Redemptive Ramblings

Seeing the faithfulness of God even in the hard things of life.

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  • Two Earthquakes 

    Part 1 – Torn Curtains and Sin’s Defeat

    Vintage lace curtains with floral embroidery and a large central tear

    Before that moment, there were sacrifices and separation; after that moment, there was atonement and communion. No wonder the Earth shook! 

    Angela Lewis

    Of the over 600 stories in the Bible, no more than a dozen earthquakes are recorded. Actually, there are more predictions and prophecies of end-times earthquakes than there are stories of them happening in real time. Since we know from the archaeological record that there were more earthquakes than those recorded in the Bible, it makes sense that each recorded tremor was significant in some way.  

    However, there is a weekend in the Gospels bookended by two earthquakes. Maybe you’ve guessed it: the weekend Christ was crucified. Two earthquakes, two seismic shifts in the earth itself, two of man’s greatest foes defeated, all in a short, three-day span. Let’s look at the Biblical record to see the earth-shaking significance of God’s plan to redeem humanity.

    The first of these two earthquakes came around 3 pm on Friday. Matthew 27:50-51 says this: “Then Jesus cried out with a loud voice again and died. Suddenly, the curtain in the sanctuary was torn in two from top to bottom, the earth shook, rocks were split open.” Sedimentary records from the Dead Sea record an earthquake of about 6.0 magnitude in Jerusalem in 33 A.D., and archaeologists have uncovered damaged pivots from the Temple doors corresponding to that date.

    The significance of the damage to the Temple at the crucifixion can’t be overstated. When Jesus died, He conquered sin (Romans 6:10, John 1:29, 1 Corinthians 15:55-57) for us. The separation from God that began in the Garden of Eden ended. Romans 3 makes it clear that Jesus defeated one of Satan’s best weapons that day. “For there is no distinction: for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as a propitiation by his blood, to be received by faith” (v. 22-25). In Genesis 3, we see sin enter the world for the first time, and we see the separation that’s put in place between God and humans. After they sinned, Adam and Eve were no longer welcome to walk in the garden with God. Instead, they were doomed to live outside of God’s company in the wilderness, sacrificing animals’ blood for atonement of their sins (Genesis 3:21, 4:4). 

    This separation from God, where God speaking to people is the exception rather than the rule, tracks all the way through Genesis, from the flood and the tower of Babel to the story of Abraham being called out from the city of Ur. Eventually, we see God call an entire people, Abraham’s descendants, out of Egypt and set up a system for them to live in proximity to him. They were still not in communion, but closer than people had been to God since the Garden of Eden. This system was the daily sacrifices in the tabernacle (later replaced by the Temple), which housed the Ark of the Covenant, a visual representation of the presence of God. The Bible says God lived there. His manifest presence stayed in the Holy of Holies, where the mercy seat in the middle of the Ark served as His throne. And the Israelites were allowed close to the presence of God there; God was separated only by a heavy curtain from the Holy Place where the priests sacrificed for the sins of the people. Mankind, once banished from God’s presence, was now only an embroidered piece of linen away from the presence of God.

    Throughout the Old Testament, the people of God were allowed proximity to God when they came with sacrifices, sacrifices whose blood provided atonement for the people‘s sin problem. All the way back in Genesis 3, the separation between God and humanity was born out of sin. The curtain that hung between God and his people was for their protection, because sin can’t enter the presence of a holy God without consequence (Romans 6:23). Jesus came and took our sins into his body (1 Peter 2:24), and with our sins in Him, he died. He canceled all sin in that way and became the last sacrifice necessary. 

    The entire system of God’s relation to mankind was remade in that moment. Before that moment, there were sacrifices and separation; after that moment, there was atonement and communion. No wonder the Earth shook! 

