Articles & Posts
What are you thinking?
The other night I was lying on the floor with worship music playing. But I wasn’t lying on the floor worshipping. I was wondering. The day had not been a great one. I was exhausted from travel and too many conversations and I thought the answer to my physical and emotional state would be found in pizza and chocolate ice cream. I chose to spend the entire day in old patterns of living that have never proven helpful but harmful. Lying on the floor, listening to the music, I began to ask God, “Do you really love me now? Here? How can you possibly love me in this low place?” But I knew he did. Jesus died on the cross for all of my sins even the ones I have committed over and over and over again. There was a battle going on for my freedom all that day as well as those critical moments on the floor; a spiritual battle. And it was raging where it almost always rages – over what I would choose to believe. In Waking the Dead, my husband John wrote, “You won't understand your life, you won't see clearly what has happened to you or how to live forward from here, unless you see it as battle. A war against your heart.” Jesus has won our freedom in a heavenly, spiritual showdown with Satan. But our enemy, the devil, still refuses to go down without a fight. He knows he cannot take down Jesus, the Victorious One. But he can still wound his heart by wounding ours. Jesus has won our freedom. But we need to receive it, claim it and stand in it. That is our good fight of faith. Believing God is who he says he is and believing we are who he says we are in the face of damning evidence surrounding us that screams the opposite. In order for us to live in freedom and become the woman we are to become, we need to receive God’s love even in our lowest places. You know that spiritual warfare is designed to separate us from the love of God. Its goal is to keep us from living in the freedom that Jesus has purchased for us. And just like worship, the focus of spiritual warfare is the Truth. Satan whispers to us when we have failed or sinned or are feeling horrid that we are nothing and no one. He is a liar. And our fight for our freedom involves exposing him for who he is even when the lies feel completely true. The battle is waged and won in our thought life. What do you think about God? What do you think about yourself? Who are you? What do you think life is about? What do you think is true? Because what we think about ourselves, God, others or a circumstance informs how we perceive it which informs the way we experience it. Our thoughts play out in our lives. What we think is true, plays out in our day to day, moment by moment existence. What are you thinking? And if you are in this moment, like I was that evening, basing your thoughts on your feelings and experiences rather than the Word of God…then, darlin’, stop it. Let’s fight our good fight of faith and bring our thoughts into alignment with what God says is true! “Surely you desire truth in my inmost being.” Ps 51:6 “For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, 14 in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.” Col 1:13,14 “And having disarmed the powers and authorities, (Spiritual powers and spiritual authorities) he made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross.” Col 2:15 – 17 Romans 5:10 “For if when I was your enemy I was reconciled to You through the death of your son, how much more, having been reconciled shall I be saved through his life.” “But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved. And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus,” Eph 2: 4-6 Mtt: 28:18, “All authority in Heaven and Earth has been given to Me.” - Jesus Luke 10:19,20 “I have given you authority to trample on snakes and scorpions and to overcome all the power of the enemy; nothing will harm you. However, do not rejoice that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.” And Romans 8:37-39 ”But in all these things we overwhelmingly conquer through Him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” We are loved. We are held. We are seen. We are chosen. We are forgiven. We are HIS! Oh, let’s think on that!
