The Comrades Marathon

Today, over 20,000 individuals from all over the world have converged upon Durban, South Africa, to participate in the prestigious Comrades Marathon.

The race was conceptualized by a South African World War I veteran, Vic Clapham. After enduring a 2,700 kilometer walk through German, East Africa—witnessing the physical and mental challenges that he and his fellow soldiers faced—Vic’s goal was to create a way for the average person to experience that same sense of overcoming hardship and adversity. The first race was held on May 24, 1921.

The Comrades Marathon is considered an ultramarathon. It runs from Durban to Pietermaritzburg in the Kwa Zulu Natal province of South Africa. Each year the race alternates between uphill and downhill. It is about 88 kilometers from start to finish. This year runners are tackling the uphill race.

Eighty-eight kilometers all uphill.

When I woke up this morning, I was thinking about the fierce determination each of these runners must have in order to start and complete this ultramarathon. And then I was thinking about the premise of the Comrades Marathon—to endure with one another through intense adversity.

The fundamental goal for Vic Clapham when he developed the race was not for the soul purpose of one individual winning the prize, although that does happen, but for the collective to endure and face the challenging course together. Pushing each other along to win the day.

It made me think about this Christian race we are running. The Comrades Marathon is a picture of what our faith journey should look like.

I Thessalonians 2:11 & 12 says: “For you know that we dealt with each of you as a father deals with his own children, encouraging, comforting and urging you to live lives worthy of God, who calls you into his kingdom and glory.”

Hebrews 10:24 exhorts us to “consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds.”

The Acts 2 church met with one another, broke bread, shared a table, and their hearts were glad.

We are running the “Ekklesia Marathon.”

As a body of believers, we are the Church—the Ekklesia.

And yet, rather than cheer each other on and hold each other up when we feel too weak and weary to take the next step, we smack each other down. We create silos in our ministries. We marginalize fellow laborers and build platforms for ourselves rather than slowing down our pace to lift each other up.

It saddens my heart that we as the Church—the Hope of the world—are more interested in reflecting the values of the world—competition, financial and numerical success, leadership and position, platform and influence—than we are in running this ultramarathon with grace, humility, kindness, and love.

What might our testimonies look like to the world if we, the Church, came alongside each other and ran this faith marathon as brothers and sisters—as comrades?

What if we cared more about how our fellow believers were managing through the hardships this life throws at us instead of beating each other up?

What negative accusation could be hurled at us if we were the first to offer hope, love, and encouragement to those who are struggling, hurting, and lost?

What kind of beauty might we see if we held each other up during days of joy and days of sorrow?

This marathon is hard to run alone.

Church, we need each other, and we need to be kind. We need to be humble. We need to shed our egos and we need to remember to Whom we have been called.

Let us be ones who run together through adversity.

Christ expects that.

He is returning for His bride, not for individual achievers.

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus” (Hebrews 12:1,2).

This morning, my thoughts were on the Comrades Marathon. And more specifically, my thoughts have turned toward the Church.

I want to run this race well, but I don’t want to run alone.

One of my favorite Christmas songs is “I’ll Be Home for Christmas”. One variation of this song begins with this line: “I’m dreaming tonight of a place I love even more than I usually do…”. Every time I hear this, my thoughts are instantly transported to my grandparents’ old farmhouse in Wellston, Ohio at Christmastime. I can see the tree in the corner of the living room, and I can smell my grandmother’s baking in her little farmhouse kitchen. It’s like time stands still for a moment. Christmas at Nanny and Ba’s house- some of the most precious childhood memories I have. It makes me feel homesick, not just for that old house, and my grandma’s baking, and my grandpa’s endless teasing, but homesick for a moment in time that felt warm and cozy and safe. Homesick for a feeling. A feeling of “home.”

The topic of “home” has been a recurring theme in my life over the past few months. Where is home? What is home? Is home a place, an idea, or a feeling? What is it?

If you were my son, Jasper, your connection to home might be family. He had to do a little project for school about all the different kinds of homes there are in the world. We brainstormed, and he came up with a long list of all the various types of homes that are possible: wood homes, stone homes, brick homes, glass homes, ice homes, etc.. His list was long. The next part of the project was to talk about his own home. Once he described what he believed his home was made of – brick and wood – he then went on to explain what he loved about his home- what makes it special to him. Interestingly, he didn’t talk about specific features, but rather, it was his family that made his home so special to him. For Jasper, it was family that defined home, more so than wood and brick.

As a missionary, I often find myself wrestling with this idea of “home.” It feels uncertain because of the unstable nature of this kind of life. I try my best to plant roots and dig in deep wherever I am, but there is always this reality – way back in my mind – that all of this is temporary. Even now, as we look ahead to itineration in approximately six months, “home” is already being disrupted by the anticipation of our upcoming transition.

