The Journey of Psalm 13

How long, O Lord? Will You forget me forever?
How long will  You hide Your face from me?
How long must I take counsel in my soul
and have sorrow in my heart all the day?
How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?

Consider and answer me, O Lord my God;
Light up my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death,
Lest my enemy say, "I have prevailed over him,"
Lest my foes rejoice because I am shaken.

But I have trusted in Your steadfast love;
My heart shall rejoice in Your salvation.
I will sing to the Lord,
Because He has dealt bountifully with me.
                                                      -------
I think I've had four friends discuss depression these last two weeks. And I battle it occasionally myself.
Anger over life's circumstances leads to depression.
Guilt over life's circumstances leads to depression.
Fear over life's circumstances leads to depression.
In short, sin leads to depression.
Oh sure, our hormones or our diet or our health can make us more susceptible to anger, guilt, and fear.
But that's just another way of saying that our hormones, our diet, or our health make us more susceptible to sin...
Because depression is nothing more than the failure to trust in the goodness and the sovereignty of God.

So we throw diet or exercise or medication at it.
But we are rarely honest enough to get to the source.
The sin.

I've been studying the Psalms with the kids this year.
There's something brutally honest,
and gut-wrenching,
and raw
about the psalms.
They are the heart-cry of sheep in trouble.
Sheep who have wandered into toxic weeds
or who hear the howl of wolves in the pasture.
Psalms are the plea of the sheep who recognizes his need for his Shepherd.
And I am amazed by how many psalms start with hopelessness--but end with hope.

Hope.
It is diametrically opposed to this beast called depression.
It is the antithesis.
It is the solution.

And where, dear sheep, do we find this hope?
In our salvation.
Consider the journey of the sheep in Psalm 13 with me.
He is depressed
Because he thinks he is forgotten by God...
"Will You forget me forever?"
Or he thinks he must fix himself...
"How long must I take counsel in my soul?"
Or he thinks he is overtaken by an all-powerful enemy.
"How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?"

But walk with this depressed sheep.
Where does he turn?
To the Shepherd.

"Consider and answer me, O Lord my God.
Light up my eyes..."

And the faithful Shepherd does just that.
Continue as the sheep discovers...

"My heart shall rejoice in Your salvation..."

Isn't it interesting that the Psalm says Your salvation?
Not my salvation.
When we are depressed, we need to remind ourselves that salvation belongs to the Lord.
Not to us.
When we treat depression like a cause, rather than an effect, we miss the fight entirely.
But the sheep discovers that depression is the symptom of sin, and the only answer for sin is Salvation.
We do battle with depression by preaching the Gospel to ourselves.
That is the journey of Psalm 13.

When we start in a place of hopelessness,
we must make sure to end at the Gospel.
We hunker down in the shadow of the Cross.
We declare to ourselves and to the Lord,
I am a great sinner; Christ is a great Savior.*
And then we rejoice in His finished work and the emptied tomb and our eternity secured by Him.
That's when our hearts are overtaken by the potent light of God's salvation that pierces our darkness.

As I write this, Mr. Obama has just been elected to a second term.
And the people of God are struggling with depression.
Dear sheep, our destiny is not determined by the next four years.
It is determined by the sovereign Lord.
The sovereign Lord who uses nations to write history is the same sovereign Lord who hold you and hides you in the shadow of His wings,
the same Sovereign Lord who made you right with Him.
Understand that, and your depression will be undone.

Then you can sing with the sheep of Psalm 13:
"He has dealt bountifully with me."

Let Me Get This Straight...

I should have known my political views would take me off the broad path. And the signs were there as early as my very first trip into the voting booth. It was the Republican primary in Florida in 1988. I was 20 years old and had been waiting for this moment since Gerald Ford lost to Jimmy Carter.

Afterwards, a fellow Christian voter asked, "So, who did you vote for?"
Triumphantly, I replied, "Jack Kemp."
She looked at me. "You didn't vote for Pat Robertson?"
"Pat Robertson? Why would I vote for Pat Robertson?"

