Dark valleys

But Jesus never leaves us Lenten question from John #8 April 5, 2025

John 6:58-69 [Jesus said] “I am the true bread that came down from heaven. Anyone who eats this bread will not die as your ancestors did.” … Many of his disciples said, “This is very hard to understand. How can anyone accept it?” Jesus was aware that his disciples were complaining, so he said to them, “Does this offend you? Then what will you think if you see the Son of Man ascend to heaven again? The Spirit alone gives eternal life. Human effort accomplishes nothing. And the very words I have spoken to you are spirit and life.” … At this point many of his disciples turned away and deserted Jesus. Then Jesus turned to the Twelve and asked, “Are you also going to leave?” Simon Peter replied, “Lord, to whom would we go? You have the words that give eternal life. We believe, and we know you are the Holy One of God.”

Proverbs 3:5-8 Trust in the Lord with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding. … Don’t be impressed with your own wisdom. Instead, fear the Lord and turn away from evil. Then you will have healing for your body and strength for your bones.

Many times during our daughter Karis’s thirty year history, I questioned and doubted that God knew and cared about what she was going through. It’s tough to watch your child in unrelenting pain and loss and to feel helpless to protect and provide for her and to ease her suffering.

God didn’t explain himself to me. The consistent message I received was that I was free to walk away from him. But then I wouldn’t know his Presence, his comfort, or his guidance. I would likely become angry and bitter, and miss his many, many good gifts along the way. Life would become hollow and hopeless. I would be a mess emotionally and have little to offer to my family.

Even if we walk away from the Lord in our tough times, he will never leave us Shutterstock: Mike Ver Sprill

This passage from John is theologically complex. I’m not going to get into that. What stands out to me is how easy it is to doubt God and walk away from him when something happens that we don’t understand.Have you had this experience?

I know that many people, including myself, are tempted by this kind of despair right now, as events and decrees across our country threaten the wellbeing of people we love in myriad ways. Yesterday I talked with a friend who said, “They are deliberately trying to exterminate people like me.” She has solid justification for this deep fear. If Karis were still alive, I would have the same fear for her life.

What do we do with this kind of distress? “Bandaid” answers don’t help, like “Don’t worry; everything will be OK” or “Just trust God—obviously you’re anxious because you don’t have enough faith.” All they do is show the one in distress you want out—you don’t want to feel what she feels. These responses make the one in fear feel more isolated and alone than they already were.

How can we respond? First, listen deeply to our own hearts and to others. Then, acknowledge our distress to God. Tell him exactly how we feel and why. Entrust our fears to the Lord. Ask him to take our burden of fear and anxiety, as he has already done on the cross. Open our hearts to receive his peace, peace that doesn’t depend on understanding our circumstances, but rather, on trusting him and his love for us. And do this again, every time fear and anxiety stir in us once more. Several times a day if needed.

The things we fear can actually happen. Our faith does not make us immune. Jesus assures us that we will not walk through tough times alone. He has promised to walk with us, to bear our burdens, to NEVER leave or forsake us. That’s what we depend on. We may not understand what we’re going through. But our Lord does understand us and how much we need his presence with us, his encouragement and his strength.

We are not alone. Even in dark valleys where nothing seems to make sense.

Run!!

But God holds out his arms to us March 7, 2024

Psalm 103:9-10 God will not constantly accuse us or remain angry forever. He does not punish us for all our sins; he does not deal harshly with us, as we deserve.

Tomorrow we’ll be halfway through Lent! How’s it going for you? Here’s my Lenten calendar so far:

Litany of Penitence 6:

For our dishonesty in daily life and work,

Our ingratitude for your gifts and our failure to heed your call.

Lord, have mercy upon us:

For we have sinned against you.

Tuesday my daughter arrived home from her work as a wound care and ostomy nurse just as I was leaving after babysitting her two young children. I wish I had a photo of Talita running as fast as she could into her mother’s arms—and then repeating it with her dad when he came out from his home office to greet his wife. Radiant joy!

What a vision of our Father/Mother God! (Take a look some time at the female images for God in Scripture, both Old Testament and New.) It didn’t matter at all that Talita had needed a time out earlier for not “heeding my call.” She was so confident of her parents’ love that all sadness melted away in their embrace.

Can you picture God reaching out his arms to embrace you and whirl you around in pure delight?

