Between a Rock and an Ocean

Between a Rock and an Ocean

I love the ocean; not so much being in the water because I cannot see my feet and that creeps me out, but I love watching the ocean. The ocean has a rhythm about it that I find incredibly peaceful. For all of its power and vastness it is not without limits or containment, and maybe that is why I love it so. For all of its steadiness and potential uncertainty, there is a greater force that holds it together, that keeps it in control, that’s power and vastness is unimaginably greater than the ocean’s reflection of it.

Our family has been in an ocean season; not the nice watching the ocean season, but the exhausting season of trying to stay afloat in the water season. Wave after wave of illnesses, challenging circumstances, and trying relationships have left me feeling worn out, soaking wet and water logged. My eyes have felt the sting of salty tears as I rock my little one to an elusive sleep. His little body rocked by a ragged, painful cough as drainage chokes his airways and causes him to vomit. His cries hoarse and broken, as though shards of glass line his throat. I have clinched my fists in anger as exhaustion weighs heavy in my bones, the air in my home hangs thick and stale, and my own immune system wages a losing battle. I have raged at God; a God who is supposed to love my kid more than I do, who could heal him, us, and yet has not. A God who has moved me from the home, community, and city that I so loved to a new and lonely place. Cognitively, I am fully aware that there are those around us whose loss, illness, and stormy circumstances greatly exceed our own and I should be thankful rather than filled with complaint. Emotionally, I am just desperate for a break in the waves. If I could just catch my breath. If I could just sleep…If I could just…

In the fourth chapter of Mark, Jesus opens by sharing the parable of the sower and then explaining it further on in the chapter to His disciples. He explains that the seed sown on rocky soil is like the one who receives the Word with great joy, but “they have no root in themselves, but endure for a while, then, when tribulation, or persecution arises on account of the word, immediately they fall away. (v17)” Jesus goes on to share other parables before closing out His day of ministry. His disciples take Jesus into a boat, “just as he was” and head to the other side of the lake. While Jesus is asleep, a storm arises that threatens to sink their boat. The disciples awake Him and ask Him if He even cares that they are about to die. Jesus gets up, calms the stormy seas with a word from His mouth, and then turns to His disciples in a loving rebuke: “Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?”

The disciples just had a rocky soil moment that gives me a lot of hope for my own faith. They were not sure of who Jesus was entirely, nor did they know who they were in Him and to Him entirely, and in the face of stormy waves they had no root of faith to ground them. They took Jesus into the boat with them “just as He was” but when He did not operate or act as they felt He should, they questioned His character, power and loving care for Him. They only allowed Him to be who He was to the extent that He lived up to their expectations.

If I am to let Jesus into my life “just as He is” then I have to let Him be God as He sees fit. I have to plunge my roots deep down into the fertile truth of His word. I have to trust His character and care for me even when He does not operate in the ways I want Him to or feel He should. I have to trust that He knows how to be God far better than I ever could, because He sees the end from the beginning and holds all things together. I have to trust that His priorities, His goals for my life, for the lives of my loved ones, are far better than my own; when they do not align, I have to be quick to submit mine under His. I have to trust that, while He does not cause the storms in my life, neither does He waste them from accomplishing Kingdom goals in my heart.

May we bring all of the raw honesty and emotion before His throne of grace this week, and then let Him be God.


Monster Mom & the Toddler Tantrum

Monster Mom & the Toddler Tantrum

It turns out that one crazy week really became a near month of crazy in our house. Fire ants, a wasp sting, a couple teeth popping through, some blow out diapers, epic tantrums and some episodic vomiting culminated into an all-out hunger strike this past week that nearly landed us in the hospital for hydration. To top it all off, my son said his first curse word.  [You can judge, but it was a multi-word phrase used in proper context with expression so I am going to file it away as impressive and watch my own vocabulary from here on out.]

