Grace | All is Well

Today is Different (Valentine’s Day Thoughts)

February 15, 2017 By Shelly Durkee

It’s Valentine’s Day.

I’ve always found this day to be cheesy. Over-rated. A money-making marketing ploy by Hallmark and Russell Stover Chocolates, and florists everywhere. It’s nearly as commercialized as Christmas has become–I walked in to the grocery store this morning, only to see hearts and balloons and roses and candy everywhere I looked at the front of the store. And, a steady stream of mostly guys—picking up last-minute bouquets and reading a card, putting it down, picking up the next card, reading that card, putting it down….that cycle of trying to find just the right balance of cheesiness for their sweethearts.

It kind of makes my eyes roll, and heightens my already heightened sense of cynicism.

Of course, why was I at the store? Yep. To pick out balloons and small gifts for my crew, for Valentine’s Day.

And I slapped my gifts down on the conveyor belt at the cash register (which, by the way, had been decorated by the cashiers–the sides were wrapped in pink paper, and a sign had been made that stated “Cupid’s Express Lane.” For the love of all things roses and hearts, please stop…..), with a curmudgeon sigh.

Valentine’s Day. Humph.

But this afternoon, I’m rethinking things a bit, as I scroll through my Facebook feed (because we alllllll know that Facebook gives us an accurate view on life, right???? Am I righttttt?????), and I’m seeing post after post after post after post of sweet (and, um, cheesy) sentiments between husbands and wives, girlfriends and boyfriends, and even parents and children–all extolling sugary love towards each other.

And the cynic in me wants to hate it.

Except I don’t.

In fact, I’ve enjoyed every single post. Every mushy declaration of love. Every picture “framed” by pink and red hearts. And, I’ve “liked” probably a few dozen–which is very “unlike” me.

Some have made me sad. It is always hard to read the posts from couples who have been married for 25-30 years; a painful reminder of a grief that will never quite go away, over the loss of a marriage that was supposed to be for a lifetime. A painful reminder of the cost of sin and betrayal and abandonment.

Some have made me sad–as widows or widowers have expressed grief and a deep “missing” of their soul mate. One, in particular, broke my heart, as I read the post from my high school chorus teacher, whose dear husband passed away peacefully this very morning, as she held his hand. Heartbreaking.

Some have made me sad, as I’ve read posts from those who are single and who feel the sting of a day meant for those who are not single. There is an intense loneliness in singlehood. It is deep and aching. I’ve heard it in the voices of friends who have never married. I’ve seen it in the eyes of those who have been in relationships that have ended–whether married or dating. And, I’ve experienced it intensely myself, in the years since my ex-husband went to prison. For some, this day is very painful; and it is like salt in wounds when they/we hear things like, “God has the perfect person out there for you, somewhere!” To which singles everywhere want to say, “Is he directionally challenged? “Cause I’m standing right here!!! How hard can it be, to find me??”

So, yes, there is some sadness. Some melancholy. But this year, it’s not as intense. This year, I’m not quite as cynical…though I assure you, there is still some cynicism in my soul–I am still me, after all.

This year is different.

And I think some of that difference comes down to this: I’m beginning to grasp what it means to be loved by God.

Oh, not that I will ever grasp that concept completely. And neither will you, in case you are thinking you’ve got it all figured out. To understand fully the magnitude of a love so deep that sacrificed the life of Jesus on the cross, as a means of payment for our sins, is not something that we can ever completely figure out. It’s not meant to be something we can study on and learn all about and master. We can not become experts on the love of God.

But we can, at times, be granted the gift of sensing the tender, gracious, merciful tendrils of His love toward us, and the restorative, healing redemption that is infused in our lives through the conduit of that love.

I sensed it last night, as I sat around the dinner table with 9 friends from church, sharing a dinner, laughter and warm companionship together.

I sensed it this morning before school, as my two smalls gave me hugs on their way out the door to school—and the boy child even thought to wish me a Happy Valentine’s Day!

