Exodus 2:25 | All is Well

Great is Thy Faithfulness

March 2, 2018 By Shelly Durkee

Great is His Faithfulness

I’m writing this post, from a wind-rattled cabin on top of a mountain, surrounded by other snow-capped mountains under an expansive blue sky in Montana. (Hopefully, dear reader, you can get a sense of this amazing place by viewing the slideshow above!)

I’m sitting here with my new husband, stealing glances at him as he edits photos taken during our snowmobile trip through Yellowstone National Park yesterday – of bison and elk and waterfalls and geysers and mountains and of us.

Us. Wow.

We’ve been an “us” now for nearly three years – but with our wedding this past Sunday, that “us” has taken on a new depth.

When we leave this beautiful place tomorrow, it will be to start our extraordinary ordinary life together, as husband and wife, in our new home – together.

It all feels so “right” – yet, at the same time, so surreal.

I’m so glad that we chose to honeymoon here, underneath this sky. The sky has always been so important to me. When I can see the sky, I can think clearer. I can sort out the thousands of thoughts that run through my mind daily. I can breathe.

The sky settles my soul.

And sitting under the sky with my sweet, kind and funny husband, as we’ve talked together and prayed about the future and dreamed about what we hope our lives will look like five, ten, 20 years from now – my soul has settled.

It is well.

Our wedding last Sunday so joyful – I keep playing back moments in my mind, and each time I am overwhelmed again with gratitude – from the church full of friends and family, to the poignancy of having my four amazing kids walk me down the aisle and give my hand to Ken in marriage, to the sweetness of observing communion with my groom, to the joy of expressing God-honoring vows to each other, to the funny little moments that made the wedding so “us”, to walking outside of the church immediately after the ceremony with my new husband and my four children, and the six of us standing there in tears over what God has done.

Only God could do this.

Only He could produce beauty from ashes, and provide grace where once there was deep sorrow and alone-ness.

It was one of the most joyous days of my life.

Maybe the most joyous day.

_____________________________________________

Less than 24 hours later, in that very same sanctuary where much celebration and worship took place – there was a funeral for a 3-year old little boy.

I did not attend the funeral…we had left for Montana early that morning…but later that day I saw posts on Facebook describing that in the midst of much sorrow and grief, there was also beautiful, soul-settling worship.

In thinking about these two very different events – one, a joyous wedding – celebrating what God has done in our lives, and a picture of His abiding covenant love for us – the other, a grief-laden worship service rightfully lamenting the death of this sweet boy and acknowledging that we do not understand why – yet, we will still worship our God, who sees and knows. (Exodus 2:25) Though He slay me, yet I will hope in Him – Job 13:15…..

….when I look at these two events less than 24 hours apart, I see a common thread that produces tremendous peace:

Our most joyous, life-giving moments – weddings, births, job promotions, goals achieved, graduations, birthdays, the most beautiful weeks on mountaintops in Montana under enormous skies – they are but a glimpse now of the joy that awaits us when we shall see Him face to face. C.S. Lewis described this by the use of the German word “Sehnsucht” – a sense of nostalgic longing or desire that we experience in such moments, for what is to come, when we shall behold Him. In other words, these beautiful moments point us to Christ, the only one who can truly satisfy our souls.

and this…

Our most grief-stricken, heart-aching moments – the deaths of those we love deeply, illnesses and diseases, disappointments and heart-aches, abandonment, depression, despair, evil abuse – the acute sharpness of those griefs will be wiped away forever when we who are believers see Him face to face. That is why this sweet boy’s family was able to worship, while in the throes of indescribable sorrow.

Truly, we do not grieve without hope.

and

Truly, we do not celebrate weddings and birthdays and other joyful moments without such celebrations pointing to our only true source of joy.

The sun has set here on this mountain. The fire in our fireplace has settled down to a faint glow, and the moon is casting its light upon the snow outside these windows. Tomorrow we go home.

