This weekend, my husband and I went on a sixteen hour road trip.

For those who are counting, yes, we made this trip four days before my upcoming spine surgery, and yes, we just finished two other major trips in the past month.

As we drove, we discussed the puzzling levels of tension, exhaustion, and even anger we’ve both been feeling.

We’re together again, we have a place to live and food to eat, so why are we struggling? Why do we feel like pressure cookers with no valves?

Then we took some time to examine the stresses and life changes we’re facing now, and those we’ve faced over the past year.

• We’ve both been diagnosed with rheumatic diseases, mine incurable and requiring long-term, chemo level drugs. In addition, Dennis has permanent hearing loss and ringing in the ears from his last job.
• We’ve been separated by his recall and deployment for many, many months, some without any contact at all, which means we must now rebuild our communication rhythm and teamwork as a couple.
• We’ve moved multiple times, including internationally to a completely new culture.
• We’ve faced the illness, struggle, and death of our beloved Maile, which gutted us in ways we’re still discovering.
• We’ve both experienced dramatic job changes (like building manager to pirate chaser off the coast of Somalia, for example), and faced heavy financial blows.
• We’ve wrestled with our faith in God, and with the actions of His followers.
• We’re in the process of renovating our current house so we can rent it out, all while juggling the time and legal negotiations of a second mortgage on a house (which also needs to be renovated) in a new city.
• We’re living out of suitcases (or trying) while every room in our in-renovation house is full of the boxes we packed prior to Dennis’s deployment last year.
• Dennis has begun a very challenging work position, and is trying to find time to prep for the placement tests he must take prior to returning to College in our new city in a couple months, all while facing the reality of reenlistment so I can have continued medical coverage.
• In a couple days, I’m going in for another spine surgery, while simultaneously battling this wretched rheumatic disease that steals my eyesight, curls my hands into claws, and generally makes life miserable.
• I’m doing this in the midst of heavy drug withdrawal symptoms, because the surgery requires me to immediately stop all the immune-system-destroying rheumatic disease medication that helped me function.

And this list is not quite half of the stressors we’re facing.

So, what’s my point? I promise, this isn’t a feel-sorry-for-us post. We would rather live challenged than bored. We would rather live raw than numb. We would rather experience things that force us to be brave than to never need courage.

My point, is that life can be tough. And unexpected. It can hammer you. And like a tricky boxer in a prize fight, it doesn’t always give you time for another breath before the next knock-out blow.

But see, this is what got me thinking about pressure cookers.

Pressure cookers are pretty amazing. Their extreme heat and pressure can create in mere minutes what normally would take many hours to accomplish.

That part makes the process effective. What makes the process SAFE is proper valving. A pressure cooker without an escape valve is just a bomb waiting to happen.

And the same is true for us. We don’t get to choose most of the external pressures in our lives. But we DO get to choose whether our pressure cooker experiences make a nice batch of jam, or the next Boston bombing.

So how do we do this?

1.) Get a clear picture of the pressure levels

As we drove the long stretch cross-country (at seventy-five miles an hour because Texas speed limits are AWESOME), we each took this Life Changes Stress Test individually, then compared our results.

It was a massive eye-opener to have a number to assign to each other’s struggles. And a huge help in giving each other grace.

Now, every time he does something that makes me crazy, I just think, “968, Kelli. He’s living under the weight of 968.” And every time I nag him about his driving because I’m feeling out of control, he reminds himself, “1235, Dennis. She’s trying to function at 1235.” In this way, we are able to put those little annoyances in perspective, and see the bigger picture.

2.) Take a close look at what we’re holding inside

What we keep inside is going to be accelerated by pressure and heat. So if it is good stuff (honest pain, real questions, hunger for growth, sincere love) it is going to be compounded and refined. If it is toxic stuff (unhealed wounds, offense, anger, self-pity, pride, selfish ambition), it is going to puff up, expand, and consume that space, leaving no room for anything else. Nothing exposes the contents of our Inner Mason Jars like a pressure cooker season. And we can use this season for self examination, prayer, and transformative change like no other season in our lives.

3.) Practice safe valving

Whether we’re keeping good stuff or bad stuff inside, an explosion is an explosion. Without proper valving, and wise self-management in these really intense seasons, we can be a bomb waiting to happen. So it’s really important to be strategic and make sure we have a fully operational pressure valve, and USE it.

The other day, someone suggested I’m “detached from reality” because I constantly use humor about the stresses I’m facing. What this person didn’t comprehend is that for me, humor is my pressure valve. My way to focus on the good and keep smiling. My way to allow a little of the pressure to escape without damaging anyone. Other valve actions for me are taking time for a cup of tea, baking for friends, visiting Maile’s grave, reading a good book, spending time with our other kitties, or listening to a song that moves me.