I sensed it this past Sunday at church, as God gave me the gift and honor of comforting a friend who has recently lost a parent and who is aching.

I sensed it as the kind soul I am dating sheepishly handed me a Valentine’s Card and invited me to a Valentine’s Dinner date for this upcoming weekend–and I didn’t think for one second that it was over-sentimental or cheesy at all. Instead, it brought me joy. And deep gratitude.

And I sense it nearly every day, as the intense grief of very hard things lessens just a little bit more…and as my soul experiences small incremental increases of hope and joy.

Only God can do that.

I stumbled across these words by John Stott a few months ago. I’ve held on to them….for I am a collector of words…and I’ve pondered them a few times since them. Today, though–on this Valentines Day—they have drilled their way a bit deeper into my mind:

“To encounter Christ is to touch reality and experience transcendence. He gives us a sense of self-worth or personal significance, because He assures us of God’s love for us. He sets us free from guilt because He died for us and from paralyzing fear because He reigns. He gives meaning to marriage and home, work and leisure, personhood and citizenship.” (Preaching Christ from the Old Testament, pg. 291)

I’ve known crippling shame. I have been deeply guilty of sin and disobedience. And, oh my soul, how I have known fear. Intense fear. And, I’m certain that you have as well.

But I’ve also encountered His tender mercies, and the present future of salvation. And, before the beginning of each day, when I meet with Him, He assures me of God’s love for me.

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? As it is written, “For your sake we are being killed all the day long; we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.” No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Romans 3:35-39

Post Script: For those who are curious…Yes, I am dating someone. I’ve not been very public about it, for many reasons. So much of my life was thrust into the public’s eyes, following the arrest of my ex-husband, that I had a very strong pull to keep this part close to my soul, and quietly enjoy being courted.

Like I said above, he is a kind soul. He treats me with immense respect, and makes me feel pretty. Loved. Adored. It’s not easy—my life is insanely busy and messy and complicated. I’ve become “set in my ways”, over the past 8 years. I’m stubborn. A workaholic. But he is patient. And long-suffering. He understands that my relationship with God has first place in my soul, and that my children–and raising them to be strong, successful, independent adults–are my highest priority. He is good to my kids–never exerting sudo-parental authority that does not belong to him, but always encouraging them. They adore him; even chastising me if I don’t immediately invite him to join us when we go to the movies or out to the park.

He fixes things around the house, and makes me furniture to replace our worn out pieces. He teaches my boy about car care, computers and the game of tennis. He was former military, so he talks shop with my Navy son. He treats my oldest girl and her boyfriend to dinner, and he tells my youngest that she has a beautiful voice, and exchanges dumb pun jokes with her (those are her specialty).

It’s nice. No, it’s more than nice. It’s lovely.

I’m in no hurry. And we are in no hurry. I am extremely cautious. Like most things in life, I am overthinking this–but I have such a high view of marriage and relationships and God’s standards on the matter, that I think some overthinking is justified. I’m honest with him, about those things. He listens, understands, remains steady. And patient.

He is making friends with the men at my church; men who I have the deepest respect for. Men who, along with their wives and families, have stood beside me and my crew over these last 8 years–providing for our needs when they arose, encouraging us every step along the way. I love watching him forge these new friendships. It’s a beautiful thing.

I don’t know what the future holds for me. I don’t know what the future holds for us. Shoot, I don’t even know what tonight holds. If I did, I’d probably run far, out of fear and trepidation, for so many reasons. But that’s why I am so incredibly grateful for the sovereignty of God. Like the quote by John Greenleaf Whittier, at the top of my blog, I claim this as truth: Before me, even as behind, God is, and all is well.

Mercy Tree

January 30, 2017 By Shelly Durkee

I’m ashamed to say that, sometimes, I forget all that God has done.

