The Fight of Faith Is the Fight for Joy

This Sunday, I'd like to share part of a message Scott and I listened to this week while we were traveling from one family gathering to another. It's a sermon preached by John Piper on John 6:27-40, entitled "Behold, Believe, Be Raised." If you click the link, you can either read or listen to it. 

I chose this section because it seems to explain the connection between my difficulty finding joy after losing our daughter and a parallel struggle to believe and trust.

Jesus Is the One We Hunger For

Now finally, for the first time, Jesus says explicitly in [John 6] verse 35 that he’s talking about himself: “Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst.’” It is hard for me to exaggerate the importance of this verse for me. For many years now (especially since writing the book Future Grace) this verse has defined two massive realities in my life. One is the object of my hunger and thirst. And the other is the nature of saving faith.

Jesus—Jesus himself and all that God is for me in him—is what I hunger for and thirst for. He has been merciful to me—and to most of you—to reveal himself as the supreme Treasure of our lives. “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst.” That doesn’t mean hunger and thirst in our souls does not rise up every day. It means now we know what it’s for. Now we know where to turn. Now we know what to drink and what to eat. We drink down Jesus. We swallow the glory of Jesus. And there is a never-ending supply. This is what we were made for. All other treasures, all other pleasures point to this. Jesus is the all-satisfying end of every longing.

Saving Faith: Satisfaction in Jesus

And the other thing this verse has shown me is the nature of saving faith. Notice the parallel between coming to Jesus to be satisfied and believing on Jesus. “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger.” That’s the first statement. We come to Jesus to have our hunger stilled.

Now parallel to that, and repeating the meaning, is the next statement: “And whoever believes in me shall never thirst.” Coming to Jesus to be satisfied in him and believing on him so as not to thirst are the same. So I define saving faith as being satisfied with all that God is for us in Jesus.

The Fight of Faith Is the Fight for Joy

This is a huge discovery when you make it. You never read your Bible the same again. You never think about the obedience that flows from faith the same again. You never fight for purity and holiness the same again. When you see that saving faith is being satisfied with all that God is for you in Jesus, the “good fight of faith” (as Paul calls is in 1 Timothy 6:12) becomes a fight for joy. And from then on, everything is different.

The fight of faith is the fight for joy. And the fight for joy is doing whatever you must to see Jesus for who he is, and savor Jesus above all things. [emphasis mine]

(Excerpt from message by John Piper. © Desiring God. Website: desiringGod.org )

Murphy's Law, Mother Edition

Section 2: Outings
Paragraph 8
If you dash out of the house for what you believe to be a quick trip and thus decide not to bring (a) diapers and wipes, (b) bottle or sippee cup, or (c) change of clothes down to the socks, you will almost immediately find yourself facing (a) the biggest blowout in your parenting history, (b) an irrationally hungry or thirsty child who absolutely will not stop wailing even when promised as many bottles or cups as they can drink if they can just wait half an hour, or (c) enough pee to soak through an overnight diaper soaking the child's outfit and overflowing his/her shoes.

Paragraph 9
When you, remembering Paragraph 8 and facing a half-day or longer day out, take extra care to pack diapers, wipes, bottles, cups, snacks, and full changes of clothes down to the socks, you will (a) be late and (b) not need any of it.

Remembering the Kindness of Strangers

As I've written my memories of Elli's first weeks with us, nearly ten years ago, I've been amazed again at the kindness shown to us during those terrifying and tenuous weeks. On this Thanksgiving, I am thankful for so many things, but I'm especially thankful for the way God has used people to encourage us.

Here is another excerpt from Elli's story, one of my most treasured memories of the kindness of strangers. I thank God for the two women, whose names I cannot remember, who gave me this memory, this moment.

***

The rest of that day and the next was a blur of visitors. Family and friends poured in, doing their best to bring comfort and support at this critical moment, the day before open heart surgery.
            The entire CICU staff, who had been friendly all along, showed a whole new level of kindness and sensitivity. Thursday afternoon, two nurses walked into Ellie’s room and spoke to Meg.

“Would you like to hold your baby?” they asked.

For over two weeks, Meg’s arms had been empty. Her only physical contact with Ellie had been rubbing her fuzzy head, wrapping tiny fingers around one of her own, stroking the one leg not covered with tape and I.V.s, and stroking her feet. Her daughter had been so fragile and tangled in lines and tubes and monitors that even diaper changes were a tenuous and delicate affair.

This day, before a surgery with only a 20% chance of success, they offered her an impossible gift. The nurses knew Ellie, her situation, and the reality that she might not make it back to the ICU after surgery. So they offered what every mom hoped to have – a last chance to hold her baby before saying a final goodbye.

“Oh! Oh yes.”

They pulled in a rocking chair and a pile of pillows. “Sit down here and we’ll get you all ready before we move your baby.”

She sank into the rocker, positioned at the foot of Ellie’s bassinet. They laid a pillow across her lap, then folded a second one and tucked it under the arm she would use to support the baby’s head. 