When I was a child, we sang this song at my boarding school. I had fun finding and singing it again. I’ll include the lyrics.

Day by Day, by Carolina Sandell Berg, written after the death of her father

Day by day, and with each passing moment,
Strength I find to meet my trials here;
Trusting in my Father’s wise bestowment,
I’ve no cause for worry or for fear.
He, whose heart is kind beyond all measure,
Gives unto each day what He deems best,
Lovingly its part of pain and pleasure,
Mingling toil with peace and rest.

Every day the Lord Himself is near me,
With a special mercy for each hour;
All my cares He fain would bear and cheer me,
He whose name is Counsellor and Pow’r.
The protection of His child and treasure
Is a charge that on Himself He laid;
“As thy days, thy strength shall be in measure,”
This the pledge to me He made.

Help me then, in every tribulation,
So to trust Thy promises, O Lord,
That I lose not faith’s sweet consolation,
Offered me within Thy holy Word.
Help me, Lord, when toil and trouble meeting,
E’er to take, as from a father’s hand,
One by one, the days, the moments fleeting,
Till I reach the promised land.

Advent ABC: Shepherd

Isaiah 40:11 (49:9-10) The Lord will feed his flock like a shepherd. He will carry the lambs in his arms, holding them close to his heart. He will gently lead the mother sheep with their young.

Karis was ten. We were in Detroit for surgery on her intestine. The rest of our family was at home in São Paulo, Brazil. (I learned later that eight-year-old Rachel had started a fire in the kitchen trying to cook for her siblings while Dave was out. A neighbor “happened” by, put out the fire, took my children to her house to feed them, and later had words with their father. But that’s another story…)

Before she was taken through the double doors into the surgery suite, I overheard Karis tell a new friend at the hospital that she wasn’t afraid, for herself or for me, because of Isaiah 40:11. The Holy Spirit shot that assurance straight into my heart, puncturing an expanding balloon of worry. Every time I hear Jesus referred to as Shepherd, I flash back to that precious moment.

Our Brazilian friend Roseli painted this for Rachel.

Turn to your Shepherd, the Guardian of your souls … The Lamb on the throne will be your Shepherd. He will lead you to springs of life-giving water and wipe every tear from your eyes (1 Peter 2:25, Revelation 7:17).

The Lord’s My Shepherd, Stuart Townend

Advent ABC: Beloved

Matthew 12:17-21 (Isaiah 42:1-4) This fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah concerning Jesus: “Look at my Servant whom I have chosen. He is my Beloved, who pleases me. I will put my Spirit upon him, and he will proclaim justice to the nations. He will not fight or shout or raise his voice in public. He will not crush the weakest reed or put out a flickering candle. Finally he will cause justice to be victorious. And his name will be the hope of all the world.

I love this description of Jesus, bringing justice with the gentleness that comes with true strength, a love song the Father sings over his son, whom he sees and profoundly knows. It’s a glimpse into the tender affection shared by the Trinity from before time—a relationship that we, incredibly, are invited into.

Jesus My Beloved, Jonathan Ogden

Fresh courage

But Jesus bears our sorrows

Isaiah 53:4-5 Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows … upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed.

I’m sticking my neck out today, telling a very personal story in case someone out there needs it.

Palm Sunday at Church of the Ascension is full of drama, as are all the Holy Week services. Yesterday, though, my mind fixated on Isaiah 53:4 and 5 and I missed much of what ensued. I didn’t even really hear the words as they were read in the service. When I saw the reading was from Isaiah 53, the KJV leaped to my mind, reflected in the ESV quoted above.

I fought to control my tears, not wanting to disturb the people around me. If you carry our griefs and sorrows, why, Lord, am I still drowning in grief? I’ve tried hard all week to give it to you …

Later in the service, I noticed a precious friend rise to go forward for communion. I heard the Lord say, “Go to her.” So after I received communion, I walked all the way around the nave to where she was sitting and whispered, “Can you pray for me?” She made room, and asked what was wrong.

All I could say through my tears was, “A dear transplant friend died last week while Dave and I were in Ireland. After her beautiful memorial service, others from the transplant community retold their own stories. It ripped me wide open. I feel like I’m drowning in grief. I don’t understand this. It’s been nine years since Karis died.”

