Facets of Faith

Conversations about life, faith, and friendship.

Really Believing, Really Trusting

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Want to know why I love writing with Tracy and Jen here at Facets of Faith? These questions we take time to answer each month are typically birthed from a discussion we had as friends, sitting around a table at Panera as we ate dinner and encouraged each other. It’s with these two ladies I’m able to explore the struggles and triumphs of faith in real life. Be sure to click on their names to read their posts you might have missed. Or better yet . . . sign up to receive each week’s post straight in your inbox!

I’m sitting here mulling over this month’s question —do I believe in God’s promises, really? I really want to offer a pithy response, a thought that drips with wit and insight. You know, a quotable quote.

Instead, all I have to humbly offer is this life I’ve lived so far. These 46 years filled with such heartache and loss that it could be described as a tragedy. You know, that kind of life that some peer into and compare to their own, only to realize maybe their struggles aren’t quite so bad after all.

Yeah, I’m that one. At least my life isn’t like . . . mine. (Truly, this has been said to me.)

The thought of my suffering and homelessness is bitter beyond words. I will never forget this awful time, as I grieve over my loss.” Lamentations 3:19-20, NLT

And yet . . . as I look back over four decades of living, I see a different story. I see one unfolding and steeped in hope. I see a thread that links everything together —the sorrow, the grief, the despair, and hope. Perhaps in my younger years it was thin and hard to see, but that thread has grown thicker and more resilient with each passing year.

Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: The faithful love of the Lord  never end! His mercies never cease.” Lamentations 3:21-22, NLT

I’m learning to see my life as a miracle. While I may not have experienced the kind of miracle as Jairus did when Jesus raised his daughter from the dead (Matthew 5:21-24, 35-43), or the healing of the woman who had been bleeding for over a decade (Matthew 5:25-34), or gained back my sight or my ability to walk . . . I’m a miracle all the same.

That thread? The miracle?

Faith: the gift of believing in something, in Someone, bigger. Bigger that my fears, bigger than my worries, bigger than life.

Overhearing what they said, Jesus told him, “Don’t be afraid; just believe.” Matthew 5:36, NIV

I’ve peered into the blackest of nights and touched the searing hot pain of loss, and survived. I’ve learned to breath in the ashes of despair and traverse my way through the valley of death. I was dead, and now I’m alive. I was lost, and now I’m found.

So as I think about God’s promises and whether or not I believe them, my answer is of course I do! Not perfectly and without worry at times, but I know Jesus loves me and has a big, big house with lots and lots of room. I know He’s called me to go and make disciples and sent His Spirit to lead and guide me. After all, the Bible tells me so and, Scripture, the inspired Word of God, does not lie.

. . . in the hope of eternal life, which God, who does not lie, promised before the beginning of time.” Titus 1:2, NIV

I believe in God’s promises because I believe in God. I believe He is real and not a distant grandfatherly-type hovering somewhere above us watching as we race about. I believe God is intimately involved with every detail of my life —the good, the bad, and the ugly, and He is squeezing good out of every.single.drop.

But what does happen when my circumstances appear contrary to His promises? How do I know what is true when pain or fear stares me straight in the eye? How do I believe in His promises when my heart aches? I always return to His character. What do I know to be true about Him?

He doesn’t lie.

He has a plan (Jeremiah 29:11).

He is sovereign and knows exactly what He is doing (Isaiah 55:9).

And He loves. He loves me. He loves you. Scripture says, in fact, that He is love; everything He does is motivated by His love. If I believe that truth about God’s character, then I can believe in every promise —the ones I know and those I don’t. The ones I see, and those I don’t. The ones I experience, and those yet to happen.

Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.” 1 John 4:8, NIV

Do I believe in God’s promises? I declare a resounding yes! because I see the work He has done in me and all around me. I’ve experienced the healing touch of His Son, Jesus. I’ve tasted the goodness of His Word as it’s come alive through my life. I’ve felt the overwhelming depth of God’s love for me through the power of the Spirit and the presence of those who love Him, too. I hear whispers of hope through the stories of those who have gone before but walked in faith with their eyes firmly fixed on Him. People like Abraham and Joseph, Mary and Esther, Job and Paul . . . and me.

I will tell everyone about your righteousness. All day long I will proclaim your saving power, though I am not skilled with words.” Psalm 71:15, NLT

What about you? Do you believe in God’s promises? Really? Jump over to our Facebook page and share your thoughts. We’d love to hear from you!

Trusting God When Fear Strikes Out

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We’re talking about fear and trust this month here at Facets of Faith. Tracy and Jen have shared. Click on their names if you missed their posts. Next week we have a wonderful guest so be sure to come back! Today, it’s my (Kim’s) turn. I figure we can jump right in with a confession. That’s always a great way to start (she says, dripping with sarcasm).

I know, nothing like opening an article with baring my heart and soul with a confession, but here it goes.

