FEELINGS OF DESPAIR

Still trying to digest this mornings devotional  and reflect on this exquisite story. Getting excited about something I have heard many, many times in my life yet heard from others perspectives brings new meaning to this unique SEASON in the life of the women mentioned in the book of Ruth.
So many timely truths, yet such a dark depressive time in history.  So many circumstances in the narrative that could apply to our continuum in life.
Amidst all the chaotic time in Israel’s history and the moral fabric of Israel unraveling a focus on three women in a culture dominated by a patriarchal system sets the drama.
A dramatic move to Moab is initiated by Naomi’s husband, relocating for a SEASON of time in a land that was hostile toward their own people, until his untimely death.

Precipitated perhaps by this turn of events and feeling the stress and pressures of loosing, not only her husband but also her two sons in a culture that depended on the head of the household to provide and protect,  she makes a dramatic move back home, with a daughter-in-law that wants to minister to her and travel back with her.

Upon arrival back home, Naomi responds with negativity toward the circumstances that God allowed to happen.  From her perspective every security in her life has been taken, for all intense and purposes she had lost hope and  resorted to bitterness.
From her perspective one could imagine the feelings of despair, loneliness, anger, fear, and anxiousness about the events unfolding in her life, changing her name to reflect her life.

The daughter-in-law responds with love and a resolve to care for her and be there with her and to minister to a person in this condition.
Yet, the question stands:  “How do you combat feelings of bitterness?”
Try not to stay in that frame of mind.
Count your blessings.
Go over who God is.
Contemplate on what God has been trying to do in your life.
God uses us in spite of our decisions.
God’s redemptive mercy finds those in greatest needs and with incredible joy, praise, and hope, uses this family illustration of how God intervenes to set the stage, establishing a genealogy through pagan women of redemptive quality in the eventual story leading up to the birth of Christ.
How is God setting the stage in your life?
Are you studying the Word because you want to understand God’s character?
While interacting with God’s Word do we  submit to change? Do we see God working in this narrative as well as our own stories.

We look forward to more adventures in the book of Ruth through our monthly devotionals at our AD Support get togethers.

GOOD GRIEF!

David Brannon is one of my favorite devotionalists for as long as he has been contributing to the Daily Bread.
I really appreciate his perspective on young death.
So I thought it might be encouraging for others to read also.