I will admit that the toddler has not been the only one throwing a tantrum or two lately. I am sure that I have snapped a few times recently. Not many people know this, but I am the reason they coined the term “hangry.” When hangry meets tired meets “that time of the month” the atmosphere changes around our home. Dark clouds gather as an eerie silence strengthens the level of tension. You know, like those moments in a suspenseful movie where you know something is about to jump out at you so you mute the TV as though that is going to help you not pee yourself a little? Anyone? Anyways, this is the scene my husband would describe if he thought I would not kill him for it, but he is much too smart for that.

I hit a new low though this morning. The impromptu nursing session from 1-1:30am was greeted with a little grace because my naïve momma heart believed I would at least get to sleep in until around 8am. I must have let my guard down as I walked into his nursery. As though he sensed my excitement over an extra three hours of sleep (yes, you read that right), he made sure we did not waste a perfectly decent Saturday morning sleeping. 4:40am came with one bright eyed, bushy tailed, and hangry offspring.

That is right. Four freaking forty in the morning.

Somewhere around 7am, after his second breakfast and right before I put his little butt down for a “nap”, I lost it right along with him. He was making that whining/crying/screaming noise, mildly resembling a wounded goat, while pulling back and forth at the baby gate (poor guy did not realize the presence of that gate was largely contributing to his survival in that moment); his ears deaf to words like “No”, “Stop”, and “Hush”.  The smart aleck that resides in my brain decided to pop in with a poorly timed “He is so your son” right before I blew.

Samuel Grey! There are other people in this home! You are NOT the only person in this home with NEEDS, son! CUT IT OUT NOW!

A nanosecond of stunned silence was quickly filled with a louder goat-met-a-beagle-and-had-a-baby noise. I turned to him, a minefield of blueberries and half eaten bites of pancake that had been thrown like confetti at second breakfast and a baby gate between us, and beheld my little monster. Curly blond hair askew, blue eyes puffy and filled with crocodile tears, belly poking out from behind his stained monkey pajama top, and tiny fingers curled tightly around the rails of the baby gate. I think this is the part where all of my frustration was supposed to dissipate, but it did not…that happened after a nap and another snack. This is the part where his sheer adorableness kept the dreaded “monster mom” at bay…saved by monkey pajamas and chubby cheeks.

Motherhood is ruining me in the most frustrating, sanctifying and beautiful of ways. I want to meet my toddler in moments like this morning and dig my heels in because I am tired, I am hungry, and I no longer have the luxury of peeing in private anymore. Rather than modeling healthy self-care, communicating boundaries, and acting in selfless love, I join him right on that low road of emotive explosion and prideful persistence.

I confess this in an altogether TMI post because it is far too easy for me to compare my own behind the scenes bloopers to the highlight reels of other mothers.  In moments like this morning, when I have shown off all of my ugly bits, it is easy to be swept away in a current of shame and believe lies about who I am as a human, woman, wife and mother. Perhaps I am not alone. I do not write this to say we should glory in our tantrums, but I do believe moments like this morning can serve us as we try to raise our kiddos after God’s heart.

Sam needs to know that it is okay to have behind the scenes moments. He needs to see the genuine nature of what it means to follow Christ, ugly bits included. He needs to see why we need the Gospel and how the Gospel is changing us and the ways we interact in our relationships. He needs to hear from a mommy well-acquainted with an authentic apology so that he will be equipped when the time comes for him to extend one. He needs to learn how to live in community, serve the needs of others in all humility and joy, all while maintaining healthy boundaries that promote altruistic love and compassion.

Our children do not need a perfect mother. Our spouses, friends, families and communities do not need us to be perfect; they need to see the presence of Jesus in the midst of our imperfection.


Toddler Life: Jekyll & Hyde

Toddler Life: Jekyll & Hyde

It has been quite the eventful week in our household, so thank you for bearing with me as we pause from our time in Exodus for some real life processing. Admittedly, I am not sure if I am ready to hang with eleven toddlers today, but I have about 3 hours to prepare myself.

