How to receive the gift of your life

Recently a statement in a secular magazine caught my eye.  It spoke of the importance of practicing acceptance and gratitude in living well with limitations. 

It made me think.  How does one practice gratitude if one does not believe that God gives all good gifts? Whom does one thank? And what does it look like to practice acceptance as a follower of Jesus Christ? 

I have intentionally practiced gratitude much more than acceptance.  I am a fighter. I do not give up easily. Acceptance can feel too much like resignation, an acknowledgement of defeat.  Or like fatalism – “this is the way it is and there’s nothing I can do about it so why try?”  How can I live in eager expectation of God's intervention while accepting the reality of what is? It's that word, “reality,” that helps me see. In the moments when I long to practice obstetrics again, it’s hard to keep reality in view. My mind wanders in its own little world, “Maybe if I just worked a couple of half days a week. . . maybe if there was a position that didn’t require night call or surgery. . . maybe. . .”

But the reality is that God is Truth. He works within and through the truth. He always starts from where we actually are, not from where we wish we were. Healthy, God-centered acceptance faces the facts – both the human limitations of our situation and the power of God’s grace to work all things together for good in ways we can't imagine.

Mere resignation to my illness would mean giving up hope. Acceptance, a stronger, truer act, is not passive, not merely giving up or giving in, but actively embracing reality in the hope of what God will do in the midst of it. Acceptance lives within my limits, not fighting them. It delights in the gift of space to listen to God’s heartbeat rather than resenting my inability to listen to babies’ heartbeats. Instead of feeling inadequate because I need help, acceptance frees me to receive and enjoy the community God provides. 

Acceptance is not merely “coming to terms with something” but is the “act of willingly taking a gift” or the “agreement to an invitation or offer.” (MS Word dictionary)  I have a choice. I can cling to dreams of an unreal life and miss the gift of the present. Or I can embrace the life held out to me, receiving with it the God of Truth who delights in working through weakness and bringing beauty out of brokenness.

If I spend all my energy hating the fence and wishing to return to the time when it did not surround me, I'll fail to see it as the perfect place to plant sunflowers.

“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. 

See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?

I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.” (Isaiah 43:18-19)

  

Acceptance is gratitude's sister. Being grateful for daily grace-gifts helps me see the beauty in the life offered to me now. It's hard to fight something when you see Love's fingerprints all over it. 

Care to join me in embracing whatever shape of life-gift God is holding out to you today?

“See, I set before you today life and prosperity, death and destruction. . .  Now choose life, so that you and your children may live and that you may love the Lord your God, listen to his voice, and hold fast to him. For the Lord is your life.” 

(Deuteronomy 30:15, 19-20)

How Grace speaks into places of woundedness

This week I am grieving the loss of colleagues. Some have been wounded before. This time they paid the ultimate price as they shared in Christ’s sufferings.

Many of my friends have suffered. One lives with constant noise from eardrums damaged in a blast. Another has worked through extreme emotional trauma. Still another finds the mind struggling to meet weekly expectations as it labors and slows under the too long, too heavy years. Even Spirit-filled people have bodies of dust. Minds, too, can only labor so long under extreme burdens without being affected.

I think of each of these colleagues. And I wonder how many bear not only the physical wounds but the heavier weight of shame and frustration.

I have felt it. The shame of weakness and inability to help with daily tasks. The frustration of needing to schedule daily naps and exercise rather than being able to spontaneously respond to the needs of others. Self-accusations of wimpiness, selfishness, laziness. “Maybe if I just tried harder. . .”

Into these places of shame Grace speaks. His wounds touch ours, connecting our pain, our weakness, the rejection and hurt and dis-ease that we have experienced with his. His hands honor us, lifting us up, reminding us that it is His marks that we bear in our bodies.

Today He reminds me through Paul. This man who was beaten and imprisoned, rejected and starved of food and sleep was not ashamed of his wounds. He wore his scars boldly as honorable battle wounds.

“Finally, let no one cause me trouble, for I bear on my body the marks of Jesus.” (Galatians 6:17)

And so a word to my hurting colleagues: The weakness that haunts you, the wounds you continue to bear as a result of your service are not signs of failure. They are not shameful. They are honorable wounds, marks of courage and endurance and union with Christ in His death. By His grace, you have willingly followed Him to places where you have been injured.

Today may Grace speak freshly into the places of pain, enabling you to wear your scars confidently as marks of a fight well fought, a cross carried, a privileged participation in Christ’s sufferings for the sake of his body.

The Choice

I did not choose
all else to be
removed

self shattered
need sharpened
longing lengthened
into needle points

But as I sift
through shards
a choice appears

To scavenge

fragments

of a former identity

Or nurture tender shoots

of a new and listening life

Which will I choose?

Hurried productivity
Or intentional attentiveness

Distracted servanthood
Or whole-bodied loving?

“Mary has chosen the best
and she will have it.”

Loved Dust

Most days I’m aware of my dustiness. This morning is no exception. I wake early after a half-slept night. My body groans as it faces the day. Today, so does my heart. Ever been there?

Limitations frustrate. But they also bear a reminder that sets free. Before I’m anything else, before I’m a doctor, a daughter, a friend, I am dust. Shaped of mud, a Hand-spun clay jar at once unique and easily broken. I am not built to carry the weight of the world. Another does that. I am made only to bear the light that is placed within me.

I’m dust. But not just any dust. Loved dust. The Heart that dreamed you, the Hand that shaped me, doesn’t forget our Breath-filled-clay beginnings. He doesn't forget that though we bear the dignity and glory of  Image-bearers, we still wear the frailty of dust. He carries his fragile treasure gently, care-fully. In my transience and vulnerability, I discover myself loved. Forever.

This morning the reminder of my loved-ness came through a changed class schedule which fits my body’s current demands. Thank you, Gentle Potter, for loving these bits of dust in such tender and practical ways!

As a father has compassion for his children,
so the LORD has compassion for

those who fear him.

For he knows how we were made;

he remembers that we
are dust.(Psalm 103:13-14 NRSV)

Our days on earth are like grass;

like wildflowers, we bloom and die.

The wind blows, and we are gone—

as though we had never been here.

But the love of the Lord remains
forever with those who fear him.

(Ps 103:15-17 NLT)

May you, too, in the midst of today’s challenges, be reminded that you are loved dust.

Carolyn

(You may also appreciate the echoes of God's faithfulness in our very evident vulnerability in Psalm 102)

In Faithfulness

In faithfulness
you have afflicted me

in gracious love
which gently passes my desires
to fill my deepest needs

so though I may not understand
the whys of this place
into which you have brought me

I know that you are here

and that the seasons of my life
are held by hands
pierced by love for me

As I spend time in this place
bring me to where I can say
it was good for me to be afflicted
that I might learn
the binding ways of life
engraved
into my being
inscribed
in all creation
ways born out of your goodness
and longing
to give me your best
ways shaped by your wisdom and
intimate knowledge of me

the easy, freeing balance
of full life
loving and living loved
working and resting
receiving and pouring it all
at your feet

I still don’t fully understand
the whys of this place

and I don’t need to

You
ever faithful
are here