There had been an assumption among many Christians that year. Pat Robertson is a Christian. Therefore, Christians will vote for Pat Robertson. But I didn't think Pat Robertson was very presidential. I thought Jack Kemp was very presidential. (Turns out I was right about Pat. Turns out he's a fruit loop.)

Over the next few election cycles, though, I was the Republican whore, voting for whomever the GOP powers-that-be told me to vote for...like a lemming over the cliff. sigh. I voted for ReadMyLips Bush. Twice. I voted for Dole because I really liked his VP choice.  I voted for Bush, Jr. Twice.

In 2004, I was simpering condescendingly over my friends who were 'throwing their vote away' in the Constitution Party. In 2008, I was ready to vote for a fellow named Romney in the Texas primary. But if I remember correctly, he had already dropped off the ballot by that time, so I voted for a Texan named Ron Paul. Then the general election arrived, and I rolled my eyes at my friends who split hairs over McCain's support for embryonic stem-cell research and the fact that Sarah Palin was a mother with five very needy children at home. Was I swayed? Nope.
I was not swayed by the fact that McCain was not pro-life.
I was not swayed by the fact that McCain had authored the unconstitutional McCain-Feingold bill.
I was not swayed by the fact that Sarah Palin had one special needs baby, one pregnant teen, and a horribly disordered home. Hey, she's a Christian. (Wait... This was sounding vaguely familiar.)
The important thing was that McCain was not Obama.
A girl's got standards.

Then Election Night '08 came. And as I watched John McCain give his concession speech, twisting himself into an ideological pretzel in his zeal to 'reach across the aisle,' I thought, "Yikes. I just voted for Mr. IStandForNothing."

My jaw was dropping. This man could have won...and I would have been responsible.
I need a hero.
I need a statesman.
I need someone who will look into the eyes of every compromising, deal-making, weak-willed, principled-in-rhetoric-only politician on Capitol Hill and say,
"Gridlock.
Bring it."

I found him.
A man of principle whose record matches his rhetoric. (What a concept.)
A man who understands individual liberty and the free market.
And if there is ever a lone dissenting vote or a lone voice of reason on Capitol Hill--well, it's usually his.
He's not afraid of gridlock.
He scratches no one's back.
He's a hero.

But there has been another kind of gridlock this time around, and it's nowhere near DC.
It's in the American church.
What a ghastly election cycle this has been. And I think it would be helpful, just for myself--and maybe for my readers--to try to at least understand the arguments of the different political factions in the church in 2012.

So, let me try to get this straight.

Faction One: "I'm not voting at all." These friends have explained to me that they think the Christian should be above politics. That ushering in God's kingdom is our priority. That government is an evil and a distraction. That our focus should be alleviating injustice around the world. Government is an institution inherently fraught with evil.

Faction Two: "I'm voting for Mitt Romney." These friends are politically involved and love their country. They tend to view America as a Christian nation. They want to get back to a truly free market and the rule of law. And, mostly, they really, really fear President Obama and the damage he can do in the next four years. Of paramount importance is getting him out of office.

Faction Three: "I'm voting for Virgil Goode." They call themselves theonomists. They want a Christian leader, a Biblical legal system, and a Biblically moral nation. The idea of putting a Mormon in office to place this nation back in the favor of God is not just laughable; it is anathema. A Christian governor for a Christian nation is not the best hope; it is the only hope.

Faction Four: "I'm voting for Ron Paul." The priority of limited government for the State restricts the power of the State to protecting citizens from each other--not from themselves. The priority of self-government for the Individual puts no restrictions on personal liberty--no matter how ugly that looks. He will not let the State do the job of the Church or of the Family. And as long as the president understands that, he can be a Muslim or a Mormon or anything else.

Meanwhile, one faction tells me God will judge me for not voting for Candidate X. Another faction tells me God will judge me for voting for Candidate X. Godly preachers tell me to be pragmatic. Godly preachers tell me to be principled. One faction claims there's Biblical support for voting. Another faction claims there's no Biblical support for voting. I got one message telling me to stop trying to interfere with the election and that my arguments won't sway anyone. I've gotten so many messages thanking me for talking and telling me that they're thinking critically for the first time that I've lost count.