And the days ahead will hold both joys and sorrows. But as we sang during our wedding ceremony – God is our dwelling place. Before these mountains here in Montana were formed, He has been our everlasting God. He is the safe shelter that is the only firm foundation strong enough to hold both our joys and our sorrows.

We stand, in thanks – for His faithfulness.

It is, indeed, great.

God of glory, God of wonder, God of beauty
You reign through all eternity
Before the mountains
Or the earth had been formed
You were our everlasting Lord

You’ve been our home
You’ve been our shelter safe
For young & old to generations past
We stand in awe of a God so great
We stand in thanks for your faithfulness
O Lord, you’ve been our dwelling place

Dwelling Place ~ Tommy Walker

Morning by morning new mercies I see;
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided—
“Great is Thy faithfulness,” Lord, unto me.

Great is Thy Faithfulness ~ Thomas Chisholm

Salve and Salvation

August 5, 2015 By Shelly Durkee

In Psalm 139, God, we are reminded that you search us. Know us. You know our thoughts.

You know when we sit. When we arise. When we sleep.

And, when we are roughly awakened and sleep does not return.

And, while it can be a bit disconcerting that nothing is hidden from you, there is also great relief in that as well.

Because nothing is hidden from you, there is no need to hide from you.

No need to hide our fear. Our worry. Our discouragements. Our sins. Our confusion. Our doubts. Our home-longings. No need to hide our pull to run; our pull to old ways of finding salve for the these middle-of-the-night-sleep-robbing things.

No need to hide any of these, because you already know.

So, because you are the very same God as the God of Exodus 2:25; the God who sees and knows–and acts–there is no need to sit here amidst these mosquitoes on the deck getting fresh air, or in the hospital room beside our loved one who will soon see you face-to-face, or at a sick child’s bedside, or in an office pulling an all-nighter, or on the floor at the altar of an empty sanctuary, or wherever our anxious soul finds ourselves–there is no need to sit here and tell you these things, because you know.

But, sometimes God, we voice them to you anyway, because that seems to be a small part of what prayer is.

Or, we mull over these things that keep us up–that unsettle our souls and minds, because our brains can’t seem to not mull over them. Or we relive them in our nightmares. But there are prayer elements in those incidents as well, even if unconsciously. Because you know our thoughts.

And, in those moments–in these moments—we need you; implore you; to prompt us to seek out the familiarity of what we know to be truth. Not platitudes. Not clichés. Not panic. Not the pull to things that temporary numb the sharpness of the night.

No, instead–push us toward the truth of Your word, God. Because the truth of scripture points us to the truth of who You are. And, that is where we find both salve and salvation:

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
    I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
    your rod and your staff,
    they comfort me. (Psalm 23:4)

In peace I will both lie down and sleep;
for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety. (Psalm 4:8)

Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, ⁶⁹and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God.” (John 6:68-69)

Make haste to help me,
O Lord, my salvation! (Psalm 38:22)

Amen, and Amen. Even so……come quickly, God…..make haste, our salve and salvation…..

When I’m Claustrophobic

January 12, 2015 By Shelly Durkee

So, um, yeah. I’m a bit claustrophobic.

I don’t like crowds. I don’t like crowded areas. I like wide open spaces, big skies, room to breathe.

When I’m closed in–hemmed in–I get panicky. Shaky. My breath becomes shallower. I’ve got to get out.

I prefer flying to long drives, but the only thing I don’t like about flying is when I make a last-minute reservation and get stuck in the middle seat. When I join the choir to sing on Sunday mornings, I’m perfectly fine on the very back row or the front row–it’s the middle row that gets me. I’m taking my girls to see Phantom of the Opera tonight at Chrysler Hall, and I guarantee you of our three tickets, I’ll insist that the girls let me have the aisle seat.

I have to breathe.

