The water is clear and safe in the shallow end. The deeper it gets, the darker it gets, until you can’t reach the bottom. Then it’s sink or swim.

Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, the earth falls away into the Mariana Trench, nearly seven miles down. So deep, sunlight has never reached it. The pressure so strong that none could survive there.

Looking into a well, light fades into darkness long before it reaches the water.

There is depth.
And it is dark.

But nothing like the deepest corners of a heart, broken by
Great loss.
Greater struggle.
Constant failure.
Sin that won’t let go.
Inadequacy.

There is depth.
And it is dark.

You grasp, and scrape, and climb only to find you haven’t moved.

The walls are too steep.
The darkness too thick.
The distance too far.

And the worst part is knowing you dug some of it yourself.

Memories of the light are but a childhood dream fading into the mist like a vapor.

You hear a voice calling from the depths. You’ve lived so long in the darkness you don’t know how to listen for anything else.

Yet there is another voice.
One you knew long ago.
One Who could never forget nor forsake you.

Where can I go from Your Spirit? Where can I flee from Your presence? If I go to the heavens, You are there. If I make my bed in the depths, You are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there, Your hand will guide me, Your right hand will hold me fast. Psalm 139:7-10

There is no distance too far that the Hand of God cannot rescue you.

There is no stain so dark that the blood of Christ cannot cleanse you.

There is no cry so deep that the Heart of God cannot hear you.

Seek the Lord while He may be found; call upon Him while He is near. Isaiah 55:6

Peter began to sink beneath the crashing waves and cried out, “Lord, save me!”

Jesus immediately reached out His hand and took hold of him. Matthew 14:31

Immediately.

The Hand that pulled Peter from the waves can reach deeper… much deeper… as deep as you have fallen.

Father, I pray You will gather the hearts lost in the darkness and draw them back into Your loving arms.

Amen…

If these words have been a blessing, pass them along to another who needs to hear. Reach out to me at John@LiftedKeys.com and tell me your story. I would love to know where and in what way God has guided His words through my pen.

My father would say:
“You have two eyes, two ears, and one mouth. Use them in that order and in that proportion.”

But as is usually the case, his wisdom came well after I had done the opposite.

I have a friend who while exchanging pleasantries said they were okay. Consumed by thoughts of the business at hand, the subject quickly changed.

It wasn’t until we parted ways that the weight of our encounter hit me. Was there more to okay than just okay? How blind was I not to notice? How trivial was our discussion in the light of eternity? Or in the state of their heart… or mine?

Reaching deeper could have offered the opportunity to speak of things that mattered.
Or just a kind shoulder to lean on if only for a moment.

I felt the pain of not listening beyond the words.

 

Then my morning prayers read:

Lay not the misusing of my morning hours to my charge. While there is yet time, let me bring the day to victory.
May I forget myself and work the work of Him who sent me here.
Deliver us from all unkindness, from offense given or taken.
May my soul never murmur at Thine gentle chastisement and Fatherly correction.

Regret settled in deeper.

Perhaps there was more I should have said.

But therein lies the problem.

Perhaps there was more the Lord would have had me say… or not.

Father, please forgive my weakness. Help me make amends for my carelessness and to do what You would have me do.

To learn.

To listen.

 

Reach out to me at John@LiftedKeys.com and tell me your story. I would love to know where and in what way God has guided His words through my pen.

Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place where He prayed. Mark 1:35

Quiet comes in many forms.

Jesus found solace while the world slept.
Seeking the Father.
Praying.
Recharging.

The early morning is quiet, short of a rooster making his presence known. The air is fresh, the coffee is warm. Time to reflect on the day ahead before the noise of yesterday returns.

There is the elusive quiet we seek, beyond screaming clients, screaming colleagues or screaming children. A moment to live between our ears, to ponder faith and the mysteries of life, or just to be.

Then there is the quiet that appears uninvited.

A kitchen that used to rattle with the sounds of pots and pans, and the aroma that floated throughout.

An empty chair where laughter once roared over a table full of family and friends.

Once hugs have been given and grandbabies are headed back home, a different quiet returns.

A deafening silence.

Emptiness.

 

Some long for just a moment of quiet, while others dread the hours between sundown and sunrise.

There’s a reason God often speaks in these moments. Not that He just arrived, but that He’s always been there, filling the space.

As a canyon fades into the evening mist, echoes reveal how powerful the river was. The louder the echo, the greater the sound that filled the space.

Within these four walls, memories appear in every corner then fade into reality.
The silence rests heavily on the chest.

 

Yet, as with the canyon, the louder the echo, the greater the love that filled the space.

God is there in the stillness, in the deepest corners of a broken heart. He allows memories of the greatest loves we’ve known, as a reminder of how He loves.

That much…
and more.

 

One day, the quiet will still ache… but just enough to hear.

The echo of laughter.

The memory of years shared.

And the gentle voice of a Loving God reminding us that

Love is never truly lost.

