Beyond The Cross

"...You were never meant to carry this beyond the cross…"

- Dear Younger Me, MercyMe

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"He Himself bore our sins" in His body on the cross,

So that we might die to sins and live for righteousness;

"By His wounds you have been healed."

-1 Peter 2:24

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One of the aspects of grief that I haven't talked about yet, is the desire and overwhelming need to fix my grief, and the grief of those around me. Society doesn't know what to do with someone when they're grieving, and the natural response is to say: "Snap out of it!", or give off a general impression of impatience. For the person in grief, this adds pressure, fueling the need to "fix" the issue ourselves and get back to "normal" life. 

We live under the assumption that we have any control over it at all, and we burden ourselves with guilt: "Why am I still sad?", "Why do I still feel so withdrawn?", "Why can't I get passed the pain?"...and so the questioning goes, and our guilt piles higher. 

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I've been thinking about this problem, and the weight it brings, and trying to filter it through scripture. Jesus doesn't want me to carry this burden of needing to be fixed, or the guilt from not being fixed soon enough, Jesus wants me to let Him carry me, and let Him heal me. 

Beyond that, I want to propose that it's even wrong to assume that we can control our grief, because we are not capable of bringing healing to anything, only God can do that. I think we begin to cross over into God's territory when we try to do things ourselves, instead of relying on Jesus to bring about our healing. 

MercyMe is one of my favorite contemporary Christian artists, their music is emotionally honest, relevant, and inspiring, and I love how their songs tell real stories. Their latest song was written from the context of growing up in an abusive home, overcoming that past, and allowing God's redeeming love to transform. In one of the last lines of the song, the lead singer says: "You were never meant to carry this beyond the cross", and it really struck me... 

The cross of Jesus was necessary so that all of our burdens and sins could be healed. Everything comes together at the cross, God's great design to reconcile His people to Himself. Our burdens and sins needed a place to be washed clean, a place to be forgiven, a place to be purchased. Jesus went willingly to pay that debt for us, and He also went so that we would no longer have to carry the pain of life on our own. He became our Savior God, our Messiah, our redeemer, because there was no way for us to save ourselves. 

…I was never meant to carry my burden of grief beyond the cross…

Jesus paid the ultimate sacrifice, giving us His very life, so that we don't have to live under the burden of sin, sadness, regret, shame, unworthiness, unholiness, depression, or grief. His design was perfect, completing our redemption, and nothing is needed beyond the cross. We are healed by His wounds, healed completely, once and for all. 

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In light of this understanding, and applying it to my grief, I'm able to see that I really have no control at all, and no need to pressure myself, or those around me, into a place of "healing" that society will accept. 

God's design for His people was for us to leave everything at the cross, and let Him heal us. It was never part of His plan for us to lay our burdens down, and then take them back up and try to fix them ourselves. The cross of Jesus is final and complete, and we were never meant to carry our burden beyond calvary. 

The cross of Jesus is all we need to heal every sin and every scar, every broken heart and every sadness. God's plan for mankind was made perfect there at the cross, and we are free to lay our pains down there, with the promise that He will heal us, and that His healing will be complete. 

Thy Will be Done

"Our Father, which art in heaven,

Hallowed be Thy Name.

Thy Kingdom come. 

Thy will be done on earth, 

As it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our trespasses,

As we forgive them that trespass against us. 

And lead us not into temptation, 

But deliver us from evil. 

For Thine is the kingdom, 

The power, 

And the glory forever. 

Amen."

-Matthew 6:9-13

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As a child, I was taught this passage, The LORD's Prayer. I wasn't aware at that young age how difficult living out this prayer would be. And until Mom died, I never had a problem with it. The words rolled off my tongue and heart, easy to accept and easy to say. My untested heart never imagined the commitment these words brought, or how difficult they would one day become. 

But Mom's death brought on a new sort of trial that I've never experienced, and never expected: I questioned God's will. 

I questioned God. 

I got mad. 

I got upset. 

I demanded answers from The Almighty God of Heaven. 

The fourth line of this prayer became impossible for me to pray. "Thy will be done" became such a painful phrase, ripping my heart out. How could my Mom's death be part of God's good plan…and if it was, how was I supposed to accept that, and bend my knee to God and declare "Thy will be done!"? How could my aguish line up with my good God, and the good plan He has for this world? 