My own toddler has kept me on my toes this past week and the weekend was no exception. Terrible teething and recovering from fire ant bites and a wasp sting had my sweet, laid back boy acting more like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

On one hand, his melodrama has been quite hysterical. You feel like a terrible person for laughing at him, but when he throws himself against the furniture or eases himself down to the floor before collapsing in crocodile tears, pausing to ensure he is being observed, you realize he is not just riding the struggle bus, he is driving it. It is a week where you attempt to keep the routine, enforce the healthy diet, the proper use of a plate, and God forbid normal hand washing, but eventually surrender to the demand of veggie straws for dinner. A week where you have walked through enough moments of intense fear that you hardly want to put the rascal down or let him out of your sight, while simultaneously wanting to beg for a break from the tantrums.

I read a meme once that addressed the double standard we can adopt towards our own children. We are allowed to have bad days, cope in maladaptive but justifiable ways for a moment, or throw a validated tantrum in the midst of pain or injustice, but they are not. It was much shorter and catchier than that, but that was my take home point. I mulled it over a bit but pulled it from the recesses of my brain this week to really chew on it. After all, if it is on a meme it must be true right?

The truth of the matter is that my fourteen-month old son has handled this week much better than I have even with his dichotomous behavior. He has continued to carry joy, extend grace, and walk in empathy even in the midst of great physical pain and discomfort. Even when he has chosen to lash out it has been in great frustration over an inability to communicate his needs adequately. When seen as an isolated incident of poor behavior, it is incredibly easy to respond quite firmly. When viewed in the context of his week though, compassion and grace permeate discipline with greater ease, tempering frustrated firmness with love.

I can imagine the lessons I am learning as a mother are only a tiny taste of how God parents us as perfect Father. I believe that God sees us in the entire context of our lives, and therefore disciplines us with great grace and compassion rather than with the harshness we deserve. Our circumstances will never justify our actions or dismiss our need for appropriate discipline, but they can provide a context for understanding the root of our behaviors. Perhaps good parenting, the kind that reflects the heart of Father God for His people onto our own children, goes beyond behavior modification and delves into the rooted issues of the heart. Perhaps that is why the first four of the ten commandments concentrate on internal attitudes of the heart: who we worship, trust, and honor. Perhaps that is why Jesus, when He teaches the law with great authority in the New Testament, turns the religious order upside down by addressing the heart rather than modifying the behavior.

If this is true and it is easier for me to extend grace and patience to my little nugget of drama when he is having a moment because I know what he is walking through, than I must accept the grace of God for myself in moments of my own struggle. The double standard of perfectionism must continue to be chipped away.  If I am to parent, or even to walk, in authentic compassion then I must become well acquainted with it personally as well.

Tremendously more easily said than done, yet true nonetheless…especially on a Monday.


Preschool 101

Preschool 101

This past August I started a part time job teaching rising two year old class at a local preschool. The idea was to provide our ever social butterfly of a son a chance to get back into a day school and help us plant roots deeper into our new community. In theory, it was brilliant. In practice…well, I did not think so much about the two year old students part. For some of you who know me well, you are already laughing at the mental picture that just popped in your head. That is fair. I laugh, too… and cry sometimes.

Here is what I have learned about two year olds; or more accurately what I have learned about myself these past two weeks:

They are fast. No really. Blink and they are on tables, eating dirt, or pulling each other’s ears as they say, “Ears! Ears!” with such pride over their anatomical knowledge. Blink and somehow the cabinets have been given a facelift with a red crayon and the crayon and suspect are nowhere to be found. Blink and a child will be hiding in a box with three old cell phones calling, “Mama! Mama! Mama!” as though it is the new 9-1-1.

They are intuitive. Smart does not cover it. They know things. These children can spot BS a mile away and they let you know they know you are in way over your head. It is something in their eyes. You know they have got you pegged, so you better be finding something more intriguing or up your mom-look game if you want their cooperation. Try keeping a straight face as they mimic whatever words or phrases you say with all of the seriousness in the world, their young tongues still trying to differentiate B’s, T’s, L’s and W’s, and pray you do not let a curse word slip.

