This post would be it. The grand finale, that is, the third part of an online blogging assignment involving the lost and found theme. I knew it would, indeed, be grand the moment the following sentences lit the writer portion of my mind, giving foundation to the first and second installments.
Philippians 3:7-9a (Amp) But whatever former things I had that might have been gains to me, I have come to consider as [one combined] loss for Christ’s sake. Yes, furthermore, I count everything as loss compared to the possession of the priceless privilege (the overwhelming preciousness, the surpassing worth, and supreme advantage) of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord and of progressively becoming more deeply and intimately acquainted with Him [of perceiving and recognizing and understanding Him more fully and clearly]. For His sake I have lost everything and consider it all to be mere rubbish (refuse, dregs), in order that I may win (gain) Christ (the Anointed One), and that I may [actually] be found and known as in Him . . .
Something happened between the first and third assignments to change this post’s thrust, though I didn’t recognize it at the time. What I had planned from the beginning had lost its luster, though I tried to continue unwavering. The truth it elucidated needed a different delivery vehicle. No grand finale, after all. The Lord wanted, instead, to use the pain of loss I desperately desired to avoid.
The first assignment challenged us to write about loss, instantly reminding me of the recent deaths of an elderly friend and my 14-year-old dog. Besides the lingering sadness and pain associated with those, I faced the imminent death of another elderly friend. Deciding I’d had enough of all this death and sadness, and having written about it once, I decided on a different object of loss. I’ll add my own twist, I thought, and use, “counting all as loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ,” as the springboard.
Installments one and two were published, so I had begun jotting down notes in anticipation of the finale. The sense of victory I’d experienced at the beginning of the project was waning, though, not building. Glimmers of understanding touched my heart as I read of a family who left the comfort of England for Uganda to share Jesus’ life and love with those who had no hope – untold poverty found in the slums where sewage ran down every street and into the homes, rampant treatable illness untreated, leaving children and adults dying before their time. Yet this family and others with them continued to serve, continued to love, continued to share life in Christ Jesus.
With every story, the struggle in my heart intensified, as I related it to my world. These elderly became friends because I deliver meals to their homes. A few minutes of weekly interaction led to blossoming friendships – ones that continued even when they moved into assisted living, no longer needing our meals. They shared their lives with me as I did with them, each of us gaining from the other. One-by-one, they have left me behind, multiplying the pain in each loss.
Self-preservation said I should distance myself emotionally from those who remain, to avoid further pain. It went on to suggest getting involved with children’s groups on some level (totally out of my calling,) because they won’t likely die before me. That way, I could greatly reduce additional pain, I deduced. Those were Kay’s thoughts, not Daddy’s. When I read the challenging words of Nicola Neal, the clarity of His heartbeat took my breath away:
What would you be prepared to give for love’s sake? . . . Would you love knowing that pain will inevitably come? Will you love even when it hurts? 1
Shaken to my core, my mind erupted in a certain, “Yes!” as more rhetorical questions arose.
“Would you rather not have known these precious women, these sisters in Christ, to avoid the pain of losing them?”
“Would you prefer to miss the personal enrichment gained from those you may not have begun to serve, again as self-effort to avoid future pain?”
“Is it possible you are the vessel through whom I share parts of Myself and My love in the latter days of their lives? That you could be helping prepare them for the day when they see Me face-to-face?”
I am undone. The loss remains, but I have ceased the fight against the pain. It is a reality of this life, no less so when living in Christ. My greater loss – temporarily – has been focus on Jesus Christ, the only One Who comforts, encourages, and is my Hope. What I’ve needed all along has been in those quoted words, but I was too focused on my hurt to see. The pain of loss I have felt is as nothing compared to the priceless privilege and supreme advantage of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. In Christ is the strength and joy of continuing to love even when it hurts.
1 Nicola Neal, Journey Into Love: The Unfailing Power that Restores Lives (Shippensburg, PA Destiny Image Publishers, 2014), Ch. 18, location 2304 (e-book)
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If you’ve been alive for more than a few years, you’ve heard the warning, “Well, life’s not a bed of roses, you know.” This is supposed to help someone needing encouragement during a tough time in life.
Roses are beautiful in their multitude of colors, shapes, sizes, and even fragrances! The petals are like velvet, and the effect of both color and aroma can be calming to the senses. Unfortunately, this is the only part of the rose included in this erroneous cliché, somehow limiting the entire plant to just the blossom, forgetting the plant from which those flowers grow.
Years ago, I grew roses – yes, Kay, the non-gardener — caring for them diligently in the hot climate and sandy soil of the Tampa area. Initially, some beauties were produced in that garden – before successive years with no opportunity for hibernation joined with diseases and pests determined to live off these bushes brought my effort to an end.
Of all the spiritual lessons I learned during my rose years, the most glaring disproved that cliché. Indeed, life is a bed of roses. There are pretty and not-so-pretty parts. There are smooth, fresh, even sweet-smelling times, and then there are times you only see or feel the pain of thorns. But a bush is not a rose bush without the thorns, leading to the beauty of the blossom. Likewise, our life is not made of only the seasons of evident fruit. The tougher times, the ones forcing our roots to go deeper, with no velvet, no color, no obvious fragrance above, work together to produce a more complete beauty – the evidence of Christ in and through us. Two verses seem to intertwine to bring strength and comfort during the thornier parts of our journey:
To Make Christ Known 