For Dennis, a quick ride on his motorcycle, time in prayer over a good cup of coffee, or a few quiet minutes watering the yard help him find his center and re-focus.

Whatever your valve is, as long as it’s healthy, USE IT. Take a walk on the beach, paint a sunrise, serve someone else, crank your favorite ColdPlay song and do a war dance in your living room… whatever. Give yourself permission, and recognize that the use of smart valving isn’t selfish. It is a strategic way to protect yourself and others from shrapnel during seasons of extreme stress.

4.) Anticipate the end result

I’m not gonna lie. I think jam is yummy. It’s good on bread. It’s good on scones. It’s good inside cookies. It’s even good on ice cream. Jam is versatile, and helpful, and an improvement to many of life’s basic food groups. And you know what? The good stuff that’s cooking inside you and me during these horrible times? Just like jam, it’s going to be even better after the pressure cooker’s done. I truly believe that.

One of the best things I discovered, as I was researching life stress this past week, was a another test. This one is from Dr. Richard Rahe, called the Post Traumatic GROWTH Test

I love what he says at the beginning of the test: “The after-effects of trauma are not entirely negative. Over the course of recovery, a person may experience life areas of positive psychological growth.”

Isn’t that hopeful and encouraging? As I took this test, I was really inspired to see the new areas of strength I’ve developed during this horrid, pressure cooker season. I hope you’ll take it, and be encouraged too.

Until then, keep on cooking…and practice safe valving!!

Do you know how many times weeping is mentioned in the Bible?

A lot. More than three hundred times just for the words wept or weeping; another two hundred and fifty for crying, eighty-five mentions of mourning, two hundred fifty for grief, and even more for tears.

Now, don’t get the wrong idea—joy is mentioned plenty in the Bible, and so is hope, and so are lots of other encouraging, uplifting words.

But the ancient scribes seemed to understand two core truths:

1.) Life can be painful.
2.) We should talk about it.

Death, loss, betrayal, defeat, fear, injustice, disillusionment, broken relationships, hope deferred—these cudgels to the heart are all around us.

Sometimes, we don’t see them coming. One minute everything’s fine. Next thing we know, we’re on the floor, feet knocked from under us, breathless, and wondering why the sky is tilted.

Other times, we do see them coming, but we can’t stop them. And then we’re flat on our back, gut-shot and gasping. Right along with those who caught a cudgel by surprise.

This week, I attended a meeting where two brave aid workers shared a few cudgel experiences they had on the field. Two of their fellow aid workers were killed in a fiery plane crash. Shortly thereafter, another aid worker, who was a close friend of theirs, was shot during a carjacking and only survived after a daring plane rescue. Then the community where they’d served and poured out their lives was influenced by a few local leaders who were hostile to foreigners. Those leaders eventually forced the entire aid team to leave the village.

The heartache and uncertainty they experienced was—and continues to be—considerable.

You might not have tangled with grief while working in a third-world country, but I know heartache has touched your life. I know at some point, you’ve wept alone. I can guarantee you’ve wrestled with pain.

And like my brave aid worker friends, you’ve probably come out limping, with more questions than answers, and a sky that seems permanently askew. You’re trying to do right in the midst of the storm, but it’s tough to see a way forward when every step is clouded by grief.

Fact is, I cannot count the number of people I’ve talked to lately who are in this place. Why? Because life is hard. It just is. A lot.

So, for the past few months, I’ve been researching the mentions of tears in the Bible. What does God think about our pain? Does He see? Does He care? And most importantly, how do we move forward through the cudgels?

A few Bible verses really caught my attention during this research.

The first is Revelation 21:4 “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will no longer exist; grief, crying, and pain will exist no longer. All these things will be gone forever.”

The word “every” in this verse can be translated as “each individual tear”.

So then I considered Psalm 56:8 “You keep a record of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.”

Again, those words: “each one”. Every single tear.

In ancient times, Middle Eastern cultures had a tradition of collecting tears shed in times of calamity and sorrow, and preserving them in “Lachrymatory” bottles, as a memorial of the grief. This tradition carried forward to Roman times, and into Victorian society, and even during the Civil War.

To me, there’s something poignant and lovely about this tradition. And about King David’s belief that the God of the universe was keeping a record of every sorrow, and saving each tear we cry.