Gridlock, indeed.

Fortunately, I don't have to keep it all straight.
There is a King coming back.
He'll correct my heresy...
and yours, too.
He'll straighten it all out for us...
every crooked path.

No matter who is president, Jesus is King.
Worship the King.

Every valley shall be filled,
And every mountain and hill shall be made low.
And the crooked shall be made straight,
And the rough places shall become level ways. Luke 3:5 

Sunday's Coming

"I think we created a monster," my mom whispered to me one Sunday after church. She had asked Brett and me to Sunday dinner that night. And when it comes to cooking, my mom's no slouch, let me tell you.
Still, Brett hesitated.
I gave him the evil eye.

But to no avail.
Nothin' doin'.
Today was Sunday.
He was going home to take a nap, watch some football, maybe...putz.
But, no, he was not going out.

And to think we had done all of this to him...

When Brett and I were dating/engaged, we would go to church and then head to my parents' house for some R&R.
Pool.
Steaks on the grill.
Maybe some reading.

At first, all the sitting still nearly drove him mad. Sunday, to him, was a day for running errands, fixing stuff, hitting the grocery store.
Bachelors.
What do they know?

So when he started hanging out with my family, he thought all this 'resting' was wasting time. But then...
...it started to grow on him. And by the time we said, "I do," he was a Sabbath convert. Big time. Which is why he politely but firmly declined my mom's invitation to Sunday dinner.

Harumph.

And for the past 24 years,  Sunday as Sabbath has taken a firm root in the Adams' home.
He likes it like that.
And so do I.

We love our church, and we love our church family.
But after we've gotten in some fellowship time, he and I are both sneaking glances at the clock and edging towards the door.
"Fenuccis!" he yells, and all the shorter Adams' (and the taller ones, too) start heading for the Blue Whale.
And the Blue Whale starts heading for home.

Home.
That's where Sabbath, properly observed, is spent. At least in our family.
If we're spending Sunday with you, and you are not related to us, it's because we like you. We really, really like you.

We pile into the kitchen, and it's a flurry of kicked-off shoes, dropped purses, ditched Bibles, and "I'm hungry!" We eat enough to get the little guy happily off to nap time and then...rest.
Book pages fluttering.
Disney movie going upstairs.
Afghans and football and...quiet.

Then, my favorite part of Sunday: dinner.
No matter what we've been doing the rest of the week, how many meetings or practices or activities or ...or...or...Sunday arrives. And so does Sunday dinner. It's the one night we're guaranteed to have everyone at his place. Candles. Stemware. Yea, even sometimes cloth napkins (that is, when I have failed to replenish the paper variety).  This is serious business, people.

And there, around the table, family happens.
Sermon talk.
Laughter.
Foodie observations.
And while we tend to guard family mealtime during the week, there's just something about Sunday dinner that makes us all linger a little longer around the table.

When we were married, the pastor exhorted us to be faithful to establish traditions.
We listened.
Sunday is one of our most foundational traditions.

This past Sunday, dinner lasted a little longer.
A cold front had blown in, so we piled the dinner dishes in the sink and moved to the backyard.
We lit a fire in the fire-pit; we pulled out lawn chairs; we roasted marshmallows and drank hot cocoa.

The troubles of the day and the worries of the week faded in the moonlight.
We told stories.
We did screaming yellow zippers,
and Cincinnati fire kites.
We laughed and chattered under the full moon.

Sunday is the day we join in the fellowship of the saints and corporate worship and the preaching of the Word.
But Sunday is also the day that reminds us that we can rest.

Rest is a privilege.
Rest is for those whose trust is in the Lord.
Rest is a good gift from a Great Redeemer.

No matter how crazy or chaotic or fragmented or worrisome the other six days of the week can be...
our family celebrates the grace of rest on Sunday...
...because we need the reminder not just of weekly rest
but of the eternal rest that was secured for us at the Cross.