I was listening to a speaker recently unpack this topic of “home” to a group of fellow missionary women. She shared about a time when she was attending a high school graduation in Nairobi, Kenya. The graduation speaker, who was a third culture kid, asked the question, “What is home?” Later, she answered the question by saying, “God is home.”

This really struck me.

God is home.

Brooklyn and I were out for one of our coffee dates, and she opened up to me about some of the things she’s been processing lately. She is a senior in high school and is looking ahead at a lot of big transitions in her life. Like I mentioned earlier, itineration is just around the corner for our family, but even more startling is the reality that Brooklyn’s transition doesn’t end when she leaves South Africa. She will be in an ongoing state of transition as she begins university in August of next year. For her, this feeling of unsettledness is profound. There is so much uncertainty. And she made a comment to me that nowhere feels like home.

South Africa, while it is her current address, doesn’t feel like home to her. She doesn’t feel as connected to it as she did to our home in Portland, Oregon. And yet, Portland doesn’t feel like home either. It is has changed. Everything that made it “home” to her has completely flipped upside-down, and her connection to a place that would seemingly be home to her feels very foreign.

As we were talking ,two things came to my mind: First, I remembered the message I listened to that encouraged us that “God is home,” and second, thankfully we can say that our “family is home.”

Nothing is constant, except God. And while I am grateful that I have a family that is secure, stable, authentic, and a safe place to land, I realize that rooting myself/ourselves in family can’t always meet that need for “home”, but God can. Because God is constant. When we are rooted in him, we are secure. He keeps us and he holds us. He anchors us when life threatens to blow us over. He is faithful.

I don’t think this concept applies only to missionaries and third-culture kids. I think it is universal to all Christ-followers. How often do we look around at the world, or even the city we live in, and feel so very foreign? How often do we wonder where exactly we fit in? And how many times do we struggle to find a place that feels right and whole and “home?” My guess is that we don’t feel these things very often. Maybe you are fortunate enough to be a part of a body of believers that gives you a living picture of safety and security and fulfills that longing for home. Like my family, it is a place of rest and peace and trust. Or maybe the body you have been connected to has been dysfunctional, and it has disappointed you, and you are thinking to yourself, “Is there really such a thing as a healthy church family?” Regardless, I would guess that many of us, whether in healthy or unhealthy environments, feel very foreign in this world. And those feelings are very valid.

Earth is not our home; Heaven is our home. This is not to say we don’t get planted and rooted where we are, but we do so with the awareness that this is not our forever home.

In Hebrews chapter 11, the writer is drawing our attention to those who trusted and lived by faith, waiting and believing in the promise to come. Even as they passed from this earth, they were still living by faith.

All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country – a heavenly one. Therefore, God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.

Hebrews 11:13-16

Are you longing for a better country? Are you reminiscing about a time gone by that felt warm and secure, but doesn’t exist anymore? Do you feel like a stranger here on earth? If yes, then you are in good company. Those who lived by faith and are acknowledged as those who put faith in action in the Scriptures, also felt those same feelings. This broken world, these dysfunctional systems we try so hard to control, are not our home. God is our home.

And our mandate from Christ is to bring as many other people home as we possibly can. Our purpose is not to live so secluded and insulated that our light grows dim. Our purpose isn’t to create better systems or even to make better leaders. As we live as strangers in this world, our responsibility is to bring people to Christ; to bring them home with God. Making disciples who make disciples. Because God’s home is not for a select few, but we know that he longs for all to come and dwell.

God is our home.

I am so grateful for that promise and assurance today. This Thanksgiving more than any other, this truth feels even more comforting to me.

Baby Photoshoot Fail - boredpanda.com

Christmas day, wrapping paper scattered across the floor and turkey leftovers sitting on the kitchen counter, I sat on the couch and hit the mental replay button over the last 24 hours. Days were spent in the kitchen preparing all the yummy Christmas favorites- from sweet potato casserole to stuffing made from scratch, to pumpkin pie and dozens of Christmas cookies. Recently moved into our home here in Durban, we were working hard to get as settled in as possible before the festivities began.

One of my favorite Christmas traditions is Christmas Eve service. The dim lights, the carols, and the quiet moment to reflect on the birth of Christ have always been a highlight in our family. This year Joel would be sharing the Christmas Eve message at our church, and I was so excited to share in this experience.

And then…

Jasper.

I really don’t know what triggered him. There wasn’t a lot of noise or over-stimulating activity. The only thing I can deduce, as I’ve processed the unravelling of that evening, was that our “church routine” was not normal. It was not a typical Sunday morning church experience, and I believe, in his little mind, that was what he was expecting. Because this was a special service, with a completely different format, Jasper went down the slippery slope and fell into the dark hole of a meltdown that I couldn’t pull him out of. I ended up taking him home early. There was no other option.

