It’s easy to say God’s grace is sufficient when everything seems safe and overflowing. It’s another to experience God’s grace is sufficient when everything seems chaotic and lacking.
It’s easy to say His strength is made perfect in our weakness when we feel strong and confident. It’s another thing entirely to desperately fall back on Him when our own weakness and fragility overwhelms us.
It’s been a week since I didn’t feel like throwing up at all hours and unable to eat or sleep. I’m fine, but my son is not. He’s hanging on the edge of a cliff and we are laying at the top reaching for him to come back up. He’s slowly climbing back up.
(It’s happened many times, but I’ve given up writing about it because a reader only can hear the story so many times. And I’m not into drawing out yet another health-saga – each important, but eventually dulling to us as we are inundated by more stories than we can absorb.)
Most of you are used to hearing about his chronic health problems, used to hearing about his fragility – but as his family, it doesn’t really get easier. We know him and love him; to us he’s just a boy with a full crop of hair and a big heart, who wants nothing more than an airplane ride on his dad’s lap. And good night!, it makes us stop breathing when we see him struggling to get his.
Living with chronic respiratory failure doesn’t come with a clear guide. “There are no right answers,” I’ve heard a thousand times and every time it sounds so off. How can there be no right answers?
But living with Jesus does come with clear answers. He calls us to follow after Him, and in our own cross-bearing He’ll walk with us and deepen our leaning on him.
It’s a hard lesson that I’m slow to learn. One of our pastor’s said recently, “We associate evil with pain, and good with pleasure. But God does not associate things this way.”
It’s a painful process to learn, it involves dying to our flesh and living according to the Spirit.
When we can’t rescue, we become more fixed on the Rescuer.
When we’re perplexed, we look more to Him who is Wisdom.
When we sorrow, we feel the comfort from the Man of Sorrows.
When we’re anxious, we look to the Prince of Peace.
When we’re overwhelmed, we search for the Rock.
Calvin is sitting peacefully in the PICU now. We are hoping he will continue to make small baby steps of improvements and get back to his baseline. Parainfluenza pushed his already fragile respiratory condition over the edge. If my gut serves me right, we’ll be home in two weeks back at his norm.
Thanks all for your prayers and for reading another of my (overly-reflective) posts when all you really cared about was the last paragraph. 😉
I haven’t written much. Sometimes it seems like the words have dried up and there’s nothing more to say. But more truthfully, we are adjusting to the years of intensity becoming a place we must live, not a just a short season.
Darryl and I sat on the couch last night, after all the kids were finally tucked in and sipped some hot peppermint tea together. Our home is full and blessed, but at the end of many days we carry the weight of the brokenness. It’s odd, this life is such a two-sided coin. On the one hand, these years have been tremendous years of learning, growing, depending on God. And on the other, such a stripping that a deep melancholy underscoring everything. We’re changed, and sometimes I don’t like it.
The first four years of Calvin’s life were nothing but bare survival, literally trying to keep him alive from one day to the next and making major decisions at every turn. The last three have been more predictable; we’ve become used to being nurses around the clock and know how to navigate his fragility well. Now, the question of Francis Shaeffer’s book often burns in our minds: How shall we then live?
How do we live when life never “gets back” to normal? What do we do in the settling years – the years when everybody else has moved on but we are still constantly adjusting to living with loss?
“The older I get,” Darryl said, “the more I see people settling in two ways. Either they become angry and bitter, resigned in their faith or they serve with love out of their brokenness.”
How many of us haven’t fallen into the first category? We grow up and face unexpected losses and life doesn’t always turn out the way we dreamed or expected. We hurt but then time happens and with it we settle into patterns of living with broken dreams.
We either become more receptive or more hard-hearted.
We grow in love or we grow in bitterness.
We grow in devotion or in apathy.
The settling years.
Richard Sibbes said: “God takes it unkindly if we weep too much for the loss of a wife, or child, or friend, or for any cross in this life; for it is a sign that we do not fetch our comfort from him. Nay, though our weeping be for sin, we must keep moderation, with one eye looking on our sins, and the other on God’s mercy in Christ. If, therefore, the best grief should be moderated, how much more the other!”
God’s comfort is enough for any sorrow, any cross you and I are called to. It is enough to keep us from hard-heartedness, bitterness and apathy. So then why do I find so much of the latter in these settling years?
The temptation for followers of Jesus, living with broken dreams and loss, is to not lean in. Instead of depending on Jesus all the more in pain, we withdraw. Instead of moving forward in faith and hope, we retreat in doubt and despair. We internalize hurt instead of dwelling the comfort of Christ and using that to serve others no matter how broken we are.