And Sunday has a way of doing that.

To a Thousand Generations

I have seen God's faithfulness.

We're in that season now...
That season where, as parents, we have removed the bumpers...
Where we are sending our children out into the big, bad world.
They are not moving towards self-government; they are fully living in it. So, really, they are our 'adults.'

This past weekend, we went to visit our newest adult, who is seven weeks into his freshman year of college...
And I am blown away by how many times in one weekend, I saw God's faithfulness in my family.

I saw God's faithfulness when we dropped off the car for Alex. We worshiped with her in chapel and were exhorted together by a godly preacher. I was reminded that she is in a good place--with good people.

I saw God's faithfulness later that day when we flew to Michigan. The two of us enjoyed a leisurely evening with Brett's parents. We talked about politics. We talked about the state of the Church. We talked about God. Always about God.

I saw God's faithfulness the next morning at breakfast as Brett's dad led us in a devotional, and we four prayed together over our adults. I saw God's faithfulness as his mom and dad discipled us right there at the kitchen table.

I saw God's faithfulness when we met Luke at Hillsdale for Parents' Weekend. He shared his heart and what it's like for him to live out self-government a thousand miles from home. He shared his growth and his challenges.

I saw God's faithfulness the next day when the rain chased us inside for coffee. For three hours we sat and talked. And there, a homework assignment of Alex's  (that just happened to have been assigned right before our trip) that involved a family assessment brought to light things we had done that had been hurtful. There, right there over coffee, I repented to Luke. And right there over coffee, the healing began.

I saw God's faithfulness as we got to meet three of the Fab Four--my name for Luke's circle of godly young men who keep each other accountable, who urge each other on to love and good deeds. A thousand miles from home, God has given Luke strong friendships, good friendships, that will encourage him as he lives out this season called 'college.'

I saw God's faithfulness at lunch when we sat with Luke's roommate's family. We connected. We were, in the other mom's words, 'speaking the same language.' Turns out, she had been praying for a godly roommate for her own son. Turns out, Luke and Nick are answers to the prayers of a couple of moms.

I saw God's faithfulness on Sunday morning in Luke's church. I was basking in it as we stood next to him and worshiped God with Luke's local body of believers. And we heard the Word preached. God has led Luke to a safe place.

I saw God's faithfulness as we shared lunch...
and laughed over Labrador burgers...
and Wiley meat...
and hugged and said goodbye and entrusted Luke, once again, to God's hands.

I saw God's faithfulness back at Brett's parents' home. We lingered over dinner and a  glass of wine and pondered this thing called family. Brett and I thanked them for faithfully discipling us through this season. The next morning, we shared breakfast on the back patio. We talked of elections and nations and peoples. We got out the Constitution. We talked of God's plan for government. We talked about God. Always about God.

In short, we fellowshipped. Really fellowshipped.
With Alex.
With my in-laws.
With Luke.
With Luke's roommate's family.

Life has so many seasons to it. We find God as individuals. We find a mate. We raise children to adulthood. And as adults ourselves, we learn to relate to both the generations ahead of us and behind us as each new season begins. I see God's faithfulness as He leads us through this season of transition--this season where we are learning to be parents of adults and our children are learning to relate to us as adult children.

I see God's faithfulness across generations of saints.
Right here in one family.

I am humbled.
I am blessed.
I am grateful.

Know, therefore, that the Lord your God, He is God, the faithful God who keeps His covenant and His lovingkindness to a thousandth generation with those who love Him and keep His commandments. (Deuteronomy 7:9)

Followers and Converts

When it comes to church background, I'm a mutt.

I was baptized into the Catholic church as an infant.
But when I was three, my parents decided to become Protestant.

Next up?
Charismatic.
Here's where it gets interesting.
'Holy' laughter.
Tambourines.

Proclaiming. Rebuking. Opening and closing doors. As in:
"I proclaim a spirit of good grades this year," or
"I rebuke that spirit of sneezing in Jesus' name," or
"You know, if you put your knee behind your neck like that, you're gonna open a door to a demon."