    What a powerful moment in human history, the moment that we became able to walk into God’s presence once more. Matthew tells us that when the Earth shook, the curtain in the temple, the one that separated the presence of God from the people, was ripped in half from top to bottom. The first earthquake marks Jesus overcoming the first of our sworn enemies: sin. The sin that had kept humans enslaved and separated from God for millennia was crushed that day by our Savior’s sacrifice.

    Matthew tells us that when the Roman soldiers saw that an earthquake coincided with His death, they were frightened. “When the centurion and those guarding Jesus with him saw the earthquake and the other things that were taking place, they were terrified and said, ‘This man certainly was the Son of God!’” (Matthew 27:54). They were afraid of the judgment of God for crucifying His Son, but this earthquake wasn’t about judgment. This was Jesus defeating the sins of all humanity with one blow. One of Satan’s favorite weapons was disarmed that day, and the earthquake served as notice to hell’s minions and to all humanity that sin could no longer keep God’s people separated from Him. He used the earthquake to tear the curtain that symbolized our separation, just as He was indeed setting us free to come boldly before Him.

    But hell still had a weapon. It was the one deployed against Jesus, actually. Death remained undefeated that Friday. But don’t worry, that is what part two is for…

  • A Bad Good Friday?

    Twenty-six years ago, I had a very bad Good Friday. I was 16 weeks pregnant and so excited to be a mom. On that Friday morning in 2000, I woke up and realized I had started bleeding. After a call to the doctor, I headed out for the Emergency Room. On the drive there, I couldn’t do anything but pray.

    But when I got there, they confirmed my worst fear. There was no heartbeat, and my hormone levels were dropping, confirming that my body was, in fact, miscarrying my baby. To say we were devastated would be an understatement. 

    On the way home from the hospital, I only remember saying one thing: “Jesus had a really bad Good Friday once, too.” And while the sorrow and pain I felt over the loss of my child can’t really be compared to the pain and grief of Christ on the cross, it was such an encouragement to me to remember that Jesus was “a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief.” (Isaiah 53:3) 

    Every year on Good Friday, as I reflect on Christ on the cross, I am amazed. Hebrews 12:2 says this, “looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.” (ESV) He looked past the immediate suffering, shame, and grief of the cross. And on the other side, He saw joy.

    What joy did He see? He saw us! He saw each of us, adopted into His family through His own sacrifice. (Romans 8:15) Jesus didn’t just see the immediate suffering of the cross; He saw into the future, where each of us can accept His sacrifice and become part of His family. 

    I couldn’t see into the future that day, twenty-six years ago. I couldn’t see the children I would go on to adopt or the joy they would bring to my heart and life. But if I had been able to see the joy ahead of me, I wouldn’t have learned to trust God more fully, as I certainly did during that season.

    You may be facing horrible circumstances this Easter season. You may be having a very bad Good Friday today. If so, I challenge you to look to Jesus, our example of endurance. And be encouraged–as Jesus knew, and as I have learned, there is still joy ahead!

    Photo by JINU JOSEPH on Pexels.com

  • The Call

    Nearly 20 years ago, I preached for the first time. The day before I was supposed to preach, I still had only gotten a general topic from God: Courage. At the same time, we were in the middle of our second adoption and had felt called to change our paperwork to say we wanted to adopt a sibling set rather than one child. The idea of a sibling set scared me immensely. I knew it was what God said to do, but I knew we would get children rather than babies. And the idea of adopting children who were already beginning to have an opinion and might not like me was super intimidating.

    As I was walking out of the house to go try to get ready to talk about courage, Greg handed me a book by Mark Batterson, called “In a Pit With a Lion on a Snowy Day.” The tagline included the word “courage,” and he thought it might help me get ready to preach. I sat in the Student Center reading it and realized that the main idea of the book was exactly what God wanted me to preach about. I grabbed my pen and wrote, “The call of God on your life will always be bigger than you think you can handle.” As I was finishing the sentence, my phone rang.