It’s gotten a lot of us, and exposes what we may have really been living for all along.
These years are uncomfortable, settling in with altered dreams. But there’s a way to resist the easy street of withdrawing into ourselves and swimming in bitterness and anger. We can ask God to fill us with His Spirit so that we can rejoice in suffering and be filled with peace in believing. Perhaps the settling years are really an invitation to develop rhythms of joy and grace in our lives? A call to live as an ordinary people with an extraordinary hope?
Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. Romans 5:3-5
One of my favorite things on Instagram is Mari Andrew. She takes abstract concepts and creates simple pictures that almost always perfectly characterizes feelings and realities that can be difficult to describe.
She recently has been set back by illness herself and I’m finding that many of her drawings make me say, “Yes, exactly!” I love the drawing below about empathy. Check it out:
It reminds me about the value of being with someone in hard times. Our reaction is to run away, avoid or feel like we’ve failed as a friend when we can’t solve things.
But this picture captures some of the main ways we can be a true friend when life becomes painful or hard.
We can reassure our friend that even though the worst could happen, we will be with them in it. And more importantly God will be with them. The only thing worse than devastating events in our lives, is being alone and forgotten in them. Maybe that means sitting in the hospital room with them, inviting them over for dinner or just making yourself available in any way.
We can take on practical ways to help. It’ll look different for every family and person, but it will always include showing love and kindness through everyday service. When Jesus’ disciples were weary or sad, what did he do? He baked fish for them. He fed them.
We can pray for them. Today an older woman in our church reminded us that our first priority in serving others should be prayer. It’s not an afterthought but the first thing we go to! Pray that their faith would not fail. Pray the promises of God for them. Pray for them to experience Jesus’ compassion and tender care when life is raw. Pray for opportunity to show love just as Jesus has loved us.
We can remind them who God is and what He’s promised. Sometimes pain makes it hard to see straight. The promises of God can seem far removed or a “nice idea” when you are living a hard reality. But that’s exactly when the promises come alive and valuable to us. This is when we move to walking by faith and exercising that. But we need the promises and the reminder of who God is RIGHT in front of us so that we can keep putting one foot in front of the other.
I want to grow in this area of being a good friend who empathizes. After all, isn’t this just another way of loving our neighbor? So many times we get caught up in worry about saying the wrong thing or assuming other’s have it all figured out, so we stay away. Or, even worse, we are so consumed with what’s going on in our lives that we stop looking out for others.
Jesus is the perfect example of one who empathizes. He did much more than empathize, but he illustrates drawing near in weakness. As we show empathy to people around us, we allow others to experience the love of God and in turn we are changed more into the image of Christ.
“Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” Hebrews 4:14-16
Occasionally I write for the kid’s section of our church magazine thought I’d share them here to use with your kids, if you’d like. This one is appropriate for the time of waiting between Easter and Ascension.
Have you ever seen a friend walking sadly on the playground? How can you tell they’re sad? Maybe they have their head down, shoulders drooped, all the while kicking wood-chips while they walk.
Once there were two friends walking sadly together. Cleopas and his friend weren’t on the playground; they were walking along a dusty road going from the city of Jerusalem to Emmaus, a seven mile trip! They had a long walk home and as you know, walking goes quickly when you talk with a friend, so they were pouring out their hearts to each other.
They had just had the worst week of their lives, and it wasn’t because of the ordinary reasons that sometimes make us say, “This is the worst day ever!” They didn’t have lost homework or even a lost donkey. They weren’t arguing with their friends or fussing over hurt feelings. It was far worse.
The week before, they had gone to Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover. It was normally a joyful celebration—a time to remember God’s faithfulness in delivering them from Egypt and a time of hope, remembering that God had promised to send another deliverer.
But this Passover had been all mixed up and seemed to have gone terribly wrong. Their dear friend, Jesus, a great prophet had been killed, on the very day of the Passover. And this was the one they thought was going to deliver them!
Their hearts hurt just thinking about Jesus, He had loved them and been with them day after day. They had seen the power of God in Him when sick people came to the door and when sinners found life and joy in His words. He had been their friend, their hope for a better future, but now all they felt was sadness and confusion. Jesus was dead and there was no delivery in sight.
Everything they thought was true seemed turned upside down, had they been wrong all along? Jesus joined them on their walk, right in the middle of all the mixed up thoughts and feelings and listened. Of course He knew all about it, but He loves for us to pour out our hearts to Him. They told the whole story to this stranger, not even recognizing it was Jesus! And Jesus gently began pointing to the truth that He was right here and all was going according to plan.
