Every time from now until forever, when the sun rises on August 6th, it shines differently for you and me. For you, a reminder that time does go on, and it’s gone on another year without the one you love. For me, a reminder that my husband was born again in a sense, and there is hope after night sweats of darkness. For you mourning. For me joy. It’s a dichotomy that pounds in my head because I want to understand. But I don’t.
I do not want to take away what you feel on this day. Your mourning is yours, and you are justified in feeling it. I would feel it, too, if I were you. Confusion, anger, loneliness, despair. No miracle takes away the agony. It perhaps, just maybe, gives it a context if we’re fortunate, but that’s about it. There’s still a hole. It is deep. Nothing replaces it.
So I won’t try to convince you that there’s a purpose, a reason, a plan. I know that there is, as jumbled as it seems, but I simply do not know what it could be. I’m still just as baffled as you. “Why me?” lingers in my head, too. Just for a different reason.
All I want to say is “Thank You” once again, out loud. One more thank you that will extend until the next time the calendar hits upon this date.
And I want to show you a photograph.
This past year something special occurred. Another heart was created because of your gift. It’s small and it’s strong and it’s a girl.
I will never understand, but I know this. Your husband, father, son, relative, friend is not forgotten.The hole remains. New life abounds. Not once. But twice. And who knows? Maybe even again one day.
So may this photograph make the sunshine look differently today. If only for today. Know that I am forever grateful. And one day she will be, too. When we tell her how her heart made it to this world.
My prayers are with you. May God continue to give you His peace and His strength.
It was 2007, and I had just come out of two back-to-back relationships that could have ruined my life forever. Begging these men to say that I was o.k., give me value, show me that I’m worthy – they were no good. I was no good. Plus, I had just crossed over the threshold of true adulthood – I turned 30. I was tired. Emotionally beaten down. I didn’t even recognize myself.
I stood in my living room that summer wondering why again. Why did I continue to make the same mistakes over and over and over and over again? Especially when I do truly loved God so much. That day I was done. I would do anything. Go anywhere. Be single forever. I no longer cared to hold on. I surrendered.
“It’s time, God. Send me.”
Five years later I’m married, have a baby, living an ordinary life with ordinary circumstances. Still wondering when I’m going to be used big.
Where did that prayer go? Was “anything” not enough for God?
I’m not selling my house, moving to Africa, speaking to thousands, writing a book. I’m not starting a ministry, saving women from human trafficking, adopting a baby.
It seems as if my anything just isn’t big enough.
Then I remember how God has used me. He’s used me in ways that aren’t “big” according to the world’s standards, but are super big by His.
I had reduced the ways God has used me to nothing. Craving more I discounted God’s answer to my prayer.
Big is relative and big is seasonal.
We have to be careful to not crave big for big sake. It’s not about how much we feel like we can do for God or how much we want to do for the world. When we think like this “big” becomes self-seeking. It becomes tainted by poor motive. It becomes about us.
But God’s big is different. He has big work to do in the small, everyday things.
Do you not think reading your child a Bible story is big? His soul’s at stake. It’s big to God.
Do you not think praying for your husband who won’t pray with you is big? The covenant you made together could be strengthened. It’s big to God.
Do you not think being single and devoting your time to Bible study is big? You’re preparing your legacy. It’s big to God.
Do you not think making a budget to use your money wisely is big? You’re allowing room for more giving. It’s big to God.
Do you not think taking a meal to a sick friend is big? You’re being the hands and feet of Jesus. It’s big to God.
All of our days will not be filled with events that we typically define as “big”. But to God everyday, every event is big. It’s an opportunity to reflect His life within you. A life that makes heads turn and ears perk up. A life that plants seeds. A life that reveals something unseen. A life that lives for eternal purposes.
It’s time to redefine our big. It’s not about us. It’s about what He’s doing through us.
Today I challenge you to make a list of all the “big” you’ve done in the last five years. When you think that your life just isn’t big enough, remember this list.
Every young girl dreams of being asked to their first dance. Our daughter, Nicole, was no exception. When a young man from her junior high school asked if he could take her to the school Valentine’s Day Dance she was thrilled. The plan was to go with several of their friends from school and church. One of the parents would drive them to the school and another would pick them up when the dance was over. I could hear the excitement in her voice when she called to tell me all about it and ask if it was okay to go. I knew the young man along with the other young people, so I gave my consent. As I hung up the phone my mind drifted back to my first dance and how special it had felt to be all dressed up. That’s when I felt the bottom drop out of my joy.
Nicole’s dad as still in the hospital recovering from a horrific accident where he had been hit head-on by an 18 wheeler just weeks before. I had spent the past few weeks there in the hospital with him. Don had finally been moved from the ICU but his status remained serious. I felt I needed to be there in case something happened. Taking the time to go on a shopping trip was not possible. How was I going to help Nicole get ready for the dance and still stay close to Don? Nicole never complained or asked for a new outfit but I wanted her to have one. Like any mother I wanted my little girl to have special memories of her first dance, new dress and all. I was torn between my roles of wife and mother. I wanted to be there for Nicole but I had to be there for Don.
