to shadow me & do absolutely everything I do. I made the mistake of not giving him an apron or overshirt while rolling & cutting the sugar cookies… haha. But we remedied the situation when it was time for icing & sprinkles. 🙂 Live & learn!

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Fourth Sunday of Advent

Of the Father’s love begotten, ere the worlds began to be,
He is Alpha and Omega, He the source, the ending He,
Of the things that are, that have been,
And that future years shall see, evermore and evermore!

At His Word the worlds were framèd; He commanded; it was done:
Heaven and earth and depths of ocean in their threefold order one;
All that grows beneath the shining
Of the moon and burning sun, evermore and evermore!

He is found in human fashion, death and sorrow here to know,
That the race of Adam’s children doomed by law to endless woe,
May not henceforth die and perish
In the dreadful gulf below, evermore and evermore!

O that birth forever blessèd, when the virgin, full of grace,
By the Holy Ghost conceiving, bare the Savior of our race;
And the Babe, the world’s Redeemer,
First revealed His sacred face, evermore and evermore!

This is He Whom seers in old time chanted of with one accord;
Whom the voices of the prophets promised in their faithful word;
Now He shines, the long expected,
Let creation praise its Lord, evermore and evermore!

O ye heights of heaven adore Him; angel hosts, His praises sing;
Powers, dominions, bow before Him, and extol our God and King!
Let no tongue on earth be silent,
Every voice in concert sing, evermore and evermore!

Righteous judge of souls departed, righteous King of them that live,
On the Father’s throne exalted none in might with Thee may strive;
Who at last in vengeance coming
Sinners from Thy face shalt drive, evermore and evermore!

Thee let old men, thee let young men, thee let boys in chorus sing;
Matrons, virgins, little maidens, with glad voices answering:
Let their guileless songs re-echo,
And the heart its music bring, evermore and evermore!

Christ, to Thee with God the Father, and, O Holy Ghost, to Thee,
Hymn and chant with high thanksgiving, and unwearied praises be:
Honor, glory, and dominion,
And eternal victory, evermore and evermore!

~Aurelius Prudentius, 5th Cen­tu­ry (Corde na­tus ex pa­ren­tis); trans­lat­ed from Latin to Eng­lish by John M. Neale, 1854, and Henry W. Baker, 1859.~

This morning one of our pastors preached an Advent sermon on Psalm 118. I can’t even begin to tell you how perfectly this sermon “hit home” for us today. What a truly pastoral message, the deep sense of that word. When it gets online, you should take a listen to it here (the sermon for 12/19/2010).

“You are part of Christ’s advent to the world. So, suffer with Him.
Live by faith in Him in the middle of all your mess.
He will vindicate us and lead us to glory.”
~Pastor Alexander~

At our parish meeting’s (i.e. “small group” if that’s a familiar term to you) Christmas party this evening, after finger-food and visiting (and before prayer and singing), we read the nativity passage from Luke, focusing on the gift the angels proclaimed to the shepherds. And then we went around the room sharing some gift the Lord had given each person this year. That is such a… um… hard question for Steven and me right now. We looked at each other through a little grimace. People shared about new life, new loves, new jobs, new homes, new cars, new friendships. When it got around to us, we told the truth. That it’s hard to see gifts for our family in the last year. But that they are there: they are simply gifts in grief. We received the gift of three more jewels in our crown in heaven this year. I have so much trouble seeing that as a gift. But, sigh, Trojan though it may be, it is a gift. And then we have seen the body of Christ in a way we never saw prior to this year. And that, perhaps, is the biggest gift of all. Being rallied around, upheld, and grieved with. And so tonight my heart feels heavy–physically heavy in a way I can not even begin to explain–as I try to see these gifts through tear-filled, puffy eyes.

Come, Lord Jesus. I grow weary of this world. Weary of the pain, the tears, the grief, the death. I groan at the suffering. You who knew the deepest suffering of all, come and lift my burden. You came in flesh in Bethlehem… I know that one day You will come again in glory, and call me from my grave, and I will arise with never a tear to grace my cheek again. Oh Lord, come.

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I call upon Him

My case is urgent, and I do not see how I am to be delivered;
but this is no business of mine.
He who makes the promise will find ways and means of keeping it.
It is mine to obey His commands; it is not mine to direct His counsels.
I am His servant, not His solicitor.
I call upon Him, and He will deliver.
–C. H. Spurgeon

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Third Sunday of Advent

This morning our pastor said, “Advent is not celebrated, it is observed.” I loved that distinction. We celebrate Christmas, we observe Advent. That had not crossed my mind before, but I like it. 🙂 Observe away.