Not that I ever truly forget, really. I am always aware of it. I see it in His continued provision for my little family, here in this little home that we have come to love–a true shelter in every sense of that word.

I hear what He has done, when I see my crew sitting around the living room, enjoying being together, and laughing joyfully and loving deeply.

I sense what He has done, when I approach Him in prayer each morning, and remember a time when I was suffocated by the crushing hopelessness that weighed dark and heavy upon my mind and soul.

So it’s not that I forget, per se, but rather it is this, maybe: When I take a rare moment to fully recall all that He has done in our lives, it is nearly so overwhelming that I can not dwell on it for very long. The very weight of His love and mercy and grace, both at once sends my soul soaring and nearly causes me to come undone.

I can not think on it too long.

This morning was one of those times, when the very presence of God and the intense reality of what He has done for me and my crew, was so immense that, truly, I could hardly withstand it.

I had the privilege and honor of getting to sing with my youngest girl this morning, at our church. Any time that I’m able to do this, is a gift and responsibility that I do not take lightly. It’s a gift, because were I to tell you how much God has changed the soul and mind of my girl in the past 3 years, it would take far more space than what an average blog post should be. Suffice it to say, she is different. Where there was confusion and pain, there is now clarity of mind and a joyful soul. Where there was sin and brokenness, there is the realization of freedom and a sense of peace. (And, so you know, I share this with her permission and knowledge that I am writing this.)

So, it is a gift–one that I was uncertain I would ever be able to witness, let alone be a part of: that of worshiping alongside by girl, in song.

And, it is a responsibility to be able to share gospel enriched words with people in need of hope and a reminder of what God has done and is doing.

This morning, we sang “Mercy Tree”, a song with lyrics written by Krissy Nordhoff and Michael Neale. And, as we sang, I was profoundly reminded that the reason I was standing there singing with my girl, is because of the very meaning behind the words of this song.

In the purest, most pared down explanation, it is this: salvation.

I don’t think about salvation as often as I should–probably because I don’t understand it as deeply as I would like to. I wish I were able to figure out how it “works”. There is just enough “God-ordained” mystery to it, that–try as I might (and believe me, I have tried), I can not wrap my mind around how the God of all creation would love me so much as to send His son to die for me, and how in the death of resurrection of Jesus, my horrific sins are paid for, thus bringing me into His family as an adopted daughter. And how His resurrection points to the truth that this is not my home; someday, I will be truly home at the feet of the one who loves me with perfect love, where there will be no more tears and no more sorrow. No more pain.

There will be a day.

For God so loved the world, that He gave His only son, that whoever believes in Him will not perish, but have eternal life. John 3:16

This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends. John 15:12-13

Today, as I sang with my girl, the words of this beautiful song (included below), I remembered once again the tremendous beauty and gift of salvation, and that this salvation was bought upon The Mercy Tree……the very Cross upon which our Savior died.

And, oh my soul, how I love that the writers refer to the mercy tree as “endless.”

His mercy is endless. There is much hope in that.

I did a little bit of research into the song, and landed at the Brentwood/Brenson blog, where they write about the background of songs. I read this and found it too beautiful to miss sharing with you, dear reader:

Writer Krissy Nordhoff describes this tree that she envisioned in the dream, “It was very large and spanned as far as you could see. Underneath the tree there was safety. It was almost like the cross…with the roots of that tree reached back to Calvary.”

She explains the significance and relevance this tree has in each of our lives, “I felt like if everyone could understand what it meant to be under that covering, everyone would be saved. There’s safety, there’s healing, there’s freedom, there’s all the things we need under this big, beautiful tree.” From this idea, a song started to take shape.

Nordhoff went on to write a complete song based on this dream. However, she still felt like something was missing, so she brought it to longtime writing partner, Michael Neale. Neale revealed to Nordhoff that the tree in the dream was the cross.