My friend bowed her head for a while, then she said, “I see you surrounded by God’s love. Wherever you turn, his love is there, huge, deep, encompassing. It’s all tied to the blood Jesus shed for you. But I see a hole in your heart. You need to ask him to fill it.”

Only then I realized the congregation was singing, “What can make me whole again? Nothing but the blood of Jesus,” which snapped me back to Isaiah 53:4-5. I asked Jesus to fill the hole in my heart.

Instantly the grief was gone.

Just like that, I could breathe again. I saw myself small, suspended somehow in the center of immense, radiating warmth and light. I reached out to take it in, soaking in the Lord’s comfort and care.

The whole thing took perhaps three minutes. Maybe less.

I told my friend I needed some time alone with Jesus to understand what was happening. I slipped into a chapel near us, off the main sanctuary, where I could be still and alone with the Lord. Engraved on the chapel altar is a carving of the Lamb on the throne “looking as if it had been slain” (Rev. 5:5-6). I’ve been in that chapel countless times but don’t remember noticing before the carving on the altar. Carved angels on each side invited me to join them in worship of the Lamb who allowed me to see him bearing my grief and sorrow, thanks to the spiritual vision and intercession of the friend to whom God had directed me.

I’m relating this because in the economy of the Kingdom, I believe such experiences are given to us not only for our personal benefit, but to encourage others as well. I hope this will be the case for you.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,

The clouds ye so much dread

Are big with mercy, and shall break

In blessings on your head.

From “Light Shining in Darkness” by William Cowper (18th c.). Listen here, at minute 53:03; this verse is at 54:22. Full text here.

True Home, by Susannah Davenport, Pittsburgh

Note from Debbie: We’re just home from Ireland, a bit jet lagged–more about that soon. While we were there, our dear “transplant friend” Carissa went to her True Home. Meanwhile, a Pittsburgh friend sent me this “But God” experience. Thank you, Susannah. We travel today to participate in Carissa’s memorial service tomorrow.

But God’s light overcomes darkness

John 1:5 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it.

In 2015 my older sister Jessica was diagnosed with Stage IV Brain Cancer. She was 36 years old and had two daughters, aged 9 months and three years old. After her first operation to remove the biggest part of her brain tumor, my sisters and I went to visit her. In her darkened recovery room, my sister Shelley said, “Jess, you know we would all take this from you in a heartbeat.”

Jessica responded, “Oh, no. I’m glad it’s me because I couldn’t bear it if it were any of you.” She then revealed to us that she had lost her faith in God many years before, and instead of trying to find Him, she was waiting for God to find her. But if she died, which the doctors said she most likely would, she hoped He would find her before then.

Jessica’s brain cancer progressed quickly, and by Thanksgiving she was in Hospice at home. She was fading quickly, growing weak and frail. Her head was swollen and she lost sight in her left eye.

By Christmas, her cognitive functions were failing, and she could barely understand what was happening around her. She still recognized us, but time was running out. Her husband, who is Catholic, begged her to see a priest and join the Catholic church to receive communion before her death. She agreed, and on the morning of Christmas Eve a priest came to give her communion.

We gathered around Jessica’s bed, and he anointed her. The room was very dark because it was cloudy outside. She was propped up in bed, staring to the side as he tried to talk to her. Her eyes began to droop and for a moment we thought she might be falling asleep. But after the priest finished praying, she looked up suddenly. She was alert and clearly recognized us—her siblings—standing around her.

Each member of my family remembers a little differently what happened next. I saw the room fill with sunlight. My sister Shelley said Jessica’s face was glowing. Regardless, the room was no longer dark. Jess said softly in surprise, “Oh. It’s so light in here. You have no idea how dark it’s been.” She looked around at each of us with a weak smile of relief.

The priest said, “That’s the light of Christ, Jessica.”

She said, “Oh…I’m hungry. Let’s have bacon and eggs!”

We lost Jessica less than two weeks later, on January 6th, 2016. She had multiple military honors at her funeral and was buried with the American Flag draped over her coffin.

The night before her passing Shelley and I had the same dream that a lion (much like Aslan) was guiding a dark-haired girl into the trees, her hand resting on his mane as they walked.

Shutterstock: Sharon Vitor

I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Jessica received the gift of eternal life and our Heavenly Father called her to her True Home.