Saying the words "Thy will be done" means that I'm willing to accept whatever God gives, and now knowing how much pain life can actually bring, I don't want to say those words, because I don't want to accept the painful parts. I don't want to live a life without my Mom, I don't want to live my life in pain, missing her, and watching the grief of my family. 

I've struggled for weeks with this contradiction, but yesterday I heard a song on the radio that caught me off guard, and I began to cry. I knew I had rebelled long enough, and knew God was calling me back to Himself. 

With tears rolling down my cheeks, I knew in my heart that I had to surrender. I knew what God required, and as much as it hurt to surrender my will, I knew it was His that I ultimately sought. God's love for me drew me back in, and let me know that I could surrender to Him, because His love for me is that great. 

As a follower of Jesus Christ, I declare that He is LORD…LORD over my life, LORD over my death, and LORD over my world. I have to bend my knee to Him, and accept all that He declares "good" in my life. He is in control, and I have to let Him be in control, even when it hurts me. 

Sitting here, in the midst of my grief, I have no idea what God's plan is, or what He's working out. I have no idea what He is doing. But there's freedom in letting God work, and there's peace in letting God be in control. Because of His love, I know I'll be OK, whatever comes. 

In spite of the agony, I know that God's ways are higher, and His plans better, and in the midst of this season of pain and questions, I've had to recommit my life to Christ, and tell Him that yes, I do still trust You; yes, I do still love You, and yes…even when it hurts…Thy will be done.

I Need Only to be Still

"The LORD will fight for you;

you need only to be still."

-Exodus 14:14

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One of the hardest parts of grief that no one talks about, is the actual act of sitting in your grief. Day in and day out, there is a soul sadness that I carry around, an ache that I can't remove. I am forced to sit with the grief, hold it everywhere I go, and manage my life around it. Grief is a jealous house guest, it demands your constant attention, your every emotion, and your every thought. It's not silent, it's not unassuming, it's not kind. Grief is all-consuming, exhausting, and the greatest burden I've ever known. Sitting here in the agony of it is what's hard, because nothing in life seems possible, the sadness is just so great. 

I've tried everything to ease the pain: praying, writing, reading, sharing, crying…but I've learned that those things are all just temporary helps, nothing can fully remove the throb in my heart. 

In talking about this with my husband this week, he said to me: "I think it's time for you to just be quiet now...", there's just nothing left to say, no more prayers to pray, no more words that can describe my hurt. This battle will not be won by my actions, and all I can do now is be still…

But being still is so hard for me. Sitting here, quiet in my pain, is so so hard for me. 

I'm a writer, I express myself openly, I like to fix things, I like to analyze things and control them. I don't like to be quiet, and I don't like to be still. 

But I know my husband is right, I've come to the place in my grief journey where all I can do now is sit, wait, and be quiet. I have to learn to give the journey over to God, understanding that it's all in His hands now, there's nothing else I can do. 

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I've known this verse in Exodus a long time. It's been one of my key verses for years, often giving me strength as I face a new chapter, a certain fear, or obstacle. I've always found comfort and courage knowing that my God goes before me in all things, paving my way, fighting off my enemies, and defending my cause. I've moved ahead in life so many times with this verse tucked away in my heart, and I see now that I need to pull it back out, and apply it to my grief journey as well. 



"The LORD will fight for [me], [I] need only to be still."



Grief is a spiritual battle, and I've known that from day one. In the immediate days following my Mom's death, I truly know without a doubt that my Dad was under satan's attack. His face was not the same, his voice, his words, his actions. He became a man I didn't recognize, and it went far beyond the heartbreak and shock of losing Mom. My Dad was in a spiritual battle for his very life, it was dark, it was scary, and it was real. Our home felt cold, unfamiliar, and dark. 

I knew then that we needed to pray harder than we ever had before. I knew I needed help, and called on the deacon's of our church to hold prayer meetings. I posted publicly online, calling for prayer warriors to surround us with prayer. I knew I couldn't fight the battle alone, I needed my friends, and I needed God's help. 

