Footprints in the Sand

There is an old poem written by Mary Stevenson that has made its rounds in Christian circles.  You can find it on bookmarks, blankets, and a plethora of home decor.  It goes like this:

One night I dreamed a dream.
As I was walking along the beach with my Lord.
Across the dark sky flashed scenes from my life.
For each scene, I noticed two sets of footprints in the sand,
One belonging to me and one to my Lord.

After the last scene of my life flashed before me,
I looked back at the footprints in the sand.
I noticed that at many times along the path of my life,
especially at the very lowest and saddest times,
there was only one set of footprints.

This really troubled me, so I asked the Lord about it.
"Lord, you said once I decided to follow you,
You'd walk with me all the way.
But I noticed that during the saddest and most troublesome times of my life,
there was only one set of footprints.
I don't understand why, when I needed You the most, You would leave me."

He whispered, "My precious child, I love you and will never leave you
Never, ever, during your trials and testings.
When you saw only one set of footprints,
It was then that I carried you."

This poem always seemed a little cheesy to me, and to some extent, it still does.  But over the past year and a half, I have better understood the author's sentiments and the concept of being carried by the Lord.

When something life-changing happens to us, we begin to mark time as before the event and after.  My Dad's death is one of these moments for me. I have walked through hard things before losing him, and I am confident there are hard things to come.  In previous posts, I've been vulnerable and some might say raw in my attempt to work through my grief. But as I've picked up the pieces of my shattered heart and felt the sting of brokenness at different moments since June 11, 2023, I'm realizing new truths that I'm not sure I could have learned without this devastating loss. If you had asked me 3 or 4 years ago if I thought I struggled with a 'work-based' faith, I would have proudly said, "No, I am saved by grace". But as Romans 2:4 tells us, it is the kindness of the Lord that leads us to repentance, and in His mercy to me, Jesus showed me how I have indeed been living as if I could earn or merit His salvation. You see, after Dad went to be with Jesus, I felt betrayed by God, and perhaps one day I'll write a post on the reasons why I felt this way. I also felt like I couldn't trust Him. My faith, which I was so sure was rock solid, began to feel less secure the months following his passing. However, even as I rebelled like a 3-year-old pushing the limits of her parents' boundaries, I knew deep down there was nowhere else I would turn except to Jesus. During those dark months my heart was asking God a critical question, "will you really choose me, rescue me, love me, even in my rebellion?" One of my most favorite verses is found in Romans 5:8 and it so profoundly proclaims that 'God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.' And while I wholeheartedly believed this truth, I had never really seen it acted out in my life.  I accepted Christ as my savior at age 9, but up until now, I had not actively, knowingly, intentionally, chosen rebellion without remorse. Of course, I had sinned and "rebelled" in the past, but this was different; this was me testing God, asking Him to prove Himself to me. And while this sounds audacious and arrogant, I think it was from a place of deep pain and desperation.  And what I found at the end of this season of rebellion and testing was Footprints in the Sand. My second Christmas after losing Dad, I saw a piece of artwork that showed a lamb in the woods, all alone and covered in mud, and in the background, there is a man imaging Jesus running towards the lamb. I asked mom for that canvas as a gift, and it hangs in my living room as a daily reminder that even when I went astray, even when I questioned, doubted, tested, rebelled, He left the 99 to find me. He taught me that I couldn't clean myself up, I couldn't earn His affections, I couldn't make it right, I didn't deserve rescuing, and even when I couldn't come to Him because I was blinded by my sorrow and unsure of His care, He carried me. He was patient with me, He was gentle with me.  When I could not cling to Him, He picked me up.  He taught me that He is secure. He was even merciful in His consequences for my sin. The repercussions of my rebellious heart were not without pain and suffering, but even in the discipline, He showed me how He is a perfect Father. I can't imagine ever being grateful for my Dad's death, but I am grateful that the Lord didn't waste it.  The assurance of who God is and how He loves me "just because" is invaluable.