They express empathy in the purest of ways. Imagine leaving a world in which you are aware friends exist but you never engage with them, to finding that you can interact with them and they with you. The conflict! The drama! The empathy, though! They are learning what it is to exist in community without the massive weight of insecurity or fear of man. They are learning how to share, how to be gentle, and how to express kindness in ways that their friends receive kindness. Yet the empathy that they carry and communicate towards one another is beautiful. They offer their most prized loveys to a friend in distress. They come up and say, “Hug” as though it is a question they have already answered for you. They are beginning to recognize that their actions have consequences on their communities and in their relationships; that they can identify with their friends’ emotions and meet them on common ground to either encourage, rejoice, or mourn together.

They care. You want the truth? Ask a two year old; brutal honesty always. That empathy piece exists, but false compassion does not. They care about you too much to lie to you. Most of them have yet to deal with long term insecurity, and so they do not feel the need to alter the truth to stroke your ego. Fear of man? Psh! Maybe creepy people, sure, but not the weighty fear of man that makes us question our worth, our identity, our calling and gifts. Nine times out of ten you are going to get raw honesty from these little humans who do not miss a beat and are not satisfied with the counterfeit, so if you do not want to know how your new hair cut really looks, ask an adult.

I am amazed I am not in the fetal position by the end of most school days. It is not because I have terrible students, that could never be further from the truth. I am amazed because every encounter with them opens up my eyes to the Kingdom, both to its beauty and to my desperate need of it. When Jesus refers to childlike faith, and children entering the kingdom, it goes far beyond accepting truth without question. Children do not do that; they question all the time! They do not pretend to know what they do not know, and they are unsatisfied to let you pretend either. For someone who spent most of her career and personal life pretending to be confident, the challenge these children extend to me each week has been excruciating in the healthiest of ways.

Somewhere along the way I adopted this belief that I am only worth what I can offer, so I better have it all together. I have been aware of this false belief for years, even acknowledging how detrimental it is, but I have never been able to uproot it entirely.  I have fed my insecurities rather than my curiosities because I have allowed the fear of man to creep into my heart and mind. I have moved from a place of freely observing the world around me for what it is and who I am within it, to observing myself through the lenses of comparison, pressure and expectation. Somewhere along the way that gift of genuine empathy has been twisted into false compassion, because I am more concerned with being seen than with seeing another soul, joining them in that moment, and extending to them that which is life-giving. I have existed within the framework of a double standard for as long as I can remember; saying as honestly as possible to others, “It is okay to not be okay, but it is not okay to stay that way!” “It’s okay to be human! To not have it all together!” while staunchly refusing to extend myself the same courtesy. The problem with that is compassion must be extended towards myself and then overflow to others if it is to be genuine. If in my interactions with others there is to be only mercy with no hint of judgement, the standard must be true for me as it is for them. The Gospel must be all sufficient for me as it is for them. Otherwise there will be a hint of unsafety, judgment, or insecurity in my every interaction.

I am not sure about you, but I want to be a safe person for others. I want my home to be a safe place, where scruffy hospitality is genuinely practiced and not just nicely preached. I want my children, my students, my friends, my family to experience genuine mercy, empathy, and love overflowing from the mercy, love and compassion I have received from God Himself.

Because you cannot give what you do not have. Because you cannot BS your way through preschool. Because you, at whatever age you are, will always be a child of the King.


Exodus 14: Fear & Forward Movement

Exodus 14: Fear & Forward Movement

We turned down a long driveway lined with gorgeous old trees hanging overhead. In front of us was a beautiful farmhouse with large windows facing the horizon. A large tree stood, firmly rooted in the front yard with a porch swing dangling from a thick branch, facing where the sun would set. I sat in the front seat, a tightly wound ball of anxiety, having pathetically attempted to explain to my husband how lost and irrational I felt at every level of my life on the drive over. Our new friends greeted us at the front door along with their old golden retriever. His kind face was white with age and he walked with an arthritic limp; everything within me fought the urge to bury my face in the safety of his soft fur and sob. Throughout our time exploring their farm, meeting horses and cows, and eating a tasty dinner, I felt as though an elephant was sitting on my chest, squeezing my heart so tight I could hardly breathe. Fear, over nothing in particular, consumed me and I could not relax. In one of the most peaceful and idyllic of places, I felt tense and absent. We said goodnight and loaded an exhausted toddler into the car. As I drove home, I burst into a flood of tears as I confessed my fear and anxiety to my poor husband; the weight of the elephant slowly becoming lighter and lighter.

