Your Kingdom, Coming...A Spring Poem

I wrote this poem in April 2012.  The first stanza was inspired by my friend Holly's real-life moment with her daughter who was begging for milk even as it was being poured in front of her.  It was interesting to me that Holly was meeting her little girl's need, but there was tension as it hadn't arrived yet.  A winter-bare tree already holds all the makings of its spring glory.  Our Christ-committed hearts beat with the desire for Him to make everything beautiful and good, like heaven.  All of that is coming, and it's already alive in us through the Holy Spirit.

Your Kingdom, Coming

A child sits in a cushioned highchair,

Her face an impressionist painting of lunch.

“More milk, Mama,” she says,

Arm and hand stretched to receive.

“It’s coming, sweet girl,” Mama replies,

Grabbing the gallon jug.

“More milk, Mama,” insistently this time,

The arm and hand thrust out with emphasis.

“It’s coming, sweet girl,” is the unruffled refrain.

Mama pours, splashing drops on the counter.

“Mama! Milk!” with strains of desperation.

Screwing tight the plastic, spouted lid, Mama bends close to the tear-stained face,

“Here you go, sweet girl.”

A muffled “Thank you” escapes between eager gulps.

Mama wipes her child’s cheek.

A large, weathered tree stands bare.

Dull, ashen bark assimilates with a sky backdrop clinging to winter.

Vacant branches reach out, yearning,

 As if the tree knows it is meant to be clothed with blossoms and fruit.

Limbs asking for more,

When more has always been near.

Seeds in frozen ground,

Became green shoots in muddy soup.

Now, vibrant, purple crocuses cluster near sturdy roots,

Together, with a confident shout: “Spring is coming!”

Crocus-hope means that winter is not forever.

Things long hidden in soil come into light,

And blossoms will come,

Like pastel fireworks.

Pale pink never looked so bold.

O God,

Your kingdom is a reality for which I am waiting,

Asking.

I want better, I want more.

My soul knows it was created for a place,

With no more death, no more weeping.

Where I no longer need the sun,

Because You are my light.

I wait for that day, strengthened by the hope at my feet.

For I see Your kingdom here,

As people receive You in faith,

Bodies heal in Your Name,

And You breathe purpose into my own life.

So I stand with the faithful who have gone before me, Watching for You, dear Jesus,

To come.

Photo credit:  John Benson

God of All Comfort

 

Yesterday, my fourteen month old son Luke fell down – a common occurrence for new walkers.  I scooped him up, and let his head settle like a puzzle piece against the curve of my neck.  Then, a soft beat began on my shoulder.  Luke was gently patting my back with his pudgy little hand; a reflection of what he usually receives from me.

I am a big fan of comfort.  I like fleece blankets, desserts, money in the bank, heated seats in my car, throw pillows, and hugs, just to name a few.   I’ve been reading more about God’s character.   So, when I read 2 Corinthians last night, it pleased me to consider that God calls Himself the God of all comfort.  He likes comfort too.  That’s an exciting thought.

It says, “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.” (2 Cor. 1:3&4)

I sat and soaked in those words for a while.  He’s the Father of compassion… He’s the God of all comfort.  He comforts us so we can comfort others who are going through the same thing.

Lately, God is letting me be in some uncomfortable situations.  In case it wasn't implied earlier, I am not a fan of discomfort.  When I’m stressed out, food seems much more comforting than praying.  Smiling at the homeless person and continuing to drive by is way more comfortable than stopping and listening to their story.  I’d rather give my son his pacifier to calm him down than ask God for peace and patience to handle the tantrum.

Speaking of Luke and his pacifier, I had to stop writing this blog post because he was screaming so loudly from his crib.  We’re only giving him a pacifier at night, and he was missing it terribly during nap time.  It seems like no coincidence that I was being tested in the very area about which I was writing.  So, first, I prayed, “God of all comfort, please comfort Luke right now.  Please help him to nap without his binky.”  More wailing from upstairs.  Next, I got 2 Corinthians, chapter 1 on my computer screen and started to read it out loud.  Spiritual warfare, you know?  My mind stuck on the phrases “patient endurance of sufferings” and “It is by faith you stand firm.”  So, God is the God of all comfort AND we’re meant to patiently endure suffering?  Is that right?   I couldn’t take the crying anymore.  I got Luke up from the partial nap and moved on with our day, both of us crabby and teary-eyed. 

So often, my go-to comfort choices do not produce the satisfaction I’m seeking.  They are temporary fixes.  Today, asking God for comfort did not bring comfort as I understand it in my situation (Luke going back to sleep without his pacifier; me stress-free and writing an amazing piece that encourages people everywhere). 

God, what happens when I’m believing you for comfort and I don’t feel comfort?