    It was the adoption agency. Four days after we submitted our revised paperwork, they had a placement for us. As I listened to them describe the two girls who needed a family, my eyes landed on what I’d just written. And I knew that I was experiencing a God set-up. God, using Batterson’s book, had given me the reminder I needed just in time for the call that He was giving me, the call that would change my life.

    The book centers around the life of Benaiah, son of Jehoiada, one of David’s mighty men. The story on which the title is based is found in 1 Chronicles 11:22:

    “There was also Benaiah, son of Jehoiada, a valiant warrior from Kabzeel. He did many heroic deeds, which included killing two champions of Moab. Another time, on a snowy day, he chased a lion down into a pit and killed it.”

    Benaiah was called to protect the people of Israel. David’s mighty men were the fiercest and most feared soldiers in the land. He took this call so seriously that he chased a lion into a pit. Really wrap your mind around that with me for a second. That means that he (1) got the lion to run away from him, (2) ran after it, (3) jumped into a pit on top of it, and (4) killed it in the pit. If you think about that, it’s astonishing. He was working against overwhelming odds, but his calling was to protect the Israelites, and this lion was a threat to those people.

    Throughout the books of 2 Samuel, 1 Kings, and 1 Chronicles, Benaiah shows up repeatedly. Each time, he is obeying the king’s orders and protecting the king’s people. He had a specific calling, and to fulfill it, he had to trust and obey the king. By the end of his career, Benaiah was the leader of Israel’s entire army under King Solomon. His obedience to his calling and the king’s orders led not only to miraculous events (like jumping on a lion in a pit and living to tell the tale), but also to greatness in the kingdom of Israel.

    We each have a specific calling from the King, too. Mine included adopting, loving, and raising those two girls the adoption agency told me about. In the process, I have seen God’s miraculous hand more times than I have time to write just now. I’ve also become greater than I was in a Kingdom where greatness is measured by God-honoring love and compassion. The work God has done in me in the past 20 years through my children has changed my heart to be more like His, and I’m so grateful that He called me to something that seemed so far beyond what I could do.

    What is it that God has called you to do? He has a calling on each of our lives, and if we are to live into it, we must be ready to listen and obey the King. You may know what the call is and be hanging back in fear. Step out boldly! You may be unsure of the call and be hesitant to Today, I pray that you will listen to the King and obey His call for you.

    Photo by abolfazl salehi on Pexels.com

  • Your Online Words Matter

    Ten years ago, my husband of twenty-one years, nineteen of which were spent in ministry together, said something that changed my life. We were on an anniversary trip when he looked at me and said, “I’m done with all of this.” I was so confused. All of what? 

    “This. All of it. I don’t want to be a husband anymore. I don’t really know what I believe about God, but I know I don’t want to be in church. I really just want to start over completely and have a new life.”

    This started a year-long process of separation and divorce that rocked the core of my belief in God and His plan for my life. To make it worse, after nearly twenty years in ministry across three states and two continents, people all over the world were calling and texting, asking me questions and trying to make sense of what they saw happening in the lives of people they respected and cared about. It felt like such a public failure, laden with guilt and shame.

    Into the mess, God sent such wonderful friends to encourage me. Friends who would weep with me as I wept, who sent messages encouraging me to be faithful to God, who helped support my kids and me as I looked for a job and got back on my feet. Many of them were far away, but still God used their words to help me.

    But one day, I got a different kind of message. A friend from a ministry we had moved away from years earlier sent me a Facebook message. In it, she talked about how she had watched my Facebook posts become less about God in the year before my husband left, and more about healthy eating and working out. She blamed my divorce on my misplaced focus and told me that God was allowing it to happen because I had made fitness an idol. 

    I remember reading through it again and again, numb to everything but shame. Was God really punishing me for wanting to take care of my body? I didn’t really believe she was right, but that didn’t stop the shame from spiraling through me, weighing me down like a load of bricks. 

    The truth was that this woman hadn’t seen me in years. She didn’t have a conversation with me before rushing to judge me. She spoke out of her own brokenness, not mine. But it didn’t matter. Her judgment cut into my already wounded heart like a dagger. I withdrew. Over words that flew out of her fingers in less than three minutes. These words she probably never thought about again changed what I believed I could offer the Family of God. 

