Well make me a cake and put a big ole 3 and 5 on top, ’cause today is my 35th birthday!

Please make it a cake without icing – preferably a buttermilk pound cake with a chocolate glaze. But I’d be happy with anything…as long as it is made in a bundt pan and comes with a chocolate glaze. Thanks.

Thirty-five has been looming in the darkness, just around the corner creeping ever closer, rearing its head and laughing at me every time I celebrated someone else who it had attacked.

Getting older is scary stuff. Wrinkles, cellulite, grandma hands, not being able to look at bread without gaining 5 pounds, and just the knowledge that I am getting older…it all scared me.

But that was then and this is now and I am not so scared anymore.

I’ve learned something in the last year. With age comes maturity, wisdom, not being defined by the world, and knowing who I am. I hope these things will increase with every year I gain.

I’ve been reflected on my life at different stages and how much I have changed…

The 5 year-old MacKenzie was a care-free kindergartener who spent her free time playing hide-and-seek and hanging from trees. She pestered her brother and spied on her older sister. She spent every Friday night with her grandparents watching TGIF and Baywatch and Miami Vice (apparently her grandparents left the room at some point). She loved being outside playing with her imaginary friends under the gumball tree pretending she had run away from home and “driving” the tractor with her dad. Her dad was her hero. Her mom was the most beautiful person she knew. She really had no worries in life.

The 15 year-old MacKenzie was painfully introverted. She had no idea who she was or where she belonged. She loved learning, especially science and English. She played in the band and took piano lessons. She skipped school the first day of turkey season to hunt with her dad in the morning, plant the garden after lunch and then hunt in the afternoon.  She fancied herself an athlete, although she wasn’t super great at it.She wanted to be part of the “crowd”, to fit in, although she never felt like she did, but she had a close group of friends whom she felt comfortable around. Her dad was still her hero even though she didn’t like all the rules that were handed out. She had no idea how patient her mom was with her through the painfully awkward teenage years.

The 25 year-old MacKenzie had moved away from home and was living in Texas. She was an almost seminary graduate who had fallen in love with the dreamiest guy she’d ever met and would be engaged to him a month later. She had friends who taught her many things ranging from it’s not a great idea to ride Six Flags roller coasters when you are sick to how to confront someone in loving manner. She was part of a church and small group that she loved and that changed her for the better. She had figured started figuring out who she was and began liking what she saw looking back at her in the mirror. However, she was still filled with insecurity. Her introverted ways held her back in many ways and from many things. Her tendency to think she had to be perfect led her to beat herself up every time she hurt someone, made a mistake, or failed to live up to an expectation. She was fiercely independent. Learning to dependent on her future husband would prove a challenge her first year of marriage. Learning to depend on her Savior would prove to be something she would have to learn over and over. She had begun to appreciate her parents in the way that you only can after you have grown up and entered adulthood yourself. Her father still hung the moon. Her mother began the woman she could only dare dream of being.

The 35 year-old MacKenzie has seen more of the world and is still married to the dreamiest guy she’s ever met and has two beautiful children by him. She’s learned the value of having deep, growing, mature friendships. Friendships that last. Friendships that push each other towards Christ. She has embraced her introvertness but has learned not to allow it to be an excuse not to push herself to do hard or uncomfortable things. She has found her identity in the One who gave it to her. She knows what she wants to be when she “grows up” and finally has the confidence to go for it. She has learned the value in having people in her life who don’t think like her in order to learn from them. She is learning perfection is not the goal but leaning in to Jesus is. She had learned that she doesn’t know everything and it’s ok to admit it. She appreciates all the sacrifices her father made that she doesn’t even know about. She is still trying to learn from the example her mother has set before her.

Getting older…no it does not bother me one bit. I welcome the wrinkles – it means I’ve laughed a lot and hopefully that there is some wisdom behind the lines. Grandma hands will mean I’ve worked hard and, I hope, have grandchildren to hold in them. Knowing I’m getting older means I know I’m that much closer to seeing Jesus.

But I can do without the gaining 5 pounds by just looking at bread….

Last week I  listened to the 121 Community Church sermon podcast from that previous Sunday. There sermon was by the lead pastor, Ross Sawyers, who is one of the greatest pastors and preachers I have ever known.

As Ross made his way through 1 Corinthians 13:5, which say, “[Love] is not rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful,” he dug into rudeness, how it plays out in American culture and others as well, and how it relates to love. If you are interested in listening to the podcast you can find it on the 121 Community Church website. It’s so good I have listened to it twice in three hours.