On the drive home, I sealed my lips shut so that I wouldn’t say something mean or hurtful to Jasper. (I keep reminding myself that his explosions and impulses are not something that he won’t control, but something he truly can’t control.) I knew that I couldn’t berate him and blame him for ruining my Christmas Eve experience.

Once home and collected, I fed Jasper some dinner and put him to bed.

I’m not going to lie. I was disappointed. I was frustrated. Frustrated with Jasper and frustrated with myself. After parenting for nearly 18 years I’ll admit that there are more than a few moments of self-imposed guilt and shame for the state of parental cluelessness I feel on an ongoing basis. This Christmas Eve experience was not an isolated event. It was merely one in a long line of humiliating and bewildering parenting moments over the course of Jasper’s five years of life.

So, sitting on the couch on Christmas Day, recognising my own pain and disappointment, I chose to look forward to the year ahead through a different lens. In order to navigate this season well, I realised that I need to adjust my expectations.

Adjusted expectations.

And not just as it pertains to Jasper. For sure I am challenging myself to take my hopes and expectations for Jasper, and for myself, and adjust them to fall into a more realistic picture of where he and I are on this journey. But also, I am challenging myself to take this same principle and apply it to every area of my life: ministry, missions, transition, life in the age of COVID, etc.

“An unmet longing from a realistic expectation is such a searing pain within a human heart.” Lysa Terkeurst, It’s Not Supposed to be This Way

I think, if we were sitting around a table together talking about our 2020 lives, we would all agree, to some degree, that our expectations a year ago were not completely unreasonable. Most of our daily routines were slated to roll out much the same as they have in years past. Most of us are not in the habit of resolving ourselves to some kind of extraordinary feat of accomplishment that overrides reality. Our resolutions often look like reasonable goals, with a hint of risk, that propel us forward so that we can take the next step, and then the next towards the greater goal ahead. Our disappointment this past year was not because we didn’t qualify for the Grand Prix or make it to The Voice finals. Most of our disappointments came from the “unmet longings from realistic expectations”.

At least, that is how it looked for me. Much of the expectations I held over the past year were fairly reasonable. I wasn’t building up pie-in-the-sky fantasies of parenting, ministry and life overseas. In fact, I felt that I had lowered/adjusted many of my natural expectations to meet the needs of our family, for Jasper, and to understand ministry in a cross-cultural context.

And yet, still, so much disappointment.

Adjusted expectations.

I think the first step forward in this new year – this new normal – is letting go of my/our expectations, the ones unmet and the ones we are still holding onto.

I believe God can, and will, do new things – great things – but they will not look the way we may expect. It’s not about having no expectation at all, but about adjusting our expectations and holding some things more loosely. It is unfair to put a burden upon someone who, or something that, is incapable of carrying it. The load isn’t fair. People will disappoint us. Organisations and governments will disappoint us. In my personal journey, it is realising Jasper has limitations. My expectations of him have to adjust. I need to meet him where he is…not where I want him to be right now, or where he will be eventually. It doesn’t mean he and I will never get to the place that I desire, but it means I need to learn to adapt to the process.

Oftentimes it simply comes down to the realisation that people, organisations, and current circumstances simply can’t meet our expectations, not that they won’t.

My mantra these days is “adjusted expectations”.

Stability is a moving target.

And, for me, the way to move forward – in order to embrace life, to minister to my family, to meet Jasper’s needs, to find peace and internal stability – is to hold on loosely to the picture I have in my mind of how things should look, and learn to be okay with how things actually play out in this current reality.

I’m pretty much learning to adjust my expectations in every area of life.

“They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit.” Jeremiah 17:8

In an unstable world, where expectations are bound to go unmet, we are not left hopeless. For those who choose to root themselves in the truths of a stable God – who will always meet our expectations – there is nothing to fear. The winds of insanity may blow hard, long and fiercely, and the heat of this life may weary us, but we can still come through these barren and broken days fruitful and strong.

Rooted in God’s Word.

Rooted in a deeper faith…a tested faith.

We may have to adjust our expectations for the world around us and the circumstances in front of us, but we will never have to adjust our expectations for God’s promises and his faithfulness.

And I believe it is a rooted faith that will keep us moving forward…helping us to let go of what we thought things should look like right now and embrace the reality of where we actually are today.

What about you?

What areas of your life are you needing to adjust your expectations?

What is one expectation you can let go of, or adjust, today?

2020, literally, went out with a bang last night. A storm blew in yesterday evening bringing with it lightening that lit up the sky and claps of thunder unlike any I had ever heard before. Sitting around our living room with our three oldest, we all joked that 2020 was throwing a temper tantrum as it made its way into history.

It has been a year.

I don’t need to go into details and rehash all the challenges we’ve faced over the past 365 days. We all know. We all have our stories. We’ve all navigated our way through.

Last week, with Christmas lights still twinkling and carols still echoing throughout the house, I did a lot of reflection and forward looking.

2020 was hard…but it was also so good.