Stasi Eldredge
Truth or Fear
September 11th today. I am remembering. Praying. Hoping. And blogging. Not about national security or fallen heroes or even the importance of remembering. In the midst of this important day, I’m writing again about believing. Thinking. Choosing the Truth. In my middle school years, before my father would leave on a business trip, he would often pull me aside and exhort me to “Only eat what Mom puts on your plate.” “Don’t eat seconds.” He said, “No boy will love you if you’re fat.” I thought my father was telling me that if I were fat, I would not be worth loving. That’s a message that runs deep in my bones and in the world. But I’ve realized that my father wasn’t saying that. He was saying that if I were fat, I would be dismissed well before being given the opportunity to be known and loved. My parents understood the skin-deep world we live in and that failing to reach my culture's criteria of beauty would cause me pain. All their efforts to have me look a certain way (small), participate in the “right” activities, and join the clubs they favored flowed from their fear. Fear that if I didn’t _________ or wasn’t __________, I would be rejected, unhappy and alone. Those are things that no parent wants for their child. And okay, they had a point. I recently found a poem I wrote when I was fifteen years old, perhaps while my father was on a business trip. Here she is: I wear a wig. My clothes never clash. I paint my nails. Oh gawd…I lost an eyelash. I use make-up. I wear a five-inch heel. I had a face-lift. Only my loneliness is real. Okay, so I’m not going to win any prizes, but still. I understood something then that we all know well now. We can try to squeeze ourselves into a more culturally acceptable shape, but when we are living out of fear, we are living a lie. We can try to “fit” but our souls cannot be masked. The truth of who we are does not conform to the one-size-fits-all images this world prescribes. A true heart, a joy-filled spirit, a soul at rest is born out of acceptance and love. There is no fear in love. But perfect love casts out fear…(1John 4:18) I’ve been repenting lately of believing the lie that my worth is tied to the number on the scale. The number creeps up and the lie from below creeps in. I’m breaking agreements with it AGAIN, agreements whose root is found in fear. Fear of rejection. When the fear of everything bad I don’t want to experience seeps in, I find myself under the relentless grip of soul spanx. But God is not a God of form fitting one-size-fits-all hearts. Nor is he a God of fear but of love. My parents loved me, but left unchecked, fear will have its way. It is not a good way. I don’t want to parent my children out of fear for them nor to live in it myself. Fear-based living doesn’t work. It doesn’t bring life! Never has, never will. Shaping my life into society’s values de jour does not bring approval, happiness or a deep sense of belonging. (Cue Miley Cyrus, Lindsay Lohan, or your high school prom queen.) My parents wanted to shield me from unnecessary suffering. I understand that. They wanted me to have a full and happy life. I thank them. I want my children to have a full and happy life—heck, I want one myself! But I am not going to have that, nor are my children, and neither are you, when the price to possess one includes handing over our dignity and value to the standards of a godless world. Fitting into a size four won’t do it. Being in the sisterhood of the Phi Beta Kappa Epsilon Delta Woohoos won’t either. What will? Living an honest life in vulnerable response to and pursuit of the Living God. Increasingly believing that what HE says about me is True. Growing in knowing Jesus and living in the truth of his infinite approval, grace and Love. And that truth…well, that truth fits everyone.
Stasi Eldredge
Why We are Urged to Remember
Today we remember the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001. Smoke billowing from the Trade Center towers; their sudden collapse; the Pentagon on fire; the wreckage in a Pennsylvania field. Remembering is a really central theme in scripture. “Only be careful, and watch yourselves closely so that you do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them slip from your heart as long as you live. Teach them to your children and to their children after them” (Deuteronomy 4:9). All those commands to write it on your foreheads, inscribe it on the door post, teach your children these things. And of course there is the Lord’s supper, in which we are urged to remember. Forgetfulness was viewed by saints before us as something very dangerous. It is vital we remember. But for what purpose? Why pause today and recall the nightmare of twelve years ago? There is something you must understand about human nature – we just want life to be good. Nearly all our energies, every day, are spent trying to make life good. But of course – we were made for Eden; we were made for life to be good. This part of our nature is completely understandable. The problem is this – we do not live in Eden; that is not the chapter of the story we are living in. We live in a world at war; we live in a larger story that is far more urgent and noble and startling than “making life good.” And this is the other part of human nature we must understand – we just don’t want to face all that. We want to find some way to numb ourselves out of the present reality and re-create some level of the pleasures of Eden. We just want life to be good. I was thinking about Aldous Huxley’s book Brave New World, a futuristic novel written in 1931. In that future world (which now looks more and more familiar) there is a drug called “soma” which is used to keep the people numbed to the realities around them. And the people crave it. They want to be numbed. This is that part of human nature we must be also aware of. How ironic that when I checked the BBC News website this morning, right next to the report on 9/11 was an ad – equal in size to the article – for Pottery Barn and some pillow sale. When I clicked on the article itself, a new ad appeared next to it, running down the entire right side of the page, selling retirement planning for those who want to be “comfortable.” Right next to the article on 9/11. Do you see it?! Soma. Numb me. I don’t want to face reality. I just want life to be good. And that is why we are commanded, hundreds and hundreds of times throughout the Bible, to remember. We must continually be re-awakened from our sleepwalking. A friend sent me an email last week. She’s teaching the high school Bible class at her local Christian school. She wanted permission to use excerpts from Waking the Dead because, as she put it, “I’m really trying to pound home the understanding that they are living in a ‘world at war’ and nothing will make sense until they get that!” You live in a world at war. Nothing will make sense until you get that. Not Syria, or Sandy Hook, or 9/11. Remembering brings us back to reality; breaks the spell of “I just want life to be good.” It invites us up into the story of God, invites us to take our role in a much greater purpose, to join him in his battle against evil and in bringing Jesus Christ – the only solution to this broken planet. Soon a day will come when life will be good. Till then, we must remember, or we’ll be numbed by forgetfulness and sedated by that baser part of our nature that just doesn’t want to face reality. Jesus said nothing about pillows and comfortable retirement. He launched the invasion of the Kingdom of God into a world held by darkness. He invites us to join him in living in that startling, dangerous and beautiful story. And so we remember.