There are so many good points in this sermon, but the one that made me stop and really think about my how this applies to this particular moment in my life was as Ross broke down the word “rude”, or in some translations “unbecoming,” as it applies to the environment in which we find ourselves.

He says, “Love would be to pre-study and understand whatever culture, whatever environment, whatever particular kind of occasion that you’re about to be a part of…that is actually loving someone well.”

He goes on to talk about motives. We can have very good etiquette and manners, but he says, “…is your motive to love people or is it a matter of preserving your own image so that you look good, you look right, in any particular setting. Or is there any other motive that drives it other than love because if you have good manners and good etiquette your simply a noisy gong and a clanging cymbal. If it’s not motivated by love for people.”

Language learning has always, always been a struggle for me. I did horrible in Spanish in high school. I could barely count to ten in Spanish by the end of the year. Italian has not proved to be any easier. It is a language that I desperately want to master but at the same time I often feel kicked in the stomach by.

Until today, I had never considered that me learning this language well, so that I can speak without grammatical errors and with a diverse vocabulary, is loving. Diligently studying is loving. Making myself speak to people so that I can practice is loving. Sacrificing time and money in order to learn Italian better is loving.

But then I had to ask my motive. Too often my motive to learn Italian is because I am just tired of feeling left out of conversations, not being able to express myself, not wanting to look stupid. I want to be able to contribute. But why? It is because I want to be heard. This is a completely different issue that I am sure will come up with Counselor John in my next session.

If I’m am truly honest, yes, the above reasons are too often prevalent. I don’t think that they are all bad reasons. It’s a good thing to understand what is being said around you. It is a good thing to be able to accurately articulate what you want to say.It is a good thing to not feel stupid. But if these are my motives then I am nothing but a “noisy gong and a clanging cymbal”. I might as well pack my bags and go on back to where people speak my language.

But there is another prevailing reason for all these feelings that I feel. If I cannot understand and communicate clearly, then how can I ever build relationships that go beyond the superficial, speak truth into the lives of friends who are struggling,or share in their heartaches and joys. How will I ever effectively share Jesus with people if I cannot speak their language well? There has to be more motivation than just wanting to “fit in” or not “look stupid”.

However, I don’t know that it has ever been the driving force behind my desire to learn this beautiful language that surrounds me.

As I get ready to study this afternoon, I hope that I can be motivated by something different.

It is simply love.

 

 

 

It is so easy to be hearers of the Word of God and not doers. It is so easy for me to go through the motions. I read but don’t absorb or apply.

This hit me like a ton of bricks this morning.

I’ve been working my way through the book “God’s Healing for Life’s Losses: How to Find Hope When You’re Hurting” by Robert W. Kelleman. This morning I was continuing to work my way through questions on waiting through suffering. I was led to read James 1.

I got stuck on several verses in the chapter, but I’ll start the ones in the middle that made me stop and reflect.

Verse 22-24, “But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves. For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks intently at his natural face in a mirror. For he looks at himself and goes away and at once forgets what he was like.”

I’ll admit, there are days that I look in the mirror and wish I could forget what I looked like. Puffy, red eyes. The zit that decided to camp on on my chin for days on end. Let’s just be honest about it…there are days that even makeup doesn’t help us out. So it’s a good thing me and James weren’t friends ’cause he might tell me to forget what I saw as well some days.

What I don’t want to forget is what I have read in my time with Jesus each day. I don’t want to hear or read the words God has given for my good and walk away unchanged. But I do. All the time. Too much of the time I do not allow the Word of God to penetrate my soul and produce change, leading me down the path of sanctification. What a better reflection of Jesus I would be if I allowed it take root and grow more often.

There are several reasons this hit me hard this morning.

Reason one can be found in the preceding verses.

Verses 19-21 “Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger; for the anger of man does not produce the righteous of God. Therefore put away all filthiness and rampant wickedness and receive with meekness the implanted word, which is able to save your souls.”

I used to have three post-it notes on three cabinets in my kitchen in Winston-Salem. They read “Quick to Hear,” “Slow to Speak,” and “Slow to Anger”. Daily reminders of how I need to respond to the other people in my house. Today, when I read these verses I was reminded of those post-it notes and how I need to put them up again. I am slow to hear, quick to speak and quick to anger. The exact opposite of how I am told to be. I have HEARD these words but too often have left without DOING anything with them.

