The “flarings of a scared but burning heart”

I’ve been telling you that I seemed to hear God asking me to place Him—not my children and my relationship with them—in first place in my life.

 

I admitted to you that my words couldn’t capture the utter rawness, the unspeakable ravages of dying to oneself in order to die to one’s children, even when we do it because God is asking that of us. (Click here to read “I could say ‘Yes’ to God, or I could say ‘No’”.)

 

“Letting something precious go is . . . unbearable,” writes Chuck Swindoll. “The  parting cannot happen without inward bleeding.” (Good Morning, Lord . . . Can We Talk?)

 

In Chapter 2 of Grandma’s Letters from Africa, I wrote:

 

This month-long process left me emotionally spent but, afterward, I could fill out the application to Wycliffe Bible Translators.

 

I filled it out because I knew that if joining Wycliffe was not God’s plan for us, He had power enough to prevent it.

 

I gave Him every opportunity to show us green lights and send us to Africa or red lights and keep us home.

 

In the meantime, I kept taking the next step, and the next, all the while watching for God’s answer.

 

In the end, He gave us only green lights:

 

Wycliffe found no problems with our applications.

 

Next, we passed our phone interviews.

 

And we spent a month at a Wycliffe facility in the lovely mountains and forests of Idyllwild, California: training, testing, and interviewing—and we passed all those requirements, too.

 

I had my answer.

 

In giving me that answer, God responded to my earlier protestations about not wanting to dismantle our home or leave my family or move away from beautiful Port Angeles, Washington. He addressed my worries about giving up a steady income and health insurance.

 

I could almost hear God whisper, “It’s okay to dismantle your home. Give family heirlooms to your children or put them in storage, and throw out the junk.

 

“You worry about your parents, but your brothers and I will care for them.

 

“You feel bad about leaving your friends, but true friendships will endure, and I will introduce you to new friends in Africa.

 

“You don’t want to leave the beauty of Port Angeles, but wait until you see Africa’s splendor.

 

“Let go of your tight grip on your paycheck and health insurance. Find a better security in Me.”

 

Then God seemed to say, “Now, about your children—don’t you know I love them even more than you do? You can trust Me with them.”

 

Knowing God’s answer didn’t take away the pain, but my heart melted when He asked me to believe He loved my Matt and my Karen even more than I did.

 

It was a “Stop—take off your sandals” moment.

A burning bush moment.

A standing-on-holy-ground moment. 

(Exodus 3:1-5)

 

Jenilee Goodwin writes, “When God speaks, he is inviting you into his story. He’s about to do something in you, in your family, in your work, in your country, in your life. He is looking for those who are listening, those who are saying, ‘Here I am.’

 

Jennilee continues: “His eyes are seeking those who are willing to hear what He’s saying and participate in the greater story.”

 

“I wondered if this was how beginnings were made,” writes Sue Monk Kid, “—in the momentary flarings of a scared but burning heart.” (When the Heart Waits)

 

I could do only two things:

Trust God to manage my kids’ consequences

because of our move to Africa,

and then turn and take an extreme,

and blind, leap of faith. 

(from Chapter 2, Grandma’s Letters from Africa)

 

 

I could say “Yes” to God, or I could say “No”

A couple of years before we moved to Africa, my husband, Dave, asked me each day, “Have you filled it out yet?”

“It” was my application for Wycliffe Bible Translators. I knew Dave wanted a different job. Maybe his current one lacked purpose. Or perhaps he suffered from a mid-life crisis. All his life, he has yearned to avoid mediocrity, to break out of the status quo. Probably all those factors led to his urgent need to serve God in Wycliffe. 

For some reason, though, I couldn’t fill out the application. I tried several times. I placed my pen on the application, but I couldn’t fill in the blanks. (from Chapter 2, Grandma’s Letters from Africa) 

I determined to set aside time, to attune my ears and heart to God’s, to be alert to His voice. 

Such a process can take weeks, months, maybe years. 