“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.” Luke 10:41-42

Martha was distracted by the preparations that had to be made while her sister Mary sat at the Lord’s feet listening.

There is a fine line between concern and worry, trusting in God’s timing and being consumed by preparations, overwhelmed to point where we can neither move forward or backward, frozen in fear of what’s ahead.

Jesus said not to worry about what we will eat or drink or wear, for our Heavenly Father knows we need these things.

But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Matthew 6:33

But does that mean to trust blindly, being numb, or even apathetic to the challenges we face?

Mary chose the better path, to sit and listen to Jesus, but there still was work to do.
There has to be a balance.
Walking a fine line.

Does not worrying mean to ignore the problem or pretend everything is fine? Life is not that easy.

Concern, on the other hand, is caring about something enough that it matters and trusting God with what you cannot control (and even what you think you can).

Jesus cared deeply about people, injustice, and suffering. He acted decisively but never in panic or frantic urgency. His rhythm was to:

Engage the problem
Trust the Father
Move forward in peace.

It seems it was easier for Him, being truly One with the Father, and I admittedly am not, at least not where I want to be. And Jesus had a few more things to be concerned about than my meager challenges.

I engage a problem, I pray, and I wait – not too patiently I might add.

I wonder what it was like for Jesus to wait. To be so in tune with the Father’s will but wondering why His will allowed some things and not others. I know I struggle with it.

I try to place every concern at the Lord’s feet and trust… and wait.
My battle is to ignore the things that turn concern into worry:

Staring at the phone, waiting for it to ring, or not.

Waiting for the doctor to say everything went well, or not.

Watching the clock tick, tick, tick, slower each time.

When the Lord comes through, and He always does, I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I’ve been holding all day
And tears flow.

Gratitude.
Relief.
Embarrassed that I didn’t trust enough
Even though I know He can and know He will.

Father, take this weakness.
Re-mold it into faith.
That One day, I won’t need to worry.
Only trust.

Amen…

Emptied.
Hungry. Tired. Burned out.
All of the above.
Exhausted.

Warm water running down my face failed to ignite the synapses between my ears.

Dull.
Spent.
Taking one lifeless step after another.

It is in these moments my mind is fertile ground for whatever takes root, and of course, weeds grow faster than everything else.

What went wrong last week.
What could go wrong this week.
How good that warm bed looks and
Do I really need to go to work today?

Fighting through the weeds, other seeds broke through:

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Philippians 4:8

Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters. Colossians 3:23

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; Proverbs 3:5

Now there’s one I can wrap my weary head around. Leaning not on my own understanding should be easy today. There’s none to lean on.

Then the Lord said, “Trust Me.”
Two words.
That’s all.

Trust Me

I continued my commute, barely missing a sideswipe from a car in my blind spot.
Only by the Lord’s Hand.

Blind spot.
Unaware.
Empty.

Again,
Trust Me

Perhaps I needed to be emptied, to be humbled.
I am an empty vessel needing to be filled.

Father, lift me.
Fill me.
Walk with me.

Turning a corner, the sunrise pierced through my sleepy eyes. Normally an annoyance, but today? A welcome answer, warmth to grow good seed past bad weeds.

Lord, I am empty.

I know.
Trust Me.

Then Jesus said:
And surely, I am with you always, to the very end of the age. Matthew 28:20

 

Amen…

By the time I reached our little piece of South Texas, the sun had slipped below the horizon. A gentle kiss and a warm hug lifted my spirits, but not my shoulders, bent over from a week of pushing plows and washing feet. The aroma of freshly baked cornbread filled my senses but could not erase the stench of all I had left behind. I struggled to light a fire to take the chill out of the air before it was finally time to find my pillow.

Days of successes and failures replayed as I stared at the ceiling. There would be little sleep tonight, again.
Then, a whisper:

Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened.  I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28

With the little I had left, I surrendered.

I awoke to a deep, easy breath, grateful that God’s mercies are new every morning.

Sunday.
Sabbath.
Holy.

The Lord rested on the seventh day when His work was complete and wants us to do the same.

Hebrews chapter 4 ties this kind of rest to a completely different one. Those who had hardened their hearts and angered the Lord were not allowed into the land He had chosen, or as Psalm 95 said, “They shall never enter My rest.”
That rest was not the temporary that I needed so badly, but eternal, in the presence of the Lord.

The Sabbath we know is a holy pause, a celebration of completion – after six days of creation, or six days of our own toil. Psalm 95 tells of a Sabbath as well, a holy celebration of completion, the end of days, the final victory. Amen.

When Jesus offers us His rest, it is both temporary and eternal – relief for the weary today and the promise of God’s completion yet to come.

From Genesis to the Psalms, the Gospels to Revelations, Sabbath rest is elegantly braided throughout Scripture. Each strand strong on its own, but intertwined, the truth is unbreakable. God desires not only to give us rest, but to share in His own.