So at our [fairly traditional, liturgical] church, announcements begin the service as people hush their children, gather their wits, and begin to prepare to enter the heavenlies. After that, there is a musical meditation where the congregation is encouraged to meditate and turn their hearts to worship. Then comes the official call to worship. It is generally a short responsive reading. During this Advent season, our responsive call to worship includes this:

Peace be with you.
And also with you.
Tell those who hunger for righteousness to take heart.
The Lord our God will come!
Tell the poor in spirit to take heart.
The Lord our God will come!
Tell the orphan to take heart.
The Lord our God will come!
Tell the grieving widow to take heart.
The Lord our God will come!
Warn the tyrant to keep watch.
The Lord our God will come!
Warn the unjust to keep watch.
The Lord our God will come!
Warn the haughty to keep watch.
The Lord our God will come!

I love it. And let me just add that in my head, I add “grieving family” to grieving widow, just because I do. Sigh. It’s an extra way of reminding myself of my True Hope. The Lord our God will come!

On this particular morning my dearest friend Margaret and I sang a duet for the meditation, and I wanted to share the text with you. Perhaps it doesn’t seem necessarily Advent-ish. But, oh, yes it is! As we recall the first advent of Christ, we simultaneously look forward with eagerness to His second advent! That is what this song focuses on. I love the first and last verses the most. Especially the last one. Oh, how I love the resounding call for Christ to claim His Kingdom, for He alone shall reign! Amen!

Lo! He comes, with clouds descending,
once for our salvation slain;
thousand thousand saints attending
swell the triumph of His train:
Alleluia! alleluia! alleluia!
Christ the Lord returns to reign.

Every eye shall now behold Him,
robed in dreadful majesty;
those who set at nought and sold Him,
pierced, and nailed Him to the tree,
deeply wailing, deeply wailing, deeply wailing,
shall the true Messiah see.

Those dear tokens of His passion
still His dazzling body bears,
cause of endless exultation
to His ransomed worshipers;
with what rapture, with what rapture, with what rapture
gaze we on those glorious scars!

Now redemption, long expected,
see in solemn pomp appear;
all His saints, by man rejected,
now shall meet Him in the air:
Alleluia! alleluia! alleluia!
See the day of God appear!

Yes, amen! let all adore Thee,
high on Thine eternal throne;
Savior, take the power and glory;
claim the Kingdom for Thine own:
Alleluia! alleluia! alleluia!
Thou shalt reign, and Thou alone.

~Words: John Cennick (1718-1755), 1752;
as altered by Charles Wesley (1707-1788), 1758;
and then altered by Martin Madan (1726-1790), 1760

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One Year Later, Same Place

A year ago (plus a few days) I began reading Nancy Guthrie’s book, The One Year Book Of Hope. I started crying before I even got through the introduction, and declared that it was my new lifeline. And it really was. I gleaned so much blessing and encouragement from that book!

I read it off & on, sometimes doing just one page a day, and sometimes cramming five pages (which is considered a week’s worth, in its layout) into just one day.

And then suddenly, I was done with it. Finished.
That was three weeks ago.

I hadn’t realized that it had taken me just about exactly a year (slightly less) to read it. To chew on it. To swallow it. To digest it.

And now it’s done.

But here I am, feeling like I am still standing in the same place I was standing a year ago. I am not done.

I think a large part of it has to do with the fact that many people (I was going to say most, but don’t want to go that far) experience one event of grief, and then get to work on healing and eventually do find hope and even move onward & forward. That just isn’t part of my story. My story isn’t one event of grief. It is recurrent. It keeps coming. It keeps happening. And the next event happens before I have been able to heal and find hope and move onward or forward.

When I began reading the One Year Book Of Hope, I think I assumed that after a year of plowing through these pages, I would be different. That I would find my grief balmed. That my heart would actually be more hopeful.
And while I do feel like some things are different, I have grown and changed and matured some… many things (this is a place where I probably could get away with saying most) are still the same. And some things are worse.

But I still love this book. I still give it away when I can. And I always recommend it.

The last section of the book was the hardest to read. I am still chewing it, unsure how I will swallow it, and wondering if I can ever actually digest it properly. Here are some glimpses from that section:

[Written to her daughter, in heaven] I want to wake up and find you here. But you are so far away and becoming even more distant in my memory, and it is so painful… Forgive me for going on with life without you… It just keeps moving farther and farther away.

Some days I wonder if the letting go will ever stop. After Hope’s death, I had to let go of her physical body, my dreams for her, and so many of her things. I let go of her room and turned it back into a guest room. Then came Gabe, and I had to let go of him along with my hopes for Matt to have a sibling… Every ripping away takes a piece of us with it, leaving us raw and stinging with pain.

They say you find out who your friends are when the chips are down… My expectations of those around us were high, and I was often disappointed… I learned that some people are called by God to minister grace in the hard places. Some people aren’t… But don’t think I’m naive. I know that some people are just too self-centered to share your pain. But I’ve come to realize that so much we label as uncaring is simply an inability to overcome the awkwardness and fear of doing or saying the wrong thing.

Those of us connected to the body of Christ experience the tangible love of Jesus through the care and concern of others. Our needs become their concerns… Don’t be afraid they’ll forget. Don’t be afraid they’ll think you’re fine when you are still hurting deeply.