Mercifully, God carried us through those first dark days, and held off the immediate threat. But the battle didn't end there, satan still loves to attack us when we're down, when we're hurting, when we're questioning, when we're searching. satan would love to have a field day  prowling around my family, but we rebuke him, we tell him to leave, and we ask God to fight for us. 

And that's where I find myself now: attempting to live my normal life, under the massive weight of grief, with the devil prowling around me. I'm out of weapons and arrows, words and prayers, and all I can do now is sit and be quiet, and wait for God to bring victory in this battle. There's nothing I can do, but remind my heart that God goes before me, fighting for me, and requires nothing of me, but obedience. 



Be still. 
You need only to be still. 



So here I sit, trying to let God's peace fall over me. My face lifted to Heaven, my heart open, I breathe deep. 



Be still. 



I have to let God fight this war, I have to hand Him my pain, and wait for Him to deliver me. He knows how my heart aches, He knows how hard this sitting and waiting is for me. He knows I'd rather pick up my stick and fight for myself, but He's calling me to be still. To trust Him, to believe Him when He says He's in control. 


The LORD will fight for me, but I have to let Him. 

Casting the Burden

"Cast your burden on the Lord, and He will sustain you; 

He will never permit the righteous to be moved."

- Psalm 55:22

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I know there are certain stages to grief, steps I'm supposed to pass through in order to come to a place of healing. I've been to a counselor, I've read the pamphlets and how-to grief books, and I know how this is all supposed to go. On paper. But that's the problem, paper is neat and orderly. Paper can be read through, checked off, and discarded. But life is not so easy, grief, is not so easy. 

As a Christian, people expect grief to be even neater, tied up in the pretty bow of Heaven. "Your loved one is in Heaven!" seems to be the answer that everyone gives, the answer that is supposed to take away all of the pain. But I've known Jesus for over 25 years, my relationship with Him is solid, my hope for Heaven is secure, and that tiny neat bow doesn't wrap anything up for me, I am still filled with so many questions and emotions, strings in my heart that have yet to be tied up. 

I've struggled lately with knowing what to do with these loose strings, because, as I say, my faith is supposed to tie them up. I've lived one way my entire life, thinking and expecting one thing, but then Mom died, my world fell apart, and nothing seems neat and orderly any more. My faith is still there, God is still there, but my heart is different, my heart is broken...

Churches don't often talk about what to do when you have a broken heart. They don't often talk about what to do when you're in a faith crisis, a place of agony, a place that seems so dark even the hope of Heaven can't shine through. So I'm left to wade through these waters alone, searching scripture, and searching for God's heart in all of this. I'm left with questions I can't answer, and emotions I can't heal. 

The conflict in my heart is this: 

God is good, and not capable of doing bad things, but losing my Mom is not good, and will never be good. Seeing my family in such agony is not good, and will never be good. My Dad lost his other half, our children lost their Grandma, and those things are not good, and will never be good. 

So what then? 

What do I do with my questions, what do I do with my anger, what do I do with my pain? As a follower of Jesus Christ, how do I filter my questions through the truths I still believe in scripture? I still believe that God hasn't changed, but how do I reconcile all the "bad stuff" with my good God? Is it possible? 

As much as I've wanted to run away lately, the answer I'm receiving from God is "yes."  Yes it is possible to reconcile my pain, because God is not afraid of my questions, anger, or emotions. He does not dismiss me, He does not turn His back on me, and He will never take back my salvation when I have moments of doubt. He is still my good Father, and He wants to hear from me. He tells me to cast my burden on Him. 

Right now, my emotions are raw, my heart is hurting, and I'm broken. But God knows that. He's not angry with me for feeling these things, and He understands where I am. Jesus was fully human while on Earth. He experienced and felt every kind of feeling you and I will ever have. He knows. And in the middle of my brokenness, I have to keep trusting that He knows, that He remains good, and that one day…even years from now, if need be…God will turn my "bad stuff" into good. I may never understand it, and I may not even live long enough to see it, but when I reach Heaven and see God face to face, He will make it all OK. 

