mercy

Chasing Shelter: Lessons from a Rainy Hike

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We hiked down the trail skirting a river flowing from a crevasse that we entered. Accessing the river on the side of our trail meant scrambling down a steep incline. Down in the water, huge boulders jutted out of the trickling stream and beckoned our kids to climb them.

We enjoyed exploring the hidden places under the steep rock walls and watching chipmunks race around the banks. A sliver of sky shone through the trees and rocky faces. Soon we noticed clouds rolling in for the customary afternoon showers. We decided to head back out of the river and seek shelter in our car parked quite a distance away.

The rain dropped in fat, hard drops as we picked up our pace on the trail. The excitement of escaping the cold and rain and thunder crept into our shrieks of laughter as we surrendered to a thorough soaking. I sacrificed any notion that my white shoes could ever recover. At one point, my husband issued a stern warning to not look down at the path. Later he told me a rather large snake slithered right between my mom and I as we traipsed out.

the actual, factual stream we ran from that day…

Then it started to hail. Not large blocks of ice but enough that the already heavy drops turned to stinging pelts as we ducked our heads and picked up our pace. We lifted our heads as we approached our van because the rain lightened and then stopped right as we got to shelter.

We laughed as we dried off as best we could and wondered whether staying in the protection of the path by the stream would have shielded us more than our futile trek to the van.

Today I read a few Psalms and four of the five mentioned taking refuge in God and so it got me thinking about refuge.

Refuge is sought in time of trouble and strife.

People usually run and hurry to refuge because their life is in danger.

Refugees don’t take much with them. They must anticipate their needs met at places of refuge.

Refuge is found in places of strength and safety.

A refuge is a stronger position in some way. A cave. Safe people. A tower. A van. A country.

And as I think of all the ways I seek refuge in my day to day life, I realize I can run to the wrong places. I also see that the strongest refuge is often not tangible, it is in God’s presence, in His salvation. How often I want it to be by sight, yet He promises more in what can often feel like less.

I was thinking about what David possibly meant about taking shelter in the tent of God, in the wings. The wings…pretty quickly the tent of the tabernacle came to mind where the wings of the two angels spread out over the ark of the covenant, their faces looking down on the emptiness under their wings at the place of atonement. The place where God dispensed His mercy.

Two angels and an empty space. Like the two angels at the empty tomb. Like Peter describing our salvation as something in which “angels long to look.” A mystery, astounding and anticipated yet so surprising. The place where Jesus passed through the flaming swords and gained entrance through the flaming swords back to the Garden. Back to the place of peace and fellowship with God in His garden.

That is the refuge. The strong fortress. The hiding place I am to run to, dropping all that holds me back or hinders my flight to the safety of the stronghold. Christ. The person through whom mercy came to me. I did not get what I deserved. I got far more.

For David it was the future promise and for me it is too. I am currently in His refuge, under His protection but all is not yet as it should be. I still fear and know my own humanity and weakness. We still die a physical death and must trust that the promise of the resurrection is real though we cannot see.

So today, as I think of refuge, may I recognize my need, run fast to what is truly the fortress, and believe that He wins it all in the end.

~my personal reflections on Psalm 31, 61, 91, and 121~

Death by Paper Cut

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Wearing a mask. Answering another Covid screening question. Missing life milestones. Not getting to chaperone that school trip. Another zoom meeting.

These are just a few of the thousand little things that are piling up right now in this season of immense change and suffering.

I hope you enjoy this post from a few years ago. It seemed relevant in this age of radical upheaval…

One of the most difficult things about life anywhere, and life lived across cultures for sure, is that often it’s no one big thing that slays me…at least not yet.

It’s all the small things that add up and threaten to take me down.

Taken alone, each cut seems relatively minor and superficial, like a paper cut, but they sting. Each and every cut stings and there’s no time to put on a Band-Aid before the next cut comes.

Talking about what hurts seems silly.  It’s just a paper cut, why am I so upset about a paper cut? I minimize and compare. I don’t want to complain. I don’t suffer like that other person who really stood up for their faith in a stressful situation of direct confrontation.

No one really hurt me, right? I’m still alive, aren’t I? I discount the cut and fail to treat it.