To the Mountains

I'm not sure when my love for the mountains began, but I have always felt at peace among the rolling hills of North Georgia.  When I lived in Korea, I often visited the mountains when I felt homesick for Georgia, and it brought instant comfort.  I've spent time hiking trails, splashing in creeks, being sprayed by waterfalls, and even tripping and falling in my pursuit of tranquility. I live about 45 min from the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains and so when I have a free weekend, I escape the traffic and the crowds and retreat to the forest-covered peaks.  I find so much joy in that first glimpse of the blue hills that beckon me to come closer.

As I often do when I drive, I thought about my Dad.  Today I realized I had never asked him if he preferred the mountains or the beach.  He could nap like nobody's business on a beach, or fly a kite for hours until the kite was no longer visible to the naked eye.  He loved snorkeling and exploring the ocean, but I think my Dad would have said the mountains.  He loved to go fast on the winding roads, (which made my mom crazy) he enjoyed a small mountain town, and stopping in a candy shop for something sweet.  And every couple years he would gather our whole family and we'd spend a long weekend in a cabin together.  He loved having all of us together playing a game, chatting, sitting in the hot tub, watching a movie, or even having our own little church service on Sunday morning.  I'm like my Dad in so many ways and I'm glad we shared a love for the mountains. 

When I spend time in nature my thoughts often gravitate towards the Creator, I've had many conversations with the Lord as I sit on a rock, or fallen tree, or river bank.  As I hung out with Jesus today I remembered how He also loved the mountains.  Jesus on several occasions found his way to a solitary place in the mountains to pray.  One of my favorite examples of Jesus going to the mountains was after His cousin, John the Baptist was beheaded.  Matthew 14 says that when Jesus heard the news of John's death, he "withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place."  However, the crowds that had witnessed Him do miracles wanted to see more and they followed Him.  When Jesus' boat landed and He saw the large crowds He had compassion on them and ended up healing their sick and feeding them.  There were 5000 men not including women and children!  After the crowd had eaten their fill and the leftovers from 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish were collected, Jesus dismissed them and sent His disciples ahead of him back across the sea.  The Bible says that He went up on a mountainside to pray.  Jesus was hurting, His cousin and friend was killed because he wouldn't stop proclaiming that Jesus was coming and that He was the Lamb of God.  The crowds were needy and wanted miracles and provision from Him.  And so when He finally had a moment to Himself to grieve and commune with His Father, He went up to the mountains.  

As much as I love that I'm like my Dad, today the Lord showed me that I'm also like Jesus.  I've struggled to see that lately and the enemy wants to make me hyper-focused on all the ways I'm not like Jesus.  But, just like Jesus had compassion on the clueless crowd, the Father has compassion on me.  Twice this week He has found a way to make sure I know that I am like Jesus.  A friend lavished some much-needed encouragement on me and spoke truth to me about who I am.  And God used my visit to the mountains today to encourage my spirit that He enjoys me and loves sharing His creation with me.  

There are hard days behind me and there are hard days ahead, so I'm going to be grateful today for the gift of the mountains.

 

I'm No Longer Who I Was

 It's been 6 months.  It's funny how some phrases will bother me at different times.  Some moments I'm fine with "passed away" or "died" and others it's like hearing it for the first time and it stings.  Jon, Shannon, Me, Ashton, and finally Mom have now all had our first birthdays without Dad.  At Mom's birthday dinner, she was talking about something and said, "After Dad passed away..." and those words hurt like salt in an open wound. I whispered through tears, "Don't say passed away" and Mom replied, "I don't like to say 'died' because he isn't dead, he's just passed away." I thought that was beautiful.  Peter calls us in 1 Peter 2:11 "strangers and aliens." As someone who has been an alien in a foreign country, I like this analogy.  For the Christ-follower, this world is not our home.  My Dad moved home. ❤

As I've mourned the loss of my Dad these past months I've learned quite a bit about grief.  It is not at all what I thought it was.  It is so much more than missing someone, or hurting, or anger, or disbelief.  I've heard it described as a process, something you work through.  But at this point, it seems more like a transformation.  My Dad is a part of me.  Not only in relationship but also physically.  I have his eyes, his sausage fingers, his DNA.  When he abruptly left a piece of me left with him.  Yes, I still have his physical features, but I'm no longer who I was.  Those who have walked this hard road before me try to explain by describing it as "a new normal." And I guess that really is the best way to phrase it. I'm sure there are parts of my personality or aspects of my character that look different right now.  There have certainly been times that I've not recognized my own self. And I know that will continue to change as I work to find my new normal.  