Now, if you or I have something very remarkable happen we might tell our friends the sensational details, show pictures or even reenact what happened. But Jesus, who had just suffered the greatest sorrow and achieved the greatest victory in the history of the whole wide world, began in the most ordinary way–by opening up the scriptures.
He pointed out the plan that God had been perfectly carrying out through the stories of the Israelites and the songs of the prophets. He showed them how all these stories pointed to the Lamb, the Redeemer, HIM! And as he spoke the words of scripture, their hearts started to thaw from the fear and confusion and they began to burn, throb and nearly burst with joy as recognition lit their entire being, it was Jesus. And He HAD delivered them from something much worse than the Romans—they were delivered from the clutches of sin which had the power to destroy them more than any Roman.
These two disciples had started their long walk with heavy hearts and sandals dragging, but by the end of the long trip as they sat down to break bread with Jesus, their hearts were light and their feet eager to get up and spread the news—Jesus was alive and God’s plan of deliverance was being carried out perfectly.
I don’t have a time machine to send you back to the Emmaus road, but I can tell you where to find Jesus–open up the Bible, He really is on every page! This week, in your devotions, why don’t you write down your findings of seeing Jesus in the stories and prophets of the Old Testament; ask your parents for help if you’re stuck.
Seeing Jesus made the disciple’s hearts burn with passion, joy and devotion. If your heart is dead and cold and the Bible seems boring, go to your knees. Ask the Holy Spirit to open your eyes to see Jesus as you read the Word. He is the only one who can wake us up from the sleep of sin and make us alive in Christ. Seeing Him will make our feet eager to worship Him and to share the news of Jesus with others.
This article was originally published in the Banner of Sovereign Grace Truth. It sums up my theology of grief and I hope it gives you encouragement.
I dreamed a dream in times gone by/when hope was high and life worth living/I had a dream my life would be/so different from this misery I’m living/so different now from what it seemed. Now life has killed the dream/I dreamed. These are the famous haunting lyrics of Fantine, a character in the classic novel, Les Miserables by Victor Hugo.
The story behind the song is one of lost dreams: a mother (Fantine) wanting to provide for her child but, at every turn, her life unwinding into poverty and spiraling into ruin. The song has one theme: bitterness.
Bitterness at what could have been, but wasn’t, bitterness about the sting of her present circumstances, and bitterness about facing a future she didn’t want. In short: bitterness at the loss of her dream of what life would be like.
Very few of us will stand on the street corner and belt out a song of anguish like Fantina, however the sentiments she expressed may be alive and well in our hearts. Who hasn’t experienced the bitterness of hopes dashes and dreams not realized? Many of us could say: “I had a dream of what life would be like, and this isn’t it.”
There is nothing wrong with dreams or hoping for good things in life. In fact, we are told to make plans, prepare, hope: in essence, “dream”. We can have good and godly dreams: the upbuilding of the church, a healthy family, a life of usefulness, a loving marriage, financial security and meaningful relationships and work.
But since the fall has dashed our purity and communion with God, we and our dreams (as in hopes and plans) are broken, both in essence and their fulfillment. Sometimes it’s in the big things of life: churches can flounder in strife or error, babies are miscarried or born with life threatening conditions, spouses become ill and die or financial disaster happens.
Even if we haven’t had major disappointments, we often have smaller dreams unfulfilled, such as struggling with loneliness while longing for relationship, or the perceived lack of meaningful and fruitful work, etc.
With the loss of any dream, we realize grief and disappointment with an intimacy we never desired. But within every lost dream there is a beckoning, a divine opportunity, even in the midst of your grief and brokenness.
A Divine Opportunity for Unbelievers
For unbelievers, the loss of dreams is a divine opportunity sent to awaken us from the stupor of comfort and the futility of life without Christ. It’s a wild wake-up call from the God of the cosmos to take our eyes off our little dreams and set our eyes on Him.
Our “little” dreams matter, to us and God, but when we are missing Him, they all amount to nothing. And because sin dwells at our core, our dreams are hopelessly bent to serving ourselves and that only. But God is gracious and uses these disappointments as a call to wake up from the mirage of satisfaction with your perceived success and happiness here and a call to drink of the Living Water (Jesus!) in order to bring you to true happiness and success only found in Him.
Look over the past years of your life. Are there areas of loss, disappointment and frustration? They are divine opportunities to come and drink. They are invitations to place your bitter and frustrated heart into the hands of a capable and complete satisfier: the Christ.
