What would be helpful to write? That I’m exhausted and ready for several hours of uninterrupted, dreamless sleep? That my body was shivering from the inside out during my eulogy, even though people said I appeared calm and collected? That a part of me wanted to stroke his soft buzzed-cut hair and command him awake in the name of Jesus from where he lay in his casket? Surely I loved my brother as much as Mary & Martha loved theirs. There’s no sense comparing apples to oranges, even though the same God who raised Lazarus is just as powerful today as he was then. The fact remains that God spared my brother’s life once and gave him back to us for 10 ½ years, but this time, He chose to bring him home.

God doesn’t have to answer to me – He is the one who is sovereign. He can still receive glory from my pain & heartache and the anguish I feel right now at the loss of my brother and the compounding responsibilities of caring for his two boys weigh heavy on my shoulders.

In fact, I believe the visitation & services last night and today did honor God, and I’ve heard of one story, in particular, when a co-worker of a family member asked another co-worker (who is a Christian): “How can they be so calm?” to which the colleague replied: “Because they have Jesus.” Glory to God in the highest!

I had a chance to take a nap before the visitation yesterday evening. It was an overcast day, and when I woke up, the room was dim. I glanced at the window, closed my eyes again and thought to myself: “I don’t know how I’m going to do this.”

With my eyes still closed, I sensed a bright ray of sunshine flooding the room. I felt its warmth and could tell how bright it was, even with my eyes closed. I whispered to my God and Savior, the one who alone could help me get through the day and days to come: “I love You, too.”

As quickly as the sun had peeked through, it was suddenly gone again. I opened my eyes to a dim room and cloudy sky outside.

Thank You, Lord, for that moment of reassurance that I can still praise You in the storm.

What an amazing video we watched tonight in my ladies’ group. It was one of Beth Moore’s sessions from her “Breaking Free” series. The topic was generational prejudice. Her teaching stirred in my heart several memories of prejudice — both on the giving and receiving end.

It breaks my heart how we (yes, “we” — myself included) can strive so hard for godliness in our walks with Christ and yet hold back such ingrained pre-judgments about other people. That’s what prejudice is: judging people before you get to know them.

As Beth Moore said, it stems from fear and ignorance … and it isn’t just racial, although that’s certainly an issue and has been a hot button ever since the Egyptians first began fearing the growing Hebrew population and decided to enslave them.

One thing she said that really struck me is that prejudice is natural. It’s often something we grow up experiencing — often so much so that it’s quite literally second nature. Many Christians don’t even acknowledge that it is wrong to pre-judge people in this way. “That’s just the way my people are,” we say. “My grandparents and my parents raised me this way.”

However, what we fail to realize is that just because something comes naturally to us doesn’t exempt it from being sin. When she said that, I immediately thought of other areas in our lives that we might try to justify by calling it “our nature.” Growing up in a home full of foul language doesn’t make it ok for you to curse. Growing up around an alcoholic doesn’t validate your own addiction. Growing up in an abusive situation doesn’t give you the right to hurt others. It seems like a no-brainer when said that way, but somehow prejudice is pigeon-holed into its own special little box and buried in the backyard. We just avoid talking about it.

One thing we talked about in our small group after the video is that we will not be able to make sweeping changes worldwide, but we can start with ourselves and begin reflecting on our own pre-judgments about others.

I attended church with my family down in Houston on Dec. 28, and during the service, an outline started unfolding in my mind’s eye along with some verses and pictures from my memory. It had nothing really to do with the sermon topic, but I jotted down some notes and looked up a few verses that had come to mind.

The gist of my sermon, for lack of a better term, is that despite the athletic prowess and sheer guts of some human beings, we are utterly incapable of crossing the gap that separates our sin … minor though it may seem in comparison to others … from a holy God.

Out of curiosity, I looked up a few stats & records. Pikes Peak is more than 14K ft above sea level. The Grand Canyon is 10-18 miles wide. The world’s long jump record is about the width of a two-lane highway. The standing long jump record is approximately 12ft (approx one lane of the highway).

I began thinking of that scene in Grease 2 where Michael attempts to jump the gully, which reminded me of Evel Knievel, so I did a little research on him. Before each of his stunts, he used to pray: “God, take care of me. Here I come…” not knowing whether he’d survive.

Passages of scripture came to mind like Romans 6:21-23, which says plain & simply that our sin deserves death. Philippians 3:4-9 where Paul recites his very impressive resume and yet calls the accolades akin to a pooper scooper when compared to Christ. Then there’s Ecclesiastes 7:20-22, which reminds us that no one is perfect … no one.

You see? It doesn’t matter if we’re being asked to long-jump a four-lane highway or the Grand Canyon! We … can’t … do … it. Period. My supposedly “little” sins keep me on one side of the canyon just as helplessly as another person’s “gigantic” sins.

Then I thought of Indiana Jones and the bridge of faith that he had to cross while searching for the holy grail. Despite our most cunning, clever, sugar-coated efforts, we simply can’t jump far enough to overcome our sin and reach God, but God provides a bridge to cross the chasm that separates us through Christ.

This word is on my heart to share … I feel like the outline & illustrations came to my mind for a reason. I’m just not sure what the venue is supposed to be. Is it here, on this blog that only a handful of people read? Is it in front of the congregation? Is it with my small group? I don’t know yet.