God talks a lot about fear in the Bible. I have heard He mentions something to the effect of “Do not fear” around 366 times in the entire Bible, one for every day of the year on a leap year, but I have not fact checked it. I just know He talks about fear and anxiety often because I struggle often with fear and anxiety. Perhaps one of my favorite passages of Scripture on fear is Exodus 14, because rather than simply hearing, “Fear not!” we actually witness the behind-the-scenes events that lead a nation from paralyzing fear to forward movement toward the promise of God.

Exodus 14 opens with God commanding Moses to turn back and camp in front of the Red Sea. This is interesting because He goes on to explain to Moses that Pharaoh is going to come after Israel, regretting his decision to set them free, but that God will get the glory so that Egypt will know He is God. Moses and the people of Israel obey God’s command to camp in front of the Red Sea, but Scripture is not clear as to whether Moses relayed all of the details of his conversation with God to the people. In other words, we do not know if they realized that God intentionally placed them between the sea and their enemy. However, Israel’s lack of awareness did not change God’s sovereignty in their circumstances.

As Pharaoh and his army draw near, Israel freaks out. Remember the nation that came out of Egypt equipped for battle but not ready for war? Remember why God took them the long way around, because He knew if they encountered war they would want to go back to Egypt? He knew they would want to return to Egypt and He was exactly right. Fear will always want us to go in the opposite direction of our calling. Israel knew the promised land was on the other side of the Red Sea, but they were stuck between Egypt and the sea. Israel forgot the reality of the harsh bondage they experienced in Egypt and glorified the familiar in their fear. Fear will always glorify the familiar while glossing over the miserable parts. Fear will always cause you to focus on what you know and see, forgetting the God who knows and sees ALL things.

Moses redirects the people’s vision by speaking truth they so desperately needed to hear in their moment of panic. He reminds them that God did not bring them into the wilderness, on the brink of the promise, to leave them hanging:

Fear not, stand firm and see the salvation of the LORD which He will work for you today. For the Egyptians whom you see today, you shall never see again. The LORD will fight for you, and you have only to be silent. {Exodus 14:13-14 ESV}

God also responds to Israel’s fear, “Why do you cry to me? Tell the people of Israel to go forward.”

God was moving mightily on Israel’s behalf but required Israel to move on their behalf as well. He was not going to rescue them by an offensive attack on Egypt because Israel’s rescue was woven into their forward movement. Fear calls us back to the familiar. Faith calls us forward towards the promises of God. God makes a way where there was no way as He splits the Red Sea. He knew that Israel would be tempted to move backwards, so He calls them forward.

Israel’s forward movement was only possible with God, as it meant complete trust on God’s ability to rescue and provide for them. Forward movement meant that God, not Israel, would get the glory. God promised to fight for Israel with threefold purpose: to glorify Himself in Egypt, to glorify Himself in Israel, and to glorify Himself in the world so that all nations may know Him. God understood what Israel would soon learn: that where He is glorified therein lies their best interest.

Thus the LORD saved Israel that day from the hand of the Egyptians…Israel saw the great power that the LORD used against the Egyptians, so the people feared the LORD, and they believed in the LORD and in his servant Moses. {Exodus 14:30-31 ESV}

It was and always is the Lord who saves. The Lord conquered Israel’s greatest national fear; completely freeing them from the threat of Egypt. As He continued to reveal Himself to Israel, their misplaced fear became appropriately placed faith. Israel could walk forward into the promises of God with faith and confidence that God would make a way before them because of His rescue, might and grace towards them in the past.       

We can fear not, stand firm, and watch God work out His salvation in our lives as we move forward towards the promises He has given us. We can trust that God will continue to make a way where there does not seem to be one because of His past performance, His unchanging character and His love for us. We can rest in the sovereignty of God even when our circumstances do not feel peaceful, familiar, or comfortable, because our best interest will always rest in His glorification. We can, as Moses did for Israel, encourage one another in the midst of anxiety to fix our focus on Jesus and move forward into the calling He has placed on our lives.


