Tag Archives: love

Unseen

22 Monday Jan 2018

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I last climbed this mountain a couple of months ago with a friend and my dog, Charlie. Charlie landed on a jumping cactus high up the trail. A whole burr clung to his paw and I couldn’t remove it. Each time I tried I ended up with spines in my hands.

The weather was hot. Charlie was heavy (20 lbs is light until you have to hold it just so in order to keep cactus spines from latching to other parts of the body). I was so mentally, emotionally, and physically grieved over the recent loss of my brother that this seemingly inconsequential situation brought me to the end of my strength.

I couldn’t leave Charlie on that mountain, but I couldn’t carry him down either, and it would take at least an hour for anyone to reach us— at which point there was no guarantee they’d be able to remove the cactus anyway.

I didn’t want to speak. And I didn’t want to cry; I didn’t want to give room to any emotion that could run away with me. But I knew if I didn’t ask the Lord, I honestly could have lain down on that vacant mountain—just me, my dog, and my worried friend—and given up.

In a voice only loud enough for Him to hear, I paused, lifted my face to the sky, and whispered in four small words the sum of my soul and all that it carried: “Jesus, I need You.”

My friend crested the mountain. She saw three men. They had serviced the mountain tower and were packing up when she rushed to catch them. One of them was a former cowhand and had wrestled steer to the ground to remedy problems just like Charlie’s.

But while Charlie is the biggest coward to ever wear canine form, he’ll scrap for it if he thinks death is imminent. He growled and snapped and rolled out of my grip each time they came near him. I was afraid they’d give up. I was distraught over the thought.

This time I cried in my heart: “Jesus, I need You.”

The cowhand looked at me. “We’re going to take care of this for you,” he said. “I know people get attached to their dogs emotionally. Trust me, I won’t hurt him, I just need to manhandle him a little bit, and we’ll take care of this for you.”

And they did. They took spines in their own fingers, got dirt and Charlie’s unmentionables all over one of the heavy work jackets they pinned him down with. They labored over him until his paws were free of every spine.

I didn’t want to cry. I wanted to weep. But I still had a heart too fragile to let my emotions run away with me.

So I thanked them. I asked if I could repay them. Get the jacket cleaned at least.

“Absolutely not,” they said.

Charlie stood, tested his paws, then pranced about like a show pony with his head and dirty tail high. He has no shame.

We started our descent, the three men wishing us well. The wind blew on my face, cool against the sweat on my skin. I felt inside the way Charlie looked in his prance: lighthearted and with joy restored.

Grief, trial, trouble. These all have a way of making one feel forgotten. Unseen. Unimportant. And even though truth is not changed by feelings, feelings are a powerful distraction.

But on that day, during that trivial predicament of a woman on a mountain with her quirky dog—when I truly could not take another step beyond the culmination of things pressing me down— Yeshua reminded me through the presence and persistence of those men: “I see you. I love you. I am here.”

As you head into the week, whatever it is you’re facing and however much it hurts, take your feelings, your questions, your doubts, your scheming to make it all work out; surrender these to the Son who died to save you and embrace this truth:

He sees you. He loves you. He is here.

Know Your Enemy

24 Saturday Sep 2016

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Black-maned male African lion roaring, headshot, Africa

“Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. Resist him.” 1 Peter 5:8, 9

The enemy is very busy with today’s Christians.

Busy getting friends to turn on each other because their opposing views become offensive and that offense becomes more valuable than the love they used to have for each other.

Busy getting us to one-up each other in sarcasm and rhetoric rather than outdo each other in love, mercy, grace, and kindness.

Busy getting Christians more concerned about issues than souls, more condemning of others than forgiving, more critical of others than prayerful, more determined to make a worldly point than testify of the goodness, faithfulness, and sovereignty of the Living God.

The enemy is very busy with today’s Christians.

