On the Stormy Seas (A Reflection on Acts 27)

Eighteen sets of eyes stared up at me, wide in anticipation.  We had just boarded our imaginary boat on the last day of Vacation Bible School.  I cut the lights, as a storm began to rock our story time.  The winds blew.  Whoosh!  The clouds rolled in.  Thunder clapped and lightning flashed.  The children swayed and rocked as waves of pretend water rocked our ship. (I sprayed them with a little bit of real water just to help the memory stick.)

Paul and his friends struggled aboard a boat as they set out on a missionary journey.  We talked of the wind, the waves, the darkness, the stinky fish smells and sea-sickness.  (The boys loved to imagine that sea-sickness.)  We spoke of the tiredness and the chores.   When the storm did not let up, we spoke of the fears they must have been feeling.  How they longed for calm waters.  How they wanted their beds at home, and their mommies.   How they wanted to feel safe.  They were afraid.

Then God told Paul, through a dream, that He would keep them safe.  God instructed Paul to tell his shipmates not to be afraid.  A collective sigh of relief rang through our make-shift vessel.  The end of the storm would come sooner than craft time.  Surely.

Paul spoke for peace, but the storm still raged.  Sea-sickness seemed to be winning.  The land loomed in the distance.  My boat-mates cheered.  And then, the boat crashed.  They revolted.  No Kidding.  When Paul and his crew had to swim for the land, this group of snorkelers thew a fit.

"Wait, NO!!!"

"That's not right!  God said He would take care of them!"

"Um, I'm pretty sure it doesn't go like this."

"Yea!  Aren't you supposed to tell the part where God calms the sea?  Tell that part.  Tell it.  RIGHT NOW!"

But, God didn't still these waves. The boat did break down.  The passengers found themselves over their heads in the salty waves.  They swam for their lives.  They grabbed frantically for shards of wood from the wreckage to keep themselves a float.  And Paul's words echoed in their ears, "Do not be afraid."

I suspect the hearts of Paul and his crew carried as much dissonance as the little ones gave me as we tried to relive it that Friday morning.  Did they wonder if God had forgotten them?  Did they rack their minds for something they did to deserve this chaotic turn of events?   Did they question the decision to make the adventurous journey?   Shipwrecked and swimming  was not what they signed on for, right?  I imagine, they too, were pretty sure this was not suppose to go like this.

These people had committed their lives to being part of the miraculous story of God in our world.  They had seen and heard the amazing things that He has done in the past.  That one about Jesus calming the waves probably seemed pretty applicable in those moments.

And He could have done that. He could have stopped the relentless crashing of those waves.  Heck, the same Holy Spirit was in them that was in Jesus.  He could have let them walk on the waves.  That would have been amazing!  Paul and his crew, just strolling through the stormy seas, right up to the shore....He could have done that.  Except, he didn't.

They were bobbing and swimming, wondering, and sputtering for breath.  The sea water burned in their noses and every kick against the waves burned in their tired hamstrings.  They swam to the shore, in waves that proved to strong for a boat made to withstand them.

When they all reached the beach, they had a story to tell.  They ALL reached the beach, and found each other alive and well, ready to share the good news.  How is that any less miraculous than if God had held the boat together, or given them smooth sailing?

Instead of calming the waves, or giving His followers feet to surf upon them, the God of all Wonders allowed his people to trust that calm quiet spirit in their hearts while they navigated the nasty waves around them. He kept His promise; they all made it to shore.  He had been protecting them.  He had not forgotten them.  The God of all Wonders can redeem any chaotic turn of events for His Glory.


Because of that, we all have a story to tell to those around us today.  



What storms are you swimming through today?


What stories of His faithfulness (bigger than your fears) can you tell?

Easter and Happy Endings

I love Easter.  I love the whole reflective Lenten season that anticipates  the big celebration.  I love sunny spring weather.  I love the songs.  I love the prettiness. I love the chocolate.  I love the Story, the redemption, the happiness of it all. (We have already established I have a huge thing for happy endings, right? )    And I was particularly psyched for the past weekend's festivities. I was ready.

The past few months have been fast and furious.   Life abounds; full of craziness, going and going,We have been brimming with  everyday trials.  I was looking forward to the feast of hope.  I needed to see the paramount of happy endings again.

 I had awesome Children's Church and Sunday School planned.  Easter sermon was ready. Family dinner was set. I made John's favorite dessert, sugar free no less.  I had a gazillian eggs (of three varieties) hand stuffed and hand decorated.  We even managed to find a little extra in the budget and bought the boys new church clothes  Every detail seemed set.   Easter was coming soon, and I was ready.

And then, John lost his sermon notes. Okay, no biggie.  ADHD a busy house with four curious kids.  It happens. Simple rewrite... better sermon.  God is Good.  Then Ian found the egg stash.  He  decimated it--pre-hunt. So, I put them back together after the kids went to bed. I can put up with  hand cramps induced by the repetitive motion of opening and closing those little plastic eggs, as long as the celebration in salvaged.  God is good.

 And then, came the retching.  Sickness ran rampant through the house.  No one wanted to move.  Traffic backed up for the bathrooms. Children cried.  Parents grouched. Children grouched.  Parents cried.  At first, I didn't want to believe it.   This would all just have to go away by morning.  God is good! And, Easter  was coming! (Now just a few short hours away.)  What would become of the celebration?  I needed a happy ending...this was not going according to plan.

