There is always another side to our pain. There is always a place where we will break through the clouds and see the sun—if only we will lift up our eyes. There will always be a time when we come out the other side of our dark tunnel and find it was leading us somewhere far greater than we ever imagined. #ThereIsHope
Hope will always prevail over doubt. Light will always prevail over darkness.
Life will always prevail over death.
Mother’s Day is not a bouquet of fragrant flowers for everyone. For some, it feels more like a fistful of pain-inducing thorns—an unwelcome reminder of things lost. A day meant for honoring mothers becomes a time of remembering the one who was never there, or the one who left to soon. Or it maybe it awakens the droning ache of unfulfilled longing for motherhood.
For many years, that ache was my Mother’s Day companion. Though I was blessed with a good mom who inspired in me the certainty there was no greater calling than motherhood, I was unable to have children in the biological sense. Adoption was always something my husband and I had desired to pursue, so it was no hard decision to journey in that direction. The process, however, was another story.
While the outcome of adoption is always beautiful and miraculous, the process is the emotional equivalent of the pain and exhaustion involved in pregnancy and labor multiplied exponentially and drawn out for years. Despite all the toil and sacrifice, there were times when I wondered if it was ever going to happen. And more times than that I was tempted to give up.
This month, my daughter turns seven. Her favorite past-time is playing with her two year-old brother. I sit here now, laptop on the kitchen counter, surrounded by bags of clothes they’ve outgrown. Exhaustion is setting in after a full morning at the laundromat and an even fuller afternoon of dishes, diapers, and more. I spent the evening cuddling my son and reveling in my daughter’s smile, knowing God turned all my tears in to songs of joy. My children were worth the wait.
Through all my waiting, I learned that every tear sowed waters the ground for joy to spring forth. And that is my prayer for those who suffer on the painful side of Mother’s Day. May God give you eyes to see through your sorrow, and ears to hear him speak peace to your storms. May you know that our God is the lifter of heavy burdens and the comforter of all who mourn. He is able to sustain the weary, uphold the weak, and repair the broken… turning tears of sorrow into seeds of hope..
The dog wasn’t happy when the baby came home. For weeks she sulked on the armchair looking lost. I’d never seen her so sad.
Prior to that, she’d happily occupied her place on my lap, assured of her purpose in our family. She was a lap dog, devoted in her mission to comfort and cuddle. Now, it seemed, the baby had taken that role. My sweet puppy lingered in her saddened state for much of the baby’s first year, despite our consistent reassurance of love.
As the baby grew, things started to change…again. The dog seemed to sense it. Suddenly, her little rival was transforming into a friend—someone new to cuddle and play with. Soon they were inseparable. And when the second baby came along, the dog was unfazed. She knew the little lap-thief was a future companion. Unhappy as she was when things first changed, she’s now reaping the benefits of two pint-sized best friends.
Change is never comfortable when it comes. We lose our bearings and struggle to find our footing. But if we can look beyond the moment of change to the ultimate outcome, we may more readily embrace it. Faith enables us to see change as a seed, piercing the ground and transforming the soil. Our response is to patiently wait, knowing the seed will transform into something beautiful in its time.
“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.” (Ecclesiastes 3:11)
After multiple times telling my daughter to shut down her video game, I was beyond exasperated. “If you don’t shut it down, I’ll do it for you,” I warned, hand poised to take control of the computer mouse.
“Would you please, Mommy?” She pleaded, hand glued to the mouse. “‘Cause I can’t STOOOOOOOP!”
The scene reminds me of all the times I’ve felt powerless to change apart from divine intervention. My attention is so easily divided, my affections so quickly diverted. It’s like the Apostle Paul said of his struggles, “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.”
The good news is that change is possible. With Paul, we may cry, “What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death?” But God has promised to rescue us from the hand of those stronger than we are. In other words, those habits we hate yet can’t escape—God is able to set us free.
Just as my daughter recognized her inability to let go of that which so gripped her attention, and just as she asked me for help—we have a God who sympathizes with our every weakness, and gives us power to change. If we need help, all we have to do is ask.
“Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ my Lord.” (Romans 7:25)
Have you ever come face to face with death? I did, once—at a graveyard in the Philippines. There, the bodies are not buried six feet under, but in cement enclosures above ground. To reach the burial site for the funeral we were attending, we had to walk through a maze of these cement enclosures until we reached the back wall. There, the poor rent slots for their deceased loved ones. Because they can’t afford a permanent resting place, the remains are often tossed on the ground once the rental agreement is complete and the space is needed for a new occupant. While navigating the maze of tombs, it’s not unusual to encounter skeletons with skulls full of withering hair. It’s a sobering encounter with the reality of our own mortality.
A walk through life can often feel like a walk through that graveyard—every day surrounded by news of suffering. Even worse is a much-anticipated visit to a place meant to bring hope, only to find a mausoleum of death. It’s beyond unfortunate when a church feels like a mortuary—a place of meaningless ritual, passionless preaching, and meaningless tradition. Really? Is this what Jesus died for?
Reflecting on my journey through that maze of death, I realize one glaring truth. No man dies to live among the dead. No man lays down his life so others can live as zombies. And, to be honest, that’s what empty religion can do to a person. We appease our conscience with a weekly (or yearly) visit to church—stand up, sit down, repeat memorized phrases in droning monotone, and leave unchanged. And I must ask again…is THIS what Jesus died for?
There is much to be said about what Jesus DID die for. Still, we neglect to consider what he DIDN’T die for. And we can be sure he DIDN’T die so we can show up once a week in a pretty dress or snazzy suit, impressing others with a façade of pious humility. He didn’t die so we can drive up in our sleek sedan, drop a few coins in the bucket, and return after that miserable half-hour to a life of self-indulgence. He didn’t die so we can stand in a room full of strangers, together mindless robots repeating phrases that mean nothing to us. Believe me, NO man would die for THAT.
What is it that so moves us to go through the mindless motions, week after week, year after year? Why do we settle for infinitely less than what our Savior died for? Why do we live bound to our comfort zones and safe houses when he left his comfort and security behind to suffer and die that we can have LIFE that is truly LIFE? There’s a vast difference between walking dead while awaiting resurrection, and walking dead unaware, desiring for nothing more.
“‘These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me.” (Matthew 15:8)
“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” (John 10:10)
“He has told you, O man, what is good; And what does the LORD require of you But to do justice, to love kindness, And to walk humbly with your God?” (Micah 6:8)
When hope dies, it’s hard to believe life can prevail. We remain at the burial site—gazing upon what we’ve lost, unaware that something greater is destined to arise from the ashes. Helen Keller once said, “When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us.” When Jesus died on the cross, those who had followed him closely were unaware that His death was only the opening of a greater door in which God was about to do “exceedingly abundantly above all that [they could] ask or think” (Eph 3:20).
The women who witnessed the miraculous were met with the question, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?” (Luke 24:5). They earnestly came to Jesus’ disciples with news of the empty tomb, only to be met with disbelief. It was as if they had come to a tomb of another kind—where hope itself was permanently laid to rest. The disciples who’d walked with Jesus from the beginning of His ministry had mistakenly believed He’d come to set up an earthly kingdom. He had been their hope of liberation from oppressive governmental and religious systems—a political Messiah.
When He died on the cross, their dreams died with Him; when they buried Him in the tomb, they buried their aspirations as well. They did not understand Jesus’ destiny of suffering, predictions of death or promises of resurrection. They didn’t understand He had far greater things for them, an everlasting hope.
Many times we find ourselves in what appears to be a hopeless situation—a graveyard of disenchantment, surrounded by death. Life has disappointed us; we have disappointed ourselves. It seems that God has abandoned us to the grave. We cry out for hope, but Heaven is as brass. Alone in a graveyard of doubt and defeat, it seems that the promise of resurrection was nothing more than an illusion.
Yet it is when we have come to the end of ourselves that we are on the verge of finding true life. When things seem most hopeless, we are closer to a breakthrough than ever before. Why? Because we finally come to realize that the things we were hoping in were not worthy of our trust to begin with. They were incapable of sustaining us or providing the life we were looking for. We finally seal false hope in a tomb—never to be revisited. This is the beginning of resurrection.
When find ourselves at the entrance to life’s tombs, we have not come to a place of death: we have instead arrived at the door that leads to everlasting life and hope. Jesus’ death on the cross is an invitation to die to all our unworthy expectations. His resurrection is an invitation to find hope that will never die.
(Originally posted by Jen on the Tears of Joy Blog)
This Life & Beyond 
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