A Divine Opportunity for Believers
But what about the loss of dreams for believers? Many of us have had good dreams slip from our grasp and crash into a thousand pieces. And these aren’t hypotheticals, they are real situations that create a painful daily reality for many of us.
In my immediate relationships I can think of at least ten families dealing with the serious loss of dreams. One has lost a husband, a young couple grieves infertility, a father deals with a disabling illness, a marriage broken by sin and on it goes.
Providence woven with the fallen world frustrates the life we dreamed of. No matter how much we intellectually understand that God will work things for our good, when we actually endure the loss of dreams, we grieve. And that is not a lack of faith. It is the natural response to the pain of living in a broken world as broken people.
Grief can make us physically nauseous, emotionally depressed and spiritually dry. It can numb us to the realities of God’s comfort and goodness. Surrounding ourselves with the people of God, immersing ourselves in the preaching of the Word and continuously crying out to God in broken confession and trust are often the remedies for healing the deep wound we feel. In short: commit our broken dreams and grief to Him.
This is the divine opportunity. Even in our losses, He makes us gain in Christ. Here are three ways:
Communion. We’re very short-sighted; it often takes pain for us to lift our eyes off of our little lives and actively seek the Lord in prayer. Not only because we have more need, but because we desire Him more. When our dreams are ripped from our hands, the earth and all it holds becomes small and He becomes everything.
Some Christians are afraid to be transparent about feelings of disappointment, grief and perplexity in these times. But God doesn’t need us to bolster up a false cheerfulness or an it’s-all-for-the-best attitude. Instead God comes near, and compels us to turn to Him in our grief.
We can confess our wrong attitudes, ask for forgiveness, grace and help. He is not a distant, uninvolved Father. He takes your tears and puts them in a bottle, and invites you to take refuge in Him. He reminds you of His everlasting arms when it feels like the loss has struck you so low you can scarcely face another day. He doesn’t gloss over your grief and actually binds you to Himself as you walk through valleys.
Sanctification. Holiness is not a boring state of being, it is a life of new obedience to Christ. In that there is a growing intensity and closeness with the Triune God. By His power, He actually transforms us into His likeness and into the fellowship of His love. Often this isn’t accomplished in gentle or comfortable ways. There is pain involved–the chipping away of our desires, our pride, our entitlements. The stripping of dreams we thought we deserved. And a surrender. A surrender to follow Christ no matter what; without reserve or contingencies.
New Dreams. Nothing will replace the dreams we’ve lost. There is no “get-out-of-grief” card when you suffer great loss. But we are not left with the ash of broken dreams and no hope for the future. We are offered a “new and living hope”. Jesus.
Even when our dreams may have been good dreams, He gives us better and richer dreams. He takes our dreams for a comfortable normal life and gives us dreams for an increasing life with Christ. He trades our dreams of pleasing ourselves into dreams of living for Him.
Losing our dreams can free our hearts to embrace Him and a kingdom dream. Just recently I witnessed an older lady come to faith and a life of service after being converted during a valley of grief. Out of the wastelands of our lives He can grow such beauty, hope and life.
Ash or Him
Grief and loss are murky and often unpredictable experiences. But no matter how we are affected, we all face similar temptations in them. Our grief can turn us from God, instead of towards Him. We can nurse the incredible pain and let it fester into life-long bitterness and anger. We can settle for ashes and miss the divine opportunity extended to us in grief: come to Him and live.
C.S. Lewis said this about our dreams (favorite wishes): “Lose your life and you will save it. Submit to death, death of your ambitions and favorite wishes every day and death to your whole body in the end: submit with every fibre of your being, and you will find eternal life. Keep back nothing. Nothing that you have given away will be really yours. Nothing in you that has not died will be raised from the dead. Look for yourself, and you will find in the long run only hatred, loneliness, despair, rage, ruin, and decay. But look for Christ and you will find Him, and with Him everything else thrown in.” (Mere Christianity, 226-227)
The story of Fantine’s life is not a happy one. She was without Christ and laid low by broken dreams and had no living hope. She died a miserable painful death, holding only the ashes of dreams and a bitter heart.
Your circumstances are different, but maybe your life is also at a point so low, a place where every dream has been lost. Don’t settle for clinging to ashes. Turn with your lost dreams to Jesus, for the first time or as your life-long posture. He is holding more than a dream; He is offering the reality of a life in Him that can never be lost.