YOUNG DEATH        
"I never planned to have valleys on the topographical map of my life. My map, as I saw it, would always consist of the high road. The smooth road. The pathway lit up by God’s love and decorated with His gift of the abundant life. It was to be the journey of the trying-to-be-godly-but-appreciating-a-forgiving-God Christian. The walk of a trusting believer.
Yet here I am, still surprised and shocked to be walking through the valley of the shadow of death.
The way I figured it, my wife and I would raise our four kids in the way they should go, and when we were old, they would all be there to take care of us.
Yet on a gorgeous Michigan spring night in June 2002, our lives veered off the path we thought would be ours for the rest of our time on earth. We careened off that pathway and went straight into the valley—an unfamiliar, dark, and deep ravine of near hopelessness.
Melissa was at a cottage on Lake Michigan with some school friends where the parents hosted an end-of-school party of pizza, jet-skiing, and just good times. Melissa had called her mom at eight o’clock to tell us she would be on her way home with her boyfriend, Jordan, at nine.
But on their way home that night, traveling on an unfamiliar road, Jordan pulled his car into an intersection—where it was hit broadside by another teen driver.
Melissa, our seventeen-year-old daughter and sister—a girl who loved to cook odd concoctions in the kitchen, who never liked to be idle for a minute, who played varsity football and volleyball, who had a solid though not flashy life for Jesus, who was a bright light of joy and love to her many friends at school and church, and who had grown from a frightened little preschooler into a self-confident teen—was killed instantly.
Our family was plunged into a new existence. Now the mountaintop was so far away we couldn’t see it.
Have you ever been in the valley? The valley that comes with life’s troubles and pain? If so, or if you have ever walked with those who dwell in its misty atmosphere, I invite you to walk along with me for a while. Beyond the Valley grew out of my own spiritual journey and my desire to provide spiritual help for the hurting.
What’s behind it . . .
It’s funny how your perspective changes when you get older.
When I was a teenager, a friend of mine was killed by a tornado that hit her house. As I think back to that time, I don’t recall thinking much about her parents and what it must have been like to lose a teenage daughter. I thought more about the loss in light of being her friend and about how it affected other kids my age. I remember feeling really bad for her sister too.
But I don’t think it dawned on me to consider the effect the loss of a young person had on her mom and dad. I’m not sure if they are still alive, but I know now that if they are, every day is another reminder of that tragedy that took place in the 1960s.
A young death affects many people because it is so out of order, because of what it robs from a family, and because it is life-changing for those left in the wake.
I now know more about this than I ever wanted to. I wish I had understood it those long years ago.
God’s Word on it . . .
“Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints” (Psalm 116:15).
Serious contemplation . . .
Long before death visited our family, we were deeply affected by the story of a young couple we knew. Back when our children were young and we were still marveling in God’s miraculous provision of them in our family, we watched at a bit of a distance as a young man and his wife suffered through the deaths of not one, not two, but three newborns.
Three times they waited out the anticipation of pregnancy only to be left eventually with a coffin, not a nursery. Three times a child was born. Three times a child died.
And finally, the babies stopped coming.
This couple’s life, it turned out, would be lived with only lost dreams and shattered hopes of the terrible twos, preschool, elementary school grandparents’ days, middle school trials, high school excitement, graduation, college, marriage, and grand parenthood. It’s the life of the unfulfilled dream. I think, too, of another member of our family—my wife’s sister, Mary. At about the same time that young couple was devastated by their unspeakable trio of losses, our family was reeling from the death of my sister-in-law’s little girl. Even before Mindy was born into a life that would span hours, not weeks, we knew something was terribly wrong with her. Her survival was questionable.
Yet when Mindy died, the grief was unimaginable for our family. I’ll never forget looking at that tiny casket and wondering why we have to make death provisions for little angels like Mindy.
A little while later, Melissa was born, and we celebrated her life. While Mindy’s mom, Aunt Mary, slogged through each day wondering about the “what ifs” and the “what would be happening now” of a Mindy she hardly knew, we were able to enjoy Melissa and watch her grow and learn, laugh, and love.
Young death. It forces young parents into an existence of watching other little boys’ and girls’ life celebrations. Empty arms reach into the darkness. Empty hearts yearn for the tiny touch of those little hands. Empty ears strain to hear again that hearty cry of a child in need of Mom or Dad.
Those three little babies. Mindy. Melissa. And so many other little ones, middle ones, and teenage ones. Precious children of brokenhearted parents—parents robbed of growing-up experiences and the culmination of a lifetime of training.
But all wondering the same thing: Why was my child conceived only to be taken early—leaving me with a pain that cannot be healed, tears that cannot be stopped, a loneliness that cannot be assuaged?
Except for several important truths—except for one God-directed reality—this venture into grief would be a dark journey into hopelessness. And these are the truths: God is in control; He cares for grieving parents more than they can imagine; and He has a difficult yet vital, viable favor to ask.
No death, no matter how tragic and incomprehensible to us, falls outside God’s sovereign control. As the Author of life and the Superintendent of our days, He alone has the right over the number of those days.
No death is capricious or unremarkable in God’s eyes. Each reminds us of His role as the God of all comfort, and each places on us a responsibility to transfer to others the comfort He provides us.
Grieving parents are asked, amidst their difficult circumstances, to become comforters-in-training—taking what they learned from the God of all comfort and using it to surround other sorrowing souls with a divine measure of care. Those who suffer young death simply have a longer time to receive God’s care, a more extended training session, and an extended lifetime of helping others in need.
It’s the job no one volunteers for and no one wants. Yet it is most noble. Because life is what it is and because God’s plan calls for people to carry out some of the Heavenly Father’s most honored tasks, those who have lost children are equipped in God’s school of comfort-giving to pass along their lessons to those who follow their trail of tears.
Young death is a terrible reality. But from that reality comes an empathy, a compassion, and a knowledge that is best used when directed toward helping others in distress.
Somehow, the death of a saint is blessed in God’s eyes. Somehow, God comforts those who suffer that loss. And somehow, we who have walked the dark pathway of death must find it in our hearts to light the way for those who follow.
This is why I write about Melissa—knowing that our story will be the experience of others and God’s hope will need to be conveyed. We learned from watching our young friends who lost three little ones. We learned from Mindy’s parents. And now it’s our turn to pass God’s comfort along to others.
Reflection . . .
Have you been around a family that lost a young child? Don’t forget them. Send them cards. Send them e-mails. Especially remember the anniversary date of the death. Keep this in mind: They will never get over that loss. They move on, but they will never move past it.
When you read reports about young death in the newspaper, make it a habit to pray for those families.
Dave Branon is an editor for Discovery House Publishers and Radio Bible Class Ministries and is a popular contributor to Our Daily Bread. He is a member of Trinity Baptist Church, Grand Rapids, Mich. Dave has written over 2,000 devotional articles and 14 books, and was formerly the editor of Sports Spectrum magazine.
Posted in All Current Issue Posts, The Baptist Bulletin Magazine on September 3, 2010.

