other than take it
Finish this line:
When you come to a fork in the road…
look up
My One Word this year is look. And I’ve gotta be honest, I haven’t done a very good job of looking lately…
I stumbled back upon these amazing words, emailed to me by a friend months ago. It was written in 1865 and still speaks so clearly to my heart in 2011.
: : :
“Look up and lift up your heads,
because your redemption is drawing near!”
-Luke 21:28
In whatever state, in whatever place, into whatever condition we may be brought this year—let us seek grace to follow our Lord’s loving advice, and ”look up!”
Look up—for this will keep…
the head from swimming,
the heart from sinking,
the knees from trembling,
the feet from slipping, and
the hands from hanging down!
Look up…
for all that you need;
from all that you fear;
through all that would obstruct your way.
Do not look at your sin—it will discourage you!
Do not look at your self—it will distress you!
Do not look at Satan-–he will bewilder you!
Do not look to men—they will deceive or disappoint you!
Do not look at your trials—they will deject you!
Look only, look always, look intently—to Jesus!
Run looking, work looking, fight looking, suffer looking, live looking, and die looking—to Jesus, who is at God’s right hand in glory.
Oh, look, look, look to Jesus!
[From James Smith's "A New Year's Motto", 1865]
maybe he was right
I keep hearing my former pastor’s words, spoken to my 19-year-old self over 13 years ago.
“The worst possible thing you could do with your life is become a missionary.”
And I am starting to wonder if maybe he was right.
I’ve always felt confident about my decision to step into ministry when and how I did — against all the odds, really.
I’ve seen fruit of lives changed and considered it all the proof I needed that I was doing something far from the “worst possible thing”.
But here I sit, late at night when the darkness is darkest and the doubts and unknowns are the loudest.
I sit here with my heart pounding and the tears flowing. And now…
Now my confidence is cracked and crumbling. Now while I know lives were changed by our team and years and service in Africa, I still hear my former pastor’s words to my faith-filled teenage missionary heart.
And I’ve gotta be honest. I no longer have my youthful faith and energy that bounded me away from the fateful words spoken over me. I don’t have the fight left in me that it takes to stand up against these kinds of roadblocks.
Even when they are only internal.
I simply don’t have any fight left.
And I can’t help but think…
That maybe he was right after all.
Maybe he was right. Maybe my decision to be a missionary was the worst thing I could’ve done because of the domino effect it would cause. Because while people got saved, pastors and churches strengthened, young leaders equipped to teach their peers in public schools about abstinence and AIDS prevention, and so many other mind-blowingly amazing things were done that led to transforming a nation… simultaneously my marriage fell apart, the man of God I loved decided to pursue another woman and walk away from God, me, and the ministry, and everything crumbled to pieces.
So maybe he was right all along. Maybe had I not gone to Africa, someone else more suitable and prepared and strong would have gone. And the end result of years of ministry would be so much more than what it currently is.
Maybe he was right…
I know to live in past-tense hypotheticals is completely futile. I know this. But in dark moments of deafening quiet, my heart immediately goes to that place. And I can’t help but cry as my chest caves in under the weight of it all.
Maybe he was right…
Maybe He was right.
I gasp, and my breath catches in my throat.
Why do I trust so easily the words of the meteorologist and yet hesitate at the words of God? Why do I more easily trust the negative, fearful voices in my head than I do God’s truth?
He told me to go. I went. Lives were changed through the grit and the glory. Including my own.
And so through the ugly tears, I’m starting to hear a growing whisper.
Maybe He was right.
Maybe He was right.
the end isn’t really the end
My heart is camping out in the empty tomb today.
The empty tomb that isn’t really empty. Because it’s filled with hope.
Promise.
Undeserved freedom.
Scandalous grace.
The empty tomb is actually bursting at the seams, overflowing with unexpected second chances.
What seems like the end isn’t really the end.
When it’s over, lost, gone, broken beyond repair… that’s when things have really just begun.