Exodus 13: Process in the Promise

Exodus 13: Process in the Promise

As I sat down to write this afternoon, my entire being felt like a chaotic jumble of Christmas tree lights.  Let me explain for those who are incredibly organized: there are some of us who, no matter how neatly we wound last year’s Christmas tree lights before putting them into storage, will open boxes this holiday season and find mysterious squirrels have somehow made nests of our strings of lights. Our hot chocolate will grow cold as we wrestle to unwind them, and midway through the fiasco we may just chunk them over the fence into the neighbor’s yard and go buy new ones. What began full of Christmas cheer or spousal bribery to feign happiness will end in us all deserving coal come the 25th of December.

I can imagine that this feeling of chaos, unsettledness, and a mixture of excitement and nervousness is universal just as the desire to feel settled and centered within ourselves is also universal. I can imagine that on the night of Israel’s emancipation there was an atmosphere of chaos as an entire nation plundered and fled in mass exodus. It is within this place of great transition that God enters in with a command for Israel.

Exodus 13 begins with God’s call for Israel to consecrate every firstborn child and animal to the Lord: to acknowledge, set aside, and redeem whatever was first to open every womb in Israel as rightfully belonging to God. As a mother, the reminder that my little one belongs to the Lord every day of his life is inspiration to pray diligently, trust God fervently, and steward my child’s heart well. God and I argue often with one another over who loves Samuel more, and God wins every time. The most challenging aspect of parenting for me is also the most beautiful: parenting with open hands.

God continues to remind Israel to tell their children of how the Lord had redeemed them. He rescued them “with [or by] a mighty hand” and he tells them so four times within this chapter. God wanted to be clear that Israel’s rescue was not haphazard or insufficient, but that He had rescued them with strength, sufficiency, and might. God establishes the Feast of Unleavened Bread so that Israel could remember and teach future generations of their liberation from Egypt. It was crucial for Israel to remember who God was and what God had done so mightily for them so that they could trust God’s capability and faithfulness in the future. God wanted the future generation of Israel to know that the same God who delivered them from Egypt would bring them into Canaan with the same powerful hand.

Maybe I am alone in this, but I so often want God to act immediately. I want the fulfillment of the promises immediately. I want the healing or provision of God immediately. I want the answer or wisdom immediately. I wrestle with impatience, which is probably why imaginary squirrels make nests in my Christmas lights each year (stupid sanctifying rodents….). While God does act and operate in the immediate at times, He most often acts in the process. God loves process. He is all about the process, the way of bringing something about rather than the thing itself. This is true in my own life, but also in Israel’s story. Israel was given a promise of God – that He would deliver them and bring them into the promised land – but there was a process in delivering Israel and now a process in bringing them into the promised land.

In verses 17-22 Moses explains how God led them the long way “of the wilderness toward the Red Sea” rather than sending them the direct route through the land of the Philistines. God does not leave Moses hanging in suspense as to His reasoning; Israel was not ready for the inevitable war that would come should they walk through the Philistine’s backyard. Interestingly enough, Scripture tells us that Israel came out from Egypt “equipped for battle” and yet God knew they were not ready for war.

God knew His people then and He knows us now. He knows how prone we are to want to fight battles in our own strength, only to find we are ill-equipped for war. God wanted to distance Israel from Egypt holistically as He drew them closer to Him in the wilderness. He would spend decades preparing Israel for war by teaching them to trust and rely on Him consistently for their victory and provision.

Sometimes the fulfillment of the promise of God in our lives is immediate, but most of the time there is process within the promise. God is a God of promise, but He is also a God of process. The wilderness seasons of our lives are not pointless, nor are they punishment. The wilderness was Israel’s training ground for war. The wilderness was vital for Israel’s freedom and for the fulfillment of the promise of God to bring them home.

