Trust
Thoughts About My Mother and Pierced Ears
It’s been two weeks since my mother died. In some ways it seems like yesterday and at other times – a lifetime ago. My brother told me he’s having a really hard time shaking images from his mind of her final days. The mental pictures are indelibly haunting to him.
There are certain images that linger for me also. They randomly surface like freeze-framed photos in my head. As strange at it might seem – today I couldn’t get her earlobes out of my mind.
I guess it makes sense since I spent a tremendous amount of time perched close to her face during that final week. I whispered words of encouragement into those ears as I washed perspiration from her clammy brow.
I recall one moment my mind took a snapshot of her ears as my eyes landed on them. Thoughts flooded and tears flowed while I stared at her.
Her ears had been pierced since childhood but were now void of gold or any other adornment. The discriminating earlobes that once only tolerated pure gold were now noticeably closed shut, leaving marks of surrender. The entrance blocked by scar tissue was evidence of her submission to the rules where she lived.
Several times during the last three years I bought inexpensive versions of her favorite hoop earrings trying to satisfy her desire to look pretty. But each time, a day or two later, the earlobes would swell and reject the cheap knockoffs, leaving a disappointed mom and frustrated me.
One item at a time – I watched her give up belongings she had enjoyed for decades.
The picture of her earlobes imprinted in my mind represent a deep level of trust to me – something I’ve never experienced. She fully entrusted her well being and her belongings to my care. It humbles me and pricks my heart with soulful examination.
Trust is letting go of our rights. Trading control for reliance. Trading shallow belief for deep faith.
It’s easy for me to confess trust with my mouth. It’s an entirely different matter to hand over my expensive earrings and live with the consequences of scarred piercings. The result usually isn’t pretty – but the act shines brighter than gold or silver. It’s pure. It’s holy. And it’s our blessed invitation as believers.
My mother’s trust pierces a deep place in my soul. I want to trust like that. I want to love like that.
Committed love depends on trust for sustenance and propulsion. Over time its scars become a sacred badge of honor. I hope that before my final breath – trust will leave its mark on me too.
“The things he planned for us, no one can recount. Were I to speak of them, they would be too vast to declare. Sacrifices and offerings he does not desire, but my ear he has pierced.” Psalm 40:5-6 (emphasis mine)
For Our Good
The belief that things will eventually work out for good can certainly provide a level of peace to our life. It allows the difficult moments to roll off our back in the hope things will eventually get better – or be good. But when circumstances begin to pile up and our comfort is challenged, belief alone often comes up short.
Throughout his lifetime Jesus showed us how to believe and live in the truth of God’s goodness. It was especially evident on the cross. His life was shaped by the full embrace of the greater good found in his Father’s eternal story.
It’s the same for us. Where can disappointment live when our own prerequisite expectations are nailed to a cross? When we relinquish our need to control.
Meditate today- Good Friday – on what Jesus has done for you. Ask him to help you embrace your own cross today. And then claim the package of good things he’s personalized for you in his eternal plan.
Have a glorious Easter.
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Walk in Hope
God is most qualified to be the author of our life’s story. He’s intimately associated with us. He knows tomorrow, and he’s given us freedom to enjoy his unfolding story hidden in our moments.
He has promised to give us hope – hope for a future wrapped in his plans. Hope is best found where worry and presupposition aren’t allowed. Hope breathes over our circumstances with warm assurance. He is our hope.
Your Heavenly Father has carved your name in his hand and counted the sands beneath your feet. When our minds spin with worry and planning, our heart forgets the most important facts. Let the truth of his love wash over you today – cleansing, restoring, rewriting fretful scripts. Faith loosens the grip of fear and pointless planning. Faith reaches for the better story.
Our Heavenly Father is a river of resources. He promises to be all we need for today’s journey.
He is the best author. Our life is his pen. His purposes the canvas.
There’s rest and hope in walking in this truth.
ONWARD AND UPWARD by Leah Crook
With my baby boy curled under my ribs, we drive through the gates and up the road to make “arrangements”. We pass by rolling hills of green. The Veterans Terrace where he will be buried is on our left.
I choke on my thoughts. Coffins. Burial plots. Payment plans. My Dad has cancer.
Even the sun and all it’s golden beauty looks grey.
Onward and upward, kiddo. That’s what he says to me.
We’re greeted by a woman – I hardly notice her face. I faintly recall the nodding of her head and the chatter between the two of them.
The reality is frightening.
I simply can’t get involved in this business of dying. So, I leave the building and walk into the streets of denial – where I stay for quite a while.
She’s only twenty, I still hear him…
Seven years later, on the edge of morning, he passed away. I think I heard him say good-bye.
Onward and upward, kiddo.
Life brings change. Some changes we barely notice and others stare us down – like the loss of a parent.
Don’t hesitate to say I love you.
The wind blows ever so slightly. The sun shines over the green. I imagine I can move with the breeze – away from here. Down a winding road.
Free spirit.
But I sit with the names among the blades.
Final resting.
And in my mind I ask, over and over, where are you? I want to know what you’re doing today. What are your plans? It’s impossible silence.
Final. Finally. Resting. Why.
Who am I to question what God gives. And takes away.
Why the grass withers. The flowers fade.
Why we are deeply hurt sometimes.
And still, I dare to ask…
Do you hear me – do you hear the hurting world? When the whispers of the heart scream, do
you hear…
Underneath the sun. Below the earth. Beyond. Loved ones. At peace.
Wrap my mind around this. Final. Resting.
When the clouds open up and the sky falls on us – do you separate our tears from the rain?
And I wonder – is an illness really an illness? An accident really an accident, why do some stay? And others go…
As I run my fingers across the letters of his name – I ponder. God’s timing. Our days. Numbered.
I want to remember this as I sometimes struggle through days. None are promised. All of life is a mystery to me. We’re here and are gone. In the blink of an eye.
Sturdy, yet fragile. In the powerful hand of The Creator.
What else is there. Who remembers what they see. What they hear.
And the silence breaks.
As though he can mix my thoughts with the wind and answer in a gentle breeze.
A sunburst.
Yes, I hear you.
Isaiah 40:7-8 “The grass withers and the flowers fade beneath the breath of the Lord. And so it is with people. The grass withers and the flowers fade, but the word of our God stands forever.”
Dear friends, Please join me in thanking Leah for sharing her beautiful heart with us. You can also read her last post HERE or visit her website at leahcrook.com
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From me to you/click to view