But wait. There's more.
By the time I was in college, I was in a charismatic denomination that preached signs and wonders and 'power' evangelism.
And in order to achieve signs and wonders, we (Yes. We. Not He.) would go to classes on the gifts of the Spirit. Get a load of this true story from my past:
I attended a seminar on words of knowledge. And to wrap it up, we had to practice them.
Practice a gift of the Spirit. And I did it. (Oh goodness, I am still so embarrassed to admit it now. I look back on this and shudder and wonder, "What the HECK was I thinking?")
Brett and I met and married in that church.

We left that church for more tambourines and flags. Don't ask. Just don't.

Somewhere around Year Twelve of our marriage, we decided to try home church.
Nifty little idea, that.
No elders.
No oversight.
No discipleship.
No communion.
But we did get to make all the decisions unilaterally.
No protection.
No wisdom.
No good.

Fortunately, that didn't last too long. And we dragged our emaciated little souls back to a corporate body, where we were nourished for a time.
Of course, that was about the time our children were getting old enough for the beast called Youth Group...an idea to which we both said, "OVER OUR DEAD BODIES."
At that point, we began to look a bit freakish.
I mean, it's one thing to look like a freak to the world.
We're supposed to, to a certain extent.
But when your family of (then) eight takes up a whole row and all the kids get out their little notebooks to listen to the pastor while all the other kids are dismissed to children's church, bunny stickers, and Pin-the-hair-on-the-Samson...
well, not every member takes kindly to the idea...especially not the children's church director.

Children's church. That's in the same part of the Bible with baby dedications and building committees.
Just sayin'.

We briefly visited a Presbyterian church. But I didn't know any hymns. And these were old hymns. Very old.

Today, after lots of flopping around, I think we've finally landed.
We're Calvinist. We're family-integrated. We're non-cessationist.
We're home.
Still, I'm sure we've had believers who have tried us for a time and said, "Hmm. Weird. I don't think so."

But the lesson I'm learning is that, despite my differences with my other church experiences, and my preferences for my own church, no one has a corner on the Truth. And every Christian, every single one, has something valuable to contribute to the big picture called the universal Church. And I've got great, godly friends in all of these places.

Charismatics: we disagree on gold dust and angel feathers. But they have an exuberant worship that other churches don't yet get. And I think they're correct to affirm spiritual gifts.
Baptists: we disagree on baptism, dancing, alcohol, and lots of rules. But Baptists care about holiness in a way we should all want to imitate.
Presbyterians: they have a more formal, staid approach to Sunday mornings. But their high church liturgy has an emphasis on the majesty and beauty of God that I haven't found anywhere else.

In short, every church has weaknesses...
and every church has strengths.
Every church has wheat...
and every church has tares.

I just finished Jonathan Leeman's Church Membership: How the World Knows Who Represents Jesus...Fantastic book on the importance of church membership. It's kind of the abbreviated version of his much thicker and meatier The Church and the Surprising Offense of God's Love. But they both address the same concern: church membership.

The Church is bursting at the seams with followers. But being a 'follower' is not the same as being a 'convert,'  writes David Wells in Turning to God. Good point. Followers are interested in this person called Jesus and in this book called the Bible. But converts are submitted to the authority of the King and His Word.

Followers think of Jesus having a Twitter account. Intriguing persona. Makes some good points.
Converts think of Jesus as Lord. King. Master. Creator. Redeemer.
Followers subscribe.
Converts submit.

The Church has failed to distinguish between the two. And her membership rolls are filled with people who are interested, curious, and perhaps even Biblically articulate. Yet they lack the one thing that marks them as belonging to God: repentance. In other words, the visible Church today is filled with...non-Christians...people who are not saved, not going to Heaven.

And why is that so important?
Because membership is the stamp of approval that says to the watching world, "This person is a citizen of the Christian nation and a subject of the King."
When a local church confers membership on a follower--instead of on a convert--the world is left with the idea that people who are merely intrigued by Jesus are the same people who serve Him.
And that paints a false picture of what it means to be redeemed...
which belittles and demeans the work of the Cross.

