Easter for the broken

Oh heart, how could you not remember?

Oh heart, you've been all tangled up, all caught in a whirlwind of sorrow, trapped in a cavern of anxiety.

One day, its the pit of depression. The next, its a deep fear of the future.

Oh heart, where has your hope gone? All you can see is the storm in your view. The sun has not made an appearance for days, the sky has let loose a torrent of rain. And the winter, his hold is so tight. The battle between winter and spring is a discouraging endeavor. The flowers keep pushing, but the forecast keeps promising snow. Will it end?

Oh heart, where have you been? You were once so alive. You once beat with joy, and now you beat because of mere command by the brain. Your breaths were long and sweet, now short and gasping.

Oh heart, do not lose heart.

Sometimes, I forget about the moving power of the resurrection. Sometimes, my heart filled with discouragement wins. But I must remember. I must remember hope. I must remember his sacrifice.

2000 years ago, Jesus Christ saw my heart. He saw it drowning in the fear, he saw it bound by the sin, he saw it trapped by the sorrow. Before the foundation of time, my heart was in his hand. He knew my sin would disconnect me from him. He knew that this fallen world would write tragedy into my story, and he put a seal on my heart, long ago, and whispered of a coming redemption.

He came to the earth. And we know the story because we are the saved. We are the saved who feel broken, the redeemed who feel wrecked, the chosen who are tired. We know the story like the back of our hand, but the storm is all we see.

We cannot let the story lose its power.
He came to the earth, he lived his life, he healed the sick, he gave sight to the blind, he rose the dead. He was Jesus, God incarnate. The beauty is much deeper than the stories know and buried deeper behind the words. He had friends whom he laughed with, deep belly laughs that had him rolling on the floor. He had the ones he cried with, for the tragedies that took place. He had a mom who held him, and a dad who taught him. Can you only imagine? Those whose memories of Jesus were among their treasures.

And in the midst of this life, your broken heart was still precedent. The story that we are familiar with happened. Jesus went to the cross, betrayed and rejected by his friends. He forgave those who did not understand what they did, he loved from the cross. He breathed his last, the sky went dark, and for three hellish days, Jesus laid lifeless in the tomb. And the beauty of Easter is that he rose again, burying sin once and for all.

And it is the story that is supposed to comfort us, the sacrifice that is supposed to heal us.

But the storm still swirls, the tragedies still come, the memories still haunt. And it is not as if we aren't grateful for his sacrifice. We're just lost and drowning.

The truth is that in the midst of our storm, his sacrifice is enough. Jesus is enough. He came for you. He said that your life was worth his love and his sacrifice. Sometimes, 2000 years ago seems like too much time. Sometimes, we cannot feel his hand in ours and we start to lose our grip. Is it possible that we cannot feel his hand because we have gripped so hard we have lost our feeling? Sometimes, we look around and we do not see Him. Could it be that it is because he is just outside of our view, working a miracle?

The truth is that God's heart is for us. It is true that He came to the earth to die so that we might live. This is true in the deepest of sorrows and the greatest of joys. This is true at the bottom of the canyon and in the tops of the trees. This is true in the farthest galaxy and in the depths of my heart.

If you are broken this Easter, do not lose heart. You can rejoice in the steadfastness of this gift, in the eternity of his kindness, and in the graciousness of his love.

In this storm, remember the truth. In your blindness, remember your hope. This Easter, do not lose sight of his great love.

the River

The river snaked his way through the canyon of this valley. The trees fighting the winter beginning to turn green. Shades of green growing up the trees, the moss reviving, grass shooting up like wildflowers, the snowdrops gently growing as the snow melts. And the river, always faithful, always running, always bringing peace. The river, so lovely.

Like lightning, His voice came as I walked along the river. 

Follow Me like you follow the river.

I stopped. I'd been following the river as I always do when I walk along rivers. I always choose the path that keeps me closest to the river, my breath catches when the path leads me away from the river, fearful it will lead me away. 

Follow Me like you follow the river.

At that moment, I was at a curve in the path, it led away from the river. I knew it was only a moment, but I didn't want to take my eyes off the river, I didn't want to lead away from the peace it offered. At that moment, fear clenched me. Because I had to turn my face, I had to rely on the memory of his face, the distance of his voice, the faithfulness of his promise. 

It was only a moment. This leg of the path was so short in comparison. What did I fear? My capacity to wander. Walking along the river, I knew I would never turn from it. But if the path led me away, if only for a moment, what if there was a fork in the road? What if I forgot about the beauty the river had to offer? What if I turned away from the river forever?

His pursuit is greater than your ability to wander ~ Lisa Bevere 

Is this true? For the first time in my life, I stumbled upon my capacity to drift away. At this crossroads, I knew I had the innate ability to walk away from the river for some other object of temporary beauty. It terrified me, nearly crippling. But I had to keep walking, I couldn't stay right here, by this part of the river. I had to move forward, leaning on the promise that the river wouldn't end before I saw it again, falling into the hope that as I listened to it, it was still there. So I moved forward. No longer could I see the river, but I heard it. Was it enough?

His pursuit is greater than your ability to wander ~ Lisa Bevere

I have the capacity to drift from my faith. It is inside of me. Overwhelmed by this fear and trepidation, shocked by where my heart had landed, paralyzed by the place that my thoughts had led me, afraid at how far I was from Him, I am leaning heavily on the promise that his pursuit of me is greater than my ability to wander. 

I am wandering. Drifting. Losing my footing. My feet have led me to a place of disbelief and doubt. My mind is racing with thoughts of the world. I wrestle with the evidence I see in the world of pain and suffering and I attempt to compare that to a good Father who pursues us. A kind Lover who recklessly follows us.

Because there are two of me. There is the one that looks around at the tragic circumstanes and demands to God, "where are you? What are you doing? Do you even care?" The one where doubts rage like a wildfire, consuming all of me. My ability to wander is bigger than anything I've ever known.

There is the one that sees his kind hand. The one who sees Jesus when a friend weeps in my arms, who sees his tender heart in the gift of friendship or someone texts me and asks to go for breakfast before Church when I tell myself I'm never going back.

The first is my ability to wander, the second is his pursuit of me. 

How undeserving this heart, how gracious is His. 

I will choose the River. But in moments when I don't, when I choose to wander, I will come back. His pursuit of me will remind me of the river, stir in my memories of the peace and joy of the river. I have chosen to follow Him and so, as He leads me along the River, no matter what arises in my path, he remains faithful, gently calling as the River does, growing louder with the waterfalls, calming my heart in the hurricanes. I will follow the River.

Oh, how undeserving this heart, how gracious is His.