    For nearly ten years, the wound she inflicted on me with her snap judgment stopped me from sharing my life when God wanted me to. Her careless words have rung in my ears every time God has asked me to tell my story or talk about His goodness. I stopped engaging with friends who were far away and went silent on social media. I withdrew from the online world.

    I also stopped working on getting healthier, quit working out, and stopped taking care of myself. My excuse was that those things no longer fit into my schedule now that I was working and single-parenting. And while they would have been harder to do, I could have made it work. I can see in hindsight that her judgment regarding my fitness journey affected me more deeply than I realized at the time. The subtle shift that I subconsciously absorbed was that caring about my physical health was somehow spiritually unhealthy. 

    James 3:6 says that the tongue is a fire. In the digital age, it’s so easy to give our tongues free rein through our fingers and hit send on messages, posts, and comments we would never say in person. Restraint in our online words seems to be a thing of the past. Or worse, online restraint in the face of disagreement is sometimes seen as capitulating to sin or even denying the Gospel. James goes on to say this: “Sometimes it praises our Lord and Father, and sometimes it curses those who have been made in the image of God. And so blessing and cursing come pouring out of the same mouth. Surely, my brothers and sisters, this is not right!” (James 3:9-10 NLT)

    Posting a video about the love of God, followed by a hate-filled tirade about politics or culture, is exactly the behavior the Holy Spirit, through James, warns us about. The Church must be a beacon of grace and truth in the digital world. That means that each of us who call ourselves by His name should use restraint in our online communication and language, for the good of the Body of Christ as well as for those who don’t believe. 

    The beautiful thing is that we serve a God who makes all things new. He has restored my heart regarding my calling to participate in the Body of Christ. I now teach a women’s trauma recovery class through my local church. I also love to write and speak about the redemptive power of the love of Christ. And just like the words spoken over me that hurt me, the encouraging words God gives me to speak matter. And they matter when YOU say them too. Let’s speak and type to encourage others towards a closer walk with Jesus with our words.

    Photo by Florenz Mendoza on Pexels.com

  • Redemption Awaits!

    Young women will dance and be happy,

    young men and old men will join in.

    I’ll convert their weeping into laughter,

    lavishing comfort, invading their grief with joy.

    Jeremiah 31:13(MSG)

    I will always remember the day my husband told me he was leaving as the worst day of my life. I can’t even begin to describe how that affected me. Let’s just say that I, a capable human being, mother of three, missionary to Africa, ended up having my first panic attack sitting in a ditch that afternoon. I couldn’t feel the presence of God. All I felt that day was pain.

    That day, I identified myself as weak and broken. For months after that fateful conversation, the voice in my head told me I wouldn’t make it. It told me I was too weak and that this was the end of all of God’s plans for me. I was, in my own mind, too broken to be restored. If I could have fast-forwarded and seen the joy and the redemption that God had for me on the other side of that horrible experience, it would have made that day and the months that followed so much easier. But none of us is given that. We walk through things not knowing where they’re going. There’s a reason for that. There was a lesson in the sadness; the trial was where I grew.

    But our brokenness and sorrow are only for a season. Jesus never lets us sorrow indefinitely. His love and grace are too big for that. Over and over in the Bible, God promises this to us…our sorrows will be traded for joy when we trust him. When we give our sorrow to Jesus, he can give us comfort. Laughter for weeping, joy for grief. Don’t those sound like great trades? That’s what Jesus offers when we give him our pain and allow him to speak to our hearts in the middle of our messy brokenness. 

    The voice that tells us we are weak, broken, and a hot mess can remind us of the beautiful redemption that awaits. Today, let Jesus speak to your heart the beauty of redemption, and begin to trade His comfort for your grief.