Busy inciting fear, hatred, violence, injustice, retaliation, bitterness, separatism, vengeance, murder, and deception in the world, and busy getting Christians to join the ranks in picking worldly sides and buy into it from a worldly perspective, while we completely ignore his handiwork from the shadows.

He’s very busy there–in the shadows, recruiting the same souls for destruction that we should be turning to the Messiah. Recruiting us to rally for a candidate or a cause rather than look with compassion on the lost. Recruiting us to redefine “the lost” and to use our own judgment for determining who’s worthy of compassion and forgiveness. Recruiting us to look at skin or uniform color rather than the soul inside. Distracting our attention away from who and what we really wrestle against.

The enemy has convinced many of us to ignore that in our anger we should not sin, that the very sins we condemn others for we ourselves commit or have committed, that those sinning against us are in need of the same grace and repentance we have been given, that we are to love our neighbors and enemies, bless those who curse us, pray for those who persecute and spitefully use us, and not resist an evil person.

The enemy is busy getting us to live like desperate citizens of a lost world rather than confident children of the Almighty God. Children who have the wisdom that is from above, which is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy, without partiality and without hypocrisy.

He’s busy getting us so angry that we become unforgiving, and in becoming unforgiving we forget how our own sins ripped through Christ’s flesh.

He is busy convincing us that God is silent. And that if God is silent we should be shouting. At the world. Not crying out to our Father. Together. United.

The enemy is very busy with today’s Christians. He is busy keeping us subjected to the influence of media and away from the instruction of God’s throne. He is busy trying to make us look and feel hostile, sarcastic, furious, forgotten, forsaken, indifferent, uncaring, hard-hearted, and hopeless. He is busy trying to make us look and act like him.

Resist him.

“For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places.” Ephesians 6:12

 

Where is the Love?

07 Thursday Jul 2016

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nearness to God

“But if I have not love, I am nothing.” ~ 1 Corinthians 13:2

My mother-in-law gave me wise advice years ago. She told me that when it comes to people you admire and causes you support, if you agree with every single iota of a person’s opinions or an agenda’s position, then you’re not thinking for yourself.

You cannot change the world, play your part in it, or make the difference you were created to make if you swallow every gulp of what your favorite pastor, political party, or network is pouring in your glass. The opinions and reasoning of men are flawed and imperfect because we are flawed and imperfect. Only God and His word are infallible.

I’m not on the bandwagon that cries racism every time there’s a person of color killed by a white officer. Neither do I duck my head in the sand and say “No way this is unjust. They must have deserved it” just because somebody posts a FB photo or Twitter post about the victim that shows disgraceful behavior. I don’t share blog posts that essentially say “I was treated okay, so that other person’s experience must be bogus,” when a person who was alive and well yesterday is gone today and have people who loved them fresh in mourning.

To do so is to show the world how non-objective and hard-hearted you really are; you’ve got your Democrat or Republican, Liberal or Conservative playbook and you’ll die before you break ranks or call an audible. It’s not about being right. Where’s your sense of humanity when you can watch a person die on video and the only thing that crosses your mind is rhetoric, debate, and “what’s a good meme to silence all these outraged people?”

Where is your sadness? Your horror?

Especially if you call yourself Christian?

Even if–in your limited and sorely mistaken opinion–every single police shooting is justified and the victims are wicked, how can you take pleasure in or be so indifferent to death when God Himself takes no pleasure in the death of the wicked, when he took a man like the Apostle Paul, who had a murderous rap sheet, and both loved and changed him?

These two men had value in God’s eyes. His Son died for them. People loved them. Meditate on that for a minute and get down off your politically charged social media high horse and let your heart beat blood for a spell.

“But if I have not love, I am nothing.” 1 Corinthians 13:2

Unashamed

27 Saturday Jun 2015

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Man with arms raised towards the sky

“For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.”

I am not ashamed of the Gospel.

Nor am I ashamed to love. But neither love nor encouragement equals unlimited concession or acquiescence. Love is truthful and patient. Sometimes encouragement is to encourage away from the bad and toward the good. Sometimes love is the courage to say “I’ll never leave you, but I won’t lie and tell you this is good.”