When I did, eventually I seemed to hear God asking me to place Him—not my children and my relationship with them—in first place in my life. 

I stood at a scary, heartbreaking crossroads. 

I could say “Yes” to God. Or I could say “No.” 

Jenilee Goodwin writes that when we sense God speaking to us, “We have to choose yes or no, go or stay, believe or walk away. Hearing God’s voice requires an answer, an action. So often, it’s easier not to ask. If we don’t know what God is asking of us or inviting us to do, we don’t have to choose obedience or answer the call.” 

Oswald Chambers wrote of those times “when our path seems treacherous and uncharted.” Wow. He nailed it—I stood on a treacherous, uncharted path. 

Such times, Chambers said, such paths, are “God’s way of molding us, of capturing our attention so that we focus on Him and not on ourselves. . . . [They are] His means for us to know Him.” (Christian Disciplines) 

And if we are to come anywhere near carrying out the first and greatest commandment—loving God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength (Mark 12:31, Deuteronomy 6:4)—we start by increasingly knowing Him. 

I could have said “No,” I wanted to say “No,” but I said “Yes.” I stepped forward. 

As I told you last week, one by one, I placed my kids on an altar, of sorts, that I had pictured in my mind. I began with my precious Karen. I had to let go, offer her up to God, walk away, and grieve—grieve—for days. 

I repeated the process with son Matt. 

My mourning was palpable. 

This month-long process left me emotionally spent, numb, my heart torn to shreds. 

Words can’t capture the utter rawness, the unspeakable ravages of dying to oneself in order to die to one’s children, even when we do it because God is asking that of us. 

Only after that excruciating process could I fill out the Wycliffe Bible Translators application. 

And after that, and after I dropped it in the mailbox, once again I determined to set aside time, to attune my ears and heart to God’s, to be alert to His voice. 

What would He say? Would He say He wanted us to serve with Wycliffe? 

Even if His answer was “yes,” I could say “no.” I could turn my back and walk away.

 

Utter rawness, unspeakable ravages: Would I learn to dance with a limp?

“Grief bleeds through the pages of our lives, marking the pages and stories that follow,” says Jonathan Trotter. “Failing to acknowledge these chapters is to censor. To edit out. To delete plot twists and main characters. To murder history. So we leave the pages as they are, splotched and imperfect. . . .” 

So I won’t censor here. I won’t edit out. Instead, I’ll blurt it out: It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do: to let go of my son, Matt, and my daughter, Karen—those precious, beloved children God had given to me—to turn my back on them and, instead, go where God’s finger pointed. 

As I told you before, “Sometimes people and things can become too important to us,” writes Chuck Swindoll. “We grip them with closed fists and white knuckles, and God has to pry open our fingers to loosen our hold.” (Abraham, The Friend of God) 

Beth Moore’s words capture what I faced. She asked herself, “What if this is a critical moment?  What if this very thing, this very decision, is the most important piece of the purpose comprising my purpose?” 

I sensed God asking me to do something similar to what He had asked Abraham—to place his child on an altar as a sacrifice to Him. God’s request would reveal to Him, and perhaps just as important, it would reveal to Abraham, whether God was Number One in his life. 

God seemed to stand there and ask if I would give highest priority to Him and His plans for me rather than to my plans to live near my children and enjoy them. 

Again, dear Beth Moore put into words what I could not have. She writes, “At some of the hardest times of my life, I have been able to make the more difficult choice out of pure blind-eyed, bent-kneed acceptance that it was somehow part of a greater plan.” (Beth Moore, Esther) 

I knew what I had to do. 

One by one, I placed my kids on an altar I had pictured in my mind. I began with my precious Karen. I had to let go, offer her up to God, walk away, and grieve—grieve—for days. 

I repeated the process with son Matt. 

My mourning was palpable. 

This month-long process left me emotionally spent, numb, my heart torn to shreds. How can I put it into words? I can’t. Words can’t capture the utter rawness, the unspeakable ravages of dying to oneself in order to die to one’s children, even when we do it because God is asking that of us. 

