Between a Bear and a Hard Place

On a sunny, blue sky day in July 2020, my husband, Brent, and I decided we would take an overnight hike to a beautiful waterfall we had read about but never seen. We carefully planned our route, packed our backpacks, and started walking from our ranch in northwest Wyoming towards the adjoining Shoshone National Forest. Out the door before sunrise and feeling strong, we chose to climb Jim Mountain–elevation 10,430 ft–on the way. In retrospect, this rigorous climb was probably a bad idea since the afternoon heat was stifling, and the additional distance to our chosen destination was turning out to be farther than we had planned. What started off as cheerful banter between us had deteriorated into irritated grumbling. Then in the far mountains we saw it–only the faintest white ribbon descending–and the promise of beauty drew us across the grassy valley towards our waterfall. Gaining ground, I saw something dark moving in the distance and remarked to my husband, “Hey, what’s that animal up there?” Brent, focused and barely looking up, replied, “Probably a mule deer.” 

As we got closer to the animal, I saw that it was actually two animals. Closer yet and I saw the telltale hump between the shoulder blades of the larger Grizzly Bear! A mama and a baby bear were out for their evening meal which presently consisted of grass. As mama lifted her head to sniff, I could tell she was hoping to add some meat to her menu. By this time, I had been quietly yelling, “Those are Grizzly Bears!” and other panicked exclamations while Brent kept telling me that our trail was “just past the bears”. When my husband has a goal, changing plans is a very hard sell.

This is the point in the story where things get a little ugly. Brent insisted we keep going and quietly sneak past the beasts. I sadly envisioned our kids telling the story about Mom being eaten by a wild animal. The distance between Brent and I widened as he pushed toward the trail, and I moved in the opposite direction. Suddenly, with the wind whipping wildly, I noticed I was approaching an immense cavern. Here were my present options: Go left and fall to my death off a cliff; go right and become supper for a bear. Overwhelmed, I slumped down to the ground, holding onto a boulder so I wouldn’t blow away. I cried with loud and miserable sobs. Brent eventually turned around, told me gently to get up, and took my hand. Discarding his waterfall hopes, he led me to solid ground–in the opposite direction of the waterfall and the bears.

My recent journey through menopause, midlife, and empty-nest marriage has often made me think of this waterfall-hunting misadventure. Already tired from the strenuous job of raising four humans, I was trekking on to get to my beautiful waterfall years, which I envisioned to be filled with sunshine and gorgeous wildflowers. Instead, my path led me to some unfamiliar manifestations of the layered life transitions I was experiencing. 

Menopause seen from a distance seemed harmless, part of the natural order of things. But up close, it threatened to eat my confidence. Midlife offered new freedoms, but I was unprepared for the anxiety produced by standing on the edge of an unknown precipice. And marriage after the kids left our home was often so confounding that I just wanted to hold onto a rock and cry my eyes out. 

But here is where the story gets better–beautiful even. When I was all of these things, trying to withstand the winds of change by my own power and will, crying with loud and miserable sobs, I became overwhelmed by all the changes in this midlife time. Finally, and with a little help from my friends, I ran to God. Not immediately. Not always willingly. But eventually. I got to the limits of my abilities to cope, and I went to the safest place I knew: The Rock of Ages, my only solid ground.

Sometimes we think navigating life’s tough passes requires great personal strength and fortitude, but in my midlife journey, I have found the opposite to be true. Peace during times of change requires a surrender of control, not a white-knuckled grasp for it. If we humbly accept the path God has us on during major life transitions, we can trust that he will take us by the hand and pull us up. But unlike an exasperated Brent, God will not lead us away from the goal; he has equipped us for this very journey. By hiking the scary path in our place many many years ago, he secured safe passage for us. Now, by his Spirit, we can walk right past the bears and alongside the canyon without fear of falling in. And if we keep faithfully following his steps, he will lovingly lead us into the awesome waterfall of his grace. 

Trust in the Lord forever,

    for the Lord, the Lord himself, is the Rock eternal.

~Isaiah 26:4

The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer;

    my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge,

    my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.

