Full of Joy and Failure
My favorite book of the Bible is John. I cherish the hope and affirmation with which John presents our relationship with Christ. When I am struggling or sad or hopeless, I might read a Psalm or two. But when I despair or when I am beyond feeling anything, defeated, numb, or exhausted, not knowing what else to read or where else to look, I read John. My dad and I have often talked about how comforting this gospel is. My husband’s grandmother, a sassy saint who has already passed into glory, had a practice of recommending John to non-believers as well as to Christians struggling with doubt. She would say, “You want to know the truth? Then read John.”
John 1:1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was fully God. 2 The Word was with God in the beginning. 3 All things were created by him, and apart from him not one thing was created that has been created. 4 In him was life, and the life was the light of mankind. 5 And the light shines on in the darkness, but the darkness has not mastered it.
“the light of mankind”
Sit with that phrase for a moment.
The Holy Trinity, perfect, satisfied, full of grace and love, could have shared their light amongst themselves for all of eternity, never grieving or suffering, never separated.
Instead, the very Origin of Existence considered us and condescended in love to establish us, to live for our good, and to die for our gain.
See what I mean?
I love John.
Unfortunately(?), Peter is the disciple I end up mimicking most of the time.
I speak before thinking; if eating contests involved putting your foot in your mouth, I’d be the Biblical Kobayashi.
I am driven by emotion, especially in matters that activate my sense of justice. Notice I said “my” sense of justice. Peter and I have often forgotten who is really qualified to judge and punish.
I take bold stands for my faith, then turn around and grieve the Spirit with my pride or malice.
I feed myself when I should feed His sheep.
I have failed these sheep many, many times.
Our adopted sheep are like us: they are the ONE, not the NINETY-NINE.
They are like me: rescued, no longer orphaned.
However, although I try over and over again to imitate Christ, I am not the Shepherd. Where I should have shown patience, I demanded submission. When I should have offered grace, I offered consequences. When I should have died to myself, I clinged to idols: idols of comfort, sleep, affection.
Many of you have listened to my horror stories and post-adoption tales of woe; how two tiny tornadoes razed our family to the ground, how I looked at the debris and saw only the destruction; how I forgot where my real home is and allowed myself to feel displaced by my circumstances.
True horror would be if the story stopped there. But it doesn’t.
FOREVER.
There is nothing that the Lord cannot redeem.
There is no one beyond his forgiveness and love.
There is no house He cannot rebuild.
He could do it in a moment, but He often takes his time. There is a lot to consider when crafting a home, and even more to take into account when it is a temple, a dwelling place for the most high God.
Two years ago today we met Andres and Sara for the first time. We were all terrified. We were strangers. We did not speak the same language or have any idea how to love each other.
Chad and I demanded compliance as obedience. We required surrender when seeking respect. Love only existed in peace. Upset the peace, and you were cut off from the love.
None of this was intentional. We did not know how to do better because we relied on our previous knowledge and experience instead of throwing up our hands and crying out, “Your will, not mine!”
There is a sweetness to the gospel of John that lifts me out of many deep places. But to me, the KINDNESS of Jesus resounds palpably in Peter’s story.
Mark 16:7 But go, tell his disciples, even Peter, that he is going ahead of you into Galilee. You will see him there, just as he told you.
Even. Peter.
Even Christa, who has grieved my Spirit with her sin, who has shamed her children (new and old) in the name of discipline, who has forgotten my laws and my goodness.
Go and tell her.
Tell her: Jesus goes ahead of her.
When there seems no end to my helplessness and error, He has already been there. He has worked in that moment to bring light and life to what is broken and lost.
I can never read that one verse without crying. What tender, genuine love and affection for the angel to call Peter by name, to make sure that the message included him, that redemption did not depend on his obedience but on One who never fails.
When we returned home from Colombia, we chose a family verse - one that represented our completed family. Isaiah 43:19 - Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.
A new thing.
Just today the word choice in that phrase really resonated with me. Thing is one of those words English teachers despise. It is vague, nondescript, almost meaningless in writing. I do not allow my students to use it in their essays. But it is perfectly chosen in this verse. There is no way we could understand the new thing God was and is making. We would not understand, anyway, if he told us. The words do not exist. During my recent Covid quarantine, I prayed earnestly to FEEL love for my adopted son. I was good at saying it and acting it out, but I wanted to feel that mother’s affection for him. (God said yes, by the way; a story for another time.)
And God does not reveal how He will do this new thing, just that He will. Isn’t that what faith is - the belief that He will? Sometimes it felt like I cried the rivers in our desert, but they were still there.
A new thing.
I do not now, nor will I ever, have the words to describe or relay what it means to be mommy to Andres and Sara. Our human language lacks the needed adjectives, verbs, and interjections. My heart language speaks it all the time, but not with words. It is new. I have never felt anything like it, and I cannot explain it fully.
I woke up late today. The cat vomited on the washing machine. Chad had no clean underwear. Sara is having a hard week. The time change has stolen our outdoor evenings, which makes it more difficult to enjoy our time as a family.
But I was FULL of joy. Where did it come from? I felt it, I tell you, deep in my bones. As I remembered Encuentro Day, I rejoiced in my very spirit.
That’s new, for sure.
We are out of this wilderness. There’s not just one wilderness in the world, so I am not saying everything will be rainbows and sunshine forever.
I am saying: God has made a new thing.
AMEN.
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