Life after death is so much more extraordinary than life before it.
Wholeness comes from brokenness.
Beauty is birthed in ashes.
The new life of spring actually begins with the slow death of autumn.
And that, to me, is the joy of Easter. Found right here in the empty-yet-abundantly-full tomb…
I would love to hear…
What does Easter mean to you?
silent saturday
Waiting is hard.
Waiting in silence is even harder.
I can’t stop thinking about this day… This Silent Saturday wedged between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. This day we know very little about.
What did the disciples do? Were they crying? Praying? Angry? Hopeful? Worshipful? I don’t know what they were doing, but I know what they were hearing.
Nothing.
All they could do was wait.
For what? They didn’t even know. For how long? They had no clue.
I’m sure the night-hours seemed darker. I’d imagine the questions kept coming and the fear grew crippling. I’m sure it felt like they were holding their breath, hoping against hope that Jesus was still who He said He was and that the last few years hadn’t been a complete waste.
But their waiting was met only with deafening silence…
Just like yours and mine sometimes is.
So on this Silent Saturday, I’m reminding us of what we know to be true:
Keep waiting.
Redemption is coming.
why this friday is good
I’m thinking about this day we call Good Friday. And how it felt anything but good at the time.
It was dark and heavy.
A day with more questions than answers.
More confusion than peace.
More doubt than faith.
Despair hung thick in the air, hearts crushed and despondent. The soul-depth disappointment in God was palpable and suffocating.
How could He? Why would He? What do I do now?
None of it made sense. It didn’t line up with all they had seen and heard and experienced. The miracles… the teachings… the love… it all hung in the balance of two wooden beams on a hillside.
Everything they thought their Messiah would be, died that day.
All their hopes and dreams shattered with His nail-split hands. They’d given up everything to follow Him — families, careers, homes — and now this. A horrible, wretched death.
Of Him.
Of their hearts.
Of their hope.
They didn’t know what we know now, looking back thousands of years later. That life comes out of death. That new beginnings spring forth from the worst of endings.
That hope rises.
This Friday is so very good to me because of the mere fact that it was so very bad.
It reminds me that the dark and heavy times of my life are not devoid of Him, even when I can’t see Hm or feel Him. That doubt doesn’t nullify my faith. And that questioning isn’t wrong.
It reminds me to let everything I think my Messiah should be, die. Because He is so much more than my imaginary version of Him, made in my own image. He loves, redeems, and saves me in ways I would never expect and could never imagine.
And it gives me hope that someday… Someday I may even call my darkest Friday “good”.
road-trip
A couple weeks ago, the Hodges and I went on a road-trip. A 14-hour road-trip that ended right back where we started.
We drove down into northern California to see the majestic redwoods. And then we drove up the Oregon coast, which had some of the most breathtaking views I’ve ever seen in America.
It was a perfect day.
And while these pictures don’t do it justice, they do a better job than words ever could.
Road-trip with me?
scarlet letters
I’m divorced.
::Deep Breath::
That’s the first time I’ve actually said that word out loud.
Over the past two months, I’ve used varying versions of “my divorce was finalized”, but I’ve avoided saying the actual word.
It’s as though I feel a shameful sting in the word divorced. I hear unspoken judgments, like What’s wrong with her that made her husband leave? and She’s used goods and even simply a sigh of disappointment.
I hear them because my heart has also condemned others that way.
My good Christian upbringing left me judgmental. Pious. Spiritually stuck-up. I’ve unconsciously viewed divorce as the ultimate failure.
And now here I am, walking around with a red D on my chest for the world to see. And I feel not only the weight of others’ judgment, but also the historical weight of my own.
Oh how arrogant I have been…
A friend recently spoke some healing and freeing words for my heart:
Divorce is no more a sign of relationship failure than marriage is of relationship success.
And even just typing those words out, my breath catches in my throat. Because I know it is true.
Even when it is hard for me to believe.