I cannot expect my children to learn to listen if I do not listen to them with my undivided attention and without interrupting them. I cannot expect my children to learn to think before they speak if I am constantly chomping at the bit to say whatever is in my head despite the consequences of those words. I cannot expect my children to learn to control their tempers if I cannot show them what it looks like to do so when I am angry.

Furthermore, I cannot expect to grow in faith if I cannot read/hear and then do or not do that thing that I read/heard. As much as I want to be a good example to my children, I want to do these things so that I can better know the heart of God. If I know Him intimately then I can be a beautiful reflection of Him. If I am stagnate, if I refuse to DO instead of just HEAR, I will never know the full joy that can be found in Him.

The second thing that hit me is tied to verses 2-4:

“Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.”

My father once said that there is something to be said about being steady. He was right. But don’t tell him I said so. Steadfastness, or endurance, is produced during trials, suffering, loss, times of hurt, etc. according to James.

I never get angry when things are peaceful and going great. I get angry when something tries me. It is during these moments that I am able to see my maturity or lack thereof. Am I steady when trials come my way? Am I able to apply the truths of scripture in the midst of suffering, heartache, or hurting? Have I “received with meekness the implanted word, which is able to save [my] soul”?

Paul addresses the same thing in Romans 5: 3-4 when he writes, “More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings; knowing that suffering produces endurance (steadfastness), and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.”

It is during times that are difficult that I will grow, in which steadfastness will increase producing a character that looks more like Jesus and a hope that is found in the never-ending love of God Almighty.

So as I move forward from today, my prayer is that I will read God’s Word in such a way that I allow it to penetrate the depths of my soul so that I can be changed, doing what it says, and remembering it during times of hardship or suffering so as to be able to endure the race of this life that is set before me…hopefully with a little more listening, a little less talking and a little less anger.

 

A. Thank you so much to everyone who prayed me through language school. It went quite well and was sooooo much different from last time. I didn’t leave too many days with a headache and was actually excited to go to class. So praise Jesus for that.

B. My mom and brother came to visit over Thanksgiving. We ate our way through pasta, gelato, and pizza despite all the rain and wind and cold weather and no heat in our house.

Having people visit is always difficult. There are a wide variety of emotions that come into play. For example, when my mom and brother walked in the door I sobbed uncontrollably. Who knows why. You’re so happy for a few days to have your people with you but then it begins to hit that your peeps have to go back to their home and the overwhelming sadness of it all takes over. Then you try to not think about it and enjoy the time you have. By the end you feel like an emotional ping-pong ball.

C. Lil’ Paul turned four last month! Now he is doing all kinds of things he couldn’t do at three. We know this because he tells us something new every day that he can now do.

Example #1: When he was three he had to wear a diaper to bed but now that he is four he can wear big boy underwear. I want you folks to know that something in this kid’s bladder clicked because he hasn’t had one wet bed in a month.

Example #2: I fought with Lil’ Paul EVERY DAY the first part of school to wear his school apron. Every day he’d just throw a fit and complain about being hot. I finally just hung the dumb thing in the closest and called it quits. Then, he turned four and he magically wants to wear the thing every day. This has also happened with jogging pants (aka in our house as comfy pants). I tell you he wore a comfy pants every other day last winter, but this year he would have none of it. Of course, I’d already spent good money on several pair of comfy pants based on last years’ mode of dress. All he wanted was jeans. And skinny jeans at that. Again, the kid turned four and “poof” he was wearing comfy pant. His reasoning for all of this is that when he was three he couldn’t wear any of these things but now he is four and he can ’cause fours do that.

Oh, the logic of a four-year-old.

D. WE GOT A CAR!!!!!!!!!

Thank you to everyone who helped us with the purchasing of Snow White as the kids call it. I’m thinking about renaming the car Betsy or Pete.

Paul is a pro at driving here. I’ve seen him get in and out of some spots that would make you cringe…I know I was cringing in the passenger seat.

Me…well, you’d think I’d have learned this wouldn’t you? But alas, I have not the skills necessary for driving a manual. I know everything in theory, but theory is really only good in science and math. Paul is giving me lessons though and we haven’t killed each other yet so I would say they are going pretty well. I have tackled first through fourth gears and stopping and starting. Next lesson – the dreaded parallel parking.