Unprecedented in its challenges…but also unprecedented in its blessings.

Unexpected twists and turns…coupled with unexpected doors of opportunity.

Uncertainty met with a strong and certain foundation.

“For you, O God, tested us; you refined us like silver. You brought us into prison and laid burdens on our backs. You let men ride over our heads; we went through fire and water, but you brought us to a place of abundance.” Psalm 66:10-12

I am pretty sure there were multiple times when I felt like 2020 was some kind of prison sentence. Can you relate? Quarantines and lockdowns were a figurative prison sentence that none of us were prepared for. Emotionally, and not just because of a worldwide pandemic, but because of personal challenges, disappointments, and unmet expectations, many of us felt like we were walking through the fire and wading through rough waters.

Hard. Hard. Hard.

Now we are looking ahead at the year 2021 with high hopes and greater expectations.

And yet…in my time of quiet reflection I came to grips with the possibility that things might not get better. Things might not somehow quickly turn around. That Covid-19 may not magically disappear and ride off into the sunset. Situations could get harder before they start getting better.

And so, my question to myself was: “How am I going to move forward?”

My answer: “With an attitude and posture of abundance.”

One shiny silver lining in the midst of such a challenging year was the abundance of fruit that came out of all of the hard.

From a time of testing came a produce of grace, strength, faith, and conviction.

The burdens that we carried have equipped us to continue moving forward with expectations adjusted and hearts receptive.

Moving into 2021, we see the reality and we see the potential.

My word for 2020 was remain.

My word for 2021 is abundance.

Abundance is defined as “an extremely plentiful or oversufficient quantity or supply; overflowing fullness”.

Abundance can mean a physical display of plenty, but it can also mean an overflow of fullness internally.

This year I will be documenting the moments of abundance that I see flowing out of what has been a difficult season, and what could potentially be an ongoing time of challenge.

What God is cultivating behind the scenes is far more precious to me than what is actually happening in the day-to-day happenings and news headlines. The matters of the heart far outweigh the circumstances. He has brought us to a place of abundance. And not because of an election, a vaccine, an economic boost (or the promise of one), but because of his presence and faithfulness.

“He has brought us to a place of abundance…” He has brought us into a season of overflowing fullness.

This year my goal is to post a blog twice a month. Once a month I will focus on my word for 2021, abundance, and for the secondary post I will be documenting our journey with Jasper, and how we are learning to navigate life, parenting, missions, and ministry with a child with special needs. I have so much to learn.

Happy New Year to you and may we all see an overflow of fullness in the big and small, the highs and lows, the upside downs and sideways that this new year brings.

2020 can be summed up in one word: weary.

We are tired. Global economies are struggling, COVID cases are spiking, rumors of a “second wave” and more lockdowns loom overhead, and there doesn’t seem to be a finish line in sight for this marathon we’ve been running.

Besides COVID, lives have been marked with cancer, illness, death, major moves and transition, the day-to-day challenges of balancing work, family, and uncertainty.

It’s been so hard.

Worry and fear have caused weariness.

We are losing hope and faith.

“A thrill of hope…the weary world rejoices.” O Holy Night – Adolphe Adam, 1847

A timely reminder. It was hope that caused the world to rejoice.

When the Israelites found themselves, once again, under duress and hardship, the word of the Lord came to them through the prophet Isaiah. It was a promise. Something they could hold onto. A reminder that they were not forgotten.

“Nevertheless, there will be no more gloom for those who were in distress.” Isaiah 9:1

No more gloom.

A thrill of hope.

“You have enlarged the nation and increased their joy; they rejoice before you as people rejoice at the harvest, as men rejoice when dividing the plunder.” Isaiah 9:3

Their joy increased.

The weary world rejoices.

Christmas looks very different for my family this year. 2020 marked quite a journey for us in every crevice of our lives. There were many moments of grief, loss, letting go, humility, the “hard to understand”, worry and fear. It is a year that pushed us way beyond our comfort zone and caused us to cling hard and fast to Jesus. Most recently we find ourselves in the throws of transition once again. Transition that was not a part of the “master plan” but, as we are discovering, part of God’s greater plan. We left our home in Malawi, all of our “stuff”, and moved to South Africa. We left behind our Christmas tree, stockings, decorations, and all of those very significant things that make the season feel like Christmas. All the things that typically bring us joy.

And yet…

In spite of all the lack, we feel tremendous joy.

Why?

How?

Because Christmas has become very real and tangible to us this year. As we have watched the world turn upside down, as we have stepped out into a new season and new personal journey, the One who is the joy of our hearts and the joy of the world has filled each of us with hope and faith.

No more gloom.

Joy has come.

A tiny babe…a small and, seemingly, insignificant beginning, was the beginning of hope…faith…and joy.

There really was something to sing about, rejoice about.

“For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.” O Holy Night – Adolphe Adam, 1847

We may not see the grand finale of God’s plan just yet…but the beginning is unfolding.