It was technically very early Easter morning now.  I began to try and piece a sermon together since every time John stood up he had a bout a fifteen second window before he became violently nauseous.  Normally,  does not make for great public speaking.  Only, I wasn't feeling much better.  It was too late to call for other reinforcements.   What would become of the celebration?

I forced myself out of bed. I called some awesome volunteers to cover the holes in Sunday School and Children's Church.   And somehow, my big happy celebration had been traded for a very puny sick day.

I opened the oven door to discover the resurrection cookies I made for the kids  somehow morphed piles of  marshmallow goop. UGH.   Yep. That's about right.  I  opened the fridge and found magenta liquid oozing everywhere.  The cobbler pan has tipped and caused a river flowing to a sea of sugar free cobbler filling  at the bottom of the refrigerator.

Easter morning, I sat cleaning puke, snot, diapers and cobbler goo, while feeling only half alive.  I had to pause and collapse onto the couch every few minutes when I felt like passing out.  Easter morning, instead of feasting on resurrection cookies, we were tossing our cookies.  Easter morning,  instead of reveling in worship with our church family, I was surrounded by grumpy, sick kids, and a depressed, green husband. I was sick and disappointed. And they were just as sick and disappointed as me.

It was Easter morning. We didn't feel like singing.  We didn't see the filled pews. I didn't get to teach the Story like I had planned.  The festive food was disastrous; no one even felt like eating anyway.  ( Not even the chocolate!) Torrential rain squelched what ever glimmer of hope I had for huge miraculous recovery and celebration.  How could I celebrate the resurrection like this?  Where was my happy ending?

 But it was still Easter.  Somewhat like the ladies at the tomb, we were expecting one thing, and got something completely different.  We expected shiny, happy, vibrant, yummy Easter.  We got gray, weak, bland and puke-y Easter.  Mary came expecting to grieve and mourn Jesus.  She expected death and maybe a chance for closure.  She had prepared, as best she could, to go to the tomb and finish the job of burial.    Imagine her surprise when instead she got to begin the job of spreading the good news of life and resurrection.

For better, or for worse, Easter still comes.  The tomb is still empty, even if the Resurrection cookies are not.  Jesus rose from the dead, even if I doubt if I can rise from the couch.  God wants good things for us, even if, at the moment, we are knee deep in foul putrescence and disappointment.  He is the Redeemer, and it is His story.  He moves far beyond what we can ask, or imagine; far greater than we could ever expect--no matter how or where we worship him.

I wanted my shiny, happy, pretty, Easter.  It did not come.  But Easter, true Easter still did. In Easter, we have ability to look at brokenness of this life and realize their is hope because of His ultimate wholeness. Not only does Easter still come, it stays with us.  Because He stays with us.  He is present with us in all of the grey, gloomy lonely says as much as he is in the bright, happy perfect days.  In Easter, we have the Grace to speak sermons from germy sick beds, and have an indoor egg crawl.  In the midst of weakness, we  prove that He is strong, that He is Risen.  With cobbler and pork roast, or with saltines and Sprite we say: He is good and He sustains us.  No circumstance can change that.   And that is a happy ending I can celebrate.

Hunger Games, Hungry Souls

True confessions.  I am completely sucked into the Hunger Games books. John tried to talk to me about something the other day; he gave up and came back later.  I never even heard him the first time.  I was in the trees with Rue and the mocking jays.  The story engulfs me every time I turn on the kindle.  I have to know what happens to these characters.  At the same time, every time I turn the page something utterly dark, heartbreaking, and disturbing is transpiring.  Through excellently crafted; told in a way that rivets my imagination.   It is shockingly dis-topian .  I am still in the middle of the trilogy.   If I want a fairy tale ending, the odds are not in my favor. (See what I did there?)

I like fairy tales.  I like them a lot. I am an idealist.  I have a near unhealthy attachment to happy endings.   I like to think of how things should be.   Good should always win.  Laughter and love should always triumph. If I were running things, everything would always be happily ever after. It is odd that I am drawn to this story of pain, injustice, futility and want.   I construct happy endings and pretty pictures in my life, in my head and in my surroundings.  Why do I repeatedly turn and re-enter this arena of depravity?

In part, I am a sucker for excellent story-telling, which this book has in spades.Suzanne Collins has talent.  Mostly, though, I wait for something that points toward redemption.  I need  something that makes all the suffering worth while.  I can't stop because, to me the story does not make sense with out that.

It seems as though this  need to seek the happy ending stands hard-wired into my soul.  I suspect that I share that trait with a few billion others on the planet was well.  In my fairy tale universe:  Ultimately powerful, never-ending,  utterly good God = unlimited supply of happy endings. Isn't God in the business of looking out for His people, rewarding them with all sorts of happy-endings in a world that so badly needs them?

Yes. and No.

Listen to my friend Matt Chandler explain:

John the Baptist followed God, and got beheaded because of a stripper.  Mary followed God and watched her son die a gruesome death on the cross.  Noah followed God and was ridiculed and stuck in tight quarters with animal poo. Disciples were martyred. Paul was imprisoned.  Church fathers were persecuted.   Most often things work out well for us.  Sometimes though, the odds are not in our favor.  

 When we are turned down for the job, again.  When we do our best to make things right, and fall woefully short.  When the healing doesn't come.  When the death does come.  When things just don't seem to be working out for us, one redemption story stands as ENOUGH.  

The resurrection of Jesus is the beginning of the redemption we hunger for. The good news of the Gospel is that it will always be enough to feed our starving souls.