What does a person do next? Where does a person go next? What does a person think next? 

Anne Lamott wrote about grief. “Your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold. . . .” 

I felt like Habakkuk, who cried out to the Lord, “How long, O Lord? I shout to you in vain; You don’t answer” (Habakkuk 1:2). I hollered at Him: “So, I’ll never get over this pain? This broken heart of mine will never heal completely? The rest of my life will feel like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly and still hurts when the weather gets cold? Is that what I have to look forward to? Is that what You want for me?” 

All I could do was stand hopelessly broken and exhausted and stare at God, shaking my fists, demanding His answer. When Habakkuk cried out, God answered “Look, watch—and be utterly amazed. For I am going to do something that you wouldn’t believe even if someone told you about it.” 

Habakkuk said, in effect, “God says He’s going to answer. So, okay, then, I’ll stand here, alert, waiting, watching for His answer. I’ll wait attentively, vigilantly, to hear what God has to say.”  (Habakkuk 2:1) 

That’s all I could do. Watch and wait. Watch and wait. To be still and watch and wait for God’s answer, for His clarification. Watch and wait for Him to help me take a breath, and then one more breath, His help to place one foot in front of the other, baby step by baby step.

But there was one more thing Anne Lamott observed about grief. 

Yes, that broken leg would not heal completely, but:

“You’ll learn to dance with the limp.” 

I would watch and wait, watch and wait. 

When He finally spoke, would God tell me 

that I’d learn to dance with the limp?

A tragic surprise ending to the motherhood I always envisioned

My husband, Dave, was determined to move to the mission field, but I wasn’t sure that was God’s will for us. Yet God seemed to be silent—for months. Oh, how I needed to hear from Him! 

The biggest issue was leaving our children. How could we live half a world away from our son and daughter for four long years?—and then another four years? 

Silently I cried out, When I became a mother, I did not plan to walk away from my children after only twenty-one years! 

I always dreamed our children and grandchildren would live nearby and that we’d get together often—but now, this! This felt like a tragic surprise ending to the motherhood I always envisioned. 

At the same time, I knew how much Dave wanted to join Wycliffe Bible Translators. We had worked with Wycliffe before—in South America, when our kids were little—and I believed wholeheartedly in their work. 

When I thought rationally about working with Wycliffe again, part of me felt okay, but I could find no peace about leaving my children. I feared I might die of a broken heart if I had to live so far away from them. What should I do? 

For months, I asked God to show me how to balance my responsibility to my husband, our children, and my Lord. 

And finally—finally!—I sensed some direction from Him. I sensed God asking me to do something similar to what He had asked Abraham—to place his child on an altar as a sacrifice to Him. God’s request would reveal to Him, and perhaps just as important, it would reveal to Abraham, whether God was Number One in his life. 

God told us in the Ten Commandments, “You shall have no other gods before me” (Exodus 20:3). Jesus called that the first and greatest commandment, saying, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength” (Mark 12:30). 

I knew that God wanted, and deserved, my highest loyalty, and that He didn’t want me to let anything or anybody—not even my children—take priority over Him. However, I knew those things in only an academic way. 

The time had come to move beyond mere head knowledge and to apply those principles to my real life. 

I thought of the times I had felt God’s tug, and the accompanying pain in my heart, while I sang the words—sincerely, I thought—“Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all.”* 

My all. Had I really meant those words? My all? Even my children? 

God seemed to stand there and ask if I would give highest priority to Him and His plans for me rather than to my plans to live near my children. 

But I had questions. First, when Abraham obeyed God and put Isaac on the altar, He let Abraham untie his son and take him home. If I, figuratively, placed my children on the altar, would God “untie” them and give them back to me? Or did He want me to sever my relationship with them? Or, could there be something in between?       

Eventually I knew what I had to do. 

One by one, I placed each person on an altar I had pictured in my mind. I began with daughter Karen. I had to let go, offer her up to God, walk away, and grieve for a few days. 