He has made us a promise.

A deliverer is coming.

A light in the darkness.

Salvation for our souls.

I’ll be honest with you…I had a moment this past week when the weight of the world felt heavy. I felt spent. I was weary. The state of the world seemed hopeless to me.

And then I reminded myself about the promise of God.

The very words I’m typing right now are the very words I began to speak to my heart.

There are a lot of reasons to be weary, but there is One very great reason to rejoice.

Jesus. He came…the prophecy fulfilled.

Jesus. He is coming again…a promise we can hold on to.

During this Advent season, as we contemplate the joy of world, may you – in your weariness – find a thrill of hope.

May your heart be filled with the joy of God’s promise.

May you find rest today.

When all is stripped away…may you still rejoice.

Today is the first day of Advent.

We are waiting.

We are hopeful.

We are expectant.

Our world is in chaos.

We know there is a promise…we are living for that hope.

But sometimes the darkness seems too dark, and our hope dwindles.

But…

God is with us.

It was a really long time ago…the world was also in chaos.

A prophecy came.

The Lord spoke through Isaiah: “The virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel.” Isaiah 7:14.

Later on Isaiah prophesied again:

“In that day…

I will praise you, O Lord. Although you were angry with me, your anger has turned away and you have comforted me. Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid. The Lord, the Lord, is my strength and my song; he has become my salvation.” Isaiah 12:1

Immanuel came.

And we are awaiting the second coming.

“In that day…”

We are hopeful and expectant. The Messiah will come. He will make all things new. We will rejoice…we will praise.

Our hope holds firm to the promise.

And yet…we don’t have to wait. While Isaiah’s prophesy spoke of a day to come that has yet to come, he was also declaring what has already passed.

Jesus came. Jesus brought salvation. Jesus gave us a greater hope.

O come, O come Immanuel, and ransom captive Israel, that mourns in lonely exile here, until the Son of God appear.

O come, O Branch of Jesse’s stem, unto your own and rescue them! From depths of hell your people save, and give them victory o’re the grave.

O come, O Bright and Morning Star, and bring us comfort from afar! Dispel the shadows of the night, and turn our darkness into light.

O come, O King of nations, bind in one the hearts of all mankind. Bid all our sad divisions cease and be yourself our King of Peace.

REJOICE! REJOICE! Immanuel shall come to you, O Israel.

“Veni, Veni, Emmanuel” – Translated by John Mason Neale, 1851

We have been hoping for a long time. And we will continue to hope, because…what great hope we have!

In the meantime, we can still rejoice. We can still praise. Even as we wait, even as we long for a world where there is no strife, no division, no hostility, no anger and no pain, we can sing and dance and rejoice.

Because Immanuel came…He is God with us.

He is with us in the middle of the mess.

On this first day of Advent, my heart is full. Hope is here. Our Comforter surrounds us and brings peace.  As I wait – as I cry “O come Immanuel” – I praise, because God is here.

Christ has come.

Immanuel.

“Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful.” Hebrews 10:23

Hold on.

When I think of what it takes to hold on – to endure, to press on, to persevere – the word tenacious comes to mind.

Tenacity is defined by Merriam-Webster as: the quality or fact of being able to grip something firmly.

In spite of my easy-going, compliant nature, I have been known to be quite stubborn and tenacious (just ask my husband and parents). Do not let the calm exterior fool you. Deep down inside there is a stubborn streak that hangs on hard and long, gripping firmly to the conviction I hold in my heart. Sometimes that has worked for my good, and sometimes not. It is both a strength and a weakness. When I apply it in the right direction – when I hold on tight to the path that God has laid out for me – it serves me well. But when I cling to the “my way or the highway” on something as insignificant as where to place the throw pillows on the couch (yes, this is a real issue for me), one might suggest that this tenacious spirit is being channeled in the wrong direction.

Gripping firmly. Holding tightly. Tenacity.

If we are going to remain, stay, continue and fulfill God’s plan and purpose for our lives, there is no doubt in my mind we are going to need tenacity.

One of my favorite books of the Bible (one of many, actually) contains one of my favorite verses: “Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful.” Hebrews 10:23

This verse exhorts us to hold on steadily…resolutely. No matter what…hold on.

This past year, with all of the transitions – highs, lows, Covid-19 drama, uncertainty, worldwide instability, grief and disappointments – never has my proclivity towards tenaciousness been more necessary for holding on. Today, with the sun beating down and the air feeling right and sweet, I find myself coming out on the other side with joy…peace…gratitude…and a firm grip on all God’s faithfulness.

Covid-19 is still here and uncertainty and worldwide instability continue to abound, but…He never fails. And his faithfulness gives me peace. Clinging tenaciously to God – His Word, His truth – is the only way we can endure, persevere, and press on towards God’s promises.