~Psalm 18:2

No Worry Required

In the past, I have written about my guilty conscience and the ways I try to quiet it. Some things for which I used to feel guilty have resolved themselves because they involved parenting duties I have now relegated to my adult children themselves, ie: cutting their own fingernails and brushing their teeth. When they were small, I didn’t do these things for them and barely did them for myself because I was simply trying to survive and those things seemed superfluous. Now that I sleep and have large chunks of time at my disposal, most of the things I once felt guilty about no longer plague me. In fact, I don’t struggle as much with guilt now as I used to, maybe because I realized many of the things I struggled with were actually false guilt. What I struggle now with is worry. 

I worry about my kids. I worry about my grandkids; I tell myself to stop because it is their parents' job to worry about them and I already did– and am doing–that for my kids. If I keep worry tabs open for each grandchild–we are up to eight now–I would freeze, and my mind would become the spinning ball of death–the same ball that appears on my Mac when I give it too much to do. I worry about my husband, and I worry about both of us when we fly in his airplane. I worry about my dog which I left with friends in Wyoming because I didn’t want to fly him home and because he is epileptic and I worry about his seizures. As a writer and a non-rusher and a bit of a dawdler, I worry about productivity. So when I get into a good routine of writing or living or eating, I worry about stopping it because maybe I will never get into a good routine again. I worry about writing because it doesn’t come as easily and cleanly as it used to, and I have to work harder to make myself do it even though I love it. I worry that I might be stupid because even though I understand words and feelings, numbers and money confuse me. I worry about my hermit-like tendencies and wonder if maybe I should try to be around people more even though I really like staying home by myself. I worry about exercising, and then when I exercise too much I worry that I am not recovering well and that maybe I have permanently injured myself. I worry about having too much stuff. I am OCD with this and need to know where everything is so I can feel in control. If I have too much, I can’t keep track of it all and it is stressful for me. When we moved recently, I got rid of nearly half of my possessions and keepsakes and it felt very clean and controlled. Now I worry about buying things because that clean feeling might go away. I worry about everything happening in the world today and that things are spinning wildly out of control and nothing will ever be beautiful again.

But mostly, I worry about worrying because I know that it accomplishes ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. So why do I do it, and why do I keep letting myself get into the mental space where everything feels threatening and life seems oppressive and ugly? I do it because I don’t really truly believe that God is sovereign and good. If you asked me this, I would say that I do believe he is those things, but I am realizing now that I don't. But I want to.

If I truly, with all my worrying heart, believed that God was holding onto everything and that nothing happened that wasn’t sifted through his holy hands, I could relax. I mean really relax. And I could enjoy the life he has assigned me in the time and place he has put me. If I truly trusted that he is good and that he is doing good for me, I could live the simple life of a child–God’s child. I wouldn’t worry because my Heavenly Father is in control. He is all-powerful. He is omniscient. And nothing ever surprises him. He is allowing history to unfold in the exact manner that he planned, and he is not shocked by the brokenness of the people he has made. If I really believed that I was praying to my Father–to my FATHER–in Heaven when I pray the Lord’s prayer or any prayer, I could shed my propensity to worry about everything as fast as my granddaughter sheds her clothes at the mention of a bath. 

Because really, what is worry? It accomplishes nothing except fear. It makes me distrustful and sometimes bitter because if nothing bad ever happened, I would never have to do it. The only time I find myself at ease and not worrying is when everything is going my way and no one is sick and no one is sad and all of my possessions are tidy and in order. 

But this is no way to live, because then I am always worrying that the perfectness is just about to end, and then I will be back to worrying again. I try to mitigate all of this by telling my kids to drive carefully and to stay healthy. I put up gates in my new house so no one will fall down the stairs and break themselves although I am still worried that they will stand on the bench that sits by the stairs and catapult themselves overboard and land lifeless in the basement. These thoughts create panic in my brain, not peace. So how do I stop? How do I get to a place of peace?

I get to peace by giving it all up–all the worry. I get to peace by trusting that God has my best life planned, even if it’s not the way I may think best, it will be the very best to make me more like him. I get to peace by praying and telling him that I am worrying again, and that I know that I am not supposed to worry about anything. I get to peace by reviewing his faithfulness in my life in the past. I get to peace by reading the Bible and seeing things that God already did and things he has already worked out behind the scenes when no one even knew he was doing it. I get to peace by truly believing that God has already won the battle over Satan. That he sent Jesus to live perfectly in my place so I have nothing to prove. That everything sad will one day become untrue. 