I repeated the process with son Matt, and then my parents. I did the same with our possessions, our life in Port Angeles, our home, our job security, and our income. 

This month-long process left me emotionally spent but, afterward, I could fill out the application to Wycliffe Bible Translators.  (from  Chapter 2, Grandma’s Letters from Africa) 

Oswald Chambers wrote, “Sometimes we have to look up mutely to God and say ‘I don't understand it at all, but go on with what You are doing.’” Those words surely capture what I felt during those months. 

Chambers went on to say, “That marks a real stage of learning to trust in God.” I was so emotionally and physically exhausted at the end of the month-long grieving process that I couldn’t have put my experience into words, but looking back now, I suppose Chambers was right—I was indeed learning to trust in God. 

Chambers continued: “Spiritual experience has begun; suffering has already deepened the soul.” 

On his Facebook Page, My Utmost for His Highest, Chambers asked—asks me, asks you—“What is God doing that defies understanding? What do I hope to gain by resisting? What can I hope to gain by trusting?” (Christian Disciplines)

*“When I Survey The Wondrous Cross,” Isaac Watts and Lowell Mason, in Baptist Hymnal, ed. Walter Hines Sims (Nashville: Convention Press, 1959) 99.

 

 

Still wrestling down that elephant in the room

Let’s continue looking at that elephant in the room. Last week I noted that Chuck Swindoll nailed it when he said, “Sometimes people and things can become too important to us. We grip them with closed fists and white knuckles, and God has to pry open our fingers to loosen our hold.” (Abraham, The Friend of God) 

God was trying to pry open my fists so I’d hold my young adult children less fiercely. And it hurt. Oh, yes, it hurt! 

But God asked many people before me to loosen their grip on their kids, too. 

Think about Abraham. 

At first it makes no sense that the God of grace, the God of mercy, comfort, and unfailing love would ask Abraham to offer his son Isaac as a burnt offering (Genesis 22:2). 

God had promised Abraham this son, Isaac. God had promised descendants through Isaac—as many as the stars in the heavens. He’d promised to make Isaac’s descendants into a great nation and give them the Promised Land. He’d said that all people on earth would be blessed through Isaac. 

And yet God wanted Abraham to put Isaac to death? 

Now, God and Abraham had already enjoyed a long, close relationship, the type illustrated in Genesis 17:3—when God appeared before him, Abraham fell on his face. 

“Note the times when Abraham did not speak before God but remained silent before Him—not sullen, but silent. Awe is just that—reverential dread and wonder. . . . Awe is the condition of a man’s spirit when he realizes who God is and what He has done for him personally. . . . 

“Abraham’s posture is an expression of deep humility, trustful confidence, and pure joy—the characteristics of faith in God." (Oswald Chambers, Not Knowing Where; [emphasis added]). 

That’s important information. God made His request within the context of a trusting, personal relationship. 

The NIV study Bible note for Genesis 22:2 reads: “Abraham had [previously] committed himself by covenant to be obedient to the Lord and had consecrated his son Isaac to the Lord.” 

Given that, God’s request of Abraham seemed based on, and a result of, Abraham’s willingness to “walk the talk,” to follow through on his covenant and commitments. 

One key to understanding God’s bizarre request is the burnt offering. The NIV Study Bible explains: “The Hebrew word for ‘offering’ used here [Leviticus 1:2-3] comes from the word translated ‘brings.’ An ‘offering’ is something that someone ‘brings’ to God as a gift (most offerings are voluntary, such as the burnt offering). . . . Anyone could offer special burnt offerings to express devotion to the Lord.” An NIV Study Bible chart defines burnt offering as a voluntary act of worship, an expression of devotion, commitment, and complete surrender to God [emphasis added]. 

God asked Abraham if he’d offer up Isaac voluntarily, as an act of worship, as a gift, as an expression of his devotion to Him. 

“The Lord put his servant’s faith and loyalty to the supreme test, thereby instructing Abraham, Isaac and their descendants as to the kind of total consecration the Lord’s covenant requires” (NIV Study Bible note for Genesis 22:2). 