If our faith is so weak that we cower and recoil when life gets messy and hard, ugly and painful, we will quickly lose our grip…we will not overcome. We really do need to shed the unnecessary and frivolous in order to give ourselves capacity to hold on. We also need to be willing to work those faith muscles and allow God to stretch us so that we can keep moving forward.

Jackson, my thirteen-year-old son, has a goal for this year. He wants to increase his muscle tone and strength. Through no fault of his own – we can blame it on genetics – Jackson is not naturally athletic. He is long, lean, and prefers building with Legos over building up his muscles. However, he made the decision that this is the year that he is going to “buff up”. While I am not a work-out aficionado, I do know one thing for sure: building strength and muscle takes time, commitment, and tenacity. Jackson will need all three of those characteristics in order to achieve his goal. Rather than hold on to an idea and a dream, he’s going to have to wrap his real hands around real weights, hold on tightly, and press on no matter how tired and uncomfortable his body may get. He’s going to need a lot of tenacity to achieve this goal.

Likewise, it takes a type of fearless tenacity to pursue obedience in the face of trial, disappointment, and adversity. It is not self-reliant fearlessness that says, “I can do all things through the strength I can muster up inside of me because I’m a strong and capable person.” This kind of fearlessness will eventually lead to exhaustion and defeat. The kind of fearlessness that carries us through every challenge and every wearying moment is the kind that says, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13). It is completely and utterly dependent upon Christ working inside of us and through us.

It gives us the capacity to hold on. To cling and to stand our ground. Christ’s strength within us makes us tenacious and fearless. When the blitz from the enemy comes, we set our gaze heavenward and carry on.

“Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has gone through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to the faith we profess…Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.” Hebrews 14:4

If I could give one word of encouragement today – to anyone feeling the weight of struggle, doubt, weariness or uncertainty – it would be this: hold on tenaciously to hope, to the faith that we profess, to the One who gives us the grace we need at the exact moment we need it.

Hold on.

Remain faithful…he is faithful.

Stay steady…his hands will steady you.

Continue forward…he is leading the way.

Fulfill the purpose…his plans are good and trustworthy.

“He who promised is faithful.”

Hold on.

“The Lord blesses his people with peace.” Psalm 29:11

Last month I wrote about endurance: staying in the race even when our bodies feel like they are going to give way and give out. Running all the way to the end…to the joy…fixing our eyes on Jesus…and crossing the glorious finish line at the end.

We are five months into an incredibly strange and uncertain season as we navigate the hard-to-understand, ambivalent nature of Covid-19 and its impact globally. The world is trudging through unchartered waters, and there are places that are currently falling apart as the threads of stability unravel right before their eyes.

These…they are hard times.

If you feel overwhelmed or heavy-hearted, it is for good reason. Circumstances here and abroad are disappointing and crushing. You are not weak…you are just feeling the immense weight of these arduous events and an uncertain future.

So, today, as I am sitting here contemplating intensely on the next words to write, my mind and heart move from the call to endure to the promise of peace.

Remain in his peace.

“The voice of the Lord is over the waters.” Psalm 29:3

When life feels out of control, and that all-too-familiar knot begins to clench in the pit of my stomach, I catch myself (before I topple over into despair) and take a deep breath. That momentary pause gives me just enough of those precious seconds to invite peace back into my worrisome head. That simple act of breathing redirects my attention to the Scriptures and to the God who covers every storm, challenge, uncertainty, and disappointment that I may be facing.

Psalm 29 is one of my favorite anchor passages. It is a declaration of God’s power, authority, and sovereignty over creation, and over every detail of our lives that threatens to undo us.

“The voice of the Lord is powerful;

The voice of the Lord is majestic.” Vs. 4

Greater than the disappointments, pain, struggles, and despair is the voice of the Lord. His voice is the authority over creation. His voice is the authority over our very lives. His sovereignty is the hope we hang on to during these hard times.

“The voice of the Lord strikes with flashes of lightening.

The voice of the Lord shakes the desert;

The voice of the Lord twists the oaks and strips the forest bare.” Vs. 7-9

When I call my son, Jasper, to come inside for his bath in the evening, it doesn’t take me very long to realize that he is far too out of reach to hear my voice. Noticing the silent response, and the lack of his hasty homecoming, I end up sending one of my older kids to search our compound, find him, and reel him in. I’m pretty sure the voice of the Lord that David was writing about was not a feeble one like mine. Even at full volume, my voice will never reach the other side of our compound. (Believe me, I’ve tried.) But the voice of the Lord, without strain and without effort, without worry and without fear, calls out the lightening and shakes the desert.

With one word, God’s voice spoke creation into existence, and with one word his voice can strip a forest bare.

“The Lord sits enthroned over the flood…” Vs. 10

Just as the Spirit of God hovered over the waters before the earth took form and light broke through the darkness, the Lord sits enthroned over every storm, flood, disappointment, and insurmountable circumstance we face. We are not on this journey alone.