So that got me thinking: What if we each get a Tear Session with God when we get to Heaven? A chance to have every tear seen–every tear we’ve wept in the dark, every tear we’ve cried when we felt utterly alone–and held, and acknowledged by an all-loving God?  Perhaps, in that moment, He will wipe away not just our recent tears, but all those from our past, too. And all those caused by the cudgels of life. Every single one.

That’s a beautiful picture and a beautiful hope. But meanwhile, what about now? How do we function here on earth, when life leaves us chewed up, grieving, and unsure where to put our feet?

And that’s where the third verse captured my attention. Psalm 126:6 says, “They go to and fro, weeping, carrying their bag of seeds, but they will return home with shouts of joy, bringing a harvest with them.”

Which brings me back to my aid worker friends. At the meeting this week, their quiet retelling of their experiences was powerful. But most powerful was where they shared these stories: at a fundraiser. To help them return to the same country where they experienced such heartbreak in the first place.

Do they have all the answers? No. Is all their grief resolved? No. But they are as certain as they can be that this is where they’re meant to go, and what they’re meant to do, so they’re pressing forward.

When we’re trudging through seasons of grief and pain, there may be quite a bit of “going to and fro”. False starts. Fast stops. Closed doors. Reversing direction and trying again. Life is murky.

What is clear is that we’re to do two things:

1.) Keep going, and

2.) Don’t forget the seed bag

We are to take that collection of skills, abilities, and talents that is unique to each of us, and serve those we can, with what we have, wherever we go.

Sure, our results may show up in a zig-zag pattern for awhile, and sure that may not be the perfect layout we imagined for our lives, BUT there will be results, and there will be people helped.

Joy will spring up along the way, as long as we keep going.

The word of the Lord came to Jonah son of Amittai: “Go to the great city of Nineveh…” Jonah 1:1-2

There’s a dark truth people don’t tell you, when you sign up for a life of faith. You won’t find this truth plastered across t-shirts, or on big banners hanging over pulpits, or engraved in fancy gold script on the front of your new Bible.

The truth is this: the God of Heaven may hurt you. He may break your heart. He may send you to Hell.

When you make the commitment to serve Him, you promise to go where He sends. You promise to accept His will. You promise to do as He commands.

But when you first begin your Christian journey, you believe His commands will lead you to your Promise Land. Because that’s what Love looks like, right? Love does no harm. Love protects. Love is synonymous with blessing and joy and answered prayers.

Right?

One of the most quoted verses in the North American church, the verse you will find plastered across t-shirts, on big banners above pulpits, and engraved on shiny new Bibles, is found in Jeremiah 29:11: “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you, and not to harm you. Plans to give you a hope and a future.”

Oh yes, we LOVE that verse.

What we miss, in our focus on that promise, is a gigantic, uncomfortable reality: there’s an entire Bible full of other verses and promises. And some (many) promise pain.

The story of Jonah is a profound example. Buried in the first two verses of this book, there’s a dark truth big enough to rock our beliefs about God to their core. The problem is, most people are in such a rush to condemn Jonah, to characterize him as a buffoon and a whiner, they speed right past the warning sign.

Any child who has ever experienced a Sunday School flannel board knows Jonah as the “prophet who ran from God”, the “disobedient prophet”, or “the guy who ended up as whale food”. And Jonah was all those things. But before his seaweed wrap, he was someone else.

To get the full picture, we need to look at the scene right before the curtain goes up in Jonah 1:1. What was Jonah doing? Was he cheating on his taxes, stealing candy from children, and beating puppies? No. In fact, quite the opposite: He was faithful. He was holy. He was chosen. He was exceptional.

Jonah was a prophet of Israel. He held one of the highest offices in the nation; a role that was often more powerful than the king or the priests of the land.

His every word was tested and weighed by the people he served. And, He spoke on behalf of a God who did not tolerate falsehood, impurity, or greed in His ambassadors.

Jonah’s career was what you might call “high risk”. If you misspoke or misstepped as a prophet, you didn’t get a slap on the hand or a timeout in a corner; you got a quick death and a small grave, courtesy of the people you served –or God Himself.

But there was no grave for Jonah, because he was doing the job right. He filled this role for years. He anointed a King. He probably acted as a military advisor for the country in battle, and served as a social and spiritual guide for the entire nation.

Imagine a bearded, Jewish version of Billy Graham, dressed in sandals and an embroidered Yarmulka. A spiritual giant who is also a five-star general and a life coach. This guy takes faith and obedience seriously. He keeps his hands and heart clean. He’s seasoned, committed, and mature.

And then one day, the God of heaven, the One Jonah has served and trusted all his life, throws open the door of his world, and says those fateful words: “Hello Jonah, faithful servant. Go to Hell.”