While Charismatic, Baptist, and Presbyterian converts can disagree on youth group, liturgy, and baptism, they can never disagree on the Gospel.
Followers of every stripe think Jesus is cool.

Converts of every stripe know Jesus is King.

There is not one square inch of the entire creation about which Jesus Christ does not cry out, "This is mine! This belongs to me!" (Abraham Kuyper)

AnoNEEmous

The phone rang and simultaneously announced "Anonymous,"
Although it sounds like "AnoNEEmous" because it's a cheesy computer voice.

Oh goody.
I'd been trying to catch this one for the past week, but our message recorder is set to go on after ring two because...well, because I hate talking on the phone.
And this way, 'they' can leave a message, and I can get back to 'them' when I feel like it.
But that also means that I miss the calls I do want to pick up--like anoNEEmous.
So when anoNEEmous called this morning, I tore around the corner, leap-frogged my three year-old, and broke a kitchen tackle by my 14 year old.

 I knew who this was.
This is election season, after all.
And I wanted to take this one.

"Hello?"
"Would you like to participate in a survey?" she asked.
"Love to," I salivated.
"Great! Thanks. How likely are you to vote in the upcoming election?"
"Definitely."
"What would you say is the single greatest issue today?"
Mmm. Tough one. Let me think--for a nanosecond.
"Individual liberty."
Silence. There probably wasn't a little bubble thingy to fill in for that one. She was probably expecting me to say something a little more republican-ish:
Obamacare...terrorism...jobs...deficit...blah,blah,blah...
But she found a way to catch that fastball...
Recovering, she continued on, "And how has this issue affected you personally?"

(Lady! Were you dropped on your head at birth?
Would you like to talk about the time my son had a little pocket knife, a coming of age 10th birthday gift, confiscated by a TSA stooge? Or would you like to talk about the fact that I have to give my driver's licence to purchase allergy medication? Or...curfew? That tyrannical little ordinance where some Americans limit the free movement of other Americans in and about their own city?)

But I digress...
Back to the phone survey.
"Curfew."
Probably didn't have a little bubble thingy for that one, either.

"Next, I'll list candidates' names and you tell me how favorable you are towards them.
Barack Obama?"
"Very unfavorable."
"Mitt Romney?"
"Very unfavorable."
I could practically hear her thinking, 'Wait. Can you feel the same about both of them?'...
"Governor Perry?"
'Loathe entirely' wasn't one of my options...but he is a staunch defender of parental rights--when he's not a staunch opponent of parental rights. I want to be fair here.
"Somewhat unfavorably."
"So and so (one of the councilmen at our curfew battle, whose identity I shall here protect)?"
Rapid thinking on my part. This was one of two council members willing to hear our curfew grievances. On the other hand, this was the only guy out of six councilmen who glared at me the whole time I testified before the City Council. My initial meeting with him had apparently used the term 'constitution' too many times for his comfort. It was abundantly clear that he didn't like me. But I don't like brown-noses--so the feeling was mutual.

Again, I answered fairly..."Somewhat unfavorably."

"In the general election, will you be voting for Barack Obama, Mitt Romney, or Someone Else?"
"Someone Else."

"And for senator, who will..."(at this point, she stopped, clearly getting some kind of high sign from a supervisor). "Oh. I'm sorry. That brings our survey to an end. Thank you for your time." Click.

Just like that, Little Miss Sunshine was gone.
Clearly, they had heard enough. And the voice of this citizen stopped being important.
There's no doubt in my mind that before I put the phone back on the cradle, my survey had already been sent to the big Shredder in the Sky.
Their version of being fair and balanced, no doubt.

Sigh.

Is there no end to their tyranny?
You and I both know the answer to that.
One thing's for sure.
I'll probably stop getting harassed by anoNEEmous,
'Cause everyone knows that people like me and answers like mine make me as valuable to my Big Tent Party...

as a Maine delegate.