E. The kids had a couple days off school so we went on a day trip to the Cilento park. We pretty much just got lost but kept driving because we didn’t know what else to do. We’d already spent over and hour and a half in the car. I mean, we were committed to this, folks. We had to find somewhere to stop for sustenance and so I could get out of the car and gain some control over my body which was in a severe state of car sickness before we even got out of Salerno good.

Despite the lostness and carsickness that eventually overcame the children as well, we had an awesome view.

F. Christmas baking commenced a week or two ago. Part of our family tradition is to make gingerbread houses. Those aren’t readily available here but lucky for us, my grandmother had given me a gingerbread house kit she’d found in her cabinet a long time ago that I’d thought to bring with us. The tradition would continue.

After spending all day in the kitchen making the gingerbread, which possesses properties unlike any dough I’ve ever seen before, then molding and gluing the house together we all gathered around to put the candy on. It came out pretty good  I think.

You can go ahead and be impressed. I was. I had done it. Homemade gingerbread house. Check that off the bucket list. It was so pretty and yummy looking. But then…ten minutes later…

Proverbs 16:18 – “Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.”

I’ll affirm that one.

Merry Christmas,

MacKenzie

Today we begin an intensive 5 days a week, 3 1/2 hours a day language class. This will continue for 4 weeks. Four long, headache causing weeks. Fear and trembling have set in. And also the feeling that I am going to throw up.

It is the same feeling I had when I walked into Advanced or AP Biology in high school. Sylvia Blaylock while one of my favorite teachers had a dark side called “crazy matching test”. I do not have the time this morning to describe the test to you, but suffice it to say that 95% of the class sat at their desk trembling while they broke out in cold sweats trying to keep a grip on their pencils. If you were ever going to cheat off the smart kid’s paper, it would be during one of these tests. Goodness, just thinking about it is making me nervous.

I got the same feeling when as I approached the office my oral comprehensive exams were being held in for my Master’s degree. I’m pretty sure I was tearing up and pushing the throw up back down as I walked in that door and saw the four professors who would drill me on everything I had learned in three years and then decide my fate. I could hardly breathe as the drilling began and then every answer just left my head. It was like I had not studied at all every single day for the previous six months. I walked out of that room, saw my friend Charles who had come for emotional support and started bawling. And I mean ugly bawling. This one day keeps me from pursuing another Master’s degree. Doctorate….forget about it.

So this is how I feel when I think about language school. The first day we started language school in Naples we went into a little room to take a written test determine our language level. That was easy for me…level zero. I knew this because I had trouble figuring out which blank at the top of the page was for first name and last name. I’m pretty sure I had to ask Paul or at least look on his paper. Yes, I probably cheated, but who can’t figure out which blank their first and last names go in?? That is all that was filled out on my test. I mean, they could have just saved that paper. Then, Paul and I were taken to a little room with the ever kind Daniela, who proceeded to speak to me in Italian like I knew what she was saying. I’m pretty sure I started tearing up in this situation as well. I left feeling utterly defeated with a huge pit in my stomach.

I left class probably 90% of the time feeling like I would never get it and on the verge of tears, which sometimes waited until I got home to spill out and sometimes just barely made it to the school door. It was just so hard for me. I felt like I was failing because EVERYONE told me because I was musical I would pick up the language easily. LIE. Big ole fat LIE. But because I thought I should be learning it easily when I didn’t it created a sense of failing.

Are you beginning to get a sense of why I am dreading this just a touch? I mean, I’m writing this at 6:00am and I already have nervous knots building…class starts at 9:00.

“Do I have to go to school?” No. “Then why put yourself through this, MacKenzie?” Good question. It’s a multi-response answer.

1. One of my three goals for the year is to improve my language skills. At some point I’ll write down measurable and attainable goals. One way I can do this is to go back to school for a bit. Afterall, it’s the environment I learn best in after all. I really did like school, honest.
2. If I am ever going to somewhat “fit in”, be able to communicate effectively to every.single.person.I.meet then I have to improve in language. I can never build sincere and honest friendship, teach, or speak into any situation without improved language.
3. I truly believe that it’s a good thing for my kids to see me struggle with language, tackle it, go to school, improve and at some point conquer language as they do the same thing.
4. It will remind me of what my kids are in five days a week, helping me be more gracious and understanding towards them.

I think those a good enough reasons to suck it up and go to school. To put myself through the headaches and all the feelings that come with this part because I know on the flip side of it, although I will have consumed too many tylenols to count, drank many soothing cups of hot tea, and had lots of “American” days (those living in countries not their own might be the only ones who get this) my language will be better. I will be able to better talk to teachers, other moms, and my church family. I will feel more at home in a city that I am a stranger in because I will fit in more. This makes the nervous knots loosen up. It makes me excited, happy and ready to start.