His head is tilted back in his chair. His mouth hangs slightly open as he breathes quietly, his body heaving in once more and then out again. Chronic lung disease is no joke.
An inch below the surface his lungs continue their struggle: battling fluid that tries to fill every air sac, tube and pocket of space. His will fights hard and he breathes in again, forcing oxygen into fluid saturated pockets. Oxygen rushes in and then, with concerted effort, his exhale squeezes air out. He gets relief until the next breath.
Sometimes being seven and war-torn go together.
War torn because each breath is a battle, fought 40 times a minute. Some days are better than others.
It’s no wonder his head is tilted back in exhaustion. Still a grin, that lopsided knowing smile that can change his face in an instant. He listens in on the chatter drifting from the dining room. Noah and Evie don’t realize they’ve got a third player as they build imaginary worlds with blocks and figures.
His eyes look in the direction of their noise, looking for them, only to be greeted with more black. Or maybe, as Dr. Geddie surmised, he catches a patch of sight, like peering through swiss cheese.
His smile widens and his legs stiffen out straight in front of him. He’s smart, trying to manipulate tone to get his body to move. But it doesn’t, so instead a happy call rises above the gurgle in his throat. Then he relaxes back into his chair, making up for the effort and catching his breath again.
His eyelids flutter and his eyes roll back slightly into his head, obviously tired from this small effort. But giving up is not in his playbook.
His bedroom lies adjacent to the kitchen. Each morning as I move about measuring coffee, pouring water and washing leftover dishes from the night before, he calls me.
I tuck the wet dish towel back in the rack and head down the hallway to his room. The machines rumble, his lungs crackle and two little arms shoot up eager. They’re bent at an odd angle but I don’t care. All is see is invitation, so I offer my cheek for his kiss. The dry chapped lips find me and his arms rest on my shoulders.
I can hear the crackling and whistling in his lungs as he alternates between deep sighs of contentment and sounds of joy.
A life of exhaustion.
A life of battles that will never win the war of chronic lung, but they do win him time. And that seems worth the price to him.
A life of joy.
A new day breaks and again he calls from the room: Come in and love me, mom! It’s a new day.
He has learned to fight the battles well.
He’s learned contentment.
He’s found love is enough.
It’s a good thing my kids don’t read my blog; they’d find out their Christmas gifts if they did! I know it’s hard to find good devotional material for kids to read in addition to their Bibles, so I’m going to share some of my finds this year. Maybe it will give you some new ideas too.
Life doesn’t leave me a lot of time to go out and about to the stores, so between Amazon and the local bookstore I have my shopping covered! This year each kiddo is getting a Lego set and a new devotional. It’s always a little challenging to find new (good) material because my kids burn through books! Here is what I’ve found for this year:
I chose this book for Violet and Calvin but I have a good feeling even the parents will be enjoying this! The art is gorgeous and the overview of the redemptive theme of the Bible clear on every every page. I think this will be a treasure in our home.
“The Bible is full of exciting stories that fill children with awe and wonder. But kids need to know how all those classic stories connect to Scripture’s overarching message about God’s glorious plan to redeem his rebellious people.
In The Biggest Story, Kevin DeYoung—a best-selling author and father of six—leads kids and parents alike on an exciting journey through the Bible, connecting the dots from the garden of Eden to Christ’s death on the cross to the new heaven and new earth.
With powerful illustrations by award-winning artist Don Clark, this imaginative retelling of the Bible’s core message—how the Snake Crusher brings us back to the garden—will draw children into the biblical story, teaching them that God’s promises are even bigger and better than we think.”
There are four books in this great series of Spurgeon stories for kids. This fourth one will be wrapped up for Evelyn this year.
“This fourth book began, as did the previous three, as a series of children s talks based on Spurgeon s life. Some stories and sad and some are funny, but each one teaches a particular truth from the Bible. Spurgeon himself had a great love for children, and his desire for them was that they should come to trust, love and serve the Lord Jesus Christ in their young years. Spurgeon is here no longer, but the Lord is still at work drawing all kinds of people to Himself. My hope and prayer is that children may be led to find salvation in Christ, and learn truths from the Bible that will help them to live for His glory.”
It’s always a bit of a risk to buy a book sight unseen, but the endorsers on the back pushed me over the edge on this one (Michael Horton, John Frame). I know Noah will pour over this book at night. It’s less devotional and more of a survey book touching on all sorts of topics that cover the foundation of faith and the way it works out in our lives. The book is written by a middle school teacher and father. I’m looking forward to reading this along with Noah.