John Eldredge
How are you?
So, I've noticed recently that I've been dodging the "How are you?" question. Usually that is easily done, as it is asked in passing. You know, like catching someone just as they are entering or exiting the bathroom: "How are you?" "Fine! Great! How are you?"...close door. It's a polite question sometimes simply asked as an addendum to "Hello." But sometimes people really mean it. Sometimes they are sincerely asking and want to know. You can recognize these people because of the way they remain standing in your presence, looking at you with interested anticipation, waiting for the answer. Generally, I like those times. I want to be known and I want to know others. So, why the recent dodging? Because I'm BUSY, that's why. Because stopping in the midst of my busy day and inserting the dip stick of "How am I?" into my heart causes me to stop my pace and find out how I am, and I don't have the time for that, thank you very much. I don't have the time for that because how I am is sad. Or worried. Or so out of touch with my own heart that I don't have a clue how I am. Stopping to think about How I Am requires me to feel How I Am, and I'm running from that. I don't have the time to cry. Or...I'm afraid to cry. If I start, how deep will the sobbing run? How long until I can stop? Oh. Recognizing my recent dodges and realizing what's underneath them has helped me understand and offer mercy to those who continually dodge my questions about their state of being. (They're terrible, that's how they are. Duh. Thanks for asking.) It has also afforded me the room to offer grace to myself. Let my heart out and up to breathe. Cry if I need to. Be honest with my God and with myself as to how I'm really feeling. And then, best of all, INVITE JESUS IN to all that I am feeling, believing, running from. So, I'm doing that. How am I? I'm kind of tender. I'm tired. Sad. But just on the other knife-edged breath of that, I have hope. God is a God of all hope. God is good. Good is coming. Always. I am loved and held and not alone and understood, and it's okay to cry. That's how I am. How are you?
Stasi Eldredge
An Ocean Held
Dear ones, I share the following for all those who are letting their children go further into their own lives. Into Kindergarten. Into the dorm. Into the next season of their lives. I share the following from my heart that doesn't quite yet know how to reconcile itself with the term "empty nest." This is a poem I wrote last year before our son Luke left for college. I know I wrote about change last week as well, and I have loved your responses. But this remains a deep and tender time for me and for so many...I speak from that place again. With hope. With love. For all of us that ache...for what we have had and have to let go of. For what we have longed for and never known. For the questions unanswered and the hearts that remain held, though tossed. Stasi we eat dinner every night at 6pm my sons take turns setting the table, clearing the table, washing the dishes, their duties. the first one left and adjustments had to be made. two years later the second one left and the plan fell apart. a shrinking table. a quieter one. one leaves next week. the last one. empty spaces at 6pm. i am a mother. i am an ocean of cherished moments held in the sea i am deep longings and memories and regrets and desires grasping to keep the waves from moving on. around me, all of life shifts and moves and changes, changes, changes. change the only steady. my sons. they grow. they grow well. they grow up. they grow away. my pantry is orderly my laundry is less my grocery cart light but my heart is full and heavy and confused. rejoicing in these fine young men entering their worlds—ready to create—engage—become—discover ready to leave their mother. my heart is an ocean of movement and life. recieving life and nourishing life. my heart breaks upon the distant shores that fleet away though i want them near, my heart breaks like waves against rocks, grasping to keep close that which i cannot the connection i see turns to spray in the air then disappears. invisible then. but still true. still true, right? i am a mother. fully. completely. it defines my heart, my soul, my spirit, my body, my dreams, my mind, my longings, my life. it is who i am. not merely what i do. an empty ocean then. an empty nest then. a quiet home then. housing this changing, changing mother. i am a mother to sons who in all goodness have moved away and into the next season of their lives. i bless them. i miss them. what is my life now? they were my center. my focus. first. last. in between. still are...but further away with less to offer, less to say. am i still an ocean? please help me, Jesus, to continue to be their mother—to mother them well—to continue to have the life you are leading me to live. to love. to offer. to walk forward into the expanding horizons washed washed washed by beckoning waves. i keep them as they go. i am theirs. they are mine. but differently now. space. respect. dignity. honor. love. laughter. less teaching. less instruction. less time. now i guide by how i live and love. in Jesus. Jesus, help me. Jesus in me, help me. Jesus. Jesus. live. in and through the change. i need you. this is too much. this feels like too much. this feels too hard. hard hard hard. yet softly i remain held. my heart is an ocean held. deeply i know this. i am held steady in the constant moving stream by You. my heart’s home. my unchanging irrefutable immovable definition. my truest center. even as i toss toss toss.