So right now I'm facing my anger head on. I'm crying out to Jesus in a way I never have, and I'm allowing myself to feel all of these ridiculous stages of grief, because I know I have to. I can't bury these things, or hide them away. I'd be doing myself, my family, and those watching my grief journey, no good. Because despite what some Christians may tell you, there is no pretty neat bow, life is a struggle, grief is a struggle, and faith- in many cases- can be a struggle. I am working it out with my God, and bringing Him my honest heart, and at this point, I can't imagine that He requires anything more. 

The act of casting my burden has to be enough, laying everything I'm going through at the feet of Jesus. And once I lay it there, God will help me work through it, and bring me through to the other side. My faith will be stronger, tested and refined. It may never be wrapped up tight in a pretty bow, but it will be complete, not lacking anything. 

Tears in a Bottle

"You keep track of all my sorrows. 

You have collected all my tears in Your bottle. 

You have recorded each one in Your book."

- Psalm 56:8

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I've been thinking about how God collects our tears in a bottle, and keeps record of every one that falls. We are that precious to Him, that He bends to us, cups our cheeks with His scarred hands, and saves our tears…

It always breaks my heart to see my baby girl cry, even when she's been naughty. I hate seeing her precious eyes overflow with big teardrops, and her arms reach out for me. She longs for me to comfort her, but sometimes, I just can't. I have to let her learn, I have to let her experience life, knowing I can't keep her in a bubble, and sometimes her pain is just necessary, something I can't take away…

It must break God's heart too, to see His children reach out in agony, with tears streaming down our faces, only to know that He has to let us hurt for a while. There's growing to do, refining that only comes by fire. His love for us is so great, that He has to let us experience life, even when it hurts…

But God is able to do what no other parent can. He is able to wipe away every last tear, and declare: "No more." He can heal every hurt, right every wrong, and restore our broken hearts. He can heal us, and promises to heal us, when the time is right…

And until then, He goes on keeping record. Watching us, hovering over us, moving away obstacles that may cause us harm, and allows us to walk through life, experiencing pain, but still there with His arms stretched wide, ready to catch us…

He is a good, good Father. Even when all we can see is the pain, He remains good. His tenderness and affection for us never changes, and His bottle of tears never overflows, because eventually, He comes to us, scoops us up in His arms, and whispers: "Enough, child, hush now, Daddy's here."

God did that for my precious Mom, and He'll do the same for me, when the time is right…

How I'm Doing These Days

Grief is such a hard journey to walk through. There are days I almost forget the pain, and then days when I am completely overcome. There are days I just want to give up, and days I feel strong. I have moments of peace, and then moments of anger, moments of jealousy, and then moments of guilt. My emotions can turn in a blink, and I often find myself crying over the smallest of things. I've tried to find practical ways to ease the pain, but I'm finding that they are only temporary fixes, the pain always returns by evening.

I've struggled with wanting my life to return to normal. Wanting my schedule to return to normal, wanting my heart to return to normal, wanting my Dad to return to normal, and for our family to be whole again. But there is no normal anymore, there's no going back to what was, and we are all just limping along trying to find our new way of doing life. I can't force my new life into the old box, and expect anything at all to ever be what it was.

We had such a beautiful life with Mom. She really was the best, and her absence is just felt everywhere, in every tiny detail. Every meal we make, every time her chair sits empty, every activity without her, every holiday, every milestone, every new word learned by our children, every new step, every sunrise and every sunset...she is missed. My whole being aches to have her back, but death could never be more final. There's no coming back, and Heaven feels like an eternity away.

I've been told so many things since Mom died. People have told me to rejoice because Mom's in Heaven. People have told me to get rid of her things because she doesn't need them anymore and they mean nothing. People have told me that Mom wouldn't want me to be sad. People have told me to be patient. People have told me not to make any big life changes. People have told me to be kind to myself, and allow the pain to come. I've received so many answers…but nothing erases the pain, nothing heals the separation.

My hope is still in Jesus, and in the promise of Heaven. I talk to Jesus all day long now, because He is all that I have. The world continues to spin around without me, and there is nothing I hate to see more. Don't these people know how much pain we're in? Why haven't their lives stopped too? Why is it just me sitting here isolated in my grief? Am I the only one who remembers my beautiful Mom?