The Gift of Geese, by Stacey Regan, Pittsburgh, PA

But God sees us

Genesis 16:13 Thereafter, Hagar used another name to refer to the Lord, who had spoken to her. She said, “You are the God who sees me.”

The Gift of Geese

Last December, my mom, 92, died unexpectedly. We held her memorial service in early January. While I moved to Pennsylvania almost 30 years ago, she still lived in North Texas.

Like Mom I’m a classic Type A, Enneagram 1 person, so when I needed to be on site for an extended period of time to help my brother and sister go through her things, I was there. When I needed to work remotely during the day and focus on Mom stuff late into the night, that’s what I did.

Between busyness and exhaustion, there wasn’t much time to grieve, and I knew I’d need God to help me anyway, since I’m not a natural emotions processor. When Dad passed 15 years ago, I asked God to help me grieve over his dying. I was aware that numbness seemed to be an impenetrable wall, and I didn’t know how to scale it. Then one day out of the blue, he brought me to tears on a particular stretch of road on my way to work. This occurred daily for months. It would have been funny if it hadn’t been so gut-wrenching, and I both looked forward to and dreaded hitting that part of my commute. Slowly, over time the sobs subsided, healing took hold, and one day the time for that grieving was over.

As I followed my brother’s truck down the street the early morning we headed north with what I chose to keep of Mom’s things, I remembered how God had provided me a way to grieve for Dad, and wondered if he might do the same now for Mom. I enjoy long drives and seeing the changing countryside, so the first day flew by pleasantly enough, but with no grief markers.

The second day was totally different. Less than an hour after we’d left our hotel, something caught my peripheral vision. As far as the eye could see on either side of the highway lay fields of stubble, the remnants of last Fall’s harvest, but something had moved. On closer examination, the fields were covered with thousands of geese. Packed with them, for miles and miles. As I drove by, hundreds seemed to lift off already in their trademark V-formations, then lazily cross the road. This continued for at least 20 minutes as we continued down the interstate.

There’s something about the sight of geese flying overhead that physically thrills and awes me, but this was overwhelming in the true sense of the word, and I wept and wept. I wept over my mom’s death, and I wept over the provision of a loving God who knew how to help me release my tears. A God who sees me and understands my particular needs.

Shutterstock: Schuchart

Trying to find words to articulate and remember this experience, I’ve named it The Gift of Geese. I know that at least twice a year I’ll have a reminder of that gift flying overhead, even if I only see a single V limping across the sky. I don’t know if I’ll weep, but I know it will make me smile, remember, and utter several prayers of gratitude.

Note from Debbie:

Stacey writes songs that greatly enrich our worship at Church of the Ascension. Her song “I Offer My Isaac” brought Karis and me to tears on our first visit to the church the morning after her first transplant was cancelled:

I offer my Isaac here on your altar,

Removed from my shoulders, bound for the slaughter.

I surrender my Isaac here on your altar.

Freely I offer the love of my heart.

My hands are free to praise you wholly now, to receive what you have for me.

And should you take or return my Isaac, oh Lord,

On your altar my heart will still be. On your altar my heart will still be.

Even in grief

But God cares deeply

Psalm 116:15 The Lord cares deeply when his loved ones die.

This weekend was unusually busy and intense. In the middle of it I learned my friend Vanessa, whose generosity I wrote about on April 4, died a month ago from cancer. Here’s what I wrote:

I struggled one whole morning to understand a series of marketing procedures new and not intuitive to me. In frustration I cried to the Lord, out loud, “I need help! I need someone who can show me what I’m doing wrong!

Within seconds of my prayer, a message flashed onto my Instagram screen from a Brazilian friend I haven’t seen or talked to for at least twenty years, a psychologist who worked with me in restoration ministry. “Debra, do you need any help with online advertising for the Karis book? I’m trained in that.”

Yeah. I was stunned. But wait—there’s more!

When I told Vanessa her offer was a direct answer to prayer, she said, “Well, your need is a direct answer to my prayer. Last week I was diagnosed with metastatic cancer. I asked God to give me something to do for someone else, to divert my focus from myself and my fear and worry about this cancer. Then I saw your announcement about the Karis book being published here in Brazil and thought, that’s it! I want to do all I can to help you let people know the Karis book is available now in Portuguese. I’ve been reading other things I’ve found written about Karis, and her faith is helping to stabilize mine as I walk through this battle with cancer.”