Stasi Eldredge
"Hellos" are Better
My youngest son and his girlfriend are making us dinner. In my kitchen. Right now! And I don’t have to do ANYTHING!!!! I’m not even going to set the table! Oh, okay, fine, I’ll offer to set the table. But that’s it! No salad to make or anything. I’m so happy. Plus it’s risotto they’re making, and I never ever make risotto because you have to stand there and stir it for like ever, and being a patient woman is not one of my strengths. I think eating risotto that someone else made may be one of my strengths, though. I’ll find out soon. So, there are benefits to having them get older. I’m trying to be positive here. My middle son moved away last week. My older son and his wife move across the country in a few days and my youngest, risotto-making son leaves a few days after them. If you hear wailing on the wind, that would be me. Last year was our first as “empty nesters.” I was kind of hoping that this second “leaving” would be less painful, but by the way my eyes keep filling with tears, I think I was wrong. I’m so glad that our God understands deeply the pain of partings. I am so grateful that he hates goodbyes as much as I do. But I am coming to know that goodbyes precede hellos. So, I will lean into my Father’s great heart where my heart is known, welcomed, loved and understood. He can be the pillow for my tears. And in his comfort, I will remember this sweet moment of having dinner made for me…and know…really, really know…that even more sweet moments are coming.
Stasi Eldredge
Joy
Sometimes it’s hard to put words to the deepest longings of our soul—this picture captures one of mine. I see intimacy, ecstasy...the absolute, total joy of my grandson, Jameson, surfing with his father, Jared. For Jameson there is no sin, no brokenness, no settling, or portioning, no holding back or muting of his desire. He is with his father, experiencing his father's love, sharing in his adventure, safe, alive, free and knowing the fullness of everything a two-year-old young boy can possibly experience. Jameson is in the presence of his father and his God. I so long for the same! You? “Joy is the infallible sign of the presence of God.” — Pierre Tielhard de Chardin
CM
Craig McConnell
Tell Them
I had the privilege yesterday to sit with a friend at the hospital in the “Surgery Waiting Room.” Okay, that is holy ground if ever there is any. The emotions in the place are thick. The memories for me in the place are rampant. Raw fear. Blind hope. Belief revealed. I stood apart as a doctor conferred with the family of a woman still in surgery. I couldn’t and didn’t try to hear what he was saying but I couldn’t miss the sound of agony in the young woman’s voice as she asked the doctor to “Tell her I love her!” The kind physician went back to continue the surgery after hugging the young woman and then she collapsed into the arms of the one next her, her sobs deep and unabated. Holy ground waiting rooms. Life. Death. Will it go well? Do we have more time? How bad is their health? What is happening? What will happen?? And the all-encompassing, soul-defining, most vital question rises from the depths – do they know I love them? When I lost a dear friend many years ago in an accident I wasn’t sure he knew that I loved him. The role he played in my life, in my husband’s life, and in our family was so huge that I think I took him for granted and didn’t ever tell him. I know he knows now that I did and do, but still…I want the people in my life to know. I don’t want them to wonder. I want to add to the strength of their hearts by voicing my love, voicing the goodness that I see and experience in their lives. I want to add to the strength of my own heart by being certain that I am conveying all the love that I possess; passing back to those dear to me that which is most valuable to me – my heart for them. One of my sons left this morning, driving to a new state, moving to a new season. Now I wait to hear of his safe arrival. I’m not holding my breath and pacing around the house drinking stale coffee, but my heart is attentive. I’m waiting. It is a long drive. There are many waiting rooms in this holy ground we all find ourselves living in. As we wait, for so much and for so many, let’s strengthen the hearts of those dear to us and make sure they know the vital truth. They are loved. Tell them.