Over dramatic? I don’t think so. That’s the problem with breezing past these first two verses in Jonah’s story. We miss the implications, the sheer devastation in the statement, “Go to Nineveh.”

The first word out of God’s mouth was, “Go”.

For some of us, hearing a “Go” from God is something we’ve longed for. “Go get your adopted child.” “Go start that job.” “Go take that vacation.”

But on this day, for this man, “Go” meant something else. “Go” meant: “Today you lose everything you love. Give up your family, your position, your church, your friends, your animals, your belongings, and your house of white-washed stone. Give up all that is familiar—your culture, your language, and your community. Surrender your routine, your stability, and your favorite papyrus-jersey sheets. Go, knowing you will use up your energy and resources on the way. Go with no assurance you’ll ever return.”

That command alone would be sufficient to break most of us.

But God wasn’t done. As Jonah sat there in silence, God announced the destination. “Go, Jonah. Go to Nineveh.”

If the first command was tough to comprehend, the second was far, far worse. To lose everything was one thing. To be sent to Hell? Entirely another.

And for Jonah, Nineveh was Hell. It represented the greatest evil and torment he could imagine.

In Jonah’s day, the Assyrian capital of Nineveh was massive, powerful, and universally known for its terror and brutality. This was a city where they filleted the bodies of their Hebrew captives—while the captives were still alive—and hung their skin on the walls as trophies. This was a city whose rulers and commanders were killers and sexual deviants. This was a city where dark magic, animal sacrifice, and spells of witchcraft took place in every street and alleyway.

The Assyrians also had a thing for attacking their neighbors, and they had caused more damage to Jonah’s people than any other. They laid siege to Jerusalem and razed many other villages to the ground. They rounded up their children as slaves, raped their women, and disemboweled their men.

These were not people who arranged guest suites with fruit baskets for itinerant preachers come to prophesy their doom. So Jonah knew that besides being sent to Hell, he was also being sent to his death.

And yet, we’re so smug when we talk about how rebellious and disobedient he was. “That Jonah,” we say, shaking our heads. “What an idiot he was to disobey. To think he could run.”

I suggest that if we received the commands Jonah did, our smugness would shrivel faster than a lone gourd in an Assyrian desert. Our faith might shrivel that fast, too. Why? Because we’ve all got our own version of evil and torment; we’ve all got that one nightmare that wakes us up in a cold sweat, with dread drenching our hairline.

Only one thing could fill us with greater horror than that nightmare: If the God of love and grace, the God we’ve been so sure is good, sends us there. Because He’s the rescuer. The Savior. The Father of love. He’s supposed to save us from Hell, not send us there. Jeremiah 29:11 says so. Right?

This year, my husband was torn away by an unexpected, long-term military deployment, I said farewell to my friends, my animals, my church, my home, my belongings, my ministry, and the business I ran for a decade. My credit card was hacked, I lost a year of irreplaceable computer files during a computer corruption, was horribly wounded by someone I trusted, was struck with blindness in one eye, was diagnosed with an incurable disease, and with that diagnosis saw my greatest dream for the future fade. My insurance refused to cover my medical treatment when I needed it most, I experienced several severe financial blows… the list of losses goes on, and on, and on.

This year, everything I loved and treasured was ripped away. This year God sent me to Hell. Had I known what was coming, I might very well have made a run for Tarshish, too.

Many Bible teachers say Jonah’s primary reason for running away from God was that his patriotism and zeal for justice exceeded his faith and zeal for mercy. While I’m sure that’s true, I suspect Jonah fled to the ends of the earth for another reason. I suspect he ran to escape the face of a God he no longer recognized.

I mean, what do you do when you’re a Prophet, and the God you’re supposed to represent goes completely postal and schizophrenic? Because surely that is how God appeared to Jonah after He issued His command.

For centuries, God specifically commanded the Israelites to avoid any association with brutal, idol-worshipping, baby-sacrificing cultures. These Assyrians and their king had bullied, mocked, and terrorized the Israelites for years. God Himself killed 185,000 of these Assyrians in one day, when they attacked the Israelites. But now, suddenly, He’s worried about 120,000 of them (and their cows) in the capital city? Worried enough about them to send Jonah there and destroy Jonah’s whole life in the process?

Madness! Jonah must have believed that either he was losing his mind, or his God was. Either way, there was only one option that made sense: Run.

What a dark day of disillusionment that must have been, for this man of faith. I doubt he wore his Jeremiah 29:11 t-shirt when he boarded that ship for the ends of the earth.