“The Radical Book for Kids is a fun-filled explorer’s guide to the Bible, church history, and life for boys and girls age 8 and up. Along with examining some of the most exciting realities in the universe, the handbook is vibrantly illustrated and chock-full of fun facts and ideas. Deep truths are communicated to elementary and middle-school aged kids while stimulating their curiosity and sense of adventure within a gospel-centered framework.”
This book has 74 devotions based on history; suitable for middle school or high school. This is going to Sophie.
“History is like a large, beautiful cake. We can cut it into wonderful slices of providence, feast on them piece by piece and be fed. The stories within this book are such slices. Using brief episodes from the past, Christine Farenhorst takes the reader on journeys in which the almighty and ever-present power of God is felt; journeys through which it becomes clear that all things come about not by chance but are ordained by the Father’s hand. Each chapter finishes with “Food for thought” consisting of two questions which help hearts contemplate the events portrayed, questions designed for personal application and insight. Consequently, a smorgasbord is presented with food for a family, or a homeschool group, leading to healthy discussions.”
Last night I woke up at 3 am to Calvin’s crying on the monitor. I found him in bed burning up and having seizures which left him trembling from head to toe and largely unable to respond to me. I wasn’t shocked, the past week he’d been struggling with respiratory issues but it seemed like the antibiotics were “keeping the lid” on it.
After giving rescue seizure meds, Tylenol and a good old momma hug he finally settled in again around 5 am. Today he’s pale, has low oxygen levels and spent most of the day sleeping (seizures wipe him out).
Even though this isn’t anything new, the call to renew my trust in God and his care is a daily call to faith. It’s much easier to believe we’re alone, forgotten by God and have every reason to despair when we look at what we see.
It’s easy to listen to whispers of despair telling us our faith is useless, that our so-called God is a fantasy and that our hope of redemption is just a way to plug through the pain.
And it’s exactly in these whispers of despair that God calls us to walk by faith. Circumstances are real, but just part of the story. The bigger story is God’s forever promises to his people, secured by Jesus:
He will never leave me or forsake me.
He is transforming me from one glory to another.
When I go through deep water, he is with me.
He intends goodness and mercy all the days of my life, even when he uses sorrow and pain to make that a reality.
For most of us, our struggles are private, confined to the walls of our homes or our hearts. We’re called to a simple, quiet obedience in God. It honors him, his word and grows our faith.
However, there are times when God pulls back the curtain of the everyday and gives tangible testimony to his presence and care. He allows faith to be sight, even for a moment, reminding us to renew our faith and trust in him.
Two weeks ago that happened. God pulled back the murky curtain of uncertain circumstances and gave us a sweeping view of his provision.
Carly and I had spent a lot of time researching options for the van, measuring his wheelchair and trying to figure out creative alternatives. Most people use wheelchair accessible minivans but with five kids, they were out for us. Our next options were a shuttle bus (the kids thought this would be the coolest thing ever) or a Ford Transit.
What we didn’t realize was the Transit comes in different roof sizes, low and mid roof. After talking with the mobility center, we realized we wouldn’t be able to install the lift in the low roof van. We headed back to the dealership and found one mid-roof passenger van. Our hearts sank when we realized the price was 8-10 thousand more than what we had.
We went home not sure what the next step was going to be. The mid-roof Ford Transit is hard to find, after searching online we found only a few in the US for sale in other states. Most customers get them made to order, they aren’t just sitting around on a dealer’s lot. Used ones are hard to come by since they just started making them in 2015.
About an hour after we got home, Carly got a call from Aaron at Tony Betten Ford.
“You’re not going to believe this,” he said. “We’ve got a truck here, unloading around 8 mid-roof Ford Transits. And they’re all passenger vans, not cargo.”
We went back. Sure enough, lined up in the lot were 8 of the exact vehicles we needed. Every color and option was available.
But the price. That was still an impossibility.
“Yeah, it’s kinda crazy,” Aaron said, “these are actually brand-new vans but we’re selling them as used. They were sitting on another lot and apparently they were damaged by a hailstorm so we’re selling them at a much lower price. We’ll take out all the dents, you won’t even notice.”
So let me get that straight. An hour after we left, 8 vans of the exact type we needed, were dropped off unexpectedly at that exact car lot. All of them passenger vans with an extended base for a wheelchair lift. All of them happened to be in a hailstorm which happened to reduce the price to what we had planned on.
It was excessive, undeserved. But then again, that’s what grace always is.
“You know that what happened is pretty crazy, right?” Aaron said as we signed the papers a week later. “I haven’t had those things on my lot for a year and a half. Then, an hour after you left, I’ve got eight.”