So I’m going to read my Bible for the few minutes I have this morning before I have to start rushing around to get the kids and myself and Paul out the door. Then, I am going to bust my way up into that school and face it head on, pushing down the throw up all the way.

Oh, and one last thing…I also have to take a placement test today. If nothing else, at least I will be able to write my first and last names in the correct blanks this time.

Heroes are everywhere these days. They storm the box offices every other month defeating villains and saving the world. They come alive in books as they fight goblins, slay dragons, and rescue princesses.They are in our cities and communities, saving people’s lives, teaching our children, fighting injustices and going to war.

Who are your heroes?

My heroes come in the form of two little bodies that I brought into this world with the help of powerful drugs and good doctors. The last year has brought countless transitions to our family and Gingernut and Lil’ Paul have faced them head-on, with questions and sometimes sadness but also with courage.
When we told them we were moving to Italy they asked “Why?”. Our answer was and is because Italians don’t know the grace and love of Jesus and someone has to tell them.They caught that vision and began communicating it to others during the process of us moving. It was incredible to hear them explain to people the “why”. The “why” is something we talk about even now on the hard days when they miss their friends and family in America.

Gingernut and Lil’ Paul left the only house they ever lived in for any significant amount of time. They said goodbye to their cat. They said goodbye to their friends and then several months later to their family.They let go of many of their “things”, toys, books, games. They left everything that was familiar to them for the unfamiliar.

They did all this with questions and some sadness but with little hearts that tried very hard to understand that our love for God trumps all other loves and when He says “Go”, you go.

Gingernut and Lil’ Paul live in a context in which they don’t completely fit in and when we go back to the States for a visit they won’t fit in their either. But that’s a whole ‘nother post.

They cannot communicate well at this point, which means school, playing, making friends, and just every day things are difficult. They now go to school and try so hard to do their best with very, very limited language, and while in six months or a year they will be functioning in Italian far better than I, in this moment, life is a struggle because of the lack of language. However, they try. They try their absolute best to speak and learn and understand. They do it with perseverance and strength and a
courage I do not possess. They do it with little or no complaint (with the exception of Lil’ Paul crying ALL THE WAY TO SCHOOL that he doesn’t want to go. Any advice with this problem would be appreciated.) They make friends easier than I do with
less language than I possess. I am amazed on a daily basis at their abilities and extravertedness. They just get out their and do it. I admire them so much for it.

They have hard days. Days where they miss their friends or ask to call a grandparent or cousin. It might be days before a phone call actually happens because of the time difference. Days when they miss their old cat, Remus. Days when they want to go back to our other house (meaning our house in Winston-Salem). But they keep going. They fight even though they don’t know they are doing it.

In the midst of all the hard things they are learning much about the God our family said “yes” to. They are growing in their knowledge and love for and of Him. They are learning to ask Jesus for help in big and small things…from learning Italian to being kind to each other to making us well when we are sick. They are learning to let Jesus fight for them, to let him be the hero of their story.

“Faith doesn’t take away the hurt.” – Sharon Rice, mentor, friend, prayer warrior, and lover of Hot Tamales

No, it doesn’t. But there are times I think it should. One of those times happened a couple of weeks ago when a friend and colleague of ours was killed in a car accident outside Atlanta. She, her husband, and three young daughters were getting on a plane two days later to return to their home in Rome.

I have spent the last couple of weeks trying to figure out if I wanted to write about it and if so, what I wanted to write. I knew Kyra and her husband, Reid. They arrived in Rome during our last year in Naples, and I was looking forward to reconnecting with them as we settled into life in Italy again. However, I don’t want to give the impression that we were best friends. I don’t know Kyra’s favorite color or flavor of gelato. However, I knew her and continue to know her husband. So I hurt. I hurt for Reid. I hurt for her daughters. I hurt for her parents and sisters. I hurt for our mutual friends in Italy and America who knew her better than I did. I hurt for those whose hearts are broken. And though I knew her briefly, there is still a great sense of loss and broken-heartedness in me as well.

There were so many unanswered questions being asked in the days that followed the seemingly untimely death of Kyra. Questions that will continue to be asked for months to come. However, most of them are questions that will never be answered. I find it futile to even ask the question “Why?” Why did it happen? Why were Reid and the girls spared and not Kyra? Why did God not STOP IT? Questions that will never be answered no matter how many times they are asked except with “for God’s glory.”