“And the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.” Genesis 1:2

It is this very image of the Spirit of God hovering over the waters – the Lord sitting, enthroned, over the flood – that gives me unwavering peace. He is over everything. When I look at my circumstances – even now, as I sit here contemplating this current reality – knowing that a sovereign God, a loving and compassionate God, a God who is powerful and tender, wise and understanding is keenly aware of every detail of my life – past, present and future – gives my soul rest.

I can breathe.

I can stay and continue.

I can fulfill the mission and the race.

I can remain.

He blesses his people with peace.

If you are a Christ-follower, then you are his people. WE are his people. The world may be falling apart, losing faith, relinquishing hope, but we don’t have to.

I want to challenge you to do something today. When the waves of the storm begin to overwhelm you, when you turn on the news or scroll through the sound-bytes on Twitter – when the world outside begins to converge on your world inside – take a minute to pause, take a deep breath, and read Psalm 29 out loud. Read it slowly. Let the truth of each statement roll off of your tongue. Make it a declaration.

And then…exhale.

His peace is our blessing.

Remain in his peace.

“And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:7

“Where he leads me, I will follow.” – E.W. Blandly

Only a few weeks ago, messages from the American Embassy had become a regular and consistent presence in my inbox. Updates from the Malawi government were an ongoing alert in every social networking group I am a part of, and most of those messages appeared to contradict each other, making it impossible to truly know exactly what was going on in our country. What we did – and still do – know is that we are living through a historical event, a worldwide pandemic, a life-altering, priority-shifting moment that is changing everything.

Today, all is quiet. In fact, this past week it would appear as though not a trace of COVID-19 has touched Malawi soil. And while we know this is not true, life in the “warm heart of Africa” keeps rolling along, moving to the beat of its own unique drum.

I find myself wondering, often, how it is possible to feel complete peace and disorientation simultaneously. One minute I breathe in the sweet African air, sensing a little bit of joy, and the next minute I feel an incredible loss of equilibrium. I feel unsettled and stable, lonely and hopeful, disappointed and peaceful, confused and contented. It doesn’t make any sense to me. I see God’s providence in bringing us here for such a time as this, while also scratching my head because this is not what we had planned for or what we had expected.

“We can be on the right path, but it may feel wrong.” – Jennifer Rothschild

I’m just wondering, can you relate to that?

Do you ever feel that where God has you is not where you should be, or where you think you should be? Even when we know we are right where God wants us to be, there is no guarantee that everything we experience in the season, or along the path, is going to make sense or feel right. In fact, there may be times when everything feels wrong.

I find that when I am following the Shepherd down a path that is suddenly starting to look dark and daunting, I want to bargain with Him to put me on another path. I don’t like to be uncomfortable. I don’t like the crushing and the disorientation of challenging times. I tend to prefer obedience that equals smooth sailing and smooth roads ahead.

But the path where God leads us doesn’t always promise us that, and while it may appear to be all wrong, completely not what we thought we were signing up for, it is still the path God has called us to journey.

I think that is why, in the midst of walking a path that feels wrong, we can, simultaneously, feel incredible peace. Where God leads us is not always going to be easy, nor will it fit into our standards of comfort and preference, but we can trust that God will give us stability, hope, peace and contentedness. When we fear what we cannot see, we can lean into the One who is leading us along. And this is where we find this paradox of emotions. God settles us, in spite of the instability. God fills our hearts with hope when there seems to be very little to hope in, or for. God speaks peace to our anxiety and brings contentment in the confusion.

“The Sovereign Lord is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, he enables me to go on the heights.” Habakkuk 3:19

When we are led to places that contradict our heart’s preferences, we can trust that God will give us everything we need (from internal fortitude to joy and peace) to continue on the path and enable us to climb the heights.  Our feet will be made swift to carry on and journey through.

As God remains on this path, so we, too, remain.

We continue following the Shepherd.

And somewhere down the road we will see the fulfillment of God’s plan in all of this.

Keep pressing on. Don’t fear the path, even when it seems all wrong.

Trust the Shepherd as “he leads you in paths of righteousness.”

“And Paul. His life recklessly caromed from adversity to persecution and back to adversity. In one passage he looks back and summarizes:

‘I have been beaten times without number. I have faced death again and again. I have been beaten regularly thirty-nine stripes by the Jews five times. I have been beaten with rods three times. I have been stoned once. I have been shipwrecked three times. I have been twenty-four hours in the open sea. In my travels I have been in constant danger from rivers, from bandits, from my own countrymen, and from pagans. I have faced danger in city streets, danger in the desert, danger on the high seas, danger among false Christians. I have known drudgery, exhaustion, many sleepless nights, hunger and thirst, fasting, cold and exposure. Apart from all external trials I have the daily burden of responsibility for all the churches. Do you think anyone is weak without my feeling his weakness? Does anyone have his faith upset without my burning with indignation?’ (2 Corinthians 11:23-29 Phillips)

None of that had the power to push Paul off his path. None of it convinced him that he was on the wrong way. None of it persuaded him that he had made the wrong choice years earlier on the Damascus Road. At the end of his life, among the last words he wrote is this sentence: ‘I’ve got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward – to Jesus. I’m off and running, and I’m not turning back’ (Philippians 3:13-14).’” – Eugene Peterson, A Long Obedience in the Same Direction.

