True love grieves, knowing that life and love could be so much more than what they’ve become in human hands. True love hurts, torn by the sharp-edged pieces as we join in the struggle to mend our broken world. There’s a time for joy, yes. But there’s also a time to grieve. And I never want to forget the pain that reminds me what true love is.
Source: Love Grieves
Photo Credit: Park, Bench – Free images on Pixabay
My three year-old son has taken to shouting kabam! whenever he wants to emphasize something dramatic. “I was playing with my toy, then…kabam! Sister took it”…”I was eating my ice cream, then…kabam! The dog licked it”…”It was raining, then…kabam! The sun came out.” He says it so often I find myself saying it, too. It’s the perfect interjection, turning any boring old story into something profound.
That’s what I love about spring. It’s the kabam! that ends winter. Last week I was walking the dog and kabam! there were little baby leaves sprouting on the trees. The other day, I was driving to work and kabam! I saw tulips pushing through in the neighbor’s garden. Today, I wore my winter coat to work, then…kabam! it was warm enough to wear a t-shirt by noon. The butterflies-to-be were waiting in their chrysalises, then…kabam! they’re flying free.
Easter is a celebration of the kabam! of kabams in history. The world was held captive by evil, violence, sickness, poverty, and despair, then…kabam! God showed up, His son Jesus dying on the cross for the sins of the world. Light overcame darkness. Hope overcame grief. Love overcame hate. Life overcame death.
My own life was transformed in such a way. I was depressed and hopeless. I didn’t have a reason to live but was too afraid to die. Then…kabam! God intervened in my life, adopting me as His own—giving me a future and a hope.
God loves to intervene in the most impossible of circumstances, and whenever He does, it’s a kabam! moment. Winter melts into spring. Darkness turns to light. Mourning erupts into dancing. Sorrow becomes joy. Nothing is ever hopeless. New life is always waiting beneath the barren ground, waiting for the right season to break through.
Last Monday I returned to my classroom after a long weekend to find a cup of dead bugs on my file cabinet. At least, I thought they were dead. In reality, those fuzzy insects lying dormant on the bottom of that cup were just waiting for something to happen.
Within a couple days, they were moving and eating and making their way to the top of the cup. I’m no insect lover, but I must admit it was fascinating to watch these lifeless caterpillars wake up and start crawling toward their destiny. When I returned after this past weekend, they were already hanging upside down in their chrysalises.
Tomorrow, I’ll transfer them to their butterfly garden in hopes they emerge before Spring Break. If not, they’ll be coming home with me. I don’t want to miss the miracle of their ultimate transformation.
A caterpillar’s metamorphosis is a parable of life. At first, it appears nothing’s happening. Then, for a short while, they’re moving, but their movement is much like ours—forward and backward, forward and backward. Getting somewhere, getting nowhere. Making progress, losing ground. And in their chrysalis, again it seems nothing’s happening.
But we all know the end of this story! Soon enough, nothing will become something. A butterfly will emerge from its cocoon of death. And it will fly free.
I’m sure Jesus’ disciples felt nothing was happening as He lay there in the tomb. But that tomb was like a chrysalis, life overcoming death within. After three days, the stone was rolled away, and life emerged.
It may seem like nothing’s happening in your life right now, but just wait. When it seems the most hopeless, the most lifeless, there’s a resurrection coming. New life waits in the shroud of death. Soon enough, in the hands of almighty God who brings life from death, you will fulfill your destiny. And you, too, will fly free.
“I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.” (Ezekiel 36:26)
We never know when we’ll take our final breath. Tomorrow is not guaranteed.
And what are we living for today?
Source: Everlasting Love
I’ve been thinking a lot about legacy lately. What is it I will leave behind for future generations? Not in terms of material things, but in terms of life-impacting actions.
Maybe it’s the ever-increasing news of widespread hatred and violence that prompts this reflection. Or news of those now hailed as heroes all for devoting their lives and resources in pursuit of self-gratification. Or the featured news story praising a forty-year-old pop star for singing about the size of her behind.
I can’t understand what drives our generation to hateful acts that scar generations to come. Or to believe courage is anything less than laying down our lives for the good of others. Or to think our middle-aged years derive their worth from the size of our rear-ends—enough to deem it a song-worthy legacy.
In light of all this, I ask—what do I want my legacy to be?
Not hatred or violence, that’s for sure. Not a life lived in vain pursuit of self-gratification. And I’ve been to enough funerals to know the size of my behind won’t matter any more at the end of my life than it does now.
What if my legacy has nothing to do…with me? What if it has everything to do with the lives I influence for the good of the world here and in eternity? Knowing this would change how I use my time and my words. It would change how I invest my talents and resources. It would transform my goals, my actions.
At the end of my life, I don’t care if anyone remembers my face, or even my name. I only hope I’ll have planted enough seeds of love to grow life-outlasting fruit. And I hope to have rightly represented our God of grace, mercy, truth, and love to have drawn people to know how amazing he truly is.
“He has shown you, oh mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” (Micah 6:8)
Seen a lot of skeletons lately? I have. They seem to be everywhere these days—lying in garden beds, hanging from trees, lining the clearance aisles at the store. And while these skeletons are mere plastic replicas of the real thing, they serve as a reminder. Not just to buy tons of candy to pass out to costumed kids over the weekend. No, they are a reminder of something much more sobering.
Beneath our fashionable clothes and beyond our fading flesh, a skeleton is what holds us together. And when we’re gone, that skeleton is all that will be left of our bodies.
During a trip to a third world country, I walked through an impoverished graveyard where skeletons lined the pathways. My face-to-face encounter with those empty eye sockets and fleshless bones awakened me to the reality of my own mortality. I won’t be here long, no matter how slowly time seems to pass.
It’s easy to get sucked in to the monotonous routine of everyday life, forgetting how fleeting it all is. It’s tempting to invest time and resources on the needs and desires of my flesh, neglecting to consider it’s just a temporary house. How many hours have I spent worrying about how I look or how others perceive my external appearance, when this flesh is destined for the grave?
We are more, so much more. And life is more, so much more. When I stare at the skeletons in the neighborhood yards, I’m reminded again and again. I don’t want to live for short-lived gratification. I want my life to count for something that won’t rot in a casket with my bones.
“The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever.” (Isaiah 40:8)
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
This Life & Beyond 
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