One way Dad and I were similar is that we both care deeply about being understood.  I didn't have this realization until a couple years ago.  I have long thought that my "need" to argue a point was because I wanted to be right and I just couldn't let it go.  However, after some self-reflection, I came to the conclusion that it was less about being right and more about the other person understanding why I believed what I believed.  I can concede that my thought about the topic at hand was wrong, but I still need to make sure that what I thought was logical, even if it wasn't true.  Dad was like this.  I wish I had realized it sooner.  It probably would have made our work environment more peaceful for those around us.

Just like I had the realization about needing to be understood, there are still realizations that I have yet to come to.  I know at times I'm prickly. Other times I'm withdrawn or secluded. And sometimes it is as if nothing has changed.  I have tried to work through things myself, I have leaned really hard on those that love me most and I have sat down with professionals to learn new skills and tools to help me and all of those have been beneficial.  I have made unhealthy and super selfish choices as well and I am so comforted by the truth that the Lord remembers that we are from dust.  His gentleness is so very evident and I'm grateful. My Dad's death has been a catalyst for change in my life.  It's not easy, it's not pretty, it's not fast. But, it is worth it, it is refining, it is sanctifying.  

Psalm 23 describes the "valley of the shadow of death" and I've always thought of that place as somewhere I would walk when my time comes, but I am definitely walking through that valley now after my Dad's death, and the promise that "for you are with me, your rod and your staff, they comfort me" have been like a healing balm to my shattered heart. ❤

A Known Sheep

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about sheep. I've felt like one of the lost sheep that Jesus teaches about in the parable of The Lost Sheep.  

Jesus is telling a group of Pharisees (religious leaders in biblical times) that if one of them had a flock of 100 sheep and one wandered off and got lost he would leave the 99 sheep in open country and go after the lost sheep until he found it.  Then he would joyfully pick it up, bring it home and call his friends together to rejoice with him. He finishes the parable with a clearer explanation of His point, "I tell you that in the same way, there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent."  When we "get lost" or sin, the Shepherd searches for us, and when we repent of our sin there is rejoicing and a welcome back into the fold. 

However, after a deeper dive into this parable, I realized it wasn't one of the lost sheep that I related to so I kept searching the Word for more lessons about sheep.  In John 10 Jesus again speaking to Pharisees teaches about how He himself is the Good Shepherd and that His sheep know and follow His voice.  The shepherd comes to the pen through the gate, but the thief doesn't use the gate and he only comes to steal, kill and destroy.  Jesus also talks about the hired hand and how if there are sheep in a pasture and a wolf comes, the hired hand will abandon the sheep because they don't belong to him.  While these are excellent teachings about how Jesus cares for His own, they still didn't quite resonate with my spirit.  

I continued my search and found an occasion when a group of Jews asked Jesus, "If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly."  Jesus responds to them by saying, "I did tell you, but you do not believe.  The works I do in my Father's name testify about me, but you do not believe because you are not my sheep."  Seems a bit harsh, but I appreciate Jesus' clarity.  He doesn't tell them, it's too late for you, you can never be my sheep, but He shows them the truth about their condition and the barrier to their acceptance of Him, their unbelief.

Finally, in this same conversation, Jesus says the words that hit my heart and overwhelmed me with hope which has been so lacking lately. "My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one will snatch them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all; no one can snatch them out of my Father's hand. I and the Father are one." I guess I've felt a little lost lately but not due to my sin like the Lost Sheep. I've said many times that my grief is so unexpected.  I don't recognize myself in it, but the truth that brought me so much hope this morning is that Jesus knows me and that no one can snatch me out of His hand.  The security I thought I had lost when my husband left and again when my Dad died is not gone.  I'm not broken beyond repair.  And although I don't recognize myself in these early stages of grief, my Father does. He knows me; I can't get so lost that He can't find me.  He comes for me; He rescues me every time.

