The God of the Ax Head

One of the most well-known miracles of the Old Testament is God parting the Red Sea to allow the Israelites an escape from centuries of slavery and to take a needed step toward the promises made generations previously.

Perhaps one of the lesser known miracles is an ax head floating to the surface after it’s dropped in a body of water. In the book of 2 Kings, there is a disciple of Elisha who loses an ax head in the water while cutting wood. He is distressed because this ax head was borrowed, and God performs a miracle through Elisha to retrieve the ax head.

Copyright: MFriesen Photography

The same God who parted the Red Sea to save an entire people - His people - also caused an ax head to float.

This has been on my mind and on my heart a lot, and it brings me so much hope and comfort from the closeness of our God.

Yes, He is big and does big things with nations and generations in mind. He parted the Red Sea not just to save the fleeing Isrealites - though that was definitely part of it - but also to fulfill His plan and promise to Abraham and his descendants, which ultimately fulfilled His plan of redemption for all mankind.

This is absolutely a macro-sized miracle for the grand scheme of things. I mean, you don’t get more “Big Picture” than that, right?

 

I believe He is the God of such things: nations and generations and setting things in motion that will take time, possibly lifetimes, to come to fullness.

I pray to the God who parted the Red Sea, believing He can still save our nation, bring us to His grace and power and authority. He can part the proverbial Red Sea of lies and deceit, selfishness and pride, greed and hate to make a way to free those held captive by sin and shame.

But, I also pray to the God who raised the ax head.

The miracle that was not part of the larger plan of salvation, but one that was personal to Elisha’s disciple. Having to replace an ax head would not have burdened the whole nation, but it would have burdened that man, and God, through His generosity and care, lifted that man’s burden.

I love this because our God is big enough for nations and generations yet personal enough for the individual. He is so intimately involved with His people, His kids. He cares about our lives, our cares, our hurts, our burdens.

I love that I pray to a God who parted the Red Sea yet also raised the ax head.

A Hazy Road

Looking through writing prompts, I came across this one: Smoke, fog, haze: Write about not being able to see in front of you.

Good ol’ writing prompts. This could have led me down a path of fiction; instead, it reminded me of a recent conversation I had.

This isn't the actual card, but it's pretty darn close. Photo 

I was asked to choose from a selection of photos one that reflects my walk with God right now. There were so many options – natural settings, city dwellings, people laughing, a kid crying, abstract patterns, mathematical equations, road signs.

I chose an image of a tree-lined road mostly obscured by fog. I’m sure you have either seen a similar image somewhere or experienced it first hand – what is immediately in front of you is clear, but anything beyond is in a haze.

I know where God has me right now – this part of the road is acutely in focus. However, there is also a road ahead that I will travel, but I don’t know what that looks like right now. I know there is more to my life than what I see, I just don’t know what the ‘more’ is.

On this hazy road, I have two options. The first is to stay where I am, only do what I am doing. After all, it’s clear here; it seems safe in its definition and clarity.

The second, the one that is more frightening, is to keep putting one foot in front of the other, moving forward into a bit of the unknown, saying yes to new opportunities, daring to dream new dreams. The second option requires more faith than planning, more expectancy than knowledge.

The second option still requires work, of course, but it releases the outcome of that work willingly (and rightfully) to God. It requires letting go of needing to know the when and why of it all. It requires a daily choice to trust in His plan, His process, and His promises.

The second option is the more frightening one, true, but it is also the more exciting one, the more rewarding one. It is the one that allows me to focus on the present, letting both the past and future exist in a bit of a haze. It is the one that leads to more than I could have planned or even dreamed for myself. It is the one that leads to a deeper love and trust in God. It is the one that will allow me to impact more lives than just my own.

It is the option I am choosing with all its haze and promise.

Is The New Year Really a Blank Page?

Scrolling through social media, I’ve seen a lot of “today is a blank page” type of messages for the new year. They are meant to be encouraging, inspiring us to make those changes that have been on our minds the last few days, weeks, months even.  

The promise of a new beginning, a fresh start without the bad stuff sounds wonderful, freeing perhaps. I understand the appeal, I really do, but I don’t necessarily want to begin this year on a blank page. 

The first half of last year, quite honestly, was one of the toughest times of my life. In many ways, it was even harder than the previous year because dealing with the previous year’s grief left me emotionally and mentally exhausted. Things normally handled with reason and optimism, knocked me down, and it took me far longer to get up than it ever had. For a couple months, it seemed I had set up residency deep in the valley. 