TREASURES

Grand children are such a blessing.

THE BEST ROADS ARE DIRT

One late sunny afternoon, I found myself meandering up and down a road less traveled, a logging road above the mountains from the camp my son worked at.
  Intent on showing me the spectacular view, we pressed on, the paved asphalt road gave way to gravel, then to graded dirt, somewhat maintained to a well eroded rutted 2 track trail.  We paused to take in the view of the lake and camp far below, only to continue up, steep mountains on the side.

As the road gave in to ruts and loose stones, we pressed on in his 4Wheel drive Jeep Cherokee, climbing what seemed like boulders and very steep inclines.  I practically begging to go back as the road got worse.  He silently pressed on ignoring my pleas as memories of bone jarring, 2 track trail roads in the outbacks of Mexico in our  4 W. drive Willy’s Jeep and later the Land Rover came to mind.  My body begged to be released from all the movement and thrashing back and forth as I sat in the passenger seat.
Hardly a time to quiet the mind and take it all in.
The road less traveled, the best roads are dirt.  Yep, cause there are tons of natural beauty.
As we rambled along, the beauty was inescapable, every meadow, every wild flower, the blue skies.  It was impressive!
After what seemed like forever, we reached a steep incline that took two running starts to get to the top.

As we reached the summit, we abruptly came to a stop at the edge of an incredible, stunning view of the North Fork of the American River, the end of the road.
I was at awe as I now understood that he wanted me to experience this awesome view.  We did not linger long as the shadows of evening were beginning to descend and I was anxious to get back onto at least the gravel road before it got dark.  The sun was beginning to disappear.

This memory is forever etched in my mind as I think of one of my favorite poems THE ROAD LESS TRAVELED.
Sometimes the Lord leads and guides on roads less traveled to impress upon our minds the majestic view of his character.
My son knew where he was going and what lay ahead in this adventure while I did not.  The further we traveled on this well eroded, rutted what was little semblance of a road began to get me a little worried and anxious and sometimes life is like that.

That bone jarring ride left my body aching for several days but it was well worth every minute of it.
So what started out with “Hey, Mom, you want to go for a ride?”  ended with memories of that incredible view at the top.  “Hey, Son, I’ll see you at the finish line!”

My Rainbow-baby CLICK HERE
A-sadness-creeps-over-me-as-i-watch CLICK HERE
Caught-unprepared-feeling-of-horrible disbelief CLICK HERE
Good-grief, when the unthinkable happens CLICK HERE

MY MOTHER'S NOTE BOOK: The Travel Bible

Yesterday, I was surprised by the discovery that my father had my mother's Spanish Bible on the night stand with all the other Bibles and devotionals.

He told how this Bible was the one she carried around everywhere when they traveled and went to services with her, although she had other Bibles, one in each room.

As he tenderly and reverently fingered it he wistfully added how she had been such a helper to him and been so faithful in her service on the mission field even though it was tough and at times wished they were still there.
As in her other Bible of which I spoke of in a previous blog, she had notes, quotes, and poems, and various verses underlined in various passages, some in English and many in Spanish.  She had become very fluent in Spanish after many years on the mission field.

In Mother's own handwriting

"This is the life for me! I pray God will keep my feet to this fire.  I pray Christ will put up with me on the firing line of foreign missions.  I want only that He keep us where the action is, where things are tough, where grace is great.  Where things come hard, but they come of your own faith and work.  Where you stand, not on another's foundation, but on the one you laid.  Where you feed, not as a parasite upon the labors of others, but as one who treads the grain himself." " THIS IS WHAT I LIKE ABOUT MISSIONARY LIFE!"
Whether she borrowed the above quote or not, I am inclined to believe that she summed up in her own words that last quote.

 So here, her Bible is in my hands and I am reflecting on how battered and torn and well used it was to bring the gospel to those she encountered in her music and Bible classes or administering medication to those who came for physical help and to leave with spiritual help also.
Let me close by quoting the words from a song that I keep in my Bible:
Oh, may all who come behind us find us faithful,
May the fire of our devotion light their way.
May the footprints that we leave lead them to believe,
And the lives we live inspire them to obey.
Oh, may all who come behind us find us faithful.
After all our hopes and dreams have come and gone,
And our children sift through all we've left behind,
May the clues that they discover and the memories they uncover
Become the light that leads them to the road we each must find.

The heritage of faithfulness passed on through godly lives.