Easter represents both sorrow and joy. For Christ followers, it is a holiday set aside to recall both the death and the resurrection. Utter despair. Complete grace. Renewed hope. Easter weekend two years ago was when Katie's cancer relapsed suddenly and fiercely. After hearing the doctors in Charleston say there was nothing else they could do, we arranged to have her flown to Cincinnati in hopes of a miracle. April 19th, 2017. I recall those days with such detail. I remember the despair . . . the grace . . . and the hope once we arrived in Cincinnati. As I reflected on this at the Good Friday service, I thought about how so many of our songs bring the death of Jesus to a personal level. The blood of Jesus shed for me. Jesus loves even me. That my king would die for me. We stress the idea that Jesus died as a sacrifice for me and my sin so that the gospel goes from being an event that happened in history to an act that directly affects me. This is what makes my relationship with God the Father and the Son a lot less churchy and a lot more personal. And it should - because this is the difference between believing in Jesus' existence and believing in him for salvation. Sometime ago, however, I was struck by a different thought as I sat during communion. Communion is a chance to slow down and reflect on the gift of Jesus on the cross. We are often encouraged to take a few minutes to think of our own lives and faults and need for rescue, and to then feel the indebtedness we have to Jesus for providing that rescue. I appreciate this opportunity to do just that, as I express my gratitude that Jesus Christ died for me. However, one particular day, as I sat holding the bread and cup of communion, I was overcome by a deep awareness that Jesus died for Katie. He died to give Katie life. I don't think I had ever appreciated the death of Christ for another person the way I did that day. As grateful as I am for Jesus' love for me, I am just as grateful for his love for my kids. My daughter dances before the throne of God the Father today because of the sacrifice of Jesus the Son. Were it not for that, my days would be housed in despair without any window for hope. One of things I have heard my mom frequently say is this: "You can't take anything to Heaven with you - except your kids." All of your accumulated stuff, the things you can't live without, the junk you work so hard to buy . . . all of it will stay in this broken world. The only thing that you can put your hand on in this life that you will possibly touch again in the next life is people. You can take your children with you to eternity. In this life, you can help them with their science fair project, cheer them on in every game, take way too many prom pictures, and pay for them to get the best college education. But it is the modeling, teaching, loving, instructing, guiding, and pointing them to the cross that enables you to hold your child's hand in this world and again in the next. Easter is painful for me. Yet I am grateful for the cross. I have some understanding of the despair. I have experienced the grace. I stand in worship only because of the hope. Only because of Jesus. God loves Katie so much that he sent his only Son and, because she believes in Him,
she will not experience eternal death; rather, she will have eternal life. John 3:16
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We took a vacation last week with our kids and it was unlike anything we had ever done before. We had never taken a spring break trip, never been on a cruise, never seen the water of the Caribbean, and never sat in an airport with 4 kids for 7 1/2 hours. We planned a trip that was fun and exciting and different than any other vacation we had previously taken. We wanted it to be different. We needed it to be different.
It was our first trip as the Cobb 7 without seven. There were only six of us this time. We laughed and played and swam and ate and explored and putt putt-ed and danced and washed all that down with a little (a lot?) of ice cream by the pool. And we took pictures of all of it. Our first pictures without Katie. It had to be done. I knew it did. I had established that as one of my goals for this year: to take a family picture again. Such a simple thing ("Hey, you guys stand over there together and I'll take your picture!") yet I had avoided it entirely. But I knew that would be part of stepping forward through this convoluted journey of grief. April 10th marked 18 months without Katie. As I sat with God on this morning, we discussed one of my favorite passages in Isaiah 43. Forget the former things: do not dwell in 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 (verses 18-19). God is not telling me in this verse to forget about what happened in the past or to let go of memories. He is very clear in numerous other places that we are to remember our history, our times of joy and sadness, and his faithfulness in those. I think we can understand his intention better when we read the phrase: do not dwell in the past. Do not dwell on what used to be or what could have been. Do not live in the past in a way that hinders your ability to live in the present or to look ahead to the future. He says, I am doing a new thing . . . making a way in the desert. The beautiful part of knowing a God who loves redemption is that he can take what feels like a desert and what looks like a wasteland to me and he can create a path of hope through it. The desert does not just go away. The feeling of a parched tongue . . . a sorrowful heart . . . an empty spot in the picture . . . does not just go away. But right through the middle of it all, there is a way forward. As I read this morning, I heard God saying to me . . . Remember. Always remember. But don't dwell in the past. Look. See. I am still doing new things in your life. I know this feels like a desert. A wasteland. It may always feel like that a little bit - or a lot. But I am making a way through it for you. A path. A stream. I give hope. Hope that there is something more on the other side of the desert. So, fear not, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you. When you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned. For I am the Lord, your God. You are precious and honored in my sight. And I love you (Isaiah 43:1-4). |
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