Rest is not the absence of God’s work, but the completion of it.

Finished
Sacred
Eternal

In my line of work, projects come and projects go. I’m blessed that some make it my way, and in hindsight, I’m blessed that others did not.

A professor once told me, “If you are good at your job, you will land about 10% of what you bid. And for you math majors out there, that means you have a 90% failure rate.” A tough pill for a wide-eyed college student to swallow, but it has proved to be true.

One such project came along, but I spent more time being a guess-itmator than estimator. After months of negotiation – add this, subtract that, and an endless pile of what-ifs, we got the nod.

Woo-hoo. Celebrate.

Everywhere but on my desk.
My notes were a disaster.

I expect I had some control of the chaos at the time, but I’ve slept a night or two since then. I still needed to force it all into a box and tie a pretty bow on top.

Retracing the steps I could decipher, I added and subtracted, striking through each number as I went, leaving breadcrumbs as it were. If it didn’t match up, I had a clean back up and could start again.

Numbers had been highlighted, check marks had been rechecked, and it was time for the all-important… recalculation.

I stopped.
Closed my eyes.
Said a prayer.
And pressed the button.

Opening only one eye, as if that would make a difference, the total had come within three hundred dollars on a multi million-dollar contract. I pointed to the heavens like an athlete in the end zone and said,

“You, Lord, are perfection.”

Now I claim be a math-elite at times, but I couldn’t have come that close without the One Who numbers my days and counts the very hairs on my head (though lately, that has been an easier task).

All the questions, all the doubts, and the piles of paper I drudged through, were but puzzle pieces in the Hands of the Almighty, perfectly formed to fit when and where He needed them.

Perfection in chaos.
Order in disorder.

We, as imperfect beings, are very much the same, lost in a crowd, our voices fading into the noise, until we are put into the place God needs us to be.

Father, please grant me strength to be ready and the patience to wait until You move me.

Amen…

Blessed is the one who does not walk in step with the wicked or stand in the way that sinners take or sit in the company of mockers, but whose delight is in the law of the Lord, and who meditates on his law day and night. Psalm 1

I was there, walking down that road, in step with the mockers. I try to avoid those situations and delight in the law of the Lord, but today, circumstances were beyond my control. A few bawdy jokes, and questionable language and I was looking for an easy exit.

A bit of locker room humor is not so bad, or so I thought. But as we parted ways, less than ideal conversation didn’t just fade into the background. My thoughts were consumed by it, until I was drawn into places I did not want to be.

It is said, “The eyes are the window to the soul” which means they reveal what is deep inside, yet a window opens both ways. Light shining in can illuminate our inner spaces. Darkness does quite the opposite.

On an artist’s palette, Titanium White is pure and brilliant, but the slightest touch of black can turn the canvas into a gray, muddy mess.

Such was my heart.

I tried to pass the blame, but it was I who stumbled into a battle without armor, unprepared. Paths I’d long since traveled still remained, overgrown but not erased, and it was far too easy to drift back in that direction.

Blessed is the one…  whose delight is in the law of the Lord, and who meditates on his law day and night. That person is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither—whatever they do prospers. Psalm 1

Yet, finding my way back to those waters can be daunting when mud and tangled vines of the past wrap my heart in chains.

Then, a whisper in my ear:

… There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit who gives life has set you free from the law of sin and death. Romans 8:1-2

Jesus breaks the chains of regret
And leads us through the change of repentance
And redemption.

I am grateful.

Amen.

I have a friend whose husband had heart problems. We prayed for strength and healing. He did regain his strength, but so was tired. He ultimately was healed, just not this side of heaven. He’d said he was ready, but God was not ready for him, yet. He was at peace. He fell asleep at her side and woke up in the arms of Jesus. Hallelujah.

His wife is one to over-react to everything, but that morning, there was none of that… just peace. She calmly told her family, “He left in the night.”

It’s hard to find the right words, as if there truly are any. A hug was the best I could do. I fumbled with, “I’m sorry to hear it, but not sorry for the way God called him home.”

She said he had a relaxed look on his face.
That must be what heaven is like.

Outside, there were butterflies. And being a big fan of the Grinch, her husband had given her a flag to fly during the holidays. Then, a butterfly landed on the Grinch’s nose. She smiled.  Everything was alright.

Her children asked if she was going to church Sunday morning. She said, “If nothing else, she was going to church.” Taking labored steps out the door, she saw a red bird perched on his truck.
“Okay, okay, I’m going.”

When our hearts are crushed, eloquent words or grand gestures have little effect. Its then God holds us closer and sends something as simple as a butterfly or a red bird to remind us. He is there. He is always there.

My heart is broken for my friend.

I went by to check on her.
She smiled and waved.

Today, she will:
Wake up, again.
Take a breath, again.
Thank God for another day.
And take that day
One day at a time.

Sound advice for those of us still here, until the day we are reunited.