Psalm of Surrender

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We all know the familiar Scripture passage from the Book of Job that’s been repeated so often people think it’s folklore: “The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away.”

This verse is Job’s response to unspeakable loss: his ten children, his herds, his home, his employees and his health, all gone in just a few minutes. The loss of life alone was enough to overwhelm even the strongest believer in God.

The Lord still gives and takes away today. He took Nate from us but then gave us Micah, Evelyn and Thomas. He took our house in a sale that was necessary but then gave us the Michigan cottage full time. He took everything from Job but then gave it all back later.

That, however, isn’t always how it works.

Sometimes God takes from us in multiples (as he did from Job) but doesn’t give anything back. It’s never without good reason, but when we’re in a loss-phase that makes no sense, we plead with God to make it end.

Our family refers to the year 2005 as “the year of death” because of the six precious family members we lost in eight months. In January we traveled to California for the memorial service of my Dad’s brother, Uncle Edward. In mid-March, three died on the same weekend, one only 23 years old: my Aunt Joyce who mentored me, my cousin’s daughter Amy in a hit-and-run accident, and my mom’s brother, Uncle Jack. Two weeks later, on April 5, Mom died, and that summer my brother’s father-in-law also passed away. We wondered, “Who’s next?”

None of us could explain it then, nor can we now. But the alternatives are either to surrender to the mystery of what God is doing or trust in our own short-sightedness.

Sometimes the Lord asks us to undergo losses less significant than death but nevertheless important: a job, a house, a friendship, a boyfriend, money. My own family members experienced multiple losses in 2008-2009, even before Nate had cancer. One day during my prayer time I had nothing to say to God, no questions, no praises, no thank you’s.

As I sat completely depleted, not knowing what to do, he put a thought into my mind: “Write Me a Psalm.”

I wasn’t sure if it was my crazy idea or God’s good one. After looking at a few of the biblical Psalms, I realized many of them were written about losses: of reputation, health, friendships, power, safety, homes, physical strength and more. Although the Psalms were Spirit-inspired, if I wrote one it would be un-inspired. Still, I knew I could write something from my heart.

The biblical psalmist often began by detailing his burden of loss, but then ended with a personal surrender to God. I decided to follow that model and hoped my words would honor the Lord. And since the Book of Psalms is described as poetry, I also decided to use rhyme.

Tomorrow I’ll post my un-inspired but very sincere “Psalm of Surrender.”

“The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” (Job 1:21)

Skipping stones eventually sink.

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After we’d had five children in ten years, I felt stretched to the limit and had gradually morphed into a bad mother. I saw myself like a skipping stone nicking the surface of parenting, in, out, in, out, giving each child only tiny bits of time and attention. If things didn’t change, I knew I’d end up like the stone: sunk.

One day when the kids were 12, 10, 8, 4 and 3, we’d had a compilation of mini-crises (i.e. spilled juice, a cut finger, a broken toy, lots of teasing), and I was frayed at the edges. If I heard the word “mommy” even one more time, I’d thought I’d crack.

Then, as I tried to make dinner, the four year old began peppering me with new questions, and not just any questions. These I had to think about. He not only called me “mommy” with each question but decided to begin and end with it.

  • Mommy, why does Papa ride the train, Mommy?
  • Mommy, why doesn’t Papa drive the train, Mommy?
  • Mommy, when can I get on the train, Mommy?
  • Mommy, where should we go on the train, Mommy?

His questions came from a bottomless well of healthy childhood curiosity, and on a non-stressed day, dialoging would have been fun. That day, though, I couldn’t handle it.

By his tenth question (or so), the three year old joined in:

  • Mommy, can I have a cookie, Mommy?
  • Mommy, can I have a drink, Mommy?

Like a skipping stone on its last landing, I whirled around to face them and said, in an angry voice, “Stop calling me Mommy! And don’t ever call me Mommy again!”

Even as the words zipped through the air, I knew they were idiotic and hurtful. Instantly God reminded me of a conversation 12 years earlier with my firstborn: “C’mon, honey. Say Mommy. Mommy. You can do it! Mom – my.”

And suddenly I felt terrible. These little boys loved me with all-out adoration, everything about me. They wanted to be with me, talk to me, listen to me, hug me… and say my name. I was their mommy, the person above all others.

In relation to parenting, I often think with amazement that I’m a child of God. He and I have a precious Father-daughter relationship, and he never gets tired of hearing me say his name.

Instead he responds, “Come to me. Any time. I’m here for you. Always. I love you.”

And best of all he adds, “Now that you’re my child, you can call me Abba.”

That’s the equivalent of Daddy. He tells me I’m as much his child as Jesus, and since Jesus calls him Abba, I can, too. This privilege makes me weep, because I know I don’t deserve it. Yet he says, “That’s exactly how I see you, Margaret, as my daughter.”

On that difficult day with my children, I dropped to my kitchen floor (just like a sinking stone) and gathered my two little boys into my lap, hoping to undo the damage. But I wonder…

“Because we are his children, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, prompting us to call out, ‘Abba, Father’.” (Galatians 4:6)

Remembering Our Anniversary

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Although Nate and I would have been married 41 years today, I’ve decided to officially stop counting. He isn’t here, and our real number froze just short of 40. Although I enjoyed paging through our wedding photo album today, I’m wearing his wedding band on a chain around my neck, a reminder of his absence. Even so, it wasn’t a difficult day.

To the contrary, it was a day of boundless energy like I haven’t experienced in months. The hours ran out long before my pep, and a lengthy list of chores-in-waiting got done: organizing the basement, doing laundry, baking, washing windows, cleaning house, taking down the screens, writing letters, pruning the house plants and paying the bills. A year ago I would have looked at that list and set it aside with a deep sigh, unable to even get started. And because of the difference between then and now, I know my heart is healing.

One of the reasons for this measurable progress is, I believe, the kindness of friends. Today’s mail had a handful of greeting cards and letters in it, written with love as others remembered our anniversary. Most of them promised prayer for me today. Such thoughtfulness moves me deeply and is probably the reason everything turned out well.

During a call from Linnea this morning, we chatted about wedding anniversaries. The date is important to only two people, unlike birthdays, graduations or promotions. An anniversary is a party-for-two, a small event with great significance. But because Nate is gone, my annual celebration has to stop.

Yesterday I pointed out to Birgitta where her father and I spent our short but delightful honeymoon: at the Drake Hotel in downtown Chicago. Nate was in law school, and I was teaching. Four days was all the time-off we could get, and we made the most of it. Happy honeymoon memories flooded my mind today, and I even caught myself humming.

No marriage is without its rough places, though, and we had our share. The fact that we made it 40 years is a testimony to God’s involvement in the relationship. After all, marriage was his idea, and as a bride and groom recite their vows, he’s there, too. Because he wants couples to succeed, he’s available for counsel and encouragement all along the way and doesn’t have to be asked twice. Nate and I called out for rescue several times in our years together, and God always restored our relationship.

Interestingly, a marriage often becomes stronger after surviving a period of struggle. It’s as if the marriage muscle gets built up through the exercise of hanging-on-no-matter-what. None of us can predict what life will throw at our marriages, but one thing is sure: God is rooting for us through all of it. He’s the third member of every union, and if we invite him to the anniversary celebration, he’ll always be willing to change that party-for-two to a party-for-three.

“A person standing alone can be attacked and defeated, but two can stand back-to-back and conquer. Three are even better, for a triple-braided cord is not easily broken.” (Ecclesiastes 4:12)