I get to peace by realizing that when I focus on my little ever-changing life, I am uncomfortable and insecure. And by realizing that when I focus on God and his unchanging nature, I can be still and know that he is God. When I look at his sovereignty rather than my fickleness, I see that worry is silly because we have no control over anything. But God does. 

And he is a master at making everything beautiful in its time.

God has a beautiful worry-free life planned for me. I just need to believe it and give up my perceived control. I need to remind myself daily of his goodness. I need to stop worrying, look for the peace he has promised, and learn to trust him more.

Because he really is sovereign and good.

 Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.

Philippians 4:6-7 (NLT)

A Quiet Confession

I have a confession: I hardly ever had a Quiet Time when my kids were little. 

I capitalize “Quiet Time” (as opposed to quiet time which I never had then, but now have in abundance) because it is a practice the western world has crafted and created, calling it, essentially though not actually, a requirement of a good Christian’s life. 

Please hear me: I do think that Christians need to quiet their souls so they can hear the still small voice of God, and I do think that can often happen more easily in a regimented time of Bible reading and prayer. But I also think that the Western evangelical formula for how this time should look is creating false guilt in the minds of many–especially young mamas. 

When I was a mom of four young kids, I loved (and still love) God and wanted to learn more about him by spending time in his presence, but my practical life made achieving time alone–for anything– nearly impossible (even showering alone was a luxury; most days, at least one child would lay on the bath mat right outside of the clear glass shower door). I knew this Christian “requirement” of a Quiet Time wasn’t really a rule, but it felt like one to me, and I felt ashamed that I had so much trouble making it happen. I added this shame onto the other guilt I felt about my exhaustion and my impatience with my children’s excessively long bedtime prayers.

The familiar evangelical term, Quiet Time, is a relatively new idea that gained traction in the last hundred years or so–with good intention. For millennia, the masses were illiterate, only hearing scripture read out loud to them.The centuries-long labor pains of illiteracy and inaccessibility made personal Bible reading impossible, but with the advent of the printing press and wide-spread literacy, a more individualistic and regimented Christian faith was born. 

The freedom that we now have to read God’s Word on our own is an unbelievable privilege of the present modern era. And the idea of having a solitary time in prayer and Bible study is a thrilling prospect attainable for all over the course of our lives as spiritual pilgrims. This arc of our hopefully-long lives will include more focused times of devotion (as I had in college as a hungry new believer), and very busy times–like young motherhood–where consistent Quiet Times may be difficult to achieve, and the “slower-mornings” seasons of the empty nest and  retirement. 

As modern evangelical believers who want to walk the way of Jesus, I think we can reformulate the rigid prescription of Quiet Time and lighten the burden of guilt for many. By creating a “system” for meeting with God, we have removed some of the spontaneity of our faith–which is to be child-like and awe-inspiring. How can we get that back? By removing some of the “rules.” If we can learn to commune with God by singing hymns in the shower (even–and especially– if littles are watching), by thanking him for the red birds in the blue sky as we absorb the beauty of the morning, by reading his Word out loud while babies blow bubbles in the bathtub, or by listening to the gospels as we exercise our bodies, then even when our seasons are busy, we can create rhythms in our lives that reverberate with joy, not guilt. 

In my present season of empty-nesting, I absolutely adore my consistent time with the Lord nearly every morning (and I can enjoy a long, hot, and completely private, shower whenever I desire). I don’t love the term Quiet Time, but in reality that is what I do when I meet with the Lord in the mornings over hot coffee and my Bible–I quiet my heart and mind before him so he can become greater and I can become less. My daily Quiet Time is not a requirement. God doesn’t love me any more because I followed a formula for meeting with him. God has always loved all of his children–even before they could read or have solitary time in his Word. Our disciplines don’t change God’s attitude towards us, but sometimes they can change our attitude towards him. And sometimes God can change us just as well when we look to him in desperation in busy seasons and unpredictable circumstances in our lives. 

The Bible doesn’t tell us how much time to spend reading it or how many hours we must accrue to be “holy,” but it does tell us to “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.” (Mark 12:30) So instead of focusing on achieving the perfect Quiet Time in every season of our lives, let’s make our ordinary days–right now–into a loud time of celebrating how much we love him.