From this revelation, Nordhoff and Neale worked together over email, cutting, pasting, rewriting, and adding a new chorus. The final result was a touching story that shares the hope in knowing there’s always a place that we can find life and rest — under the mercy tree.

That’s it, exactly.

Safety. Healing. Freedom.

Life. Rest.

Because, not only do I see this in my girl’s life, I know this truth in my own life, too. He has taken my cynical, angry, hurting, grieving, hard-hearted soul, and, on The Mercy Tree, has saved me.

Death has died.

Love has won.

Hallelujah. Hallelujah.

On a hill called Calvary
Stands an endless mercy tree
Every broken weary soul
Find your rest and be made whole
Stripes of blood that stain its frame
Shed to wash away our shame
From the scars pure love released
Salvation by the mercy tree

In the sky between two thieves
Hung the blameless Prince of Peace
Beaten, battered, scarred, and scorned
Sacred head pierced by our thorns
It is finished was his cry
The perfect lamb was crucified
His sacrifice, our victory
Our Savior chose the mercy tree

Hope went dark that violent day
The whole earth quaked at love’s display
Three days silent in the ground
This body born for heaven’s crown
On that bright and glorious day
When heaven opened up the grave
He’s alive and risen indeed!
Praise him for the mercy tree!

Death has died, love has won
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Jesus Christ has overcome
He has risen from the dead

One day soon, we’ll see his face
And every tear, he’ll wipe away
No more pain or suffering
Praise him for the mercy tree

On a hill called Calvary
Stands an endless mercy tree

Let the Redeemed of the Lord Say So

January 11, 2017 By Shelly Durkee

I am struck tonight, by Psalm 107.

I’m reading through the Bible for 2017, using the Five Day Plan. Psalm 107 was a part of my reading this morning, and I have found the words weaving in and out of my mind and soul all day long.

Do you ever read something in scripture, and see yourself? Do you ever read a passage, a chapter, a verse, a story, a Psalm and think, “This writing is autobiographical. This is me.”

Oh, we do have to be careful in those moments. We can not lose sight of context or original audience. To do so would be foolish, and wrong.

However, the Scriptures were given to us, and meant to do all the things we read in 2 Timothy 3:16: to teach us, to convict us, to train us, and to correct us.

And, I think they were also given to us to remind us, of what God has done. Because in remembering all that He has done, we learn deeper who He is.

That’s where I am today, with Psalm 107.

Reading it, I feel as if I could have written it. As if I am looking over the shoulder of the Psalmist, who is penning the truth of what I have experienced. In one sense, it is a bit unnerving. In another sense, it is incredibly comforting.

I’d like to share with you some thoughts and my prayer, based upon this Psalm. The Psalm is long, so I’ll not share all that I wrote this morning in the wee early hours of the day. But I would like to share some of it, in hopes that you, too, may see yourself in these words of Psalm 107.

And that you, too, can be one of the redeemed to say so.

Oh give thanks to the LORD, for he is good,
for his steadfast love endures forever!
2 Let the redeemed of the LORD say so,
whom he has redeemed from trouble

God, you are good. You are the God whose steadfast love endures forever. I did not see that before, in my early life.

I did not see that You are good.

And I did not trust that your steadfast love would endure.

And, for many years, I did not believe that you were real.

But now, O God, I know. I know, because I am redeemed.

Redeeemed is such a beautiful word. It means “to gain or regain possession of (something) in exchange for payment”. You redeemed me from my sins. You paid the price that I should have paid, in the sacrifice of your son. How beautiful is that dreadful scandal that took place on the cross, where Jesus died for me.

You are good. Let the redeemed–let me–say so.

Some wandered in desert wastes,
finding no way to a city to dwell in;
5 hungry and thirsty,
their soul fainted within them.

I know those desert wastes God. Those vast empty stretches of years where the hunger and the thirst was so strong, that I tried to satisfy it in destructive ways. I tried to slake that hunger and thirst in ways that would never, ever let me reach the end of the hunger or thirst–in ways that only deepened the thirst.