Vanessa died on the operating table. I don’t yet know more details than that. I only found out because a friend of Vanessa’s noticed my repeated inquiries on Vanessa’s Instagram about how she was doing and took the time to tell me she had died.

Vanessa was so sure she would beat this cancer. Perhaps I won’t ever know why she couldn’t. I’ve learned, though, that in these times when I don’t understand, I need to cling even tighter to the Lord, who sees the big picture I can’t see.

Yesterday the Lord comforted me very personally. Not just through my tears and my husband sitting with me as I cried. And by giving me a vision of Karis hanging out with Vanessa in Heaven. The Lord also cared for me through a friend who unexpectedly offered to help me solve yet another computer issue I find perplexing. A touch of kindness in my landscape of grief that means so much to me because it touches another area in which I’m weak and vulnerable.

So I’m praying God will touch each of Vanessa’s loved ones—her husband, her parents, her extended family, her friends, even her beloved dogs—with whatever specific kindness will let them feel how deeply he cares about each one of them, even in their grief.

Perhaps he already has.

What do you want to tell your Father today?

But God knows March 14, 2022

Matthew 10:29-31 But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it. And the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows.

Matthew cites Jesus calling God his Father 45 times (Mark only 5; Luke 18 times). Why do you think Matthew paid so much attention to this? I would love to know your thoughts—you can write them in the Comments.

Most often, Jesus calls God “your Father,” as he does here. Read the verse again and then close your eyes for a moment. Can you imagine Jesus coming to you, right now, today, and saying these words to you?

Don’t be afraid. You are valuable to God. Don’t be afraid. Your Father knows. You matter to him. He notes even the smallest details of your life.

What do you want to tell your Father? What are you afraid of? Can you offer your fears to your Father, and then be still, receiving his peace?

“I cannot clutch this peace,” wrote Karis in one of her poems.* No, this is a daily transaction with our Father, clearing our souls of fear, letting his Presence touch and comfort us, re-centering into his peace. A transaction of trust. Imagine yourself as a small child, burrowing into the comfort of your Father’s lap.

Peace: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uW6xcmqfiY4

A song for Ukraine: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=duOnmlJuNJQ

Don’t be afraid of those who want to kill your body; they cannot touch your soul (Matthew 10:28).

*The poem “Caçula,” which means in Portuguese the youngest child of a family.

“Idk if I can do this anymore 😞”

But God bends down to listen

Psalm 116:1 I love the Lord because he hears my voice and my prayer for mercy. Because he bends down to listen, I will pray as long as I have breath!

Isaiah 40:29-31 The Lord never grows weak or weary. No one can measure the depths of his understanding. He gives power to the weak and strength to the powerless. Even youths will become weak and tired, and young men will fall in exhaustion. But those who trust in the Lord will find new strength. They will soar high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint.

Opening my computer this morning, the top post on our neighborhood website is “Life is really getting to me… idk if I can do this anymore😞.” So far, 162 people have commented.

Is that you, too? Omicron and all its permutations and impact + the complications and darkness of winter + too many deaths to grieve properly + political slander, misinformation, etc. + fill in the blank for your own life.

One thing I am writing in that blank is my disappointment about canceling, due to Covid, our Feb. 7-14 trip to Bolivia to attend the wedding of a dear friend and spend time with many others. Our anticipated ten-day break from Pittsburgh winter will now be only three days, as we still plan to travel to Houston for my brother’s wedding Feb. 6.

When I woke up this morning and saw snowflakes drifting down, my first thought was how beautiful they were. My second thought was how treacherous, for elderly people and those with physical disabilities. Several peoples’ names came to my mind. How often Karis slipped and fell in snow and ice, despite my best efforts to keep her safe!

Lord, keep your beloved ones safe today, physically, emotionally, relationally, spiritually. THANK YOU that you care. That you bend down to listen to our sorrows and distress and fears. That you understand. That you renew our strength.

Psalm 116 says in verses 10 and 11, I believed in you, SO I said, “I am deeply troubled, Lord.” In my anxiety I cried out to you. The Lord invites us to come to him, to pour out our troubles, our worries, our disappointments, our frustrations. Hold them all out to the Lord.

And then be still, and receive from him comfort, direction, and renewed strength.

Wonderful, Merciful Savior