One nurse slid her arms under the blanket under Ellie, while the other nurse gathered all the wires, monitors, and tubing, and held them so that she wouldn’t pull or bend them, particularly the ventilator tubes that stretched down into her tender lungs, in a way that cause pain. They moved cautiously, talking the whole time so their movements would be perfectly synchronized.  The way they lowered her baby into her arms reminded Meg of a helicopter descending into a narrow canyon.

At last, she cradled Ellie’s warm round head in the crook of her arm, and snuggled her arms and legs close. How she had long to comfort her daughter this way through the long days of waiting. Meg used her hands to grasp the lines and tubes as the nurses adjusted everything around her. They pinned things to the pillow cases and tried to prop the ventilator tubing at an angle that matched Ellie’s airway. Meg watched this for a minute, then said, “I can hold those tubes if you want.” They smiled and guided her hand to just the right position.

“How are you doing? Everything ok?” they asked.

“Yes, I’m fine. I’ll sit here all afternoon if you’ll let me,” Meg replied.

They smiled. “I’ll be right here if you need me,” one said as she headed back to the desk.

Brandon pulled his chair up to the rocking chair and soaked up the vision of his wife holding their baby, trying to memorize every detail.

She memorized too, her throat tight. It was the first time she’d held Ellie since they were in the Emergency Room, and it might be the last. And she was the one to receive this gift. She hated that Brandon wasn’t a part of this, but she knew that they could only do so much. How could happiness hurt so badly? Tears stung her eyes yet again, as joy mingled with an soul-deep ache.

They sat for half an hour, enjoying the moment as a family, a womb of peace in the midst of monitors and equipment and bustle all around them.

Finally, the nurses returned, full of apology as they said it was time to settle her back in her bed. Meg nodded, but in hopes of extended the time another few seconds, she didn’t help as they carefully air-lifted her baby back to the bassinet and the moment ended.

***

Simple Is Good

(Don't forget to visit Chatting At the Sky and read what others have unwrapped this past week.)

Somewhere along the way, I bought into the line that good moms do all these great things with their kids. They take the kids to aquariums, parks, museums, libraries, and zoos. Frequently. And I thought that the measure of goodness in a mom correlated to the amount of [somewhat educational] enriching activities she led the children in.

So I always felt somewhat guilty that, because we were caring for a child with significant medical and physical needs, we couldn't do enriching activities much or at all. Because Elli needed, truly needed, so many things, that meant we didn't even consider other things that, at least I thought, were par for the course in other families. I never said it aloud, even to myself, but I thought if I was truly a good mom, I'd have the energy and ability to do it all.

This summer, I decided that I was finally going to be that good mother I'd always dreamed of being. We went to the zoo. We went to the park and fed the ducks and rode bikes and walked the dog. We visited the children's museum.

Sounds great, right? Except that I was driven by the wrong reasons, and that meant I wasn't prepared. Repeated failures to respond kindly and gently to my children's childishness no matter where we were and what we were doing showed me that doing things isn't what makes a mom a good mom. Showing love and kindness, mixed with quiet instruction and occasional discipline, is what makes a good mom. The location and the activity is irrelevant.

Yesterday, I had originally thought to take the kids to the children's museum. I thought better of it when I began to consider all that needed to be done before the Thanksgiving holiday. Instead, we stayed home, did laundry, and spent a quiet simple day together.

I taught my oldest how to grate cheese.

My youngest went for a ride down the hall in a basket ("Look mom, I'm in my boat!" he called out with delight) pushed by his sister.

We picked the oldest up from school -- a real treat for him since he normally rides the bus.

My toddler "helped" unload the dishwasher, and I found a way to make it work.

And, after a friend helped me think correctly about the day and my family, I responded more kindly and patiently to the impromptu water play in the toilet and the drawing on the hardwood floor.

Today I am thankful for the truth that good mothers respond to their family in a god-honoring way in the simple tasks and activities of life at home. (And elsewhere, too.)

No More Tears

A fellow sister-at-heart who still walks the difficult road
of rearing a medically-complex child sent me this beautiful jar with glass beads and Psalm 56:8.
It sits on our mantel as a reminder that these tears are temporary.


Psalm 56:8
You have kept count of my tossings;
put my tears in your bottle.
Are they not in your book?

Psalm 116:8
For you have delivered my soul from death,
my eyes from tears,
my feet from stumbling.

Isaiah 25:8
He will swallow up death forever;
and the Lord GOD will wipe away tears from all faces,
and the reproach of his people he will take away from all the earth,
for the LORD has spoken.

1 Corinthians 15:54-55
When the perishable puts on the imperishable,
and the mortal puts on immortality,
then shall come to pass the saying that is written:
"Death is swallowed up in victory.
O death, where is your victory?
O death, where is your sting?"

Revelation 21:4
"He will wipe away every tear from their eyes,
and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning,
nor crying, nor pain anymore,
for the former things have passed away."