Prayer for Mercy

Almost two years ago (May 24, 2011) I wrote this post.  Unfortunately, the words are once again appropriate.  I still hate and yes, even fear, tornadoes.  As we pray for those staring death and destruction in the face tonight in Oklahoma, may these words penned by David in a plea to his Heavenly Father bring us the peace and hope that we need as we face our own fears and worries.  And may those in Oklahoma, faced with the not knowing and the reality of a new normal, be covered in the peace of God that surpasses all understanding.  

"Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me, for in you my soul takes refuge; in the shadow of your wings I will take refuge, till the storms of destruction pass by.  I cry out to God Most High, to God who fulfills his purpose for me. He will send from heaven and save me; he will put to shame him who tramples on me.  Selah

God will send out his steadfast love and his faithfulness!"

Psalm 57: 1-3

I hate tornadoes.  Hate them.  They scare me to death.  This spring has been horrible when it comes to tornadoes.  First a town in Arkansas, not forty minutes from us, was hit.  Then the next day it was towns in Alabama and Mississippi.  Hundreds of lives lost.  Thousands upon thousands of lives changed forever.  

I had family in most areas affected.  All came out safely.  Praise the Lord.  But so many others did not.  And now Joplin.  Lord have mercy.  Oh please, Lord have mercy.  Storms are barreling through Oklahoma as I type this and causing fear as they tear across the countryside.  And once again, I will go to bed tonight with trepidation in my heart.  I will awaken at the sound of the wind and check the weather.  I will pray and hope.  Hope that lives and homes are spared tonight.  

I am reading an incredible biography on Dietrich Bonhoeffer by Eric Metaxas.  In the chapter I read last night, in the days of Hitler's reign of terror, Bonhoeffer wrote a book about prayer and the Psalms.  If there was ever a storm caused by a man, then Hitler was that man.  Bonhoeffer reminded us that the Psalms were the prayers that Jesus prayed and he asserted that they were better prayers than we could ever come up with on our own.  I don't know if I agree with this assertion, but it has me reading the Psalms a little bit more closely and contemplating them as prayers.    When I read the above Psalm today, well I wondered if maybe Bonhoeffer had not gotten it right after all.  

David's cry for mercy, his declaration of refuge in God until the storms pass, his acknowledgment that God will fulfill His purpose no matter what happens to us, and the assurance that God will send his love and faithfulness all come together in a prayer that brings him to his knees in front of his God.   This is a prayer for anyone being pummeled by storms of every shape and size.  It is a prayer for those sitting in the rubble of their former lives, no matter if that rubble was caused by a tornado, someone else's destructive choices or their very own.  Or for those just digging through the rubble caused by life.

For those of you that are huddled in closets this evening praying that the storms pass you by, for those of you picking up the pieces of what remains of life as you know it, and for those of you that are just watching and praying from afar, pray Psalm 57:1-3 and know that the God Most High hears your voice and is giving you refuge in the shadow of His wings.  He will fulfill his purpose for you. (Job 42:2; Isaiah 14:24; Psalm 138:8)  He will never leave you nor forsake you. (Deuteronomy 31:8; John 14:27) He has written you on the palm of His hands. (Isaiah 49:16)

O God, be merciful.  Be merciful.

Every Nation, Tribe, People and Language

Below is a link to a story from Wycliffe Translators.  The picture of the man listening to the Word of God for the first time in his language is priceless.  We take our Bibles for granted every day.  But there are those who have yet to hear in their own language that God loved them so much that He sent His only Son to die for their sins.

I cannot imagine.  I cannot imagine not having the words of my Savior to read whenever or wherever I so desire.

Maybe I need to imagine it.  To ponder what my life would be like without His words of life.

And imprint those words on my heart.

Every day.


http://wycliffeusa.wordpress.com/2013/05/16/featured-photo-from-the-field-technology-for-nomads/

"After this I looked, and there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and before the Lamb.  They were wearing white robes and were holding palm branches in their hands."  Revelation 7:9 (NIV)

Faith, Hope and My Grandmother

"For, All men are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field; the grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of the Lord stands forever."  1 Peter 1:24-25 (NIV 84)

My grandmother would have been 92 today.  I had to text my mother this morning to ask how long it had been since she passed away.  I have no idea why I couldn't remember the year.  I could remember the date-it was three days after her birthday. I was taken aback when my mom told me it had been five years.

Margaret Lee Thompson Brown

Five years since we had discussed a new book.  Five years since she had prayed for me.  Five years since we talked about something we had read in the Bible.  Five years since I had called her just because I could.  Even if I didn't really have anything to say.  Maybe I just wanted to hear her say "I love you" when we hung up.

