Starry Eyed
Starry Eyed. That’s the theme for my mother’s group this
year. I may be the only one, but I was so confused by that theme
title when it was introduced last year. I had no idea what it
meant. But they defined “starry eyed” as, “looking for the light even
when darkness is enveloping. It is an opportunity to hope recklessly and
to witness God’s presence guiding things seen and unseen, comfortable and
uncomfortable.” We’re going to take that statement apart today.
Truly sit in it, reflect on it to glean the deepest meaning we can.
The first part of the statement is Darkness is enveloping.
I’ve been there. Anyone else? Some might be hesitant to raise their hands
because you are CURRENTLY in the darkness. On October 19th we celebrated our
twin’s first heavenly birthdays. We lost them at 20 weeks. Darkness
enveloping? You better believe it. I’m a pastor’s kid who has
witnessed amazing acts of God all my life so I have always had a strong
faith. I’ve never doubted the Lord. Until October 19th 2015. What kind of God would
take my babies? What kind of God would steal my joy like that?
Those are the questions that lead to darkness. But the beauty of our God
is that he allows us to ask those questions. He knows the anguish we are
in. He encourages us to question so that our faith can be
strengthened. Because without darkness, there isn’t light. We
cannot truly appreciate the light until we have felt darkness. So for the
first time in my life I questioned God. One of the things that got me through
that time of darkness was:
Cry out to God- but always end in praise. Psalm 13 says “How
long, Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your
face from me? How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day
have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me?
Look on me and answer, Lord my God. Give light to my eyes, or I will
sleep in death, and my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,” and my foes
will rejoice when I fall. BUT I trust in your unfailing love; my
heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing the Lord’s praise, for he
has been good to me.” Now, The whole book of Psalms is written by
David. David’s nickname is “A man after God’s own heart.” If a man
after God’s own heart can cry out to God like that, we can too. But he
sets the example for us in that he cries out and even yells at God with some
pretty harsh accusations but he ALWAYS ends in praise. He always falls
back on what he KNOWS is true. God is good. God is faithful.
In my time in the darkness it was hard to read scripture. It was hard to
spend time with God. But I consistently fell back on what was true.
God is our Heavenly FATHER. He has a child, Jesus Christ. He knows
the pain of losing His child, intimately. He sat and watched as his one
and only son died on the cross for our sins. He listened to him cry out
“My God, my God. Why have you forsaken me?” He knows pain.
Rest in that truth.
Darkness is enveloping but Hope recklessly. I love
this concept. Hope recklessly. After you’ve been through the
darkness, you have a new outlook on life. Hope can seem futile.
Hope can be scary. Reckless. . Sidenote: my daily reminder to hope
recklessly is my daughter, Addie Grace. God blessed us with a rainbow
baby- a baby born after the flood of trauma. But the truth of the matter
is that pregnancy after such a traumatic loss is terrifying. But
hoping recklessly brought joy. It brought a life of new possibilities and
opportunities. David writes in Psalm 40:1-3, “I waited patiently for the
Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy
pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place
to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God.
Many will see and fear the Lord and put their trust in him.” Where is the
hope in that passage? Anybody catch it? “Many will see and fear the
Lord and put their trust in Him.” We all have a story ladies. We
have all experienced darkness. We all have examples of God’s
deliverance. But my hope is that God doesn’t waste any of my tears.
Psalm 56:8 (NLT) says, “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have
collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your
book.” Let me tell you, I’ve shed a lot of tears this past year.
But I find comfort and hope in the fact that God sees my tears, collects
them. I don’t think he collects them just for fun ladies. God has
blessed me with a story to tell. There are many women that have dealt
with this kind of pain. I like to think that each tear God has collected
represents a life that can be touched if I am responsible with the story he has
given me. My hope is that God will use my tears, my story, and that “Many
will see and fear the Lord and put their trust in Him”. That is my
goal. It gives my hurts and pain purpose.