Love doesn’t support or congratulate self-destruction. It doesn’t sell the eternal for the temporal. I don’t correct those who aren’t in my close circle because that’s not my thing. But I wonder about Christians who say, “Do what makes you happy” instead of “Do what God created you to do.” Anything that leads away from Him and more towards self is a lie.

We weren’t created to glorify ourselves. We weren’t even created to be happy. We were created for His glory. Everything above that is a blessing and a gift. And if we put happiness before His glory, before obedience, before truth in love, before dying to self, then we’ve sold the Creator for the creation. It’s a cheap trade of tragic proportions.

All have sinned and fall short of His glory. That doesn’t mean we languish in sin because we’ll never measure up. It’s meant to turn our eyes toward His grace, His goodness, His love, so much so that we find ourselves lavishing in His glory. It’s about Him, not us. So when I feel tempted, by popular opinion or law or fear of being misunderstood, to conform to the world and not God, I remember. And I remain…

Unashamed.

Thanks, Mom

09 Saturday May 2015

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I blog sporadically for Compassion Ministries, an organization that makes it possible for my family to sponsor three children from different countries.

In honor of Mother’s Day, this week’s Compassion blogging prompt is to write an open letter to my mom. I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to publicly praise her, despite her love for privacy.

So…

Dear Mom,

When it comes to how wonderful you are, I probably tell other people more than I tell you. That I love you is no secret. But what I love about you I rarely take the time to articulate.

I think you’re beautiful. You carry yourself with such grace and dignity it’s almost regal. And your taste in jewelry is adorable.

I’m amazed that you had us three girls back to back…

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…and finally the boy…

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…yet you remained ever gentle and patient. And you were always there.

Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Snacks of fruit and veggies. Phone curfews and friend interviews. You cared enough to take the time.

Your “no” meant “no” and your “yes” meant “yes.”

I never liked those fish mackerel patties. But no one’s perfect. You are forgiven.

You were never afraid to sing off-key and dance with us, even if you didn’t know the latest moves.

(I was going to post the Zumba picture here, but I can’t have you killing me :-).)

Your smile is contagious…

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…as is your sense of adventure.

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And while being your daughter is its own blessing, having you as the grandmother of my children is like honey straight from the comb. It takes a special grandma to help her granddaughter plant a watermelon, then turn around and mail it once it’s ripened.

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Your integrity and authenticity, your unwillingness to speak evil of anyone, your work ethic, your joy, your heart…

I love and admire you. We all do.2014-12-28-McCauleyMcCauleys-4

For all you’ve done, all you do, and who you are…

Thank you.

Happy Mother’s Day

Don’t Lose the Wonder

14 Saturday Mar 2015

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“Nevertheless I have this against you, that you have left your first love.”
~Revelation 2:4~

My kids and I walked through the parking lot looking for our car.

“Ooh, a bird!” I pointed to a cute little sparrow as it hopped out from behind a tire. My youngest looked to where I pointed, her eyes rounding in a brief second of interest, then she resumed the story she’d been telling to her older siblings. Those two barely glanced.

I frowned, remembering how fascinated all of my children used to be whenever they saw an animal. They’d tug on my sleeve, grab my face in their little hands, point, clap, and squeal. “A bird! A dog! A horse!”

Nowadays, after hundreds of dogs and thousands of birds, they’re a little less impressed.

It’s to be expected. When new things–new wonders–become the norm, we don’t get as excited about them as we used to. And that’s okay for the less important stuff.

Other things are meant to awe us for a lifetime: our children, our marriages, the grace of each new day.

More than anything, when we consider the great mystery of salvation–that this Jesus humbled Himself, left glory, became a man, served the least, and endured the Cross, all before sitting at the right hand of the Father, where He daily intercedes on behalf of His own–we should never lose the wonder, never cease to be amazed.

