by Elizabeth | May 1, 2014 | Learning Story
Scenic Highway is in a ditch. Or, is that, Scenic Highway is a ditch? Ditch, as defined years ago by my teenage daughters refers to a difficult-to-repair mess, such as a hopelessly bad hair day, as in, “My hair is in a ditch.”
Perhaps you’ve seen dramatic photos of the portions of this — well — scenic highway in Pensacola, Florida, that collapsed after a mostly unexpected deluge dumped 26 inches of rain in a 24 hour period and zinged over 50,000 strikes of lightning.
Late yesterday afternoon, I turned onto this highway, the only route out of our neighborhood, and was met by one of those huge portable digital road signs: “Road Closed, 1 mile,” it said. For 22 years I have driven on this gorgeous stretch by the bay, often four or more times a day, taking my kids to school, running errands, going to church. It never occurred to me as I was driving on it that it could drop out from under me.
As you probably know, many landscapes and lives have been rearranged by this week’s storms — tornadoes have ripped through Oklahoma, Arkansas, Mississippi, Tennessee, and Alabama, leaving at least 38 people dead and many more homes wrecked. A University of Alabama swimmer died saving his girlfriend from a retaining wall felled by the storm. This morning, weather.com is leading off with a photo of a road in Baltimore that sank under the weight of the storm.
What do we do when a hunk of road drops 40 feet into the bay? What do we do when a jail explodes because of the issues with gas in the aftermath of the storm (this news just in)? What do we do when the landscape of our lives is wrecked?
There are no how-to or 4-step solutions for living with such hard stories. There is, however, a gospel call to live with hope. Here are a few thoughts about what that looks like:
- Grieve with the hope of the “one day.” We can weep because Jesus wept. We can grieve because Jesus is a man “acquainted with grief” (Is. 53:3-4). Even as we weep, we know there is a day when there will be no more tears. There is a day, when, as Sally Lloyd-Jones writes in the Jesus Storybook Bible, “everything sad will come untrue.” (Rev. 21:4).
- Remember our rescue stories. Yesterday, as I was feeling sad about Pensacola’s losses, I revisited stories I wrote about our previous recoveries from hurricanes. One told about how our son wanted to be a “workerman” like those repairing our house. We gave him a toolbelt, and with a little help from family and friends, he built a fort in the next-door spare lot cleared by the hurricane.
- “Restore broken things” (Title of a classic by Scotty Smith and Stephen Curtis Chapman).
- Pray. The first and most obvious thing we can do is pray. Honestly, to me, a woman of action:-), that effort sometimes seems paltry and small. God doesn’t seem to view it that way. We lift our prayers, and we wait. And one day we may see God restoring — not always in the way we would (surprise, surprise:-) — but by doing something beyond our imagining (Eph. 3:14).
- Act. What particular ways might God be calling us to be part of “making all things new”? Cooking, cleaning, comforting? Or, if we are the ones suffering the effects of the storm, our restoration act might be receiving the kindness of others.
- Look for signs of life around you. It’s a gray and gloomy day, but outside my window, birds of every color and variety are coming and going, pecking a hole in my neighbor’s yard worthy of a digging dog. They are feasting away after a day of fast (I’m just guessing here:-) and they remind me that one day…
“The Lord will make for all people a feast of rich food…”
“He will swallow up death forever, and he will wipe away tears from all faces.” Is. 25:6, 8
by Elizabeth | Apr 28, 2014 | Learning Story
On Friday, I shared an Easter story Facebook can’t capture. Don’t get me wrong — I’m not hating on Facebook. I like scrolling through photos and statuses to get a glimpse into friends’ lives. But we all know it severely cramps our freedom to tell the whole story. Maybe it depicts only the precious 10-year-old’s perfect gymnastics routine and none of the falls it took to get there. Or, alternatively, it describes a terrible, horrible, no-good, very-bad day that rivals Alexander’s (does anyone still read that classic?🙂 without allowing that this could make a really good story one day. From time to time, we need to remember the whole story — splendid moments of “the way it’s supposed to be” interlaced with the fallen world realities of “not the way it’s supposed to be.” (To quote Cornelius Plantinga’s great title). So here’s your chance… Write, tell, share a whole story…tons of ways you could go with this one — have fun! 1. Choose a topic:
- Write an Easter story — one from your childhood or a recent one.
- Write a resurrection/new life story — one that tells about how you were “raised to new life” in a particular way.
2. Consider these Scriptures: John 20; Romans 6:1-14; Rev. 21-22 3. Journal or take some notes on these questions:
- Describe moments of shalom. Shalom refers to peace, wholeness, rest, joy, abundance.(For more on shalom, see here, or check out any of the Living Story Bible study books).
- Describe moments of broken shalom. What was “not the way it’s supposed to be”?
- Where do you see loss — of life, hope, love, keys (we can get into the nitty-gritty of life too:-)
- Where in the story do you see the hope of a risen Savior?
4. Put it all together and write it:
- Do you want to organize chronologically?
- Do you want to organize with comparison/contrast? Do you want to describe all the good things first then the bad, or intermingle the two?
5. Share it: with a friend or group (share the assignment and get them to do one too!) with Living Story: Comment below with the title or first two sentences of your story, or tweet about your story with the hashtag #livingstory or post on Facebook and tag Living Story.
by Elizabeth | Apr 25, 2014 | Learning Story
The light is lovely even as the flowers fade and petals fall.
Yes, it was a happy Easter, I told my friend. But I’m not gonna lie — it wasn’t Facebook perfect…
The truth is, I used to think I spent too much time with my kids when there were 4 at home most of the day every day, but it is increasingly rare to be together.Now I eagerly anticipate family time, and visions of sugary togetherness dance in my head.