It takes a conscious choice to turn conversations away from my pain, to stop trying to make sure everyone understands my hurt and has considered my feelings. But it is a step toward normalization, and a step closer to Christ.

There is a tyranny in grief. We realize at some point that we have to figure out how to keep on living, how to incorporate the loss into our lives. We want to feel normal again, to feel joy again. But the energy and emotion of grief keep us feeling close to the one we love or connected to what we’ve lost. Letting go of our grief feels like letting go of the one we love… The very idea of it is unbearable.

As I continue to walk through the valley of the shadow of death, and as I mourn the death of my youngest son, I realize that the steps I had taken forward after losing Mercy (I was pregnant with her when I began this book) were lost as I went backwards when I then lost Victory. And while I took some steps forward again after that, I have now again moved backwards in my grieving journey as I grieve my Hosanna-boy.

So while I just finished reading The One Year Book Of Hope, I am kind of thinking it’s time to start all over again. From scratch. Because that’s what my grief has done.

Started all over again.

From scratch.

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Second Sunday of Advent

We sang “Wake, Awake, for Night is Flying” (by Philip Niccoli, written in the 16th century) in worship today, and the last verse really catches me. I like both of these translations of the verse:

Now let all the heavens adore thee,
and saints and angels sing before thee,
with harp and cymbal's clearest tone;
of one pearl each shining portal,
where we are with the choir immortal
of angels round thy dazzling throne;
nor eye hath seen, nor ear
hath yet attained to hear
what there is ours;
but we rejoice and sing to thee
our hymn of joy eternally.


Now let all the heav'ns adore Thee,
Let men and angels sing before Thee,
With harp and cymbal's clearest tone.
Of one pearl each shining portal,
Where, dwelling with the choir immortal,
We gather round Thy radiant throne.
No vision ever brought,
No ear hath ever caught,
Such great glory;
Therefore will we
Eternally
Sing hymns of praise and joy to Thee.



Something about those words reminds me of how we ascend into the heavenlies on Sunday when we worship, and that it’s then that my family is complete, and where I get to worship with all my  sons & daughters gathered around the radiant throne of God, and how  someday I will get to hear the great and glorious praise, and join in  it eternally with the saints. That thought is grand.


Also… the sermon was on Psalm 80. I call and cry out these words to  God myself. Plus I really love the refrain from that song of Asaph:


Psalm 80:3, 7, 14


Restore us, O God;

let Your face shine, that we may be saved!

Restore us, O God of hosts;

let Your face shine, that we may be saved!

Restore us, O LORD God of hosts!

Let Your face shine, that we may be saved!


We are doing our nightly (or close to it…) routine of reading (we’re in this book this year), singing, praying, and eating Lindt Lindor truffles. Gabriel  loved it last year, and of course the passage of time has not changed a  thing in that regard. 🙂


Lord Jesus, You are the light that  shines in the darkness. Remind us to turn to You, to call out to You,  when we feel we’re being swallowed by darkness, by doubts, by troubles  and frustrations. Thank You for the very fact of our being.

~G.K.C~


And just so you know… this is a must read from Mrs. Wilson, if you haven’t already done so.


Christmas is an emergency! Get a thousand bucks out of your savings and whoop it up with your kids.

~Mrs. W~
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Charlie Brown Christmas

After discussing it with my hubby, we decided to cut down a tree on Thanksgiving at my parents’ house, according to our usual tradition. We almost didn’t, and then we changed our mind. So we walked down the hill and cut down a pretty Charlie Brownish tree; it all took about six minutes. I figured that if I got home and decided my heart just really couldn’t handle putting it up in our house, we didn’t have to. So we put it in the garage that night, and by the next day I knew I did want to put it up. So we did. I didn’t want the empty space “where the tree would have been” connected to all those horrible what-ifs and shoulda-beens. The tree is the less of the two stings, I guess.

We usually do lots of decorations and make our whole house really festive, right down to the potholders, hand towels, and dishes. This year, nope. As hubby puts it, we’re doing meager decorations for a meager year. Maybe next year will be different (and maybe not).

I think the tree is very representative of my heart right now: not the biggest, sparkliest, most festive thing in the world… but doggone it, I’m sure trying to fake it till I make it!

So it’s low key, but it’s there. And it’s a good compromise. And I did put out a couple other decorations (Advent calendar, Advent candles, snowglobe, and a wreath) and pulled out 3 of our Christmas mugs. Everything else went back in the boxes and back to the basement. Someday, I will do the whole shibang again. Someday.

So for this year, we are having a Charlie Brown Christmas. And it suits.

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Interlude

God’s hard words are never His last words.
The woe and the waste and the tears of life belong to the interlude and not the finale.
~F.B. Meyers~

Today I am praying for grace to endure the interlude… and trying to look ahead with even the smallest bit of hope to seeing what God’s next words & last words will be.