“The very nature of faith is that it must be tried; faith untried is only ideally real, not actually real. . . . God proved Abraham’s faith by placing him in the most extreme crisis possible, for faith must prove itself by the inward concession of the believer’s dearest objects.” (Oswald Chambers, Not Knowing Where) 

God asked Abraham, as part of their covenant, to give Him his dearest and best so He could give Abraham gems and buried treasure: His better. 

This was God’s supreme test of Abraham’s faith and loyalty. 

This was a pivotal point in Abraham’s life. He could do what God asked, or he could pretend God had not spoken. 

Abraham was about to discover if indeed God was his first priority. 

And as for me: God was offering me a glimpse into whether or not He was my first priority.

 

It seemed all wrong

God was asking me to die to the dreams I’d always embraced—dreams of living close to my kids. 

He was asking me to move half a world away from my daughter, Karen, immediately after she graduated from college. 

He was asking me to move half a world away from my son, Matt, a year out of college, and his wife, Jill, and the grandchild they would surely give Dave and me soon. 

In Chapter 2 of Grandma’s Letters from Africa, I wrote that leaving Matt and Karen hurt more than anything I’d ever experienced. 

A couple of years before we moved to Africa, Dave asked me each day, “Have you filled it out yet?” 

“It” was my application for Wycliffe Bible Translators. I knew Dave wanted a different job. Maybe his current one lacked purpose. Or perhaps he suffered from a mid-life crisis. All his life, he yearned to avoid mediocrity, to break out of the status quo. Probably all those factors led to  his urgent need to serve God in Wycliffe. 

For some reason, though, I couldn’t fill out the application. I tried several times. I placed my pen on the application, but I couldn’t fill in the blanks. 

Finally, I figured out my problem. I didn’t want to apply to Wycliffe. I didn’t want to get rid of our furniture, our treasures, our possessions. 

I didn’t want to dismantle our home. The house I could leave—it needed repairs—but I didn’t want to tear apart what it symbolized—“home.” We had raised our children in it, we had made memories in it. 

I didn’t want to live far away from my mother or Dave’s parents. I didn’t want to say goodbye to friends. 

I didn’t want to leave Port Angeles, with its forests, mountains, and sea. 

I didn’t want to give up the security of employment, income, and health insurance. 

But mostly I didn’t want to leave my children. 

Everything within me cried out that they still needed their parents. I recognized they didn’t need us the way they did when they were little, but I believed they needed our behind-the-scenes support to transition out of college and into the world of professionals. 

Dave didn’t understand my thinking. 

But how could he not feel what I felt? 

Matt and Jill would have each other, but our Karen would be all alone. That just didn’t seem right. In fact, it seemed all wrong. 

But sometimes God works in mysterious ways. Here’s what was going on—dear Chuck Swindoll nailed it: 

“Sometimes people and things can become too important to us. We grip them with closed fists and white knuckles, and God has to pry open our fingers to loosen our hold.” (Abraham: The Friend of God) 

That’s what was going on. And it hurt. Oh, yes, it hurt!

 

Waiting patiently for the Lord

 

My health has hindered me from blogging lately, but I want to say “Hi” anyway.

Psalm 27:4 cheers me on. It gives me HOPE: “Wait patiently for the Lord. Be brave and courageous. Yes, wait patiently for the Lord.” I know He is good, He is with me, and He has good plans for me.

I’m deeply thankful that I have God’s word in my own language, especially at times like this.

I can’t imagine what life must be like for those who don’t have Scriptures in their own languages. They must feel so cut off from God. Maybe they wonder if He even knows them or knows of their needs.

That’s why Dave and I moved to Africa—so those without the Bible could eventually have it—possess it, cherish it, live by it—in their heart languages, the languages they understand best.

I hope to be back soon. If you think of me, please pray for my health. Thank you.

 

P.S. Please tell your friends about Grandma’sLetters from Africa. Buy two copies for your church—one for the missions committee and the other for your church library.