Perhaps you are emerging from Egypt, you feel pumped and equipped for battle, but God’s about to take you into a wilderness season to really prepare you to take hold of the promises He has given you. Do not waste your wilderness.

Perhaps you are in the wilderness and feeling lost and listless; frustrated by what seems to be the delayed fulfillment of God’s promises to you. Be honest with God about your feelings and frustrations. Do not look back towards Egypt. Believe that there is purpose in the process that brings you into the promise.

Perhaps you are seeing the fulfillment of the promises God has given you; your harvest is rich from the fruit of your wilderness season. Speak that life-giving encouragement to those around you who are emerging from Egypt or wrestling in the wilderness; pour it out like water on to dry, desperate ground.

In every season may we remember the God who leads us with a strong hand into the place of freedom, into the place of promise.


Exodus 12: A Lowcountry Grief

Exodus 12: A Lowcountry Grief

The rain transformed into steam that rose from the sidewalk as quickly as it fell from the sky. The grey moss clung to the low hanging branches of historic trees that seemed weary from fighting gravity. The distinct smell of marsh, salt air and body odor hung faintly in the air; a reminder that no amount of deodorant could save you in such oppressive heat.  The low country is beautiful in the most enthralling and nostalgic of ways, but today the humid air was thick with bittersweet memories.

We gathered in the old Presbyterian church (I say “old” because it has been there for as long as I can remember) like sweaty sardines packed in a tin. I briefly wondered, as I always do on summer days in the South, why I bothered to wear makeup or straighten my hair. As I surveyed the sanctuary, I quickly realized I was not the only woman mentally asking herself those questions. The melody of “Amazing Grace” flowed from the pianist’s fingers as the familiar words rolled off my tongue. We gathered to remember, to celebrate, and to grieve my uncle, now a witness to the fulfillment of our hope in the Gospel.

There are things I think I will never understand this side of eternity. Diseases like ALS and cancer, which have stolen beloved family, or cases of horrific injustice and trauma that have intersected with my story serve as some examples. Words and stories I read in Scripture that make me question the love, justice, and grace of God exist for me as well. Some folks are comfortable with allowing unanswered questions to hang in the air, others feel the need to fill the space of uncertainty with some rationale or platitude. I fear I fall often into the latter category, becoming the very individual that irritates the snot out of me. When I read chapters such as Exodus 11-12, in which Moses details how God hardened Pharaoh’s heart and wiped out one nation’s entire generation of firstborn children and livestock, I struggle with liking God. I want to know why He hardened Pharaoh’s heart, so that even if he wanted to change his mind towards Israel and grant them freedom, he was rendered incapable. I want to know why Pharaoh’s son and every firstborn in Egypt had to suffer for Pharaoh’s stubborn refusal to set Israel free. These are unsettled questions that have hypothesized answers and yet they hang in the air of uncertainty. The older I grow, the more comfortable I am with unanswered questions and the bolder I become in expressing them, but I still think they are for the birds.

My kind husband humored my persistent questions on this passage this afternoon. He sacrificed his hope of a quiet lunch as I interviewed him, curious to know his thoughts. “God gave Israel an out that He did not give Himself,” he said midway through our conversation. “He passed over the homes with blood on the door posts, but He did not pass over His Son.” God experienced what every parent who lost their firstborn the night of the Passover experienced; and while I do not understand the fullness of His ways, I cannot allow the uncertainty to negate what I know to be true. That in moments of inexpressible grief, tremendous loss, and deep sorrow there exists a God who can identify with our emotions and experiences because He has not spared Himself from them. That we can gather to mourn the loss of a life well-lived and yet simultaneously rejoice in the reality that he is whole, complete, and more fully alive than ever before because God did not pass over Himself.

The beauty of the Gospel is rich and complex; extending into our deepest places of grief in the truest form of empathy. While we wait with expectation and hope for the day when our limited minds can comprehend the divine, we can rest in the uncertainty with a God who has experienced every weight and emotion we carry. We can grieve with the raw honesty that dwells deep in our bones and know that we are fully seen, wholly loved, and held by a God who gave His Son to restore for us all that is broken.