Why would I want to take that into a new day let alone a new year?  

I see the temptation of wiping away the bad - there was real pain this year I wouldn’t want to repeat, but out of that, I grew so much and in areas I didn’t even know needed pruning or growth. 

I learned to let go of expectations which only led to disappointment and frustration. I let go of a few dreams (and a couple people) to make room for new ones. I learned when I get knocked down, I need to dig deep - dig deep into God’s Word, dig deep into His promises, not mine, dig deep into the community He has provided.  

I learned the difference between simply ignoring fears and really letting go of them, the difference between leaning on God and really leaning into Him, the difference between talking to God and really talking with Him.  

So, even though there were a few months occupied with struggle, the year will not be defined by it; instead, it will be defined by the growth and the lessons that came out of the struggle, through it, in the depths of it. And those lessons will be the first few sentences in this next chapter. There was a sowing in the struggle, and I believe there will be more growth to come, more insight to be harvested - growth and insight that cannot come from a totally blank page. 

So, are there new opportunities ahead? Every day. But a completely clean slate? Not quite.

While Listening to Hillsong...

I was listening to Hillsong’s “Not Today” on my way to work today…okay, more accurately, I was belting out with passion and maybe some choreography “Not Today” on my way to work (if you witnessed this on the freeway…you’re welcome), and the line “fear is a liar running out of breath” hit me, like it does every single time I listen to this song.

I love this line. I sing it, recite it, embrace it.

Fear is emotional, psychological, and spiritual. We mask it in words like insecurity, anxiety, or stress, but ultimately, it’s all fear. Whether it’s fear of the known or unknown, it whispers its threat of what’s to come and what we can’t control.

In my teens, there were so many things I didn’t do because I was afraid of failing. Somehow it was easier to keep it as a one-day dream or goal than to try and (gasp!) fail. Sadly, I missed out rather than allow myself to stumble and learn.

As much as I was afraid of failing, thankfully, I knew life needed to be lived and experienced. Going to college was a huge step in putting what I wanted above what I feared. There absolutely was a part of me that thought I would get there and find out I didn’t have the smarts to succeed. Turns out, I did.

I think that’s one of the reasons I love that line so much. So often fear whispers lies of inadequacy and doubt. I have found, however, the more I lean into what God has called me to do and lean on Him to get me through it, the more breathless fear becomes.

There are so many things that I have tried now that I just don’t think I would have been able to do had I not practiced pushing back against fear, had I not wanted to grow and be more than I was.

This past weekend I was on a mic in front of a lot of people for a women’s event, and I didn’t faint, vomit, or die. Twenty-year-old me might have done all three at just the thought. That same day, I led a breakout session and received good feedback…so yay!!

This is not to say that every time I try something or take a risk it works out. I don’t always master a new skill; I’m not always successful; I don’t always get the outcome I was hoping for. But even in the “failure” of something new, I grow. If nothing else, I learn the beauty of letting go.

Among the many wise statements of Ralph Waldo Emerson, one of my favorites is “Unless you try to do something beyond what you have already mastered, you will never grow.” This is one of his pithier statements, which is good because it’s a little easier to keep in your pocket and pull out when needed.

So, when Fear whispers its lies, I’ll remind myself its breath is running out.

The Struggle is Real

This phrase is used flippantly and used often. Either in spite of this or because of it, one of my favorite discussions I have with my students is about struggle. 

We wrapped up reading Ernest Hemingway’s Old Man and the Sea – if you’ve not read it, it’s about an old dude and, well, the sea, specifically his struggle to catch a fish after a dry spell, struggling when he hooks the biggest fish of his life, then struggling to keep the sharks at bay. Spoiler alert: he doesn’t manage to succeed at that last task and his prize is eaten in front of his helpless eyes.

Now some would argue that poor Santiago’s struggle was in vain; however, Hemingway’s underlying theme is not about the outcome, but rather the struggle and how one carries oneself in the midst of struggle. Regardless of the outcome, one can still be seen as heroic.

When looking at this allegorical little novella, we get a little philosophical in my class, and here’s why: we all struggle.

There are times when drowning in disappointment, discouragement, insecurities, or mistakes feels inevitable, and when the best we can do is keep our heads above water, we can feel like we’re failing. This is precisely why I make space for this conversation.

One of the main ideas I hope will stick with my students is that struggling is not failing. If we are struggling, it means we haven’t given up. If we’re struggling, we’re not drowning. If we’re still struggling, there is hope.