In parenting Luke through his discomfort, God helped me see a little bit of His perspective as my heavenly Father.  It was tough to hear Luke cry and even have him shove me away when I tried to hold him and calm him down.  I didn’t give him the pacifier though.  I’m allowing Luke to go through this discomfort.  I care so much.  I know the binky is temporary and not for mature little boys.  He needs to transition to life without it, and that transition is painful, but persevering through it (for both of us) will lead to good for him.  There is a good purpose to his suffering.    

I remember a time in my own life when God got me out of a dysfunctional relationship.  Like Luke, I kept asking for what I understood would comfort me.  I wanted the relationship back.  Please!  Now!  Some nights I mourned so deeply, I thought it might actually kill me.  Maybe that sounds dramatic, but I have some dark journal entries to prove it.  God did not comfort me in the way I wanted Him to.  Instead, He brought me through the painful discomfort, eventually into the beautiful marriage relationship I have today.  It surpasses my dreams and I am so grateful.

Instead of the God of ALL comfort, what if we could think of Him as the God of TRUE comfort?  Lasting comfort?  Eternal comfort?

Even the comforting things God brings us on earth are just a shadow of the reality of heaven.  Revelation 21:4 tells us that there will be no more death, mourning, crying, or pain.  God has the power to bring those miracles anytime, but even if He doesn’t, can we hang on with Him?  There is a purpose for our pain and we can trust our good Father.

The last part I want to mention is an important piece of the 2 Corinthians passage.  We already know one of the reasons for our pain:  to comfort others.  A woman in my Bible study prayed with me about my struggle with overeating.  She looked me in the eyes and said, “Man, this is tough.  I’ve certainly had trouble eating when I’m stressed.  Every time I eat, I have to pray, ‘Lord, let this food nourish me so I can do your will.’”  She understood.  God had given her comfort in this area and she passed it on to me. 

What have you come through?  Maybe it was tough for a really, really long time.  What did God give you?  Ask Him to give you someone who needs that brand of comfort. 

It makes me laugh when Luke pats my back as I hold him.  Now, it can just be my reminder of 2 Corinthians chapter 1.  Luke is passing on the comfort he's received.  Praise be to the God of all comfort.  



Photo Credit:  Jessica Witters

I Remember That Weight

Women milled about the church gym, holding Styrofoam cups of hot coffee and catching up with hugs and stories.  Our Bible study was resuming after a two week Christmas break.  Snow on the road made for a slow start.  Ladies trickled in, stomping wet boots as they came through the door.  Instead of getting reacquainted, I was making a new friend.  Just after Christmas, one of the leaders gave birth to her second son.  I cradled little Benjamin and studied his serene features as he slept.   Kelly, our teacher, came up behind me to peer over my shoulder and join in admiring the little one. 

This is what the first month of mama-hood looked like

“Doesn’t he feel so light?  It’s hard to remember our kids being that small!” she said.

I paused for a minute before answering, “This was me one year ago, holding my newborn.  I remember this weight.”

My son is now a hefty 25 pounds, but I remember his 7 ½ pound body.  I remember all the thoughts and feelings and responsibilities that came with caring for a newborn.  Those things weighed far more than any physical pounds.  Those feelings were fresh as I held Benjamin and hugged his sleepy mama.

As time passes, I know it will be harder to remember that season of motherhood.  All the details – diapering, sleepless nights, decisions about feeding, stages of development – will slip further from my current experience.  Maybe I’ll have memories, but the feelings will fade.  So now, while I’m still close, while I’m still just around the corner from those challenges, I want to offer my hand to those who need it. 

Lately, I’m learning that the people around me don’t need my advice.  They need someone to hold their weight for a little while.  To listen, to care, to pray.

Not very long ago, I was thirty-something and single.  I was grateful for my life, but I also had days and nights when I ached with the pain of being alone.  I remember that weight.  May I carry yours for a little while?

Before God brought me some healing, I had years where I couldn’t get out of bed in the morning.  I didn’t want people to ask how I was doing because I’d have to lie or start crying.  I remember that weight.  May I carry yours for a little while?

Five years ago, I had to learn how to eat differently to heal my body.  My favorite meals were suddenly off-limits.  I lost weight just because I didn’t know what was okay and what wasn’t.  I grieved saying goodbye to cheese and not eating at social events.  I remember that weight.  May I carry yours for a little while?

I recently moved to a new city, got married, had a new job for awhile, then had a baby and now stay at home.  It was a lot of transition in a short period of time.  All the changes were exciting, but again, it was a lot.  I remember that weight.  May I carry yours for a little while?

I don’t have all the answers, but I’m not afraid of what you’re holding.  Our stories are different, but I came out on the other side.  I did!  I can still hardly believe it…. because not too long ago, I was carrying that weight.  I’m carrying some other heavy things right now.  Perhaps, you’ve gone through before me.  Maybe you know what this particular weight feels like.  Could you help me too?