  • Trust the Navigator

    Photo by TMS Sam on Pexels.com

    O Lord, I know it is not within the power of man to map his life and plan his course—so you correct me, Lord; but please be gentle. Don’t do it in your anger, for I would die.

    Jeremiah 10:23-24 (TLB)

    One of the most famous shipwrecks in history, the Titanic, had an obvious navigational problem when it hit an iceberg in the North Atlantic Ocean. But the fascinating series of events that led there are less well-known. The navigator, who was supposed to be the First Officer on the ship, was removed from the roster just days before it sailed. He was transferred to another ship that the company deemed needed his services more. Therefore, there was no navigator to advise the captain on board the ship on that fateful voyage. Moreover, the Titanic’s captain had failed his navigation competency exam years earlier, but he had been granted his certification anyway. So there was no competent navigator on the ship when it sank.

    According to this verse in Jeremiah, we find ourselves in a similar position. Every one of us has failed the navigation competency exam for our lives. And if we look at how we’ve lived, I’m sure that we can see that it’s true. I have planned to do all sorts of crazy things and mapped out bizarre routes for myself. I’ve sometimes even tried really hard to live those plans out. But Jesus, in His mercy, has always brought me back to the right road.

    Shortly after my ex-husband left, I was standing in my pastor’s kitchen, and I told him and his wife that I was done with ministry forever. Not because I believed myself unworthy to minister, but because I was angry. In my anger, I mapped out a course for myself that wasn’t God’s plan for my life. And gently, Jesus began to correct me: a little step this way, here, and move over that way, let’s go here and not go there. Never in his anger, but always in love, he steered me, until one day I was back on course.

    We need to keep our navigator close so that when he corrects us, we will hear him and obey. God promises that His ways are better for us and that He will lead and guide us if only we will listen (Isaiah 55:9 and 30:21). It’s so easy to get caught up in our own ways, our own thoughts and decisions. We easily forget, especially when things are hard, that our heavenly navigator wants us to lean on him for guidance so that we can avoid wrecking our lives. Let’s trust our navigator, knowing that only he knows the way through the perilous seas we face, and that he will bring us safely to our destination.

  • A Holy Limp

    Jacob Wrestles with the Angel by Eugene Delacroix

    Why Wrestling with God is a Good Thing

    Recently, I shared my story with the ladies in a trauma recovery class that I teach. As I described my responses to miscarriage, infertility, and divorce, one of the ladies made a statement that made me think. “You’ve really wrestled with God.” She said it like it was a negative, her tone implying that I was lucky to have come out the other side of that still a Christian. But I believe that, far from being a dangerous and rebellious activity, wrestling with God is often the best way to preserve our faith and the only way to grow through hard situations in our lives. 

    Let me start at the beginning. Twenty-five years ago, I was a young pastor’s wife. After both attending a secular university and earning degrees, my husband and I felt called into ministry, specifically ministry to university students. We entered a ministry training program, then became pastors of a student ministry at our alma mater. It was a financial struggle, but we knew it was God’s call on our lives. 

    When we decided to start a family, I quickly became pregnant, and our students rejoiced with us. Unfortunately, at nineteen weeks, there was no longer a heartbeat, and our baby passed away. I remember the grace that covered me in the immediate aftermath of the tragedy. But as time went on and I was unable to conceive again, and even worse, as my infertility was linked to a mistake made by the doctor during the D & C procedure that they routinely perform after a miscarriage, I began to be angry at God. When two, then three years had passed, and I was unable to get pregnant again, those feelings intensified.

    But in that intense anger was the wrestling. Because there was no one else to bring those feelings to, I kept bringing them to God. Often, I brought them in questionable ways, but still, I brought them. Well, maybe questionable is too kind a term for it. I remember once, specifically, when I had painted my kitchen cabinets and put the doors outside in the sun to dry. Within a few minutes, and seemingly out of nowhere, it started raining on them. I rushed outside, and seeing that they were already ruined and were going to have to be repainted, I stood in the middle of my front yard. I cringe now as I remember looking at the sky and screaming, “So this is how it is? Whatever I don’t want, that’s what you do? Do you even care about me at all, or is this just some big game to you?” 

