I was feeling pretty good about the whole eucharisteo business, thinking to myself that I was getting to be an amateur Ann Voskamp of sorts. Look out world, maybe I’ll write a book. Ok probably not that, but maybe an interesting blog post at least.
Oh, but wait. Not so fast little missy.
I was sitting at my doctor’s office, enjoying a few minutes of peace while the kiddos were at home with the babysitter. (Side note: Nothing like looking forward to your annual gynecology visit because you know the waiting room will bring some sweet, uninterrupted reading time. I know you’ve all been there girls!)
Up on the table frocked in one of those lovely hospital gowns, I crack open chapter 5. Gulp. I read of her neighbor’s son being killed, her son undergoing a terrible injury, her memories of her mom holding her baby sister as she lay dying, and suddenly, I don’t feel like such an expert anymore.
It’s a little easier to be thankful for beautiful spring flowers in the middle of a busy day changing poopy diapers. This appeals to the writer/creative side of me. It’s romantic in a way.
I imagine the setting: Me, showered and with makeup on of course, busily cooking dinner, a little harried as I’m jumping over toys lying in the kitchen floor, sweetly reminding my children not to strangle each other, and yet, I’m stopping to lift up a thanksgiving prayer for the singing bird on the window sill. I’m channeling my best Ann Voskamp.
Did I mention this was all in my imagination? I can do this I think.
But now…. this? Mangled hands and dead children? I’m not so sure I’m signing up for this chapter. Please, oh please, don’t ask me to go there Lord.
The HARD eucharisteo. Our worst nightmare.
”Joy and pain, they are but two arteries of the one heart that pumps through all those who don’t numb themselves to really living.” Ann Voskamp, Chapter 5
Can we have the joy without the pain please?
I don’t think it works that way here on earth.
And so, the alternative is to skip them both. To live numb with a hard shell covering our hearts. “Nothing’s gonna hurt me. I’ve wised up to the way things work down here, and I’m going to cruise here in the middle. It’s safe here.”
I’ve lived life that way for a while, while I was in the depths of depression. I don’t recommend it. It’s not a good plan really.
And so, that leaves me with the hard eucharisteo.
“Every step I take forward in my life is a loss of something in my life and I live in the waiting: How and of what will I be emptied of today?” Ann Voskamp, Chapter 5
Gulp!
Can I trust that He is good when it is easy to give thanks AND when it’s hard?
“No scripture glasses to read what God is trying to write through a prodigal child? Scrawl my own quick editing on the half-finished story: failure. Satan’s tongue darts.
Not wearing a biblical lens to decipher the meaning of a doctor’s ominous diagnosis? Just read Satan’s slippery interpretation: cheated.
Not using anything to bend the light of this world so I can read my own messy days? Spray on another layer of graffiti: worthless.” Ann Voskamp, chapter 5
And this is why she is writing the book, and I am not. In this one chapter she has written what it took me years climbing out a pit of depression to learn. God’s word is the only thing that will keep my perspective. It is the only thing that will allow me to both soak up the joy and live through the pain. Without it I can’t experience both with any semblance of sanity.
I will never forget calling the parent’s of a 19 year old on Christmas Eve and telling them their son likely wouldn’t make it through the night. Then, after a long night of call, falling into my comfortable bed at home and waking up to celebrate Christmas with my healthy, happy family. The stark contrast was enough to drive me crazy.
So unfair. Satan whispered, “Why do you deserve to be happy when they are not.” Guilt. He then chased that with one of his favorite weapons: Fear. “Just wait. You’re next.”
“Without God’s word as a lens, the world warps.” Ann Voskamp, Chapter 5
So true. So true. It took me many years to learn that. Satan and our sin love to take the truth and twist it and whisper to our hearts, “This could be truth”. Only it’s not. And it takes His word to bring the perspective back.
His word says He is always good. His word says He loves me even on the days I snap at my children while writing a post about eucharisteo (it’s back to square one for me ladies).
His word says there will be a day when “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” Revelation 21:4
And it’s HARD. And I have to be reminded over and over.
This weekend I learned one of my 32 year old friend has invasive breast cancer. She’s got 2 young boys the same age as my kids. She is facing bilateral mastectomy, chemo, radiation. Sorrow comes heavily. Then a familiar whisper, “Why should you be happy when there is so much pain?” Then my old friend fear,”O Lord, don’t ask me to walk that road. I have children who need me.”
Can I believe God transfigures all the world?
“Darkness transfigures into light, bad transfigures into grace, empty transfigures into full. God wastes nothing-“makes everything work out according to His plan” (Ephesians 1:11). Ann Voskamp
Lord, let me brave enough to live the miracle that everything is eucharisteo. It is the only way to live.
And now let me leave you with some of my practicing everyday thankfulness (and an excuse to show some pictures of my kids. Sorry).
A daughter who matches the spring flowers
The season's first watermelon
and a 10 year old faithful friend!
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