Sometimes we get discouraged by the struggle, especially if it’s something that we’ve been struggling with for a while. We may get frustrated with our circumstances or ourselves because we can’t believe we still have this same issue. Or perhaps we get blindsided by a struggle we thought we had overcome and the frustration is having to deal with this thing yet again.

This past week I was dealing with disappointment and that disappointment opened up the flood gates to past struggles. It’s no fun; it’s discouraging. I’d been there, done that. I was over those past insecurities and doubts, wasn’t I? Apparently not.

The good news? I didn’t hide from the struggle – I fully embraced it in all its ugliness. I literally cried out to God my hurt and frustration. I was honest with myself and vulnerable with those who encouraged me but also allowed me to feel my emotions. This is the thing Hemingway missed: we do not have to struggle alone. We have a God who cares, who listens. We have community. Despite how it may feel, we are not alone – we just have to reach up and reach out.

I honestly don’t know what lesson I’m meant to be learning in this latest go around, but I do know this, that’s okay. I can still trust in God and His plans while wrestling with the why and the frustration. I mean, Jacob quite literally wrestled with God and received a new name, a new identity (albeit with a limp).

I also know this: this too shall pass. I know this because I am still here, I am still struggling, and I am stronger for it.

In the waiting…

I’m reading Timothy Keller’s book Jesus the King and just finished a chapter on waiting. I’ve been thinking about this a lot since Monday (when I discussed this chapter with friends), and I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m pretty patient…until I’m not.

I feel I’ve gotten rather adept at exercising patience. I mean, I work with teenagers. (Okay, that’s a cheap joke – they’re actually quite wonderful.) In truth, I do try to give a situation time. I’ve even garnered more patience as a driver. Usually.

When I reflect, I’ve had a few things for which patience was required: my degree wasn’t earned overnight, fractured or strained relationships didn’t repair themselves, and the woman who stares back at me every morning is still a work in progress.   

What I have discovered about myself is that I do better in situations where waiting takes the form of tasks. In school, I had papers and classes and deadlines and more papers. I had smaller goals that I met along the way to the larger one. I could still feel accomplished; I could see and measure the progress. There is a patience exercised, but it’s easier when I have some control (or at least the illusion of it) over the progress, as I am seeing the goal come more and more into focus with each step, each task.

When there’s no more to “be done” but wait, however, that’s when my patience needs reinforcing. This is when discouragement can take root and overshadow promise or determination. The waiting, after all, is the hardest part (cue Tom Petty).

In these moments, I’ve come to realize I have to be more proactive than productive. I have to proactively remind myself I’ve never regretted exercising patience. In patience, my character has grown, my trust has been realigned, and my true source of contentment has come into focus.

I have also seen this in the lives of dear friends who’ve had no choice but to wait. They’ve waited for opportunities; they’ve waited for family; they’ve waited for reconciliation; they’ve waited for healing. There were times of discouragement, sure, but now there are times of rejoicing. New jobs, new babies, renewed relationships, clean bills of health. (This is one of the reasons I love having communities where we share the trials but also the triumphs – oh, those blessed triumphs.)

There are times we have to wait alone, times when others stand with us, and still other times when we get to stand with those close to us. And there are those of us still in the waiting, still ready for what’s to come.

So, in those times when no more is to be done, we wait. We wait, and we trust. Trust in God’s plan, His process.

But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint. Isaiah 40:31

Reflections from a year gone by….

This past year, I measured time differently: in firsts. My first birthday without my dad. First Father’s Day without my dad. Independence Day; Thanksgiving; his birthday; Christmas; a New Year without my dad.

There was the first time I realized a mundane Tuesday was the longest I had gone without talking with my dad and knowing every day after would break the record. Or the first time I couldn’t hold it together when a friend asked how I was.

There was the first time I avoided a neighbor because I knew he would ask after my dad, and I didn’t want to say the words that still sound so wrong.

In this year of firsts, there were also quite a few reminders.

I remembered past birthday dinners, Father’s Day car shows, Sunday mornings at church followed by a shared panini and conversation, and so many memories I have the privilege to cherish.

I was beautifully reminded how vital family and friends are in the ebbs and flows of grief, in the hot tears and the genuine laughter alike.

I was reminded again and again how big God is. His love and mercy and peace are bigger than all the firsts of this past year. His grace reached out to my dad and invited him to receive His love and salvation. And that same grace has covered me - sometimes in a supernatural peace and sometimes in the arms of a friend.

A year has gone by, and I don’t miss my dad any less, but I have learned the healing depths of love.