Laced With Grace

It is a familiar story, the one in John 11 where Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead. The miracle, the power, the glory, the depth of compassion all step out of the pages of scripture and minister to our hearts in a myriad of  ways. It seems we can read the same verses at different seasons in our lives and find something fresh and new from the heart of the Father who knows our every need.

This past weekend I heard someone speak on this passage in a way that I had never considered before. He was speaking on recovery, and He was talking to Christians. Somehow we have gotten the idea that when we take that first step of faith and accept Jesus into our hearts as Savior everything from that moment on is going to be good.

It is true that we are made new, but we sometimes forget that it is not instantaneous. It is a process – a journey into wholeness that takes time. The speaker asked us to visualize that moment in time when Lazarus stepped out of the tomb. He was wrapped from head to toe in the the linens and spices that weighed about seventy-five pounds, his head covered in a cloth. As he stood there in front of the awe-struck crowd that had gathered, Jesus said, “Unwrap him and let him go!”

Lazarus could not unbind himself. He needed the  help of others. And so it is with us. We stand with the graveclothes that have wrapped themselves around our lives, and we need help to get free of them. Perhaps it is that sin that so easily besets us – a habit we struggle to overcome. We try over and over again and somehow find ourselves taking one step forward and two steps back.  A certain sense of shame sets in and we berate ourselves for not being all we so desperately want to be. When we are with others, especially fellow believers, we put on a happy face. We pretend that all is fine and walk on, dragging the weight behind us.

The blessing of finding a place where we can admit that we are struggling is a priceless one. The church ought to be the one place we can honestly share our hearts and find encouragement and help. As believers we can give that gift of acceptance to one another.  In the place of judgement we can give grace. In the place of criticism we can give compassion.  We can confess our own weaknesses without shame and find strength  in the sincere love of another struggling heart. We can grow together in wisdom and grace.

We can be like the little bear my Mom gave me during a time I was struggling mightily to hold on to faith. His name is Timmy. He gives unconditional love and all the hugs you need.  I want to be just like him.

Blessings,

Linda

Jesus is so many things to us. He is Savior, Redeemer, peace, hope, joy, life abundant. He is our righteousness and our victorious Lord. He is a friend like no other. He is very God.

He called Himself the Bread of Life, the Living Water, the Good Shepherd. He also said that He is the Door.

John 10:9
I am the door; if anyone enters through Me, he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture.

I imagine myself standing in a room with many doors, each one opening to a different path. The choice is mine. Isn’t that always the most difficult part – the choosing? How much easier if there were just the one door – the right door. Then I could walk right through and all would be well.

However, the Father has created me with a free will. It is His perfect design. He would have me love Him enough, trust Him enough, to accept the great gift He offers – to choose it over all the others.

The others can look so tempting, so right in their own way. One might open to certain riches, another to instant fame. Another might lead to someone not of His choosing or a life apart from Him. There is only one that leads to eternal life.  It is Jesus Himself – the Door.

When I place my hand on the handle and open that Door, I step into blessing I could never have imagined. As I go in and out of this door, this Jesus, I find all I need not just for eternity but for this life I now live. I find, on the other side of that door, eternal riches and life everlasting.

Through His death and resurrection, Jesus became the Door by which we enter in. He is the only way. He invites us, each one of us, to come.

Blessings,

Linda

I sit on the little bench pulled close to the keyboard. My heart is pounding; my hands shaking. I have practiced the music for hours. I know the notes, the rhythm. She sits close beside, this teacher who is friend – filled with such grace and kindness. I fumble my way through the song, heart sinking. It sounds as though I never practiced a note, and I am so discouraged – yet again.

I apologize for notes played wrong, and she smiles, says it is fine. Gently she encourages me to stop being so hard on myself – to let perfectionism go. It is all right not to play it exactly as written – to miss a note here and there. I nod agreement all the while knowing that, although she is right, I will still try to get it right.

It is a life-long habit, this trying to win approval by being as good as I possibly can. It is an exercise in futility. I will never be all things to all people. I will fail; I will be wrong (oh dear!); there will be some people who just plain don’t like me. But the striving has gotten me into places I never wanted to go. So I ask Him to change this perfectionist heart. And He gives me a picture:

I see Him, long before I was conceived, sitting with pen in hand and a long roll of blank sheet music before Him. He looks ahead in time, my life playing out in its entirety. He dips His pen in the ink and begins to write the symphony of my days.

The melody takes form – beautiful and lilting – until a discordant note makes its way onto the staff. Instead of reaching for the white-out, He continues forming notes on lines and spaces, some lovely some so out of tune.

He doesn’t crumble up the paper in frustration and toss it in the trash. He keeps composing – incorporating the notes made up of the wrong choices, failures and rebellion of an all-too-human heart into the song.

When He is finished, He picks up the music and seats Himself at the grand piano. I wait, heart pounding, to hear the discordant music of my life. His hands move gently over the keyboard and liquid notes pour into the room – a beautiful melody of grace and love.

He turns to me and holds my gaze with eyes that look deep within my heart and simply nods slowly.

Blessings,

Linda