I think many of us have had a Tarshish season. A time when God appears more monster than messiah.

I am living that season right now. The heartache and loss God has allowed in our life in the past year devastates and enrages me. I struggle to see how this level of Hell can possibly coexist with any form of Divine Love.

What I’ve found equally challenging is the response of people around me as they observe our suffering.

In many cultures around the world, suffering is such a consistent part of life and faith, it doesn’t require an explanation. Suffering just is. But in our culture, where we’ve been taught that health, success, and prosperity are directly connected to God’s blessing and approval, suffering is not as common, and therefore must be categorized, labeled, and explained.

Three labels have been constant in people’s comments to me: Sin, Stupidity, or Schooling.

A large number have suggested that our heartbreak is a direct result of our sins. That we did wrong, offended God, and are being punished. Because only bad people suffer. Good people get Rolexes and river cruises.

A second group believes that our heartbreak is a direct result of our stupidity. If we had been smarter, if we had responded in a more thoughtful, strategic way to our losses, God would not have allowed them to continue. Because only dumb people suffer. God blesses smart people.

The third group contends that our heartbreak is a direct result of God’s schooling in our lives. “Wow, God must be preparing you for something big, to put you through all this.” “God must really trust you to send all these trials your way.” Because only those He trusts suffer. Those He doesn’t trust get to be happy and healthy.

Beyond the gaping theological holes in these simplistic explanations, the thing these well-meaning people forget is that when you are suffering, you don’t need categories and labels and explanations. You need courage. And pronouncements like these do not produce that. At all.

I suggest that if there must be a label and an explanation for our suffering, it is a fourth, which is closer to the explanation for Jonah’s experience.

In Jonah’s life, the storm and the swim and the seaweed were all consequences of his refusal to do as God commanded. But the death sentence He received from God before that? That was because Jonah was doing things right.

What kind of leader sends the person who is doing right into Hell? I can think of only one.

When we first become Christians, we focus on God as the God of Love. And He is. He is. But just as Jeremiah 29:11 is not the only promise in the Bible, so God is not just a God of Love. He bears many titles, not all of them as comforting. For instance, God is also known as our Captain and Commander.

The great Italian commander, Giuseppe Garibaldi, once made this speech during a recruitment drive:

“I offer neither pay, nor quarters, nor food; I offer only hunger, thirst, forced marches, battles and death. Let him who loves his country with his heart, and not merely with his lips, follow me.”

Jesus may not have said it with the same Italian flair, but He conveyed the same reality when He said, “If any man wishes to be my follower, let him deny himself, pick up his cross, and follow me.” The problem is, we’ve so insulated our faith with scripture t-shirts, and big banners, and shiny new bibles, we forget the seriousness of what we signed up for in the first place.

God is a God of great compassion, but He is also a great commander. He sees the whole picture, and will send His followers wherever necessary in order to accomplish His great end goal.

I suspect the hard part, for Jonah, was the moment he realized fulfilling his role in God’s great end goal would allow the Ninevites to escape judgment, while costing him everything. And if tradition and legend can be believed, it did cost Jonah everything. A tomb, in the ruins of Nineveh, is believed to hold his body.

The ending of the book of Jonah is sad. Plain and simple. Jonah’s sitting outside the city, in the desert, and he is angry. Angry and praying for death, because God doesn’t make sense. God has granted mercy to a city of tormentors, and taken away all Jonah cared about in the process. Jonah who served Him faithfully all his life. Jonah who tried so hard to be holy. Jonah who always remembered to tithe, who always went to church, who always washed his hands before eating.

Jonah’s story is a vivid reminder that God’s ways will feel horribly unfair at times. But this is especially true if we focus on all the happy Bible verses about blessing, and ignore the others. The ones that suggest a great cost of self-sacrifice comes with our faith. The ones that suggest that God can (and will) do whatever He chooses with our life when we give it to Him. The ones that suggest that God has a very different perspective from ours about what success and glory look like.

What has kept me from losing my mind, in this season of anguish and struggle, is not to question or even think about His goodness. At times like this, the goodness of God feels about as far away as Tarshish, and thinking about it only makes us crazy.

The truth is, He may or may not restore and repair all the loss and injustice of this season. He may or may not heal this incurable disease. He may or may not allow the military to continue to send my husband into harm’s way and separate us for yet another year.

But I don’t follow God because of what He can do for me. I don’t serve Him because He’s some kind of Divine David Tutera, who whips out fairytales, miracles, and perfect parking spots while smiling and calling me his Bride. I follow Him because He is God and there is no other. He is my Commander. And that means He has the right to break my heart and send me to Hell if it will accomplish His overall purpose.