Stasi Eldredge
Golden Moments
I think there’s only so much beauty a soul can hold. We vacationed in the majestic Tetons this July. Again. And again, God came and met me there. It is for me a thin place. A place where the distance between Heaven and Earth, between my not knowing God and my knowing him, is whisper thin. One day while there, I wanted—no, I needed—to just go and lie down on my bed. Maybe read. Maybe just rest but certainly rest my eyes. I was filled; I could not drink in any more beauty. Not for a while, at least. In my beloved humanity, I can only hold so much. But then I rest or forget and become thirsty for some more. I am, after all, a leaky cup. And on this trip, this vacation to hallowed ground where we have gone each summer for the past sixteen years, I had my husband, all my sons, and my new daughter with me. I wanted to be present—to drink in every moment. And by God’s grace, I did pretty well. Not perfectly, no. But pretty well. See, I never want to lose those days we had of beauty and laughter. We shared in adventure. It was a taste of all that I long for, and I didn’t want it to end. But it did. One of Robert Frost’s most famous and poignant poem’s last, aching line is “nothing gold can stay.” It feels like that. Childhood passes. Vacations end. Conversations come to a close. Friends move. Seasons change. It doesn’t stay. Not here. But my friend Cherie puts it like this: these golden moments of joy, connection, and laughter—these holy moments where we feel so alive tasting what is best in this life—don’t merely pass. They pass straight into eternity. They last. They last forever. All is not lost in Christianity. Actually nothing good is lost. We get life now and Life forever, and we will remember and taste and share and it will be good beyond our reckoning. So, I am back from the Tetons. But in a way, I never left. My soul holds the beauty. And in Heaven, my soul will be able to hold so much more.
Stasi Eldredge
Follow Me
Remember the saying, "It's summertime and the livin' is easy"? What happened to that? Somewhere along the line, I came to believe that when official "vacation" began, it meant that all of life went smoothly. Where do I sign up for that vacation? And where did I get that ridiculous idea? I'm laughing at my so-hard-to-satisfy self because when I look out the window, it's absolutely gorgeous. It's so green! The sun is shining! The clouds are amazing! My petunias are not only fragrant, they are flourishing! Okay, so the deer ate my tomatoes—oh well. Yes, they also ate my roses and my pansies and...still, it's SUMMER! And though the livin' ain't easy—life does go on after all—if I but have the eyes to see it, it's splendid. Things happen on vacations. They certainly happen on ours. In past years, we've had four flat tires (in one day), emergency room visits, capsized canoes, bee stings, car crashes, the onset of hypothermia, a canoe flying off the car, near death experiences (mine), relational tension, and emotional upheaval. Just your normal stuff. So, our official vacation begins next week, and I feel the temptation to brace myself not only for disappointment but potential crises in faith. Let me just take a stand in advance and say "no." No to that. No to allowing my faith in God, my love for my family, yield to the wayward happenstances of life. God is good. I love my family. My job today—and next week—is simply to stay in the Truth. (Yeah, I know, easier said than done. But still...that's why we have the Holy Spirit to help us.) Honestly, my only job today and next week and, well, forever is to follow him. Follow Jesus. Actually, God's word to me this year is "follow." And that is all I want to do. Follow him. Faithfully. Honestly. Not get ahead of him or side-tracked or too far behind. I'd like to follow closely—catching his wind and having that pave and ease my way. Two days after returning from our vacation, I'm running in my first 5K. I've been doing the couch potato to 5K thing this summer. God invited me to do it, and I said yes. We (meaning me and him) began week 9 today (the last week). I haven't run in 30 years, so it's kind of amazing. Often, I sense him running right next to me and sometimes pushing me up hills. It's fabulous timing. The parallels are not lost on me. See, Jesus is continually inviting me and all of us to follow him and to do things that seem beyond ourselves. Becoming Myself: Embracing God's Dream of You comes out in a couple of weeks. Writing it, living it, and all that has gone into it has required more than I could have imagined back when I said "yes" to God's invitation to do it. And God is faithful. He has given and continues to give me all I need. Rain or shine. Capsized or floating. And all I need, all we need, is to stay tucked deeply into his heart. Following. "Follow me," he says. "Yes, God," we respond.