When His sacrifice becomes a common thing to us, so does He. He shows Himself mighty, and we barely glance.

Every bird, from the tiny sparrow in the parking lot, to the eagle soaring on high, knows its Maker. Every dawn is made new. The wind and waves obey Him. From the highest height to the lowest depth, He sees what dwells there.

He is mindful of man, slow to anger, abounding in love and kindness; and yet it is a dreadful thing to fall into His hands. He is mighty, eternal, holy, and good. We are not. And yet He died for us.

Consider daily the greatness of your first and greatest love.

And be filled with wonder.

A Wrecked Perspective

27 Tuesday Jan 2015

Posted by in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics, Writing and Pursuing Publication

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thanks

“In everything give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.”
~ 1 Thessalonians 5:18

Recently, on a day like any other, my three kids and I set out for an evening of gymnastics and Kenpo practice, with a potential coffee stop squeezed in. The smell of mint wafted from my older daughter’s tea mug. The youngest girl crunched on a carrot as if it were her last meal, and my boy pretended to finish homework (I saw him tuck a toy in the jacket of his Gi before leaving the house).

We sat in the left turning lane behind a line of cars, underneath a partly cloudy sky. Tires screeched. Metal crunched. We lunged forward. Slammed backward. I screamed.

My pulse pounded in my ears, and I couldn’t hear anything else for a moment. The surge of adrenaline made me dizzy. I couldn’t believe I’d been hit, or that my kids were in the car.

I turned to them. “Is everybody okay?” They were shocked, but otherwise unharmed. Praise God.

I got out, shaking, and walked to the car responsible, its front end demolished. Behind the deployed airbag sat a young man wearing a dazed look of dread.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

He looked himself over and nodded, though he didn’t seem entirely sure. “Can I drive?” He pointed at a parking lot. Smoke drifted up from the remains of his hood, fluid poured beneath it.

“No. You should probably get out.”

By the time the ordeal ended, the police, a fire truck, and the boy’s parents and sister had arrived on the scene, and a tow truck was on its way to haul off the totaled car. I pulled my Chevy Suburban (a vehicle I shamelessly endorse) onto the road with minor rear-end damage.

Before leaving, I’d assured the boy and his family, “We’re fine. No one is hurt. It’s not the end of the world.” But for that eighteen year old, I could tell his world was crashing fast. He looked distraught, despite his parents and sister loving on him and stressing how much they cared about him and not the car.

I wanted to comfort him myself, pull him in a hug, wipe his tears and make certain he understood that the wreck, as horrible as it seemed now, would be just a memory someday. But he’d had enough trauma. The last thing he needed was some stranger bear-hugging and petting him.

He saw the totaled car and cried over what that meant for his family. What it would cost them. How they would replace it. He didn’t consider their joy over the fact that their son had walked away from a thousand pounds of crumpled metal unscathed.

But I did. And it made me look at my own kids, my own life, my own set of problems, my own trove of joys. And it made me thankful.

Thankful that even though my son and I have a homework showdown every afternoon, he’s come home safe every afternoon. Thankful that although my daughter’s already showing signs of adolescent attitude, I get to kiss her sleeping face every night when she looks most like an angel.

Thankful because, while my edits are taking much longer than I intended, they’re getting done, and I’ve got somewhere to send them. Thankful that no matter what the day brings–good or bad–I’m loved from on high by One who suffered and died for me.

Sometimes it takes a crisis to wreck our negative perspectives; to take our eyes off all that’s wrong with the world and refocus them to see the joy, the love, the good.

I regretted not saying all I wanted to comfort the young driver before I left. I’m thankful his driver information comes with an address where I can send a card of encouragement. I can only hope I don’t look like a stalker when it arrives.

Your turn: What are you thankful for?

The Nearness of God

13 Saturday Dec 2014

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The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit. -Psalm 34:18

nearness to God

This will be our first Christmas without my mother-in-law. For some it will be a first Christmas without a spouse, a sibling, a friend, or a child. For others it will be the second Christmas, or the third, maybe more.