There are two possible outcomes, I think, to being sent to Hell. Hell can leave us in ruins, or we can leave it in ruins.

In Jonah’s case, the trip to Nineveh ruined him. It broke his heart, fricasseed his faith, and destroyed His relationship with God. How well I understand that. How many nights I have lain in bed this year, bouncing prayers off the ceiling and feeling ruined beyond repair.

Jonah didn’t have the benefit of reading his whole story up front. He only saw the immediate horror and loss before him. And when we’re in our Tarshish season, that’s true for us as well.

But based on his story and all that happened to Nineveh during and afterward, I believe that if/when God sends us to Hell, He doesn’t intend for us to die there. He intends for us to plow into it, leave it changed, and get the Hell out of there (ahem:P).

And so, in this Tarshish season, I remind myself that I don’t see the whole picture yet. And I keep walking, keep following my Commander, and keep remembering the words of another great general:

“If you are going through Hell, keep going.” – Winston Churchill

The year was 2004.  My husband and I were young Bible College graduates, crammed to the gills with eschatology and Greek translations…and deeply broken.

The breaking came shortly after graduation, when, despite two years of planning, or, perhaps, because of them, our goal to begin a mission base in Belize crashed and burned in a manner worthy of the Hindenburg.

We were flattened and without direction.

But, as any good Type-A Irishwoman would, I considered our Hindenburg tragedy a temporary speed bump in what was, surely, a glorious destiny.

And being practical folk, my husband and I looked for areas of service a bit closer to home while we recovered from the incineration of our plans.

We joined a small church in Washington state, and perked up when the pastor said he’d like us to lead the young adults group. At last! A calling! Something we could sink our hearts and newly minted diplomas into! A place to make a difference™.

(Note: making a difference™ is a key accomplishment, which ranks just below spreading the gospel™ and saving the lost™. Together, these three items form the holy trifecta of BCG (Bible College Grad) success.)

There was just one problem: We didn’t have a comfortable living room for the meeting. And anyone who is anyone knows you must have a hip, comfortable living room in order to succeed in ministry.

We lived in a rental that was old, cold, and badly furnished with garage sale cast-offs we’d purchased the first month of our marriage. Totally not worthy of this new chapter in our glorious destiny.

So, we made a deal with our landlady. We’d scrape and repaint the inside of the house if she’d let us pick the paint colors.

And, since we had lived without credit cards and had no credit score, we made a deal with my father-in-law to co-sign for a loan at the furniture store. There, we purchased two, soft, cushy, Sahara sand colored sofas which practically trumpeted “Ministry Couch! Prayer Couch! Glorious Destiny!” from the moment I saw them.

Now our BCPs (Bible College Professors) taught us that the road to ministry success is littered with trials, so we knew what to expect. A demon behind a bush here, a divine intervention to save us there, that sort of thing. We just didn’t realize trials came in the lead paint variety.

They do.

For the next six months, we battled through seven layers of old wallpaper on the walls, four layers on the ceilings, toxic chemical fumes, blistered fingers, debris and dust covering everything, and yes, lead paint. All buried in the depths of the 1901 relic we called home. All standing in the way of our glorious destiny.

Instead of a comfortable, hip meeting space, our entire home now resembled the den of Cujo.

And then I got sick. The fumes and debris and lead paint in our house turned a basic case of the sniffles into a septic infection that caused my face and neck to swell to double their usual size. I was so sick I had to quit my job, and couldn’t attend church for over a month.

Still, we had a vision. We were going to be young adult ministry leaders! This was all part of God’s plan for our glorious destiny! We were not backing down.

So we persevered through the sickness, persevered through our Cujo wall-scraping endeavors, and finally, months and months after we began, we were ready.

The week after we finished, we attended a young adults group meeting. We knew the pastor was going to tell everyone about the new leadership plan that night, and we couldn’t wait for all our hard work to finally pay off.

As we sat in the meeting, the pastor leaned over and asked us where one of the other young married couples was, and whether we knew when they would arrive. “They’re the new leaders”, he said. “We can’t start the meeting without them.”

That night, we went home, sat on our ministry couches, and stared in silence at our freshly painted living room.  Our glorious destiny seemed very far off.

It’s been seven years since that moment on those couches.

Since then, we’ve hauled our couches across the country.  Divided our couches when we were on the verge of divorce.  Slept on our couches as we struggled to reconcile.  Sat with brokenhearted friends and prayed on those couches.  Nursed sick kittens while curled up on those couches.  Packed bags for trips to Puerto Rico, Switzerland, Mexico, Jamaica, France, Italy, and Zambia on those couches.  Studied for exams on those couches.