Sometimes I’m afraid to embrace life. I’m not afraid to live – I honestly don’t have any control over how my heart beats or the rhythm of my breathing. I used to wonder about that during the early days of grief, those days following my daughter’s death.

I remember those earliest moments when all I could do was focus on my breathing – the almost annoying pressure I felt to take air in and breath it out. I didn’t consciously think about breathing, but I remember those moments when the physical act took all of my attention.

Grief is ugly and heavy and yet somehow beautiful. It exposes the deepest parts of our souls, the most tender, the most vulnerable, the most precious. The tears that flow, that trickle down my cheeks were evidence of the love I have for my sweet Emma, for the years we had together and all of the memories that would never take place.

Fear became my bedfellow in many ways and for many years but I learned that God is bigger, He is stronger, He is more powerful than my greatest nightmare, than the moment I buried my daughter.

I thought as years passed and God healed my heart that the fear would subside. That the weight of grief would lesson and somehow I would return to normal.

Normal is actually overrated and illusive, isn’t it? Because as the years marched on, the fear that gripped my heart began to morph into something I didn’t know, something I didn’t expect. As the fear that surrounded me after Emma died began to subside, its cousin took its place. A darker, more insidious bedfellow that poked and prodded and tried to steal away the peace that God had given to me.

The fear made its presence known when life seemed to be rolling along at a reasonable pace. When I thought I had this living-with-grief thing figured out. That’s when it would start to whisper.

You know it could happen again. You could lose Kelsey, your other daughter. What if something happen to her?

Anxiety would follow, reminding me of all I lost and the emotions I felt as the fire destroyed my home.

Did you turn the stove off? Are you sure the fire alarms work?

Anxiety then became action as I walked around and checked the alarms regardless of the fact that I knew full well they worked.

The whispers grew louder and a little more frequent as I started to try new things.

Are you really laughing right now? Don’t you remember what happened to your house? To your pets? To your daughter? To your marriage?

Fear tapped it’s neighbor, shame, on its shoulder and the two of them unleashed their power.

If you enjoy life, you’re going to forget her. It’ll be as if she never lived. Is that what you want?

The worry and anxiety tried to suffocate my faith. It felt stronger. It seemed stronger. But was it? Really?

As my feelings grew and my heart healed, I realized the emotions that had been numb suddenly felt as if the faucet turned full force and my soul didn’t know how to absorb it all. Fear’s fingers squeezed the tender shoot of life that had begun to grow.

Fear gripped me. It paralyzed me. And there were days I let fear win. I hid and remained silent. I went through the motions of life without really living. On the outside I looked normal, functioning, engaging with the world. But on the inside? Where life mattered? I felt shriveled, destined to live in the dark.

This I declare about the Lord: He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; he is my God, and I trust Him.” Psalm 91:2

Then one day I began to hear a different whisper, one that I knew, that I recognized.

Come near, I am here.

I never left you.

I see you. I see your tears. I weep with you. 

I am stronger.

I will protect you. I do protect you.

I love you. I delight in you.

I began to read my journals from those early days after Emma died and saw, through my own handwriting, the miraculous things that God had done. The peace that settled my heart. The joy when I sensed Him near. The truth that anchored my soul as it was tossed about by grief and loss.

 I will never leave you. (Deuteronomy 31:6)

I am near. (Psalm 145:18)

I see you, your tears, your broken heart. (Psalm 56:8)

I am stronger. (Proverbs 18:10)

I am your protector. (Psalm 121)

I delight in you. (Zephaniah 3:17)

Those familiar words began to seep into my soul and snuff out the darkness. The light of His love shone into the hidden places and walled off spaces as I let His healing grace in. I learned God isn’t a bully, He won’t force His way in. But if we choose to trust Him, if we make the conscious decision to open our hearts and let Him in, He will fill us with a peace that truly passes all understanding and set an anchor for our soul through the craziest of storms.

So God has given both his promise and his oath. These two things are unchangeable because it is impossible for God to lie. Therefore, we who have fled to him for refuge can have great confidence as we hold to the hope that lies before us. This hope is a strong and trustworthy anchor for our souls. It leads us through the curtain into God’s inner sanctuary.” Hebrews 6:18-19

I had to decide, once and for all, whether or not to believe God’s truth. I had to decide either He lied about everything, or His truth reigned over it all. Even over death. Even over loss. Even over fear.

I chose to believe.

I chose to believe that His Word is real and can guide me through my fear.

I chose to believe that He loves me, even when I fail.

I chose to believe that He delights in me simply because I’m His.

I chose to believe, once and for all, that He truly is bigger than my fear, and I don’t need to live as a ‘fraidy cat.

So now I’m beginning to embrace life in all of its messy gloriousness, and it is good.

How do you trust God in the face of fear?