Funny, though. It doesn’t always have to be actual, physical situations that create the symptoms of panic in me. Sometimes it is the non-tangible things that create that claustrophobic sensation:

Nightmares
Fear of much
Weighty Responsibility in parenting and work
Worry

I recently did some new work on Psalm 18 and was re-reminded that David, who wrote this Psalm, knew this feeling well–this panicky, shaky, gotta-run reality that sometimes overcomes us. He knew it in battle, he knew it in leadership, and he knew it in his soul. Just read his words here in verses 4-5 and tell me he didn’t know panic:

The cords of death encompassed me;
the torrents of destruction assailed me;
⁵the cords of Sheol entangled me;
the snares of death confronted me

When I read these words, good grief, I am taken right back to that middle-of-the-night, can’t get untangled from the blankets and get outside to get fresh air fast enough situation. I’m taken right back to hearing words from my kid that I don’t want to hear. I’m taken back to hearing words about my spouse that I can’t stomach. I’m reminded of evil places, dark paneling, crowded cars, hospital rooms…..the list is long.

Ugh.

David gets it, though. You can read his words above and see that he gets it.

More importantly, though, God gets it.

How could He not? He who sent His son to die not just any death, but a death we can not comprehend or understand? He who has been with those who are currently imprisoned for their faith in tiny, claustrophobia-inducing cells? He, who has been with countless scores of people in the very darkest, most suffocating places of their lives?

He who heard David’s cry, heard the Israelites, and Bonhoeffer’s cry, and, O, I have to believe he hears the cries of the abused, addicted, orphans, widows, lonely, ill, destitute and so many more? The ones for whom the cords of death truly encompass. Exodus 2:25, directed toward the Israelites, must be true for us, too. There is too much evidence that points to it as being true for us as well:

God saw the people of Israel—and God knew.

But, it’s not just that God knew. It’s not. It can’t be.

It’s that He also acts. He acts.

I can “know” all day long that I need to exercise more. But until I put on my blasted shoes and do the exercise, “knowing” is useless. That’s a bit of an inane analogy, but it’s the best I can come up with right now. The same, kind of, is true about God. The analogy breaks down at some point because, well, God is God. But I used to think it would be simply enough if God knew my name. If He knew who I was. And yes, His knowing my name is tremendous. Mind-boggling. But I need Him to do more than know my name. I need Him to move me to the broad places.

The broad places…such as what David describes further into Psalm 18:

He sent from on high, he took me;
    he drew me out of many waters.
¹⁷He rescued me from my strong enemy
    and from those who hated me,
    for they were too mighty for me.
¹⁸They confronted me in the day of my calamity,
    but the Lord was my support.
¹⁹He brought me out into a broad place;
    he rescued me, because he delighted in me.

The ugly pride in me abhors the idea that I need rescuing–even by God. But I do. I do. I hate that, but I do. I can’t escape the claustrophobic cords of death–death by all the things I listed above. I can’t get out of the waters that threaten to drown me. I’m not a good enough swimmer. I am powerless against my strong enemies–no matter what form they take.

And, so are you.

We need Him to bring us out into a broad place—a place with huge sky and plenty of oxygen to breathe. A place where in which He gives a “wide place for my steps under me,” where “my feet did not slip.” (Verse 36).

I can’t find that place. And you can’t find that place.

We have to be led there. Brought there.

And, we will be, because He delights in us.

How can that be?

I don’t know, but I agree with David, when in another Psalm (139) he speaks to God’s knowledge of him and how God hems him in before and behind–the only time I’ve ever, ever found that claustrophobia is bearable:

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
it is high; I cannot attain it.

When Freaky Things Happen: No Place to Hide

August 31, 2014 By Shelly Durkee

I had the creepiest thing happen to me Thursday night.

Actually, it wasn’t THAT creepy. I’ve definitely had creepier things happen. But for some reason, this freaked me out. Just a little.

It was a little after 8:00 pm, and I was driving home after a Picnic planning meeting. My mind was a thousand miles away, though. It was definitely not on driving. I was in extreme Auto-Pilot mode.