    During this time, I remember saying to my husband that I was so tired of fighting. He asked me once what I was fighting for. I said, “I’m fighting to hold onto my faith.” Yet during this time, the God I was fighting to hold on to was fighting to hold on to me, too. He spoke plainly, even when I didn’t want to hear it. I remember the time I went to a retreat for women in ministry, and so many women were there who were pregnant or nursing that I called my husband to come get me from several hours away. When he refused, I went to my room with the word “hopeless” resonating in my heart. The next morning, when I went to the first session, there were boxes at each place. The woman who was leading told us that she had written words on small stones and placed one in each box, then prayed as she set them down that God would guide each woman to a word that she needed. When I opened my box, the word “hope” was printed neatly in gold across it. 

    But here’s the truth about wrestling through our pain with God–it’s not neat or pretty. Although there are beautiful moments in the middle of the ugliness, moments when God directly touches us, grief isn’t beautiful. But it can be holy. Because through all of the ugliness of our pain, we can keep running to Jesus. Running with fists clenched, perhaps, but still running in the right direction. 

    Nearly fifteen years after Jesus and I wrestled through miscarriage, infertility, and eventually adoption, we would be wrestling again. The husband who had been strong during that trial lost his way, and in the process, he turned his back on God, me, and our children. And again, I had to wrestle through pain and disappointment. But the blessing of having wrestled with God is that we become stronger. This second round of wrestling felt different.  I had held on once, and I knew I would hold on again.

    In Genesis 32, we see Jacob in crisis. He has prospered in the land of his ancestors, where he had run from his brother, who wanted to kill him. Now he was on his way back home, and he heard that his brother was on his way to meet him with an army. He divides his large family into two groups, the Bible tells us, hoping that if one is attacked, the other may survive. He’s basically coming to terms with half of his family being killed in hopes that he can save the other half. Then he goes off alone. The Bible doesn’t tell us that his goal was to pray, but in that situation, prayer is the natural response. And the Bible does tell us that God Himself showed up. 

    He didn’t show up with soft, reassuring words. God himself reached in and grabbed Jacob in a holy headlock. Jacob is angry and scared, and instead of telling him to calm down, God met him right where he was. And Jacob, with more sense than he normally had, held on to God for dear life.

    In that encounter, God changed who Jacob was. As morning approached and Jacob refused to let go, the Man he was fighting wounded his hip. Jacob would have a permanent physical reminder that he had wrestled with God and prevailed. Then He changed Jacob’s name. Jacob means deceiver or supplanter–an accurate representation of who he had been. After all, the reason he expected his brother’s attack was that he had deceived their father in order to receive his brother’s inheritance. But God changed Jacob’s name to Israel. Israel literally means “he struggles with God.” Wrestling with God became his identity. 

    There are three things I’ve learned from this passage about wrestling with God. The first is that wrestling implies proximity; we cannot wrestle with God while walking away. Holding on tightly to Jesus in our pain isn’t passive or idle. It is a forceful reckoning with the idea that God is big enough to handle our feelings.

    Secondly, wrestling acknowledges dependence. Struggling with God in our fear and anger is a confession that we can’t get what we seek anywhere else. Like Peter in John 6:68, wrestling with God asks, “Where else would I go?”

    Last, and perhaps most importantly, wrestling never leaves us unchanged. God left Israel with a different name and a different walk than he had before. He could never forget that he had held on to God, wrestled with God, and won.

    Israel called the place Peniel, which means “face of God.” In his wrestling and his determination not to let go, he saw God. He now knew God in a way he never had before. And if you’ve ever wrestled with Jesus through your pain, you understand that it was worth it. The fear, the anguish, the limp–all worth it when we have seen God, known Him more deeply, and been made closer to who He destined us to be.