Kind of makes me feel anonymous myself.

The Grander Scheme

This small stretch of sky is my horizon,

The extent of all my hopeful dreams.

Yet I yearn to go beyond perceptions 

And see inside some other lives unfolding...*

It's been a tough couple of weeks at our house.

For eighteen years, we added to our family,

Bringing baby Adamses in,

Embracing all that God was giving to us.

Ten days before Z graduated from high school, baby J was born. 

It was a change in more ways than one.

For just as the last little guy made his entrance,

the first little guy was getting ready to make his exit.

Thus began the next chapter in our home.
Launching adult Adamses out,
Releasing them to find their callings and begin to fulfill the dominion mandate out in that big, bad world.

In The Explicit Gospel, Matt Chandler describes the gospel on the ground and the gospel from the air. 

Same story. Two views.

I find that life in general is much like Chandler's gospel description.

Life from the ground. Launching from the ground.

I see my little adults taxiing out to the runway, taking off to who really knows where. 

From where I'm standing, it looks like goodbye.

Those planes, they head out toward the horizon.

And I stand there and watch.

And they get smaller.

And they are gone. 

That's the mom's-eye-view.

It's a bittersweet place to be. 

We love those kiddos.

We've had the pleasure of seeing all the work that God's done.

All that grace God has poured..

No...all that grace God has positively drenched us in...

Changes boys to men.

Girls to women.

Disciples to friends.

And standing here on the ground, watching as these friends, these most precious friends of all, take off...is gut-wrenching.

I keep telling myself that we raised them to do precisely this.

I keep telling myself that we are releasing them to God's hands.

God. Who loves them even more than we do.

But this is still life on the ground.

And my vision is still limited by the horizon.

So I stretch my mind and try to understand

How you could hold each soul inside Your plan.

O Father, grant me faith to see my part in history

Touching others with Your love unfolding.

Life from the air. Launching from the air.

He who created them,

He to whom we are releasing them,

Sees past my horizon

And sets their course.

He knows the plan.

I know this in my head.

But it does not stop the ache in my heart.

I've known from the time they were little that they would grow and leave.
That growing,
and leaving,
they were the goal.
The good goal.

But now that we are in the middle of that season,

My heart must fight to trust life from the air,

Up there where God sees it all.

Open up a way for me to see,

The grandeur of the grander scheme unfolding.

Down here on the ground,
it can be hard to remember that there is something grander than just the horizon.

I'm missing Zach flopping on my bed after midnight--just to talk. I'm missing the mischievous gleam in his eye when he's teasing his nine-year-old sister. I'm missing him dragging the seven-year old outside to play soccer. I'm missing his zeal for his Lord. I'm missing this kid who told me this summer, "My family IS my ministry."

I'm missing Alex giving bear hugs. And her "Mom, I think you're amazing." And coffee with her. And her love of people. And her passion for the Word. And hogging the whole comforter to herself on the family-room couch.

I'm missing Luke's political passion. I'm missing his good-natured laughter. And seeing him sit up front in church so he can pay attention without the little ones crawling all over him. His sitting on his ugly green chair with his headphones on. And his late night snacks. And his still waters that run deep.

Those things linger on this side of my horizon.
And somewhere beyond what I can see,
God is at work...
in a much grander scheme.
And these kids of mine are a part of that work.

I'm struck with the fact that Brett and I are just a part of the plan.
Their lives don't end at my horizon.
More likely than not, they're really just beginning.
God is beginning to show me that.
I might not ever see the Grand Scheme down here on the ground.
But it's there,
As surely as He is God, and He is sovereign and good.

These past few days, I've begun to feel less grief over what is past and to feel more blessed for what is ahead.
Blessed by where He's going to take them,
out there past my horizon.
Blessed that His eye is on them,
and the shadow of His wing is over them.
Blessed that I could play a small part in His grand scheme.
Blessed that I get to stand here and watch some of it unfold.

(*Unfolding by Christine Dente 1994)