Sunday’s message resounded in my spirit like drums against my ribs. The passage was I Kings 17 & 18, but one verse that really struck me was a comment Elijah made in 18:41. He remarked to King Ahab that there was the sound of heavy rain … yet there was not a cloud in the sky.  Elijah was experiencing the raining down of the Holy Spirit within him, stirring his faith and strengthening his resolve. So much so, that he went back up on the mountain to pray and wait for the rain that he trusted would come.

Several things went through my mind during this message. One was a reminder of the word that God impressed on me during the holidays – a sermon, you might say – that I jotted notes for but had tucked away in my journal, unsure of what to do with it. More on that in another post.

Another realization from the message was that I am powerless to change/repair my marriage – or anything else, for that matter – by my own willpower. Elijah was not responsible for Ahab’s reaction to his message; in fact, Elijah’s very life was in danger by even showing his face to the king who was already angry with him. His task was to follow God and speak His message. Likewise, in my own relationships, I have a responsibility to walk with God and obey Him, but I cannot make my spouse, my friends, my family or anyone else walk alongside me. They have to choose for themselves. However, Elijah’s faith brought forth fire and rain from heaven, which prompted people to turn from Baal and believe in the one true God. He even engaged his servant in the watching-and-waiting process.

I, too, need to focus on the Spirit raining inside of me before I can worry about the rain falling around me.

This week’s sermon was part of a series on Growing Faith, entitled Providential Circumstances. I heard a fresh perspective on the story of Lazarus, and it hit home to some struggles in my own life.

Lazarus was already in dire straits when messengers relayed the news to Jesus. I can imagine that while Mary and Martha were waiting anxiously, they hovered over their brother’s bedside, consoling him and whispering repeatedly: “Hang in there; Jesus is on his way.” Perhaps they softly hummed or sang psalms of praise and healing while he lay there, each day slipping away more.

Not only did Jesus wait where he was for two days after receiving the plea to go see his dying friend, we also have to factor in the travel time. By the time he arrived at Mary & Martha’s home, Lazarus had been in the grave several days. His sisters had already seen him take his last breath, prepared his body for burial, dealt with an influx of visitors to their home and were in the throes of mourning when Jesus finally arrived.

One thing that strikes me about this story is how Jesus knew intuitively that Lazarus had died. Messengers had reported that Lazarus was gravely ill, but Jesus knew when he died. His delay was purposeful.

While Mary, Martha, friends and family lingered over Lazarus’ deathbed, how they must have wondered what was taking Jesus so long! I wonder, too, if Lazarus was cognizant as he died that his friend – the Great Physician – was not going to arrive in time to save him. Granted, Jesus could have healed Lazarus as he had the Centurion’s daughter: simply with a word from afar. Instead, he waited.

I see myself in so many characters of this story. I am Lazarus, rasping through tears to an empty room: “Jesus! I’m dyin’ here! I don’t know how much longer I can hold on. Please come!” I am the sisters, observing a loved one in pain as well as suffering myself, yet knowing that I am powerless to help: “Jesus! I know that you can heal them with merely a word or a touch … what is taking you so long? Please hurry!” I am the mourners, trying to empathize with the grieving family, yet clueless to God’s hand at work around me. I am the disciples, waiting behind with Jesus as he takes his sweet time to travel, thinking to myself but too embarrassed to inquire aloud: “Um, we probably ought to get going … I mean, it takes a few days to get there by foot. I wonder why he’s just sitting there – not doing anything?”

When God doesn’t respond immediately; when he doesn’t intervene in a sweeping, miraculous way – it doesn’t mean that he is ignoring me. If I have the right spiritual mindset to realize his hand at work, I will realize that the wait is purposeful. If I muster the courage to keep the faith in the midst of silence, I will realize that God can receive glory through the pain. After all, he can raise the dead! What more can we ask?

My China cabinet broke today. It isn’t a typical china cabinet that holds fancy dishes; it is a glass-topped display table in which I kept some cherished, irreplaceable souvenirs from my stay in China a dozen years ago.

(Come to think of it, my fancy dishes are in boxes and haven’t been used in years … I often wonder why I didn’t register for melamine and Tupperware instead of Mikasa, but I digress.)

I know it’s just a piece of furniture, but it was special to me as one of the few “pretty” things in my house … one of the few things that is fragile, not made of plastic, not a hand-me-down from relatives, not boxed up. I was upset that the cabinet broke – though thankful that the munchkin who broke it didn’t get hurt – but as I cleaned up the shattered glass and put the treasures safely away elsewhere, it felt symbolic of a changing era.

I have always reflected back on my time in China as a crossroads in my life … not a high point, spiritually or emotionally speaking, because it was quite wearisome at times … but certainly as a coming-of-age time. It was a time when I learned to listen to God and try to figure out how my miniscule life fits into his grandiose plan.

This morning’s sermon at church, ironically enough, was on Personal Ministry. The pastor made a few comments that struck me, so I jotted them down:

• “Most of us walk away from personal ministry because we don’t have the spiritual foundation to know what step comes next.”
• “They (the disciples) did what they knew how to do so that God could do what only He can do.”
• “We feel dissatisfied with personal ministry because we go down a path He never told us to go down.”

Boy, I have certainly experienced those statements, for the better and the worse. When I came home from China (and several moments throughout the intervening years), I felt like I was walking away from God’s call on my life. Yet, I did what I knew to do at the time, and God worked things out, according to His purpose … not mine.  The broken table brought back a flood of memories and made me feel like that part of my life was “broken” again. I don’t know how to explain it, but I trust God to show me the next steps.