I turned the corner off of Highway 17 onto the road that leads toward my home in Seaford. The car was silent. My thoughts were blaring. But a noise cut through those blaring thoughts. A notification from my phone, which I had carelessly tossed into the passenger seat for my drive home. But this notification sound was unlike the ones I am used to hearing—for incoming email, or calls, or tweets, or from MapMyWalk, as friends post their exercise. Nope, this notification I had never heard before, and–admittedly–I jumped just a bit.

I grabbed by phone to see what created that obnoxious sound (Yeah, I know. No lectures about not looking at my phone while driving, please). I saw that it was from Walgreen’s (the pharmacy) of all things, and I tossed it back into the seat next to me.

When I got home, checked the notification. What in the world did they want? I didn’t have any prescriptions I was waiting for, and besides, I get texts when they are ready for pick-up, not notifications from Walgreen’s directly.

The message I read went something like this (I wish I had somehow saved it, so you could get a sense of its “creepiness”):

We notice that you are near a Walgreen’s Store right now! Why don’t you stop by and see what savings and good value we have to offer you tonight!”

Whoa. No one knew where I was. I don’t even think my kids knew where I was Thursday night, except that I had to go to a meeting. But Walgreen’s knew.

That’s Twilight Zone stuff right there, my friends.

Later that night, when I crawled into bed after an exhausting day of work, parenting, committee meeting, and all the other “stuff” that comprises a day, I got to thinking about that notification. And I got to thinking about my life. And, I got to thinking about my God.

Like I said, there are times in life where nobody knows where I am at.

Where I am at physically:

if I go for a drive
when I’ve hiked alone to deserted beaches in Hawaii
times that I’ve gone for walks at the park alone

Where I am at mentally:

times of fear
times of despair
times of thinking I am a failure

Where I am at Spiritually:

times when I have sinned against God and others
times when I have doubted His goodness
times when I have stubbornly and sinfully held on to unbelief
times of silence from God
….but also times when I have been overcome with gratitude for His grace
times when I’ve been so overwhelmed by His presence, protection and provision that it has wrecked me

All these examples of times when no one else knows where I am. And yet, there is one who knows and sees it all. My God. The God who Sees and Knows.

And, honestly, sometimes that bothers me. It really does. Because sometimes it would just be easier, or it seems safer, or SOMETHING—I can’t quite find the words—but to have the ability to hide from God. To have an Invisibility Cloak, like Harry Potter. Oh, I am self-centered enough to want Him to see and know my pain and to fix it. But what about the times that He doesn’t fix it? In those cases, I wish He didn’t see it, because then I find myself asking “Why?? Why God, if you see the suffering of this world, why don’t you FIX IT??” And what do I do with that??

Or, worse still, what about the times that I openly or secretly sin against Him? When I am ashamed of myself; of my behavior. When I find myself shouting “Yes!” at Paul’s statement in Romans 7:15: For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.

But that’s not who God is.

And, if it was who God was, He wouldn’t be worthy of worship.

You see, it is precisely because He is a God who Sees and Knows, that I know He loves me. That He loves me so much, that He gave His son for me. That He gave His Son for the forgiveness of my sins–both those that are blatant and those that are done in the depths of my heart and mind.

Exodus 2:25 says this: God saw the people of Israel—and God knew.

This very same God who Saw the people of Israel in their suffering and Knew, sees me in my suffering and Knows. He Knows.

My deepest fears.
My deepest sins.
My deepest dreams.
My deepest longings.
My deepest needs.

A key moment, among many key moments, in my journey toward trust and faith in God, was the realization that He Knows my name. He knows who I am! That fact, alone, wrecked me. For so long I had thought that if—IF there was a God, He certainly did not know who I was. But He does. He knows my name. He knows me thoroughly. As in Psalm 139 thoroughly. He has searched me and knows me. And He knows you, too. And loves you.

That, my friends, is a God who sees and Knows—and loves.

I turned off the location finder thingy on my phone. I don’t want Walgreen’s knowing where I am. But I will continue to fight the urge to hide from my God. That’s a futile attempt, anyway. A waste of energy. Instead, I will rejoice that I am Seen, Known, and Loved. And Forgiven.

Great is His Faithfulness

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