I've needed and longed for this breakthrough.  Thank you for your prayers for me.  God hears them and is responding to them.  Thank you for hoping when I struggled to and thank you for loving me.

I did not highlight or write this in my bible today; apparently, it is a truth I've needed before.

I Didn’t Know

 We buried my Dad today. After the prayers were prayed and the scriptures were read, after the flowers were lovingly placed in the grave and all the banana pudding was eaten and everyone had gone home, I stood with my mom and confessed that I didn’t want to bury Dad. I wanted him to stay  in the power supply box on her dresser. She asked me why I hadn’t said anything sooner and my response was, I didn’t know. 

Since my Dad’s death I keep thinking of all the things I didn’t know. I didn’t know the last time I saw him would be the last time. I didn’t know how painful losing him would be. I didn’t know how to comfort my friends who had lost a parent before I became someone that lost a parent. I didn’t know I could be rude to perfectly nice strangers that ask me how my day is going. I didn’t know burying my Dad would feel so final. I didn’t know my grief would turn me into someone I don’t recognize. 

I’ve always enjoyed the crowds and “working a room.” I can make people laugh. I can sit and listen and offer encouragement and insight and at times even wisdom. In other challenging times in my life I’ve been able to apply the truths that are rooted deep in my heart and find the hope, joy and peace that the Lord promised to those that are in Him. 

The past two weeks have shown me in a new way that the Lord is my strength.  I’ve done hard things before and called out to Him for help. I’ve walked through painful valleys and reminded myself of His faithfulness.  I’ve been broken-hearted and known that I’m being refined or pruned or prepared for a greater purpose. But these past two weeks I’ve had nothing to give. I’ve not been able to preach the truth to my wounded heart. I’ve not wanted to be around people or carry anyone’s burdens. And the Lord has met me here. You see, God knows me. He knows when I need to pull away and sit quietly and He knows when I need to be hugged and encouraged. He knows when it’s hard for me to pray so He reminds others to. He knows all the things I didn’t know. Psalm 139 makes more sense to me now. I’m encouraged by verses such as “O Lord you have searched me and you know me.” Or, “you perceive my thoughts from afar.” And, “you are familiar with all my ways.” When I don’t recognize myself, He knows me. When I struggle to walk in truth instead of emotions, He guides me. When I am unable to love and serve others the way I used to, He cares for them. 

I still have much to learn about faith and God and how to live a life in full surrender to Him. But what a gift it is to know that He knows me and the condition of my heart even when I can’t articulate it.  He carries me and is with me and will remind me of who I am.

Fatherless

I last posted on this blog 7 years ago. So much life has happened from then until now.  I bought and sold a house then bought another. I’ve been called “Auntie Kristin” to a new niece and nephew. I’ve had the honor of discipling 5 women and girls. My marital status has changed back to single. I’ve traveled to 15 States I had never been to. But the most life-altering change has been the sudden passing of my Dad one week ago today. Yesterday, at his funeral, I could not contain my emotions when I walked in and saw that a room that seats 200 was standing room only with people lining the walls, the lobby, and even an overflow room. It was a testament to who my Dad was and how well he loved others. 

My grief has surprised me. It steals my breath and robs my sleep. A song, a thought, a photo can instantly make my strength give way and I’m crumpled on the floor.  It cares not for where I am or what I am doing. It pours hot tears that seem to never end and just as harshly it numbs as if I’m an empty shell. It slows my brain and leaves me in a fog. It is unforgiving and raw. 

Over the past 6 months, Jesus has been teaching me about Himself as the Bridegroom. He asked me to spend 6 months in intentional singleness as He gently and graciously helped me unlearn some views I held about marriage and a husband’s role. He has shown me how He longs to be the only One that comforts my lonely heart. The 6-month period ended 6/12/2023.  My Dad died 6/11/2023. I don’t yet understand the significance of that. But I know God is purposeful. 