I hope someday I won’t feel completely defined by my divorce. And that I can eventually say the word without hanging my head in shame, or feeling the need to justify it with an explanation, or wincing as I hear it megaphone my insufficiencies.
Because though it feels like divorced has been written on my heart in permanent ink, I need to remember… So has beloved. Chosen. Loved. His.
And those are my true scarlet letters.
[Originally posted at Deeper Story...]
This is not Alece. Be afraid, be very afraid.
Hi, this is Tam Hodge. From Oregon. Where Alece now lives.
I am writing a post for Alece because she is editing a post for me.
It’s a deal-type of thing.
So…this will, obviously, be random and totally different than what you’re used to here at the Grit.
It’s no secret that we all love Alece. I’m sitting here now, with Air Supply playing in the background, thinking about how much she has poured into the lives of others. She has selflessly served others. She has shared her deepest hurts with us all, even in the pain, knowing that her heart-hurts might connect with another’s heart who is suffering too.
She serves. She gives.
And I know she is gonna hate that I’m writing all of this. But, we had a deal. So, there, Alece.
I can’t imagine my life without this beautiful woman. And I am certain many of you couldn’t imagine your life without her, either.
So, if you would, could you let her know how she has encouraged you? How she might have inspired you? Spoke to you?
I’m sure it would bless her heart. But it would really bless the Hodge Family’s heart.
So…
GO…
what i know for sure
These days, there’s a lot I don’t know.
A lot.
A few years ago, things felt pretty certain. Now… Notsomuch.
In some ways, I feel like I’ve gotten used to the uncertainties. I’ve grown accustomed to all the question marks.
But they still suck.
In December I said a final goodbye to my home, my ministry, my job, my everything… For the two years prior to that, I’d already been bouncing between guest rooms, hoping for a very different ending than how things ended up.
It’s been a long season of limbo. Transition. Change.
And even the few things I’ve hazily viewed over the past few months as possibilities for the future… I feel less certain about them now than I did before.
I don’t know what’s next for me. I don’t even know how to start thinking of a next when I spent my entire adult life living my dream. And then it crumbled out from under me. To be honest, I don’t even want to start thinking of a next.
Not yet.
I am often asked questions about my current season and what’s down the road. The questions come from hearts that care, and that is an invaluable gift to me. I know I am loved and thought of and prayed for by many, and that is unbelievably humbling. I am beyond grateful.
Still, I’m left tired.
It’s not the questions I’m tired of. It’s that I’ve grown weary of not having answers.
So let me tell you what I know for sure:
:::
I am living in Southern Oregon with incredible friends. Friends who are family. Friends who are a safe place for my heart to land.
I’ve unpacked my suitcases. The Hodges had my room amazingly set up just for me — complete with a closet and a dresser and a desk. And I feel more settled than I have in a long time.
I am trying to give myself permission to just be right now. I’ve done a lot. And I’m spent. So I’m trying to just give my heart some breathing room for a little while.
Extending myself grace to just be — to not do, to not feel guilty about not doing, to not worry about what I’ll be doing next — is much easier said than done.
Some days it’s hard to simply get out of bed and put my two feet on the floor. Physically. Emotionally. Life feels hard, inside and out, and I’m struggling with my inability to see ahead. At all. But I’m trying to be okay with all my not knowing. Trying.
I am still battling my chronic health issues. But I feel hopeful — for the first time — that I might get my very own Dr. House sometime soon. And that makes things a little easier.
I am grateful for my friends and my community (you!) who have walked with me through the past few years. Like I said before, I know I am loved and prayed for. And that’s just… Wow.
I feel doubly grateful for those friends who knew me in my “before” life, and love me still. Because I feel like a very different person now than I was then. And there’s such exhale in simply being known.
I am amazed anyone at all shows up here to read the scribblings of my heart. Thank you. Truly.
God is not absent.
Not distracted.
He sees.
He knows.
He cares.
And He’s doing something about it.
:::
So I guess that means I know quite a bit more than I thought I did…