On Saturday afternoon, there was the family photo to be taken. My husband and I ruined last year’s by looking languid and lemonish after a seven-day hospital battle to save his gut.
The boys had finally agreed to wear navy and white, and the girls looked fresh in Free People shirts that weren’t too matchy.
On the 30-minute drive out to the beach, one of the boys was bugging the other and my sarcastic tone singed the mood…“Really? We still have this?”
The girls did yoga poses and cartwheels; their synchronicity wowed us and made us giggle.
Oh, and that crazy-gorgeous sunset after the photo shoot — I ran around imploring everyone to be awed: “Would you look at this? That color! Oh my gosh, this is amazing!”
My husband was awed indeed, but he had to wait wait wait for the precise time to take a one minute exposure — but we were also hungry — and getting “hangry” — as my friend calls it, so four of us left for dinner. (And yes, the photo was worth it in the end, though I can’t share it with you yet, because it is still in artistic production:-).
On the ride back, there was my mild anxiety coupled with some mumbled grumbling about restaurant choices — two don’t like seafood, so those places are out; others think the food is only so-so at such-and-such restaurant. All I want is to make everyone happy.
Resentment began to creep in —it always does for us people-pleasers. I mean, we’re paying —where’s the gratitude?
My unfiltered phone photos give you a glimpse of the fun.
The artist abandoned on the beach by a hungry family:-)
Finally, the six of us settled in a comfortable booth, feasting and talking and laughing, anxiety, resentment, and grumbling left behind. Oh, and the kids so kindly and sincerely thanked us.
Sunday, well…someone had forgotten to make reservations for brunch, and I had managed (I think) not to lay a heavy guilt trip on this unnamed person whom I love and have been married to for 32 years:-)! (Honestly, it could have been me if I had been in charge). Thankfully, one restaurant told us we should be seated quickly if we arrived by 10:30. But getting everyone together after church took a little longer, so when we wandered in around 10:45, the wait was over an hour.
Two needed to head back to school and work soon, two didn’t really like the food choices here, so we called plan C restaurant. The hostess assured us we’d be seated in 30 minutes if we came now.
But we weren’t. For over an hour, we stood huddled in our small allotment of floor space, swaying to avoid the busy wait staff passing with overloaded trays. (Have I mentioned how terrible I am at waiting — especially when I’m “hangry”?)
It was surprisingly — not miserable. We ran into friends. The kids let me take two pictures. Two got into an orthopedic hashtag war, which their sister said to stop because they were being annoying. My hip hurt standing for so long…and somehow I managed to pretend I had invisible duct tape on my mouth and I only complained once or twice (I think — they’d probably tell me more:-).
Finally we joined around the table, feasting on stories and biscuit beignets, lingering over last bites before we parted again.
Yes, it was a happy Easter, broken parts and all. I would have posted a pic on Facebook, but I’m still waiting for my husband’s finished product — and besides — it would never tell the whole story!
One more unedited phone photo of Easter shalom!
Stay tuned for a how-to write your own story of beauty in a fallen world on Monday. Meanwhile, please comment!
by Elizabeth | Apr 14, 2014 | Learning Story
Galatians 3:13
c ElizabethTurnage.com
by Elizabeth | Apr 9, 2014 | Learning Story
I had already taken mental notes — did people carry the little clear plastic shot glasses empty or full? Did they drink at the altar or in the pew?
My son had chosen the very back row for us, so we were the last to reach the front, and just as it seemed to be our turn, all of the servers retreated. Not disappeared, just moved to the right and back about five feet.
I was confused. Was it over? Did we come too late to the feast?
I mean, my heart was already happily full with the Word read and preached —
“John has a deep thought for you — if you are suffering deeply, you are in good company.” Yes, Jesus waited to visit Lazarus, so long that his beloved friend died. Yes, Jesus wept — over death’s destruction, over the similar but so different story he would soon live and die. And yes, there was a point — that God may be glorified. John 11:1-45.
As I stood there, taking it all in, I looked toward the server closest to me, the Pastor, and sorta shrugged, like, “Is it over?” A wry smile, a gentle nod of the head, as if to say,
“Come on over here, we’re still feeding sheep.” [And you are definitely a sheep! Was he thinking that too?]
I stood before him, somehow feeling safe looking him in the eye. He smiled again, a broad smile, and spoke an unexpected word: “Welcome.”
Ah, to be seen, and known, and welcomed. “He knows. He knows I’m a stranger here.”
Jesus said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest…”
The welcoming Pastor spoke different words over the bread too, though I can’t remember them. No mere repetition of rote sayings, a message that seemed directly for me from God…
A gift. A gift of true communion, a choice morsel of breaking bread with a forever Friend who weeps over my broken body.
As I drove the four hours home, the memories swirled — a welcoming smile, a surprising word, a chunk of bread and a shot of grape juice — a shepherd spreading the Shepherd’s shalom.
Come.
Leave your confusion behind. No need to know why this keeps happening. He is working. He is with you. And He knows what he’s doing.
Come to me.
You’re in good company.
Welcome. Well-come.
by Elizabeth | Mar 20, 2014 | Learning Story
Winter-lovers beware: spring wonder is warming my brittle bones:-):
Sodden leaves, weighed down by winter ice,
now a brittle, broken, tangled, torn battlefield,
having lost the fight to remain green.
Oh, but what?
Stalwart green, warm and winsome,
shoot onto the scene:
Announcing death’s demise.
Hope is born again.