Share you story in the comments below or jump over to our Facebook page and join the conversation. Thanks for reading!

Love, Hope, and a Sprinkle of Laughter

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We’re talking marriage this month at Facets of Faith, answering the question: how is God helping me bloom through my marriage. Tracy and Jen shared already, be sure to check out their posts. Today it’s my (Kim’s) turn, so here we go!

He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me . . . he loves me not.

Last week was the 20th anniversary of my first wedding for a marriage that lasted fourteen years. Fourteen years of holding my breath, slowly plucking at each flower petal as I wondered and waited. He loves me. Chaos and crisis defined most of our years together, until like the failing rose in Beauty and the Beast, the remaining petal shriveled and died. He loves me not.

Marriage scared me. Or more accurately, intimacy did. Could I trust someone with my whole heart again? Was I willing to take the risk of allowing someone near? There was so much pain and sorrow, I wasn’t sure.

A little more than four years ago, in a burst of courage, I signed up for one of those dating websites. Yep, that was me. My divorce was final and I wanted to meet new people. Nervously, I filled out my profile, trying to determine how much to share and what to keep close.

Simple questions like listing the number of kids sent waves of anxiety over me. Who will want to deal with that, I wondered. I decided to stay vague. Vagueness protected. Vagueness kept others at bay.

Emails started filling my inbox. One by one, I hit delete. Until I saw his picture. Peering close, I noticed a child’s hand on his shoulder. Intrigued, I clicked on his profile. There wasn’t much but something in his picture stirred something in me. What the heck, I thought. I hit reply and a tiny shoot broke through the earth.

God had been doing a tender work in me throughout this dark season. He compassionately pulled up weeds of pride and bitterness. He whispered words of love and hope nurturing my soul and restoring the nutrients I so desperately needed to heal my broken heart.

Forgiveness. Compassion. Grace. But I didn’t see the rest of what He was preparing for me, not right away.

Through a series of emails we began to learn about each other, this man and I. We found out we graduated the same year from rival high schools and liked the same cars. We both loved kids and each had a few of our own. Then came the surprise, the one thing I couldn’t ignore.

We both lost a child.

In that moment as I read his words, it looks like we have something else in common, I tasted the grace of God’s goodness. It was as if I were infused with oxygen and could freely breathe again. Not because of this man, but because of how God chose to use this man. That tiny bud began to reach toward the sun. It had been so long . . .

His son, Timmy, died when he was four. He drowned in their swimming pool. My daughter, Emma, died when she was five in a fire that destroyed our home. I remember writing to him that if nothing else, we were going to be good friends. We shared a bond that most, thankfully, do not. We tasted the bitterness of sorrow so deep that changes our very soul.

I often think about that moment, that first bit of connection we felt before we ever met. I tasted hope that day and it was refreshing and good.

For I am about to do something new. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it? I will make a pathway through the wilderness. I will create rivers in the dry wasteland.” Isaiah 43:19, NLT

One email led to another until we finally talked on the phone. Eventually, we decided to meet and last month we celebrated our first wedding anniversary. A day, quite honestly, I never thought I’d celebrate again, but only for God’s mercy and grace.

This may sound a little cheesy, but let’s face it, this entire post has that flavor . . . but I feel myself coming alive each day I wake as Russ’s wife. I experienced so much sorrow and death that I became accustomed to its weight around my shoulders. It was like the comfortable sweatshirt I know is ripped and torn, yet feels so safe and warm. Being Russ’s wife helps me learn a new way of life as we embrace the dance of living with grief because he knows it, too.

I never knew being married was like this. I understood the hard part – the in sickness and in bad times. But this good part? The laughter, the fun, the encouragement, the genuine enjoyment? It’s new and like a refreshing rain nourishing the soil God tilled and prepared.

He hugs me at night and whispers I have the best wife ever. It doesn’t matter if I was grumpy or frustrated, if I disciplined his kids or forgot to make dinner. His whispered words of love saturate my mending heart with hope. Hope that marriage is what I thought it could be, hope that two people could not only love each other, but like each other, as well.

My husband stands up for me and protects me. He remains firm when I feel rocked by the waves of fear and anxiety. He longs to provide not only for my needs, but even some of my wants. And he tries to make me smile and laugh every. single. day. Almost to a fault, but it makes me love him even more.

He offers me a glimpse of the love and protection God has for me. I feel safe and secure as I learn more about him, about Jesus, and about myself. I’m beginning to take risks where fear would have won and I’m stepping toward dreams because my husband loves to encourage me on.

Our marriage isn’t perfect, but it’s ours and it’s good. We brought some carts of baggage to our marriage, but somehow we ended up with a beautiful matching set.

Somehow.

No, God did that . . . that’s how.

I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten.” Joel 2:25, ESV

How does God speak to you through your spouse? In your marriage? Join the conversation by sharing a comment below or on our Facebook page.