And then, a month ago,  I took this picture:

Yes, those are our couches.  A little older, a little worn around the edges, but packed with amazing young couples who attend the Young Marrieds ministry we now lead for our church.

Tonight, as I sat in our living room, wrestling with a new crop of heartbreak and dashed dreams, I looked at those couches.  And I remembered: I can trust God again with my Hindenburged dreams, with my indefatigable hunger for that glorious destiny.  Because God is the Great Couch Redeemer.

He who has been faithful to redeem the time, and fill our couches, will be faithful again.

So, whatever hurt or disappointment you carry today, I hope this story encourages you.  Keep living. Keep walking. Keep trusting in your Redeemer. And may every couch you see give you fresh encouragement:)

Photo Credit: Red Betty Black - Flickr

When I was six years old, I was totally in love with an older man. He was eleven, his name was Shadow, and he had dark brown, floppy hair to die for.

As far as I was concerned, Shadow hung the moon, and I spent many hours planning our starlit wedding.

Around the same time I met Shadow, I discovered honest-to-goodness treasure in the storm drain of our apartment complex.  My treasure was a tiny viewfinder box, shaped like a television (kind of like THIS ONE).

When I held it to my eye, I could see a picture of the Taj Mahal inside.

This little window-to-another-world was worth more to me than a week of ice cream and every episode of Roy Rogers put together. I carried it with me everywhere.

Thus began the summer of my two great loves: Shadow and the Taj. Little did I know my six-year-old heart was about to be broken.

One late August afternoon, I decided to show my treasure box to Shadow and a group of his friends.  But rather than sharing, Shadow knocked it out of my hands and refused to give it back.  When I tried to take it from him, he punched me.

My growing up life hadn’t been easy, so I was familiar with hard knocks.  But I’d never been punched full-force in the stomach before.  The sensation was quite a shock.  In an instant the brightness of the day, the smell of Fall leaves, and the bigness of the world narrowed to three things:

1.) Shadow and his friends laughing
2.) Black stars framing my vision
3.) A total inability to breathe

I was devastated.  And then I was mad.  The minute I got my first breath back, I laughed at him.  After that, I snatched my viewfinder out of his hand and marched away.  Chin high, back straight.

I got around the corner of our apartment and collapsed into a puddle of six-year-old disillusionment.  The hero of my starlight wedding dreams was a villain!

And then I discovered he’d broken my viewfinder.

In that moment, I was sure I wouldn’t ever have a worse day or a more broken heart.

But life is full of moments like that. Times that knock the hope, and trust, and faith right out of you. Moments that make you feel breathless and six years old all over again. I’m in a season like that right now.

We all have these ideas about what answered prayer should look like, what the goodness of God should look like, what hope and a future should look like. And then something happens that is so dramatically opposite, so NOT good, so hopeless, so contrary to our prayers.

Times like these rock us. It isn’t just the treasure knocked from our hands that shakes us. No, no. It is the questions, that swarm us like Ebola-bearing vampire bats, as we stand there in shock. Our hands empty, our hope deferred.

The more deeply we believed we were on the right track, the more devastating and violent the shaking of our faith when our dreams turn to dust and we discover we were wrong.

Some people simply cannot cope with the loss. I read a story today about a 29-year-old Italian man who threw himself off a wall when the Vatican denied his application for priesthood. In his suicide note, he said: “I wanted to be a priest, and dedicated my whole life to this goal, but it was denied me.”

Everyone’s treasure box is different. So your loss might look like the inability to have a child, the death of a loved one when you prayed for healing, the layoff from a career you loved, the injury that ends your scholarship, or the last signature on a divorce petition. But the heartache and the questions in the black nights that follow are the same:

Where is God?
Is He even listening?
Why did He allow this?
Is He powerful but not good?
Is He good but not powerful?
Was I somehow unworthy?
Did I miss His direction?
Who am I without my treasure box?

Simple loss is never simple. We don’t just mourn the tangible thing that’s died. We also grieve the death of our hope, while struggling to re-define our concepts of God’s goodness and sovereignty. It’s a messy, dark, tear-ridden wrestling match with a God who makes a whole lot less sense than we thought He did.

As musician John Mayer wrote so aptly,

“When you’re dreaming with a broken heart,
The waking up is the hardest part,
You roll out of bed and down on your knees,
And for a moment you can hardly breathe.”

I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer a root canal, anesthesia-free.

Yet, we have few options but to wrestle through, to keep rolling out of bed, to continue putting one foot in front of the other. We may no longer know what direction to go, but wall-jumping isn’t an option, so we keep living.