Why We Shouldn’t Teach Children that Jesus is Their Best Friend

 

A few days ago, I was in a meeting in which we were discussing creative ways to present Bible truths to children.  As we were each presenting our methods of telling the week’s Bible story to the kids, one of my fellow teachers said, “I just tell them that Jesus is their best friend.” I was very uncomfortable with this statement.  Let me explain…

Good Sentiment. Bad Theology

A W Tozer famously writes, “What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us.” If we believe this to be true, then we must be very careful to present the God of the Bible with utmost care and accuracy.  If we don’t teach our children to view God correctly from their very earliest years, their impressions of their Creator will be unbalanced at best... or heretical at worst. As parents and teachers, we need to take God’s reputation very seriously.    

In A Class of His Own

Yes, I want my son to feel loved and valued by God, but I don’t want God to be fully accessible to his small mind.  When my child thinks about God, I don’t want him to see the magnificence of God enveloped in a disheveled, skinned knee, gap-toothed buddy. God is wholly other--sui generis--unique, peculiar, in a class of his own--he is not limited to an elementary classroom.  When my child thinks of God, I want him to be awed by the wonder that this amazing being, whom he can’t fully understand, chose to come to earth and be bound in skin. He chose to live as a child who did skin his knees and lose his teeth but in a way that they never will--perfectly.  This perfect child grew to be a perfect man who became a perfect sacrifice. His amazing grace towards us should stir in us a mighty reverence for him.  

The Lion of Judah

Rather than tame what Revelation 5 calls The Lion of Judah by introducing him to our kids as a cuddly, snuggly pet, let’s approach his throne with Christ-earned confidence and fall on our knees in worship.  

Someday, maybe in the not-so-distant future, every knee will bow, and every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.  So, let’s give our kids a solid foundation--and accurate theology--by looking on our great and glorious God with hearts full of joy and appropriate trepidation.  

In the words of Mrs. Beaver from the Chronicles of Narnia, “Course he isn’t safe.  But he’s good.”

Red Bird Devotions #30

One Ear Open

When my kids were just babies, and even when they got older, I could sleep soundly yet somehow wake to their slightest sigh.  I think mamas have this special ability--probably because they are so sleep deprived--to drift off, yet still listen for their very precious ones.  Oftentimes, my kids would just be crying in their sleep or reacting to a confusing dream, but I would hear them; then I would rise from my comfy bed and go to check on them.  I wanted to make sure all was well. Only when I knew they were safe could I go back to sleeping--with one ear open. 

Shouldn’t we do that with God too?  This world is very noisy. We can get lost in distraction. But, if we tune our ears to listen for even his slightest movement, his still small voice, we will be able to discern his “movement” even when our minds are elsewhere.  If we learn to listen with one ear open while we are going about our daily lives, we will be amazed at all he will show us.  Sometimes he may say, “Look at my sunrise.  I did it for you!” Or, “See that angry young woman? She needs you to notice her.”  Or “Even though you have been offended, offer grace.” Or sometimes, he will just say, “Slow down, Tori.  I need you to quit working and sit at my feet and listen.”  That’s when I need to stop, be silent, and open both ears wide.

When I tune my mama ears to listen to my Father, I learn the patterns, the cadences, the intonation of his voice. I see my small part in his big plan and I’m willing to move when he calls. 

Then, when I hear him stirring, I can rise from my grogginess, my forgetfulness, and my selfishness; I can rush into his presence saying, “Abba, Father, I am here!”

Abba, Father, I am here!

“Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, "Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?" And I said, "Here am I. Send me!" 

Isaiah 6:8

“Be still and know that I am God.”  Psalm 46:10

Red Bird Devotions #27

Life Saver

Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

Matthew 28:19-20

When I was just a wee little girl with no bangs (because my friend, Robin and I decided to cut them off with safety scissors during Kindergarten class), sometimes my mom would buy me Life Savers.  And I got to eat the whole roll myself.  And I loved this.  But what I really loved the most was that I was able to open them myself.  My mother had shown me how to pull the little blue paper string at the top of the roll and pull off the little silver top.  The fact that I knew how to do this formerly mysterious task thrilled my bang-less self and made me feel very grown up. Sometimes, my mom would even ask me to open her pack of gum using the same method, and when I did this, I felt so very helpful.