Darkness is enveloping, hope recklessly and Witness God’s
presence. Looking back at the darkness we experienced, we see God’s
fingerprints all over it. Just to name a few:
1. The day I went into preterm labor the sermon topic at church was
“Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People?” Seriously. I was
reflecting on it as I drove to the hospital.
2.
We had wonderful care at the hospital. But there was one
nurse in particular that was amazing. I like to call her “the voice of my
babies”. The only time I saw her was when I was actively delivering Lucas
and Lorelei. The first time she came in, she came straight to me and told
me that when Lucas came out we could hold him for as long as we wanted.
They would not take him from us. She explained that he might quiver but
he was not in pain. She understood and expressed that it was important to
do what we needed to do for our healing and tobe able to look back with
no regrets. As soon as Lucas was delivered, she was gone. And two hours
later, as Lorelei was ready to be delivered, she showed up again. I
honestly don’t remember what her medical role was in that room. What I
distinctly remember was the sense of peace that entered the room with
her. She was a sense of calm in the indescribable chaos of loss.
That wonderful woman marked me. As we were getting ready to leave
the next day, I wrote her a thank you note, explaining how much I appreciated
her. I had some friends with us and we spent some time in prayer before
we left. As we were praying, I heard the door open. It was the
voice of my babies. I immediately broke down. She wrapped me in a
huge hug and whispered in my ear the effect my babies had had on her
staff. When we let go, she stepped back and looked around the room.
My friend that came to visit me was her small group leader years ago. I
could not believe how God had orchestrated such a beautiful detail. No
wonder she was such a loving and calming presence. That was evidence of
God in her life, flowing out to those around her.
These are just a few of the things that helped me see God’s
fingerprints. I could see that God was intimately involved in our
lives. He didn’t just make things happen and leave us in pain.
Seeing God’s presence gave us hope that God was still there and he would
continue to be there through this process of loss and healing. But we had
to open our eyes and look for his fingerprints- his presence in our pain.
Friends, I don’t know what your “darkness” is… the loss of a
job, loss of a loved one, struggling to take care of your kids 24/7 by
yourself, etc. But let me assure you, there is HOPE. Hebrews 11:1
says “Now faith is confidence in what we HOPE for and assurance about what we
do not see.” We may not be able to see God physically before our
eyes. But make sure those eyes are open. You can see evidence of
his involvement in your life. My son loves to wear sunglasses in the
car. But when he takes his off, he wants me to take mine off. He
says “Mama, open up your eyes!” I try to explain to him that my eyes are
obviously open because I’m driving. But he knows that my eyes may be open
but my vision is still clouded. What he’s asking me to do is take off my
glasses so I can see the brilliance of the colors outside. The darkness
you are in, friend, is like wearing glasses. Yes, you can see enough to
function. But if you take off your glasses, you can see things much
clearer. When you take off your glasses, you can see the presence of God
in your life that was muted by the glasses you were choosing to continue to
wear. Take off the glasses. Find God. Keep a journal of where
you see God. Invest this time of darkness and turn it into a bright, recklessly
hopeful future.
There is a song by Gungor that we used at the end of Lucas and
Lorelei’s memorial. I listened to it a few weeks ago and was reminded how
perfect it was back then. But I was astounded by how perfect it is now as
well. Here are the lyrics:
This is not the End
This is not the end of this.
We will open our eyes wide, wider.
This is not our last
This is not our last breath
We will open our mouths wide, wider
And you know you’ll be alright
Oh and you know you’ll be alright
This is not the end
This is not the end of us
We will shine like the stars bright, brighter.
Whatever your darkness is, this is not the end. As sisters
we will stand together with eyes wide, looking for God’s presence. As
sisters, we will stand together, encouraging eachother to open our mouths
wider, sharing our stories. As sisters, we will shine like the stars
bright, brighter. We will be starry eyed.
Comments
Post a Comment