And my soul fainted within me, into a hopeless heap of dry, cynical, angry dust.

To this day, I remember the thirst, and at times it returns. But You, oh God—I know You are the only thing that satisfies. Verse 9 tells us this, undeniably:

For he satisfies the longing soul,
sand the hungry soul he fills with good things.

You, alone, are my only hope. You feel my soul with good things–joy. Peace. Compassion. Settledness. The only drink of living water that will quench the thirst and revive my soul when those dark days come.

You are good. Let the redeemed–let me–say so.

Some sat in darkness and in the shadow of death,
prisoners in affliction and in irons,
11 for they had rebelled against the words of God,
and spurned the counsel of the Most High.

This, too, have I known.

I have known utter darkness. I have sat in the shadow of death and longed for it to come.

I have been imprisoned by my own sin–the sin of despair, the sin of cynicism, the sin of unbelief, the sin of addiction.

Each of those sins–and all sin–ultimately stems from pride. And pride is the highest form of rebellion against Your almightyness. Against Your holiness. And against the very core of who You are–Your love.

I ran far from You, because I did not think that You were good.

I was wrong.

And in the moment–or, rather, moments, for the shattering of my darkness did not happen in an instance because my soul often turned back to the familiarity of rebellion–in those moments of recognizing repentfully the deep wrongness I was mired in…

I cried to You.

And you delivered me from my distress and brought me out of darkness and the shadow of death.

Truly, you burst my bonds apart.

You are good. Let the redeemed–let me–say so.

You make my storms be still.

You say “Shh” and hush the waves of the middle-of-the-night seas that threaten to swamp me.

And I am glad when the waters are quieted.

And today?

Today you are turning my desert into a pool of water and the parched land of my soul into a spring of water.

There are still days, God. There are still days, when I am diminished and brought low through oppression, evil and sorrow.

But you raise me out of those dreadful moments. And you make my family safe, secure–and joyful. And that makes other things pale and become distant shadows, to see my children standing fast–the ones that are, and the ones that I pray will some day.

Whoever is wise, let him attend to these things;
let them consider the steadfast love of the LORD.

Cause me to be wise, God. Remind me to attend to these things. Help me to consider your steadfast, non-abandoning love, because…

You are good.

Let me, who has been redeemed, say so.

The God That “Looks After Us”

January 8, 2017 By Shelly Durkee

Truly, I can not imagine what it must have been like, to be Hagar, Abraham’s wife’s servant.

I’ve started reading through the Bible for 2017. The stories are all familiar–this is not my first time through reading the Bible through: that, combined with years of flannelgraph stories in stuffy Sunday School classrooms have pretty much ingrained the stories contained within the pages of the Bible deep into my mind.

In fact, I have to be careful to remind myself to truly read the words on the pages before me. I’m a fast reader by nature, and the temptation is to speed past that which I’ve already read before, without truly stopping to see what is there, in the words on the page.

And that’s the experience I had just a couple of days ago, as I read the story of Abraham, his wife Sarai (soon to be renamed “Sarah” by God)….and the promises God laid out for them: that Abraham and Sarah, though past child-bearing years, would father many nations.

Within that story, is the story of Hagar. It’s not a pretty story. It sheds a light on both Abraham and Sarah’s sinfulness that doesn’t quite seem to match the behavior we would expect from someone who found favor in God’s eyes and who was chosen by God in the way that Abraham was called out.

It goes like this:

In that culture, child-bearing was everything. It was of vital importance, to have an heir–and multiple heirs, actually. To be barren was a mark of shame. And Sarah was barren. God had promised that they would have many children. However, none had arrived. I’m not sure if Sarah knew of God’s promise at this point, but even if she didn’t, there had to be much heart-ache over having empty arms. Sarah, out of frustration that she had not become pregnant yet and belief that she never would provide Abraham with a son and heir, desperately insisted that Abraham commit adultery with Hagar, her Egyptian servant.