It’s not every day that God sends these tangible reminders of his care and provision. But when he does, it is a grace that gives boldness to our steps and a fresh reminder of his presence during weary nights and lonely roads.
So these days, we are thanking God for his provision through an unlikely source: a hailstorm. In September.
This is our super helpful and proficient salesman, Aaron Powers, who got to witness the “crazy” with us.
This is one of Calvin’s nurses, Roxanne. In tears. Like every other nurse has been when they found out about this gift. What a testimony of God’s grace this van has been.
Calvin was already not feeling well in this picture, but his cousins and siblings took care of making it an exciting experience for him :).
God often brings good out of something I think is a total loss.
A month ago, when our van was broken down on the side of the road, we had a minor disaster on our hands. I was in the car with all five kids on the way back from camping, temperatures were soaring and my van was spewing smoke and refusing to move another inch. Calvin’s temperature started climbing, Violet wanted more crackers (because, of course that’s the most important thing even if the world is falling apart), and the kids took turns freaking out about being a few feet away from cars zooming by on the highway.
Calvin’s set-up camping–everything but the kitchen sink!
We all arrived home safely due to the help of Darryl swinging back and coming to our rescue and my sister Kristin loading kids in her van. A van broken down is not a major disaster, but it was one more major expense to the long list of realities that have a way of sapping the spring from your step. We debated at night what to do, pour more money into our van that was already high on miles and soon wouldn’t work for Calvin? It seemed like the only option we had.
The next morning my sisters called me up to say they were starting a van fund for Calvin. They reasoned Calvin was maxing his car seat and becoming more difficult to transport anywhere from our home, so why not start a fund now? The idea was ignited by visions of our smoking van and the fact that Calvin loves to go places.
In no time they were planning fall festival events, a cook out, and even contacting the president himself (ok, not really, but they were determined). I took the role of the sheepish doubter on the sidelines. I wasn’t sure what made me more uncomfortable, the fact of asking people to give actual dollars and cents or the amount of the dollars needed for a van. One seemed horribly awkward and assuming and the other, downright impossible.
I thought we should pack away this crazy talk, but…Calvin. What if people wanted to show their love for him? What if people wanted to give back to him the way he has given to his community? What if we were just standing in the way?
A few days later my sister started Calvin on the Move and gave the opportunity for people to give. The next three weeks blew us away as the goal was exceeded.*
Darryl and I have felt some embarrassment with the fund, but when I run into people who are so genuinely excited for this project, we tuck our pride away. It’s not about us. Or even about Calvin. It’s about the community coming around a boy, defenseless and unable to provide for himself, and saying:
You have value.
You are loved.
We care about you.
We want to help you.
And this, this is the beauty of God’s love. He takes the heartbreak of disease and terminal diagnosis and intermingles hands and hearts so this is no longer a story of just a boy. Or a boy and his family. It’s that and more.
It’s a story of God providing abundantly for a little boy who couldn’t even ask.
It’s the story of God encouraging and equipping a family often tired and defeated by the endless needs and lack of progress.
It’s the story of a community witnessing to the goodness of God and reflecting that to each other. It’s the story of people being moved, impacted and changed from someone you’d least expect.
We don’t know how to say thank you for such a gift. We want to tuck away a little embarrassed (admittedly difficult in a mini-bus), but I think instead we’ll drive that van remembering the tangible love of the Lord and His care for the most vulnerable. We’ll remember on days we might feel entirely alone, you surround us. We will remember that even though loss is real and heartbreaking, God brings forth beauty out of the most painful parts of our lives.
And for all this, we give thanks.
Test drive: Noah isn’t excited at all 😉
(*all money raised over the goal will be used to make our home accessible)
I wrote this piece three years ago for the Christian Pundit.
Writing about God’s provisions is two-sided for me. On one hand, it is a way to point others to our great God and say “Look! Look what He can do! He is faithful, He is constant, He is your provider. Let me tell you what He’s done for me!” But I’ve been in a place where stories of God’s provisions for others taunted me. They were like bitter drops on my thirsty soul–a soul that was feeling left out on the line, parched, forgotten by God. A detail forgotten in the Great Care Plan, providence.