Whatever your grief, know that God has not forgotten you. May His love surround you in such a way that you know without a doubt He is near.

Blessings and prayers from my family to yours.

~Tanara

Mercy Despised

15 Friday Aug 2014

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chains

Not too long ago I had a wrestling match with my youngest daughter, something we do quite often. This particular day I had to cut our bout short.

I trapped her legs between mine, clamped her arms to her sides and her back to my chest in a one-armed hug, and applied enough pressure so that she could accomplish little more than a wiggle.

She laughed.

“You want me to let go?” I stuck my nose in her neck to tickle-torture an affirmative out of her. After squirming just to double-check my grip, she agreed. “Okay, okay. Let me go.”

“Say ‘mercy.'”

She stiffened. Struggled a little more. Shook her head.

“You want me to let go don’t you?” Nod. “Then say ‘mercy.'” Vigorous head shaking. Then the real battle began. She flexed and pushed and strained and twisted. Breath held. Shoulders stiff. Feet jerking in short kicks.

I held on, amazed by her obstinacy. Between laughing and having to reestablish my hold (she’s a strong one), I’d repeat, “Say ‘mercy.'” And she’d respond with a firm, “No.” Her giggling petered out as she got frustrated.

She wanted me to let go. That had already been established. And she was more than willing to take my offer of mercy if it were unconditional. But a formal surrender? Too proud for that. So proud, in fact, she was willing to get deeper into bondage by struggling, rather than simply say the word “mercy” and receive freedom.

Astounding.

Of course I let her go once her “ha, ha, ha” weakened to “he, he, he” and then became “wa, wa, wa.” She’s four. Smack a kiss on that stubborn cheek and set her free.

It didn’t escape me, however, that the response to Christ by many is sadly no different from that of a pre-schooler. We despise the idea of surrender. And in doing so, despise mercy as well.

There’s bondage aplenty: spiritual, physical, financial, sexual, and too many more to name. If it exists, we splash in it, swim in it, or plunge right in to drown in it.

And if mercy is our unconditional right, if we can live like we want and spend our days how we wish, and Christ’s blood is still for the taking without us ever doing the asking, then by all means shower some mercy on us.

But ask? Surrender? Lay down our pride and open our mouths and admit, “I need You. I can’t do this on my own. I confess that You died for me. I confess You as the only way to forgiveness, the only One who can grant me eternal life, the only One who can save me.”

We’d rather stay where we are–no, descend further into the depths–in our struggle to refuse Him.

It’s a grievous irony, this fight to stay in bondage at the expense of victory which comes through surrender. This wanting to live forever but not wanting the Way, the Truth and the Life. This desire to do it all on our own.

When. We. Simply. Cannot.

The mercy of God in Christ is life. He won’t force it on us, but He is ever offering it to us. Let us not despise it.

“For You, Lord, are good, and ready to forgive, and abundant in mercy to all those who call upon You.” ~Psalm 86:5

 

 

Promised

18 Saturday Jan 2014

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Life–if we’re honest–is hard.

That’s not to say it isn’t good. Laughter, the arms of a child thrown around your neck, kisses from the one you love–these are all precious tidbits of the countless things that keep us striving to lengthen our days.

But life does throw many a curve ball. And these unexpected hurls of devastation feel meteor-sized by the time they strike.

I’ve been blessed enough to not have a multitude of wayward pitches chucked my way. But when it happens the aftermath is intense, especially when there’s loss. Because those I love, I love deeply.

Yet even then I have a foundation that keeps me anchored and assures me comfort will come.

We’ve not been promised easy. Nor has our faith in Christ granted us immunity from the hardship and heartache of life.

We have, however, been promised Christ. And in the end, I can endure the uncertainty and pain of life, just as I enjoy the fruit of all the blessings.

Because I am His. And He is mine.