You know what?  God doesn’t need us.  He is fully capable of achieving His purposes and showing His glory without our help.  But, He loves us, and sometimes, because He is our Father, He lets us help with some of His tasks.  Sometimes, these tasks are small, like writing a note of encouragement, and sometimes, they are huge, like telling the nations about Jesus, but either way, we can feel good about being included in His plan.

He allows us to help Him “pull the string” because He wants us to know that we are part of the Kingdom, and He knows that we care much more about things in which we are invested.  By walking with God and watching for where He is working, we can get involved in His work and grow up in His grace.

‘Cause He is the real Life Saver, you know.

When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.

Colossians 3:4

Red Bird Devotions #12

Welcome Home

When my kids went to kindergarten, half-days were the norm; I would drop them off at the school in the morning and pick them up a little before lunchtime.  This worked out well for all of us since my kindergarteners always napped in the afternoons, and I loved having them home with me for half the day--especially when they were sleeping (kidding…I am mostly kidding.) Since our neighbor families also had kindergarten kids, we often shared the driving to and from school.  This usually worked out great…until it didn’t.

This story is about one of those not-so-great times.  I was in charge of pick up on this particular day, and as I rolled up to the pick up lane, I noticed that none of the kids I was in charge of were waiting at the curb.  The teacher assisting said that one of the other neighborhood moms had already swung by and gotten the crew.  So, I pulled through the lane and made my way back to our development, (a little over two miles), or “the Farm” --our affectionate name for our subdivision --just outside of town. By the time I had gone to the school, pulled through the line, talked to the teacher, and left the school, at least 20 minutes had passed and I was hoping that my neighbor had realized her mix up and kept Cole--my kindergartener--at her house until I returned.  Cell phones weren’t very popular then and texting was definitely not a thing.  Knowing that he wasn’t in any danger, I turned toward the house, stopped for the mail at the mailbox, and then proceeded to our home.  When I got about 2 minutes from our driveway, I saw a small figure dressed in snow pants, snow boots and an orange winter coat--carrying a camouflage backpack--coming towards me and my heart started to race.  As I sped up to go towards him, I could see that it was Cole…and he was crying as he walked.  I immediately pulled over to the snow-covered grass, ran towards him, and grabbed him into my arms.  I asked him what he was doing, and between big sobs, he said, “Mommy, you weren’t there.”  Then I started crying, guilt flooding my entire being, and I said, “Oh honey, I am so so sorry.  That will never happen again.” 

Because my neighbor thought it was her day to pick up kids, she had just dropped Cole at the garage door and sped away.  What she didn’t know is that I wasn’t home right then, and our garage door was uncharacteristically locked that day.  So, when Cole tried to get in, he couldn’t.  He didn’t give up, however, he tried the other doors too, and finding them locked, he went first over to the next door neighbor’s house, and then he started walking up the road--the place I found him--to the go to the house the driver (and her family) lived.  I was so proud of him for being resourceful and for trying to find a solution even when he was scared, but when I found him plodding down the road, that bravado had worn thin and he was almost giving up.  My heart was broken because I knew that he felt, in a way, “abandoned,” and that made me sad.  No one was at fault, and it was just a simple scheduling mistake (and really, he was only in distress for probably around 15 minutes,) but I felt sorrow that I had contributed to making my very precious son feel unexpectedly separated from me.

I think God understood my feelings that day.  Please know, I never want to “humanize” God and make him something less glorious than he is; but when Jesus, God’s Son, was sacrificed for US…when Jesus died on the cross and was separated from his Father…when God had to turn his face against his very precious Child so he could take on MY sin and MY shame…when God had to momentarily abandon HIS ONLY SON so I COULD LIVE…when he heard the piercing, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  I’ll bet it brought sorrow to his heart.  Don’t you think?

Jesus willingly died for us and rose again so we would never ever have to be separated from God.  He did it so the promise “I will never leave you or forsake you” would ring true in our nervous hearts.  He did it so when we go on our final journey, maybe plodding and with waning courage, our Heavenly Father will run towards us with open arms and say “Welcome home, child.  I have been waiting for you.”

God made him who had no sin to be sin

 for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.

2 Corinthians 5:21