What astonishes me in this story, is that Abraham did. It appears that he didn’t even question this. He simply “…listened to the voice of Sarai.”

I think there is a part me that is angered by his actions. Infuriated, even.

And Sarai–how could she do this to another woman? How could she do such a thing, to her servant.

The sinful actions in this story are nearly suffocating.

And, my heart aches for Hagar.

Verse 4 says of Hagar’s reaction this: “..And when she saw that she had conceived, she looked with contempt on her mistress.”

And why shouldn’t she have?

I’ve actually heard preachers preach about how wrong Hagar was, to treat Sarah in such a way. And that, too angers me. Was her response not to be expected? Her dignity was already stripped, as a servant. She had no rights; she was at the mercy of Sarah already…and then “given” to Abraham, to produce a child.

Maybe her contempt towards Sarah, is to be expected. Maybe, just maybe, it was her way of desperately fighting for some shred of dignity and importance–maybe even she was searching to belong, to be respected. Maybe she saw her pregnancy as a way to gain that from these people.

As you can imagine, her contemptuous attitude toward Sarah did not fly. It infuriated Sarah, and she lashed out at Abraham. And, Abraham shrugged off that lashing and told Sarah, “She’s your servant–do whatever you want to her.”

As if she were property, and not a person.

Sarah then “dealt harshly” with Hagar–though we are not told the details. Did she threaten her? Did she have her beaten? Was she insulting, further ripping to part Hagar’s soul?

We do not know…but whatever the results, Hagar fled.

She ran away.

Can you blame her? Who wouldn’t want to run from such a dreadful situation?

Hagar fled into the wilderness, and found refuge near a spring of water. There, we are told, that the angel of the Lord found her. Who was this angel? What did it look like? We are not told those details. I wish that we were.

She is told by the angel to “Return to your mistress and submit to her.”

Ugh.

Go back and not only be in the presence of the one that hates you, but submit to her as well? The humiliation of that is nearly overwhelming. I can not even imagine.

But then she hears words that soften the grief and the bite of the situation.

Oh, I’m sure it didn’t take it away fully. Nor did it erase the sting of humiliation and shame. Sometimes, such things remain a very long time. O, I know this full well. So well, in my own life. But maybe the words the angel spoke lessened the sharp edges of the grief and pain.

Because, there was a promise, for her.

God had not forgotten her.

She would have a son. And numerous descendants, as well. And her son would not live a servant-life like she had.

And she was to name the child “Ishmael”, which means “God hears.”

But, here’s the part that struck me in my soul this past week, as I read it: it’s Hagar’s words, after hearing the promise from the angel of the Lord. It’s her words, in the wake of her realization that God saw her. That he had not turned a blind eye to her grief, pain and shame:

So she called the name of the LORD who spoke to her, “You are a God of seeing,” for she said, “Truly here I have seen him who looks after me.”

Oh, my soul. The one that looks after her.

And you.

And me.

He is the God who “looks after us”. Is there not tremendous comfort, in that phrase?

I’m a very independent person, by nature. Even more so, in the wake of much grief and heartache that ripped into our lives several years ago, making me into a single mom of four. And so many times, I think, “I’m doing great. I don’t need anyone to “look after me.”

But that’s not true.

I do.

And you do, too.

And there is great comfort in knowing that the God of all creation–the one who made heaven and earth, the holy, sovereign God–“looks after us.”

There is much tenderness in that phrase. Sometimes, that tenderness is hard to accept. Too overwhelming. Sometimes, the idea that we are loved so greatly with a love that we can never fully comprehend, is more than we can fathom.

But scripture is truth. And this is truth.

He is a seeing God. And, He looked after Hagar and cared for her hurting soul.

And, He does the same for you and I.

The Holy Bible: English Standard Version. (2016). (Ge 16:13). Wheaton: Standard Bible Society.