Stasi Eldredge
Change
Many women feel like a failure as a woman. I know that oftentimes I do. A failure as a human being, really. It has underscored just about everything I have done and everything I have been kept from doing. But I am not a failure as a human being or as a woman. In some core place deep within, I know this. I fail, yes. But I am not a failure. I disappoint. But I am not a disappointment. Yet when I find myself struggling again – losing the battle for my beauty, my body, my heart – I can sure feel like a failure in every way. And isn’t that true for every woman? Don’t we all have secret places where we are not living in the victory we long for, and that colors how we see ourselves? Doesn’t it go on to become a barrier between us and the people in our lives? A wall separating us from the love of God? Or is it just me? I didn’t think so. Sometimes we feel hopeless to ever change, simply because our personal history is filled with our failed attempts to change. Where was that angel who is supposed to be guarding our tongue and preventing those harsh words from lashing out at our children? Where did that fruit of the Spirit go empowering us to be self-controlled and pass by the donut section? God has not given me a spirit of fear, so why am I so consumed with worry over my children, my finances, my future? If the fear of man is a snare, why do I still find I am terrified of exposing my true self and then being rejected? My addiction and bondage to food has been revealed as a liar and a thief, and yet in the moment of pain, too often I still turn to it. God knows. God knows. He has not turned his face away. The very fact that we long for the change we do is a sign that we are meant to have it. Our very dissatisfaction with our own weaknesses and struggles points to the reality that continuing to live in our weaknesses and struggles is not our destiny. Read those two sentences again. Let hope rise. Why are you struggling with the things you do? There is a reason. It is found in the life you have lived, the wounds you have received, what you have come to believe about yourself because of them and not having a clue as to how to bear your sorrow. It is also because of who you are meant to be. It is not too late. It is not too hard. You are not too much. God’s mercies are new every morning. There is mercy in his eyes right now.
Stasi Eldredge
Hope
Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all... (Emily Dickinson) My spirit needs hope as badly as my body needs water. Blessedly, I can go to the sink whenever I want. Hope is not so easily found, though perhaps as readily available. I wake, I work, I walk through my days, not alone but with God, and I know this to be true. But some days, some seasons, I wake, I work, I walk through my days without much hope. And without hope, I am not living. Not living. I'm not the me God dreamed of when he first and last and in between thinks of me. I'm not the me I am meant to be or want to be. And I don't like it. My hormones play a part. (53 years in and I'm finally giving my body the respect and attention it deserves.) My circumstances play a part. Relationships play a part. Spiritual warfare plays a part. Knowing all this, I turn my thoughts and my heart again today to God to remember and to remind myself what is true and to cry for "Help!" To pray. To choose. To live in spite of my negative feelings. To hope for hope. I need hope, but I can't seem to drum it up at will. If it is a thing with wings, as Emily Dickinson wrote, then it can too easily fly away. It is an irresponsible, flighty, inconsistent thing. But I am coming to believe that hope is not. I think she may have gotten this bit wrong. Hope is an underground current. It is a river that flows from the throne of God into my soul. It is an ancient cistern whose source never runs dry. It is an aqueduct layered in the depths of my spirit. Hope is the breath of God. It is the wind released in his unworried laughter. It is settled within his knowing the end from the beginning. It simply is. As he is. True. Irrefutable. Ridiculously good. Trustworthy. Hope is the defiant river of joy that flows from the ascended Christ himself. And so, whether I feel it or not, I possess it. Whether I feel I can access it in a moment or not, it is ever available. If hope is like a bird, then it must be like many birds. The rhapsody of lighthearted beauty in the hummingbirds free falling in the sky and the majesty of the mighty golden eagle soaring in the air. Beautiful. Strong. Whimsical. Surprising. True. But I must look up to see them. I am looking up. And hope is rising. ...but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint. (Isaiah 40:31)
Stasi Eldredge
Guarded
One of my "life verses" is Proverbs 4:23: "Above all else, guard your heart, for from it flows the wellspring of life within you." Above all else? Really? Wow. It still surprises me. And it begs me to stop and ask myself the question, "Am I doing that today?" Are you? The phrase "guard your heart" doesn't imply watching over some dangerous, wicked thing that needs constant monitoring lest it lead you down paths straight to Hell. No. It implies nurturing and caring for your heart because that is where all true life and goodness flow from. (And through!) For me, to guard my heart means I must practice the spiritual disciplines of silence and solitude. I must heed the voice of my True Love who beckons me to come away with him. I must quiet the inner workings of my soul and the outer clamoring of my world that I may "be still and know that I am God." To guard my heart means that I need to lighten up on myself and live more intentionally in the expansive grace of God's mercy and joy. It means diving into the depths of God's current astonishing love for me and drinking it in! Splash around in it! Stay in it! Rest. Do something fun just for fun. Enjoy. Taste. To guard my heart entails not only noticing but lingering in the unfolding wonder of the glorious summer all around me. And letting it remind me that an endless Summer of golden ripeness is coming. It's coming. Guarding my heart means breathing in the truth that Jesus has accomplished everything necessary for my (and your!) certain and eternal happiness—and breathing out my doubt and fear that he has not. That I am not _____. (Fill in the blank.) Okay, I am not enough. I'm not meant to be. Jesus is more than enough. I can't do it. I'm not meant to "do it." Jesus has done it. Oh, rest, my soul. Rejoice, my heart. He holds you well. He holds us all quite well. And I am, and we are then, guarded.