If you’re in this place, I wish I could say something that would comfort you. But as your fellow traveler through this dark night, all I can say is this:

1.) HANG ON – No season lasts forever. The black stars and breathlessness will recede. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but they will. Don’t lose heart.

2.) WALK ON - When life is nothing but dark nights, full of Ebola-bearing vampire bats and dead dreams, it is incredibly difficult to move forward. But do it anyway. Even if it’s half a step at a time. Don’t set up camp here any longer than you have to. Threads of hope will appear. Grab them.

3.) SERVE ON - It may seem outrageous to consider serving others when your world has imploded. But service is movement, and movement means you’re not dead. And sometimes, that movement is what you need to begin to feel hope again.

For more encouragement during this season, I recommend these two books below.  I’m reading them simultaneously, and have found them well-written and helpful:

Recently, I talked with a friend who is facing a deep emotional trauma. She was verbally attacked and condemned by someone she loved and trusted. Someone who had known her for years, and yet chose to believe the worst about her.

This person’s actions devastated my friend. And their cutting words began a repeating circle inside her heart and mind. They became vultures of torment, darkening her entire world.

Exodus 14:14 says, “you will stand still and the Lord your God will fight for you” and this is the verse I gave to her.  I have had to anchor myself to this verse many, many times.   In fact, I’m doing so right now, for a difficult situation of my own.  Believing that God knows the truth about me, and that He will defend me, if I allow Him to.

BUT I also know that words, like the ones that were spoken to my friend, can be crippling.

This list probably won’t work for everyone, but there’s a practical action plan I’ve developed for times like this. I hate feeling gutshot and listless, with my emotions and hope hijacked by devastating words/opinions. I want everything to somehow move me forward, even the hard things. So here’s a list I try to follow during times of hurt:

1.) Discard the packaging and look for truths

Truly teachable people can take a package dripping in cyanide and still sift through it for anything they can apply, anything they can receive and grow from.  Any areas they can own up to, or take responsibility for.   That is what makes good people into great people: their response to wretched situations.

2.) Consider the source

The Bible says we can know a tree by the fruit it bears.  After we sift for truth in the situation, it’s worthwhile to evaluate the character of the person who attacked us.  We can make a logical decision about how much credence to give the rest of their opinions, based on their current lifestyle, their wounds and weaknesses, and their past track record.

3.) Entrust yourself to Him who judges justly

False accusations are miserable.  God knows.  He deals with more false accusation every day than we will in a lifetime.  Probably some of that from us!!  So, entrust your situation and your hurt to him.  Every two seconds, if necessary. God knows your heart, and He is your judge.

4.) Look at what was said and identify the VOTS (vultures of torment)

Some words slide right off, but others stab us to the core. The ones that pierce our armor need to be clearly identified before we can heal.  It’s really hard to gain ground, or hear God, in a hazy cloud of undefined emotion.  So write the VOTS down.  Examine the core messages you feel the words imply, not just what they say.  Clarify, analyze.  Then nail those slithery falsehoods to the wall so God can shine His light on them.

5.) Examine your wounds

Often times, harsh words have sticking power because they hit a spot inside us where there was already a wound or vulnerability. Ask God to cover, cover, COVER those raw places.  Trust Him to use this situation to expose these long-standing, unhealed wounds, and permanently heal them with His grace.  When we do this, we step out of the victim arena, and into a field of new growth.

6.) Examine your progress

Nothing is harder than when you’re making progress/growing in your faith & character and yet someone sees the opposite in you instead. Usually, when this happens, it’s because there is a crafty enemy trying to discourage you, and convince you that you aren’t making progress at all. Don’t lose heart!  Don’t let misjudgment derail you.

7.) Ask for input

Submit the situation to a safe friend or spouse or spiritual leader. Ask them to pray that the poison of the words will be rendered useless. Ask them to speak truth to you to balance the VOTS!

8.) Keep your heart soft and let God protect it

It can be easier to close off, or to go on the defense, in order to cope. But if we commit to staying soft, to feeling the whole miserable thing fully, then we will learn, we will grow, our hearts will become richer as we receive God’s grace to cope, and THAT will give us full hands when someone else comes to us, having suffered the same thing.

9.) Learn what not to do

You know how you feel when someone’s attacked you?  Unable to sleep, sick with grief?  Remember that feeling.  And ask God to help you never make another person feel the same way.  We’re not perfect and we’re going to make mistakes, but the great thing about suffering is it brands our hearts deeply, and teaches us not to make as many mistakes in that specific area.