Again and again the cuts come. Forgetting my passport. The person who cut me off again just this morning. The man who makes me re-park my car so that the nose faces out warning me that I am breaking the law if I don’t. He doesn’t understand that at least 5 people on the road endangered my very life and parking my car in a “cultured” way is the least important thing to worry about now. The lady at the store who will not even try my credit card even though I know it works. I did not bring cash. Smog.

Here in Asia it’s called “eating bitterness” these paper cuts. It’s an old saying about the difficulties of life and just taking it. It results in kick the dog syndrome, though. People just lose it for no clear or sufficient reason.  But I know why they lose it because I lose it too.

Unseen cuts cover us all and then someone pours salt on the wound. The salt without the wound is nothing but with the cuts…it brings sudden pain and I react.

Kick the dog syndrome spreads like a contagion. A woman picks up a brick on the street to throw at a man. I’ve seen that. A family fights in the apartment above us. Furniture shakes and screams keep me awake.  I’ve heard that too.

I wish for a formula to combat the paper cut plague but it doesn’t exist. I know more now to look at the cut and say it hurts…to cry even if it seems silly to cry over a paper cut. I know that real life seems more death by paper cut than death by some brave act of martyrdom though those stories also move me to tears.  DSC_0064

Death by paper cut is not as futile as it seems when I count the Lord’s view of suffering. He calls me to die to myself as He died for me…even in the smallest things. He calls me to persevere and endure and even do it joyfully because He gives me resources I just cannot muster myself.

As I contemplate more on this concept and acknowledge the cuts, I do find more joy because I find grace and mercy. I still kick dogs some days…not real dogs but proverbial dogs. I do a lot of apologizing. It is coming easier to apologize because I get a lot of practice.

But His grace and mercy, this is the salve that allows my soul to lay down and rest.

Death by Paper Cut

~ eternalwaitofglory ~ 4 Comments

One of the most difficult things about life anywhere, and life lived across cultures for sure, is that often it’s no one big thing that slays me…at least not yet.  It’s all the small things that add up and threaten to take me down.  Taken alone, each cut seems relatively minor and superficial, like a paper cut, but they sting.  Each and every cut stings and there’s no time to put on a Band-Aid before the next cut comes.

Talking about what hurts seems silly sometimes.  It’s just a paper cut, why am I so upset about a paper cut?  I minimize and compare.  I don’t suffer like that other person who really stood up for their faith in a stressful situation of direct confrontation.  No one really hurt me, right?  I’m still alive, aren’t I?  I discount the cut and fail to treat it.

Again and again the cuts come.   Forgetting my passport.  The person who cut me off again just this morning.  The man who makes me re-park my car so that the nose faces out warning me that I am breaking the law if I don’t.  He doesn’t understand that at least 5 people on the road endangered my very life and parking my car in a “cultured” way is the least important thing to worry about now.  The lady at the store who will not even try my credit card even though I know it works.  I did not bring cash.  Smog.

Here in Asia it’s called “eating bitterness” these paper cuts.  It’s an old saying about life and just taking it.  It results in kick the dog syndrome, though.  People just lose it for no clear or sufficient reason.  But I know why they lose it because I lose it too.

Unseen cuts cover us all and then someone pours salt on the wound.  The salt without the wound is nothing but with the cuts…it brings sudden pain and I react.  Kick the dog syndrome spreads like a contagion.  A woman picks up a brick on the street to throw at a man.  I’ve seen that.  A family fights in the apartment above us and furniture shakes and screams keep me awake.  I’ve heard that.

I wish for a formula to combat the paper cut plague but it doesn’t exist.  I know more now to look at the cut and say it hurts…to cry even if it seems silly to cry over a paper cut.  I know that real life seems more death by paper cut than death by some brave act of martyrdom though those stories also move me to tears.  DSC_0064

Death by paper cut is not as futile as it seems when I count the Lord’s view of suffering.  He calls me to die to myself as He died for me…even in the smallest things.  He calls me to persevere and endure and even do it joyfully because He gives me resources I just cannot muster myself.

As I contemplate more on this concept and acknowledge the cuts, I do find more joy because I find grace and mercy.  I still kick dogs some days…not real dogs but proverbial dogs.  I do a lot of apologizing.  It is coming easier to apologize because I get a lot of practice.

But His grace and mercy, this is the salve that allows my soul to lay down and rest.