Actually, it probably has been more than five years because she was so sick at the end that we had not be able to visit like we had all my life.  Once she entered the nursing home, it really wasn't ever the same.  I think that is why I didn't cry too much when she finally passed away.  She was finally at peace.

Death had come as a blessing not as a thief.

Knowing that I would see her again, knowing she was with her Savior, knowing that because of her faith in Jesus I was not saying goodbye forever...it makes all the difference.  I don't grieve without hope.

I miss her.  When I read a book by our favorite author, I want so badly to call her and discuss every glorious detail with her.  When the world is frustrating me, I want to hear her reassure me that this is not my home.  To remind me of the God I call mine, and that He has not forgotten His promises.  I would love to call her and discuss all the recipes on Pinterest-oh, how we could talk about cooking and food and recipes.

But then I open a book she gave me, and she is there in the pages.  Conversations we had come flooding back as I reacquaint myself with the stories of the lives spelled out in words.  When I look through her worn and stained cookbooks and begin compiling the ingredients for a favorite recipe, she is there telling me to keep my fingers out of the dough.  Though not really meaning it.

When I open her Bible and see the verses underlined, the names and dates written in the margins, and the pages worn and wrinkled by her fingers, she is there with me.  Her faith in these words, not the words of man, but of God Himself, are the foundation of my faith.  The faith that she seeded and watered for 33 years of my life.

Like grass, like flowers, her life faded but the words that she lived by, those remain.  Forever. Like her, my life will fade away someday.  But I hope and pray that what I leave behind, maybe to a granddaughter if I am so blessed, is a faith that ripples through generations to come.  A faith built firmly on the foundation of God's word.

Her simple words, marks and reminders in her Bible let me know that she worked at her faith.  The pages are dirty and stained.  The leather so supple from being held in her hands over the years that it melds to my hands.  She worked at it every day and so must I.  As I grow in my knowledge of God, my faith will grow deeper.  Like a tree planted by water that bears fruit in its seasons. (Psalm 1)  I want my faith to bear fruit.  Now and in the years to come.

I have accumulated four Bibles that I use on a regular basis.  One I received at my high school graduation, one I purchased for myself once I was married, one I bought in college and used on my three year-long journeys through the Bible, and the last one is the one that goes to church with me-it is smaller, not "Bible-thumper" size. But they all have notes, and underlining, and memories tucked in the pages.  Each one tells the journey of my faith a little bit differently, but the story is the same.

The story of a faith built on a foundation that never changes.  The words I base my life on are the words of the Lord and they stand forever.  These words inspire me, confound me, convict me, encourage me, comfort me, bind me, remind me, challenge me, and save me.  The words of my God...define me.

But more than anything, the words of my Savior give me hope.  Death has lost its sting.  It no longer has the victory.  I know that when this life passes away I get to spend eternity with those that have believed and have gone before me.  This knowledge doesn't erase grief when those we love go before us, but it redefines the grief.  We grieve the loss of their company and presence, but we grieve with hope.  Hope born from faith in a God that conquered death and keeps every promise He ever made.

But this hope also instills an urgency within me.  There are those that don't have this hope.  That don't know the promises contained within His words.  How does the world cope without God?  How does it grieve without Christ?  Without hope?

I pray that somehow my life on this earth is used for His glory.  I pray that I am able to plant seeds that will be grown by the Holy Spirit in my sons and in those whose lives I somehow touch each day.  I pray I speak with gentleness and respect of this hope that I possess.  I pray that a desire is born in those who crave hope, a desire for the words of God Almighty.

Words that stand forever.

Colors of Spring

We have Hope

If you read nothing else today, please read this post by Erick Erickson.  He reminds us that we do not have to give up hope, no matter how crazy the world may be.  He reminds us that Christ himself told us to not let our hearts be troubled. (Matthew 14:1 & 27)  Yes, in this world we will have trouble, but never forget that Christ has overcome the world. (John 16:33)

He is our Hope.  He is our Peace.

Why?

The Bible and its words are timeless.  God speaks to us through the same words He spoke through His prophets thousands of years ago.  The words of Habakkuk speak to the world as we know it today.  Amidst tragedies that we don't understand.  Amidst horrors that play out on our TVs and computers and phones nonstop.  We are surrounded and overwhelmed by evilness. 

We aren't the first and we won't be the last that feel this way.  Listen to Habakkuk's words in chapter 1 that he directs at God Almighty.