My husband, Darryl, and I had experienced the close and gracious hand of God in unique way as we served in mission positions in Phnom Penh, Cambodia for five years. But when the Lord gave a unique gift in our fourth child, Calvin Luke, it seemed like His hand of provision drifted away and instead began a very painful process of stripping us down to the bare, raw parts of life and soul. Calvin was born in Bangkok, Thailand with microcephaly (small head) and severe brain damage. Today Calvin is nearing three years of age. He’s nearly blind and cannot roll, hold a toy, lift his head, or perform any sort of purposeful movement (except for opening his mouth to kiss us, sweet eh?). He cannot eat by mouth and has trouble with an airway that collapses under stress. We are now living in the United States so he can receive proper medical care.
The time between birth and the present have the closest misery to hell we’ve ever experienced. Our Father saw fit to take away our life in Cambodia. A life we were thriving in and a ministry bearing fruit. He stripped us of a job and income. He stripped me of the ability to mother my other three young children, they were largely underfoot and ignored as we struggled to keep our youngest alive. He stripped my illusion that God would keep my children safe from harm (especially felt when our other son, Noah, had to undergo major open heart surgery in the midst of all this). He withheld his deliverance and pressed us harder and harder until it felt easier to die than face another day.
Stories of provision stung in that place. Stories of God giving fulness when my plate was empty and my soul so hungry and my body so weary. “Just a crumb, Lord, just a crumb?” I’d plead. Did God love other believers better than me? Why was His hand so hard, why did He return our confident prayers with a staggering blow? Mercy, show me mercy. I became bosom friends with David, and met with him in the Psalms. He gave words to my pain and frustration: “What profit is there in my death, if I go down to the pit? Will the dust praise you? Will it tell of your faithfulness? Hear O Lord and be merciful to me! O Lord, be my helper” (Psalm 30:8-10).
David wrestled with God, argued or made a case to God for His provision while David was in an undelivered state. And this became our pattern in pleading for our heavenly Father’s provision with our souls and material needs. When I began to question if the Lord was really hearing or if the Lord was there at all: “Keep me Lord, I am full of unbelief and doubt and anger. I will wander far from You if you do not keep me.” When we’d wake to another morning of seizures and felt too weary to lift a foot from bed: “Where is the joy that comes in the morning? Give us the morning, Lord, put an end to this long night.” When my soul would drown in sorrow and be threatened by strong unbelief: “Lord you’ve said that we can cast our burden on you and you will sustain us! Sustain then Lord, my feet are slipping. Take this burden.”
We would preach God’s very words of truth and provision to ourselves constantly. We were standing in the desert and knew He could make an oasis in the soul-searing pain. We’d remind each other that there would come an end to this, even if we never knew God’s deliverance on this side of the grave, there would be an eternal provision, an eternal restoration: “And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you” (1 Peter 5:10). When we were pressed hard by cold providence we reminded each other of the Lord’s love and tenderness of us: “He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not graciously give us all things?” When prayer seemed pointless: “Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your heart before him; God is a refuge for us” (Psalm 62:8).
Do you see how He has already made every provision for our souls in his Word? It waits for faith to be made alive and real and comforting to the soul. The very words we would remind ourselves of were works of His hands to draw us closer and closer as we looked over our shoulders to unbelief and fear. He kept our souls. He is keeping our souls. Yesterday’s provisions are not enough for today. I need fresh provision each and every day. My soul wilts and my heart feels heavy as I look at circumstances but His word places exuberant joy and praise in my heart. It gives me life each day. This is His provision. He has turned the painful realities into real places of spirit-work. Places where we can meet Him more clearly with the layers of distraction peeled away. He has made our broken jars of clay alive with the light within. This is His provision.
I could tell you stories of the “rain of mercy” God gave to our family after that dry hard time. I could tell you about the checks that came in the mail so we could pay rent, buy groceries, and get hair-cuts. I could tell you about the check that came from a stranger that refilled the savings account which had completely emptied from medical bills–the exact amount we had to start with. I could tell you about the first house that came up in our budget, how it had a handicap room on the main floor and a playground across the street–two things I’d specifically been praying for. I could tell you about house-hunting and how God gave us the house we are now living in–the very house we’d been renting. But I wonder if you too are in that dry place–the place where no material provisions have been made. I wonder if you too feel strung out and left to dry. Would these stories be salt in your wounds?
Take heart my friend. Open His Word, there is provision for you too. It’s better provision than money or houses or health. It’s soul provision–real live, spirit-accompanied soul provision. Wrestle with God for it. He can and will saturate the thirsty soul with His provision. “But may all who see you rejoice and be glad in you; may those who love your salvation say continually, “Great is the Lord!” As for me, I am poor and needy, but the Lord takes thought for me. You are my help and my deliverer; do not delay, O my God”