Stasi Eldredge
Everything
If I had everything I ever wanted but didn't have Jesus, I would have nothing. If I have nothing but do have Jesus, I have everything. The prayer of my heart today —no, more than just today is, "Jesus, I give you everything. I give you everyone. So that I may have you."
Stasi Eldredge
Gold
It’s 9:30pm and the horizon is glowing. From my deck I can see spots of red where homes are burning. I pray. The fire that burned in our community a year ago destroyed over 340 homes. It stopped mere feet from our own. How well I remember, how well this entire community remembers, what it felt like. The smoke. The heat. The falling embers. The fear that threatened to devour much more than flames. To evacuate. To see fire in the rearview mirror. To not know if our house stood or fell. To pray. To lay in bed and hold my husband, be held by my husband, and know that though the mountains shake and fall into the sea…I would remain held. Held by Love. Then to wake to the unknown… Last year we retreated to the home of good friends who welcomed us with warmth and clean sheets. We spent a week with them. The chaos and trauma became a doorway of intimacy and shared faith. I look to the horizon tonight and I don’t know if their house will be standing in the morning. These dear ones, with 2,000 others, have been evacuated. Homes are burning. Will theirs last the night? The week? I don’t know. I pray. Like so many others, I pray. But I do know, that though the mountains fall into the sea, they will be held. Their faith has been tested by fire too many times already, but tonight, being tested again…the purest of gold is being forged. And they are now, and I am now, and you are now, being held by Love. A love that never fails.
Stasi Eldredge
Miracles and Goodness
On my walk this morning, I was remembering goodness. Remembering miracles, really. And thanking God. I'm surrounded by miracles. The truth is, I'm a walking miracle! (And I bet you are, too!) On my regular walk I pass by the Open Space at Blodgett Peak. Only it's not open, hasn't been since the Waldo Canyon fire last summer. That's the fire that shook our community to the core. The fire that burned down over 300 homes. The fire that was stopped fifteen feet from our own. I am surrounded by miracles. But here's the one God reminded me of today. Last Christmas Eve eve, I was driving to the store to buy stocking stuffers for our children. John called. Nothing unusual yet. But when his first words to me were "Everyone is fine," I knew they weren't. Blaine was in an ambulance on his way to the hospital. A motorcycle accident. (Yes, he was wearing his helmet and that is why he is still with us.) Christmas Eve...we are all home. Blaine has a pretty severe concussion but nothing is broken. The phone rings. We learn another part of the story. A couple is driving home from their outing when they come up the hill and see a motorcycle lying in the middle of the road and twenty feet away, a man lying face down. He isn't moving. They pull over and immediately begin to pray. She calls 9-1-1. He heads for the man. He knows how to help the injured and unconscious person because he is a chiropractor. The young person begins to come to and wants his helmet off. The chiropractor, our chiropractor, helps him. As he is helping him, he can hear people praying as they slowly drive by. He removes the helmet and recognizes Blaine. His heart drops and he continues to pray. The ambulance comes... John and I didn't know who found Blaine. By the time Blaine's friends whom he had been playing football with drove by and stopped, Blaine was in the ambulance and strapped down. One of his friends called John. John called me. But we didn't know who had called 9-1-1. Until the phone rang on Christmas Eve. My son was in a serious motorcycle accident and the first people on the scene were believers who immediately began to pray! The first person to help Blaine was a chiropractor who knew exactly how to treat him. Yes, I am grateful this morning. Grateful again. Surrounded by miracles. Surrounded by goodness. It’s good to remember.
Stasi Eldredge