We just finished eating dinner. The kids are washing dishes and doing kitchen clean- up while Joel gives Jasper a much-needed bath.  I’m sitting here in our living room taking a minute to collect my thoughts. It’s been a full day, even while quarantined on our compound. In between all the activities of the day, my mind has been processing the drastic turn of events in our world.

Sometimes Malawi feels very far away from the sobering reality of this unprecedented worldwide pandemic. Life keeps rolling along here: street vendors selling their fruits and vegetables, children running barefoot along the side of the road, car horns honking and bicycles weaving in and out of traffic. The only noticeable differences are the school closures and the shutting down of government offices. It is difficult to believe that ordinary, everyday life back home has been completely altered. And even more difficult is contemplating the helplessness I feel living an ocean away.

Several weeks ago, I sensed that God was calling me to a more intentional season of prayer. I began reflecting on the word remain once again, and recognizing the increasing desire inside of me to run away, pull out, distance my emotions and my heart from the place where God had called me.

Remain – to stay; to continue; to fulfill.

Thinking about the word remain, various interpretations of this word started coming to my mind:

Physically staying where I am – not moving.

Feet planted and not wavering.

Continuing forward in an intentional direction.

Most of the time this word expresses the choice of being present in mind and body. But as I was thinking intently on the word remain, I found myself challenged to not just remain physically where I am, but to remain in prayer and intercession.

In the New Year, I started reading through the Old Testament again. Recently, there was a story that caught my attention. It’s a story that I’ve read a million times. I’ve grown very familiar with it; I could tell the story in my sleep. Somehow, though, this time I found myself reading it with a fresh perspective.

It is the story of the battle between the Israelites and the Amalekites (Exodus 17:8-16). Moses called Joshua and instructed him to choose some of the men to go out and fight the Amalekites. Joshua did, and Moses climbed a hill with Aaron and Hur to pray over the battle. As Moses lifted his hands to the sky and prayed, Joshua and his men overpowered enemy. As soon as Moses lowered his arms, the battle would turn in favor of the Amalekites. Realizing this, Moses kept his arms stretched up to the sky. When he grew tired, Aaron and Hur stood on each side of Moses and lifted his arms up once again.

In the end, the Israelites won the battle.

Joshua was strong and mighty. He was born to conquer. This story is the first time we are introduced to Joshua, who would one day lead the Israelites into the Promised Land.

But the battle could not be won through Joshua’s fierce strength. The battle was won through prayer and intercession. Joshua’s strength, that allowed him and his men to conquer the enemy, came from the persistent and unwavering prayers of Moses.

While Moses’ hands remained lifted in prayer, Joshua was enabled to fight and win the battle.

Moses’ hands stayed lifted.

Moses continued to pray.

Through Moses’ obedience in lifting his hands and interceding for the Israelites, Joshua was able to fulfill his commission and defeat the enemy.

Little did I know when I sensed God calling me into a deeper and more intentional prayer life a few weeks ago that COVID-19 would upend the world, that our friends, family and church would be faced with so much uncertainty, that my sister would be fighting this battle on the front lines as a nurse in one of the largest hospitals in Portland, Oregon, that my parents would be sequestered in Rwanda alone, that friends and teachers here in Malawi would hasten their exit to the United States, and our children would be face-to-face with transition on top of transition. God knew. And God was preparing me.

A few things that I have been learning through all of this:

God reigns.

God’s love overrides fear.

God fights our battles, and we don’t have to lift a weapon to win.

God hears the spoken and unspoken prayers and desires of our hearts.

God provides.

God sustains.

God gives us the grace we need each and every day- His mercies are new and fresh each morning.

God’s peace is a precious gift.

God wins.

With hands lifted high, I will remain. The battle that we face will not be won through the economy, through job security, or through the healthcare system. The battle will be won through the constant and ongoing prayers and intercession offered by you and me.

Will you join me in staying and continuing in prayer to see the fulfillment of God’s purposes in all of this?

Jasper’s bath time is over. It is time to transition to jammies, stories, prayers, and bedtime songs. The older kids have shut down the kitchen and are preparing for some quiet family time. The pace is slow but deeply enriching. As we remain in this quarantine, we also remain in prayer. God is faithful.

Our hands are lifted high.

“Because he loves me,” says the Lord, “I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name. He will call on me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him. With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation.” Psalm 91:14-16