People have gone on with their lives, and assume we're doing OK because on the outside, our lives have continued. Andrew is back to work full time, he's filling in the pulpit when need be, I'm back at church and socializing. I've even found the strength to put myself together and look presentable most days. From the outside, our kids look normal, and our family unit seems fine. But on the inside, I am in so much pain most days, that I have to hide away in the bathroom just to catch my breath, allow the tears to fall, and collect myself. I still spend my days at Dads, coming home in the evening when it's time to put Katelyn to bed. I spend my driving time in the morning and night praying, crying out to God, trying to make sense of all that is happening. I come home every night depleted and exhausted, with very little left to give to the girls and Andrew. They have been so patient with me, knowing this has been hard, but guilt still settles over me by bedtime, feelings of weakness, because I just can't seem to juggle it all.

Grief doesn't care about my to-do lists, the things I have to get done, or the people depending on me. Grief doesn't care when it attacks, when it weakens, when it wounds. It just swallows you up, and rejoices in your brokenness. Grief is ugly, demanding, and cruel. It steals away my truth and replaces it with lies. It tells me life will never get better, and so I live in constant contradiction: what the grief tells me, and what God tells me. It's completely exhausting in every way, a real spiritual battle.

There's no better way to explain it: I'm at battle. I'm fighting to regain my life, regain my joy, regain my peace. I'm fighting for my Dad, for his heart, and the healing needed there. I'm fighting for normalcy, for comfort, for hope. I'm trying to be faithful to God, obedient to Him, and to the truths Mom taught me. I'm trying to walk through the pain, anticipating the promise of God's delivery. I'm trying so very hard, but being attacked with every step I take. I am at battle.

Please keep praying for us, keep praying for these things I've shared. It's not easy to let people into your grief, it's not always easy to be transparent and vulnerable, so I ask for your support, and not words of correction. The Holy Spirit will do the leading and correcting when needed, what we really need from you is just love and support. Thank you for walking this journey with us, and being patient with our brokenness.

Water into Wine

Yesterday's sermon was from John 2, where Jesus turns water into wine. We were studying the passage, learning how Jesus was willing to reveal His power in order to increase the faith of those around Him, and how He really is into the details of our lives. If The God of Heaven cares about the small things like our food and drink, certainly He also cares about our day to day problems, our grumbling, our heart issues, and our broken places.

This tiny miracle of turning bad, undrinkable water, into the very best wine, was really not tiny at all, because it reveals God's heart for His people: Our problems are not too small for Him to notice. Our needs are not insignificant to Him, and He knows exactly what we need for our faith to be encouraged and grown.

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I'm in a place of waiting right now, and to be honest, the waiting hurts.

After losing my Mom, I've been begging God for healing. Begging Him to help my Dad, restore the joy in our lives, give us strength to keep living, give us a renewed purpose. I've been crying out to Him for 2 months now, and I see so very little change. We're all still breathing and going about our lives, but there's an emptiness inside that just can't be ignored. Our hearts are broken, and we need the touch of our Savior.

I think that may be what hurts the most: I know God is able, but for whatever reason, He's just not willing to act right now.

I know all it would take for our hearts to be healed is one simple word, one breath, one touch of His hand…but for now, God is withholding Himself. He's telling us to wait. Requiring that we walk through this pain and suffering, and refusing to take away our pain. I know God is here in the details, but He feels so very far away.

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As Christians, we have to be OK with feeling far away from God, but knowing that we aren't. We have to be able to filter life, and all of life's problems, through the truth of who we KNOW God to be. We have to examine scripture, examine the life of Jesus, and come to a place where we know Who our God really is, and what He is capable of, and we have to learn to trust it. To know Jesus intimately, and trust Who He is, and Who He says He will be.

I know my God is able to take away every pain, to heal every wound, and to make every wrong right. I know He is here with us now in our suffering, and I know He could take it away in an instant if He wanted to. I know He is kind and loving and just. I know He is merciful, present, and good. And it's because I know these things, that my heart also knows deep down that one day God will reveal His plan, and heal our hearts.

I can keep holding on, keep praying for my own miracle, because I know God is listening, and I know He sees me. He is here in our details, and He knows the condition we are in, and I know that one day, He will take our bad, and make it good. He will turn our water into wine, and deliver blessing out of our pain.