"How long, O Lord, must I call for help, but you do not listen?  Or cry out to you, "Violence!" but you do not save?  Why do you make me look at injustice? Why do you tolerate wrong?  Destruction and violence are before me; there is strife, and conflict abounds.  Therefore the law is paralyzed, and justice never prevails.  The wicked hem in the righteous, so that justice is perverted." (Verses 2-4)

"Your eyes are too pure to look on evil; you cannot tolerate wrong.  Why then do you tolerate the treacherous?  Why are you silent while the wicked swallow up those more righteous than themselves?" (Verse 13)

I think I screamed similar words to God yesterday in the wake of the horror in Boston and because of the death of a young man in our community.  Violence is everywhere. Injustice rules the day.  The law does nothing but stop the bleeding for a moment.  Why is God silent?  When will he respond? 

In chapter 2, God answers and promises woe to Babylon.  Babylon will bring destruction to Judah, but Babylon will suffer for its violence and cruelty.  At the hands of those more violent and cruel.  But God makes these promises in verses 14 and 20:

"For the earth will be filled with knowledge of the glory of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea." 

"But the Lord is in his holy temple; let all the earth be silent before him."

The earth has been filled with evil, wickedness and chaos since the Fall of man in the Garden of Eden.  But God has not changed.  He is still God.  He is still good.  Someday, all the earth will know Him and confess His name.  His glory will overpower all the pain and sorrow.  Death was conquered on the cross.  Violence and evil still walk this earth, but they are not the victors.  They will not have the last word. 

God has and will.

Habakkuk was not afraid to cry out to God.  To demand answers and ask why.  God was not offended by Habakkuk's desperate cries.  He answered him and promised that though dark days were ahead, He would respond to evil and evil would not prevail. 

Habakkuk responds to God with a prayer.  A plea for mercy.  The same plea that is on our lips as we are overwhelmed by the evil of this world.

"Lord, I have heard of your fame; I stand in awe of your deeds, O Lord.  Renew them in our day, in our time make them known; in wrath remember mercy."  Habakkuk 3:2 (NIV 84)

Cry out to God.  Ask Him why.  But then be silent and listen for His answer.  Listen for His promise of mercy and redemption. 

Another Life Lost

As I and the nation were transfixed by the tragedies in Boston, I glanced at the headline and clicked on it more out of curiosity than anything else.  I did not expect to know the name of the deceased.  I did not expect it to bring a cry of anguish to my lips or tears to my eyes.

But it did.

He was only 15 years old.  He went missing eight days ago.  His grandmother reported it to the local police.  They treated it like any other runaway report.  Another throw away kid that would come back when he was good and ready.  But his grandmother knew something was not right.  Yes, he had left before but had never been gone this long.  Never overnight.  Her intuition was right.  Dear God, she was right.

They don't know how long he had been dead.  As if they truly cared.  Now he was just a murder to be solved.  But to his grandmother, he was a child to be mourned.  

I spoke with her midweek.  He had been missing for 3 or 4 days by then.  I told her I would pass along her information and do what I could do.  Turns out I could do nothing.  I passed along her phone number and her concerns.  But it was all for naught.  He still died.

Another fifteen-year-old boy dead too soon.

I want to cuss.  I want to throw things against the wall.

But I cry and take a long walk.  I breathe in the smells of spring and pray for some kind of deliverance from this craziness and chaos.  I pray for wisdom and strength to make a difference.  But I wonder if it is even possible.

Does evil always win?  Will these kids I work with always fall through the cracks?

I have no doubt he was not the perfect child.  I have yet to meet one.  Anywhere.  But to someone, he was not a child to be loved and protected.  He was not a life to be honored and respected.  He was just a problem.   One that could be disposed of without remorse and with a bullet.  

I would like to say the blame only lies with the one that snuffed out this young life, but I know it lies in so many other places.  Who else failed this child and what can be done to prevent these repeated failures?  What can I do to stand in the gap for these kids?  How do we help them if they don't want the help?  How do we help those that do love them?  Who fight for them everyday.

The court system is just a bandaid.  Until there are changes in the community and in the lives of those raising these kids, this scenario is going to play itself out over and over again.  It may sound trite and cliche, but we need Jesus.

Oh, how we need Jesus.  Oh, how I need Him.

It has been a day filled with news of a national tragedy that will be discussed for months to come.  We will hear many a story of heroics and loved ones lost.  We will know their names and their stories.  Then there is the tragedy that occurred across the river.  Barely anyone will know his name or his story.  He will not be remembered by anyone but the few family members that cared about him.  He will just be one more statistic to be quoted in some crime report.   And once again, I find myself praying these familiar words.

"Come, Jesus, come."  Come quickly.