But how can that be? How can something so tragic bring glory to God? A pastor said at Kyra’s funeral that we see the finite and the end. However, God sees the infinite and the beginning of a life in eternity with Him. But that still doesn’t answer the question for me. There a lot of things I don’t know, but here are some things I do know. I know God’s ways and thoughts are greater than mine. Isaiah writes, “ ‘For My thoughts are not your thoughts, and your ways are not My ways.” This is the Lord’s declaration. “For as heaven is higher than earth, so My ways are higher than your ways, and My thoughts than your thoughts.’ ” I know that God is good. The psalmist in the 31 Psalm writes, “How great is Your goodness that You have stored up for those who fear You and accomplished in the sight of everyone for those who take refuge in You.” I know that He is close in times of suffering. David writes in the 23rd Psalm, “Even when I go through the darkest valley, I fear no danger, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff—they comfort me.” 

My prayer is that in Kyra’s death people will come to know Christ for who He is and if only one person does this then her death has significance in light of eternity. That seems like a ludicrous statement. But Kyra knew when she died she would walk with Jesus on streets of gold, praising God with a heart full of love. And if her death means even one more person will know this unspeakable joy, then yes, it was worth it. And that does bring God glory. 

I want to return to the first statement made by my friend Sharon. She’s the one who   reminded me that we often think that because we have faith in the all-powerful God of all creation that the pain we feel when something tragic happens will be taken away. Faith is not a pill that takes away all the bad things that happen in the world. Faith is what gets us through all the bad things that happen in the world. Faith gives us hope. It gives us something and someone to cling to. It is why we can have joy during the midst of suffering, which is at times easier said than done. But faith in what?? I can’t tell you how many times I have heard people say, “You just gotta have faith.” or “You just have to believe.” This always reminds of something Oprah would say. George Michael even wrote a song about it.  But what does it mean? Faith in who? Belief in what? Faith in other people or myself will ALWAYS turn out badly. People fail and disappoint because we are sinful creatures. However, for those who choose to put that faith and belief in the One who made them, died for them, saved them, redeemed them and loves them, they will never be put to shame. Paul writes in the book of Romans “Through him (Jesus Christ) we have also obtained access by faith in to this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. More than that we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”

I have faith in a God who knows suffering, which He has had His fair share of. We see it in the very beginning when the creation He loved so greatly chose a piece of fruit over him, and in doing so decided they knew better than Him. Separation from His beloved creation, caused by that creation. He rescued His people from the horrors of slavery to take them to a land of bounty and rest only to have them disobey at every turn and choose other gods made of wood and stone over Him. Again, separation from his beloved creation caused by that same creation. He left the glory of heaven to take on flesh to walk among the creation that has continually rejected Him, which meant He no longer was in the presence of God the Father or God the Holy Spirit. Physical separation from the Trinity. He was whipped, punched, spit on, despised, beaten to a bloody pulp, mocked, and nailed to a cross. Physical suffering to the extreme caused by the very ones he came to save. As he died bearing the sins of the world on his shoulders he cried out to the Father and for the first time there was silence. Spiritual separation from the Trinity. This last suffering might be the greatest and one that we can never ever comprehend.

Sometimes in life, faith is a choice. Well it’s always a choice really. Everyday we choose to follow, serve, love, praise, believe in someone or something. And in not choosing we are still choosing. Faith in Jesus in not always easy and it doesn’t always make sense.

Oswald Chambers said, “Can you trust Jesus Christ where your common sense cannot trust Him? Can you venture out with courage on the words of Jesus Christ, while the realities of your commonsense life continue to shout, ‘It’s all a lie’? When you are on the mountaintop, it’s easy to say, ‘Oh yes, I believe God can do it,’ but you have to come down from the mountain to the demon-possessed valley and face the realities that scoff at your Mount-of-Transfiguration belief.”

It is in our suffering, in the valley, that those things are put to the test. Will we follow, serve, love, praise and believe when it is hard? When there are no answers to questions? When life seems to have dealt us an unfair hand? When we are beaten and bruised? We make a choice EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. The circumstances of the day matter not. We choose God or we don’t.

So, although I have questions that will never be answered and hurt, I choose to believe. I choose to praise. I choose to follow. I choose to put my faith in the One who knew after 31 short years on this earth, Kyra would be called home, having left behind a life lived for Him.