This left me feeling completely abandoned. I have been all too aware that my siblings are all married and have someone to hold them as they cry themselves to sleep over the deep loss of Dad. I have wanted to speak truth to my mom and help shoulder her immense pain. But I can’t. I have found it so very difficult to speak of the hope that I have. I know the truth but I have not wanted to hear it. For days I left the room when others would laugh and share memories of Dad. I cringed every time someone told me he was in a better place. It’s true. He is in a much better place. And I’m grateful that as I sat on a hospital room floor and begged God to put life back into my Dad that He gave me the strength to pray for my selfish heart. I once asked my Dad that if he died would he want me to pray for God to raise him back to life. He quickly and decidedly replied, “No.” 

Today is Father’s Day. I thought about the word “orphan.” I’ve always understood this word to mean a child without parents. But in Scripture in the original Hebrew and Greek languages it is better translated as “fatherless.”  My mom is incredible and has loved me and cared for me and sacrificed so much for me. But there is something about a Father. A Father is the gatekeeper of the home. A Father protects his family from the storms. A Father leads his family through challenges and teaches them to stand firm. My Heavenly Father generously gifted me with an incredible earthly father. And while I know there are many days ahead that grief will take over, I can confidently say I am not Fatherless. My Father has given me strength for each day. For every task that has needed to be done, He has enabled me to accomplish it. He has put a little more light in each day and I find rest in the truth that He will continue to sustain me. God’s goodness to make me a daughter of Marc Singletary shows me that He works everything for my good and I can trust Him. 

UnDeserved

For a while now I've been thinking about writing this post, but I wasn't quite sure how to articulate my thoughts.  I'm still not, but I'm ready to give it a shot.

Deserve - to merit, be qualified for, or have a claim to.

This word deserve, I've noticed, is thrown around a lot.  And whenever I hear it, my attention is directed towards the person using the word.  Now let me be the first to say that I am not very careful with my words.  More often than not I am struggling to put them back in than to ponder them before they come out.  But this one word with it's seemingly harmless and even encouraging meaning has left me feeling more conscious about how and if I use it.

"You worked hard, you deserve that promotion."  "you've suffered through old, used cars, you deserve a new one" or how about "you're busy parents, you deserve a night out."  And looking inwardly, "I've lived the apartment life long enough, I deserve a house."

My problem is not with the reward.  Promotions are good, new cars are nice, a night out is necessary. My issue comes with the two words preceding the reward you deserve.  When I try and come up with reasons that I might deserve something I'm left empty.  Because in all sincerity, I, on my own merit, and with my own efforts, can do nothing.

In John chapter 15, Jesus is talking to His disciples about being the vine and them being the branches. He says that God the Father is the gardener and that He will cut off every branch that doesn't produce fruit.  If the passage were to end there, a reader might think that there is a significant responsibility to bear fruit so as to avoid being cut off.  But the verse doesn't end there.  It goes on to say that no branch can bear fruit by itself. Even the thought of it is absurd.  How could a branch laying on the ground, attached to nothing, grow any sort of fruit?  The branch must be attached to the vine.  So Jesus says in verse 5,

"I am the vine; you are the branches.  If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing."

It is because of this teaching that I have such a hard time with the word deserve.  I can do nothing apart from Christ.  And the fact of the matter is, I deserve every wretched thing you can imagine.  Romans 6:23 teaches us that "the wages of sin is death" that is, the penalty for any wrong doing is to die.  I'm pretty sure I sealed my fate at 2 years old. In Mark chapter 10 a man asks Jesus a question and refers to Him as a good teacher.  But before Jesus gives the answer, He makes a point to say, "Why do you call me good?  No one is good -- except God alone."  So even Jesus, a perfect man, asserts that God is the only good one.

So what am I to do?  How can I expect anything less than God's horrible (and I mean horrible, check out Revelation 9) wrath?  The answer is simple and yet life-changing.  It is to remain in the vine.  The second half of Romans 6:23 says, "the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord".  Eternal life meaning never die.  That's huge!  Living forever is certainly not what I deserve, but because God loved this world full of dirty, rotten, sinners, He gave His only Son as a living sacrifice so that anyone that chooses to believe in Him will live forever.

You see, to say anyone deserves anything favorable is false, no one possibly can.  And I hope from now on I will take the time to ponder my words when someone tells me I deserve something with a response similar to this:

For it is God who works in me to will and to act in order to fulfill His good purpose.  Philippians 2:13