A few days later the phone rang in Don’s hospital room. I picked it up and said hello. On the other end was our pastor’s secretary. It was not unusual to have the church calling to check on Don’s progress so I prepared to answer all the normal questions. The conversation took a very different turn. One of the other secretaries had a daughter who was a close friend of Nicole. Apparently in talking the topic of the Valentine’s Dance had come up. I listened as this wonderful, sensitive, Christian woman volunteered to take Nicole to the mall to shop for a new dress. She knew I was spending all my time with Don and wanted to help. Once again our church family was reaching out to us by seeing our needs and reacting to them. I thanked her and hung up the phone knowing God had once again provided for a need that to some would seem frivolous. But to my mother’s heart it was significant.
The next day Nicole was picked up at school and driven to the mall. Together this kind friend helped her pick out the perfect dress. She then insisted no outfit is complete without new shoes and jewelry so those were added. On the day of the dance Nicole was treated to having her hair done. She says she felt like a princess and when I look at the pictures from that night I have to agree. It was a fairytale come true complete with a fairy godmother.
When asked what she remembers most about the time of her dad’s accident and recovery, this story is at the top of Nicole’s list. Our friend not only helped Nicole have a wonderful evening, she reached out to a young mother who was struggling. She stepped in to fill a gap when I wasn’t able.
That’s the way the Bible wants us to behave. Paul referred to the church as a human body on several occasions. He said that each member is important, and if one part hurts, the whole body suffers.
For more than a year, I saw the constant flow of the spiritual body of Jesus Christ trying to take away our pain.
Including a kind woman who saw a need and took a young girl shopping.
About Eva Piper:
Eva Piper is a speaker and author with a unique insight into the trials of heartache and the triumph of overcoming. The wife of best-selling author Don Piper, Eva was the glue that held her broken husband and her family together. Don’s story, recounted in the New York Times bestseller, 90 Minutes in Heaven: A True Story of Life and Death, is Eva’s story too. A teacher of 34 years, she and Don now live in Pasadena, Texas. Visit http://evapiper.com/ to reserve your copy today!
I didn’t have a lot of boyfriends before I got married, but the ones I had would definitely be considered “bad.” I could list for you characteristic after characteristic and make a pretty complete definition from personal experience.
Or I could keep it simple by going to the Bible and seeing what God has to say.
I went to the Bible. And there it was – simple criteria for determining between a good and bad boyfriend . . .
When I started writing for real the days were dark.
Each night I would come home from my teaching job to a husband who was awaiting a heart donor for a transplant. Sitting there on the sofa, right beside him, I pounded away. Word after word. Sentence after sentence.
With each new thought my soul opened up and released.
The words came easily back then. I go back and read those blog posts and actually don’t think they’re half bad. The words came from a deep place, and I feel that. It’s like they had a heart of their own.
At first my writing was cathartic and that was it. But then I thought maybe, just maybe, someone else could benefit from reading them too. Maybe there was life in my words passed just what they gave me.
As you can imagine, I was pretty angry at sin and this fallen world. and that sickness and heart transplants exist at all. Never was there a day that I got angry at God. I knew the enemy, and I became hell-bent-and-determined to not let him get the best of me whether John lived or died.
And so I prayed.
I told God that conceptually I didn’t understand what He was doing because I’m human, and that’s pretty much impossible. But I faithfully understood. I gave John over to Him and vowed that whatever happened He would get the glory for my stories – the good, the bad, and the ugly.
Then my writing changed.
The next summer we were at the beach on vacation. I lounged in a chair next to my husband with his vertical war wound zigzagged down his chest. I held three writing magazines in my hand. I read them cover to cover, enjoying ever moment, determined to become a better writer.
And I wrote.
I wrote about life with a dying husband. I wrote about being a recovering single. I wrote about becoming a mom.
But that summer past, and somewhere along the way I started to resent writing. It became about mission statements and platforms and getting published and mastermind groups and being asked to join the “in crowd” and making pinnable images and even making money.
Comparison, jealousy, and striving got the best of me. Writing became a tool I tried to manipulate instead of a gift I offered back. It wasn’t life-giving. It wasn’t good.
No longer was I doing what God simply called me to do – what I promised Him I would do. No longer was I reflecting the glory that is His.
Isn’t this true for many feats we set out to do with the best intentions? Whether it’s writing or starting a new habit or forgiving someone or letting go of the past or focusing more on our family or releasing a dream or surrendering to God?
God simply tells us to do it, but we make it more. We focus on the how’s and why’s. We start looking to the right and to the left when His glory is in front.
“Let your eyes look directly forward, and your gaze be straight before you. Ponder the path of your feet; then all your ways will be sure. Do not swerve to the right or to the left; turn your foot away from evil.” Proverbs 4:25-27
I’m tired. I’m tired of chasing every other writer. I’m tired of the right and the left. It’s lifeless.
I no longer have time for lifeless. I just want when writing used to be good. The time is now to just get to work with His glory out in front.
What is it that God has simply called you to do but instead you’ve started looking to the right and to the left?
You know that feeling in junior high when you’re walking down the hall and the popular girl with all Gap clothes and blonde hair (my hair’s brown, so for me she has blonde hair) and a huge smile on her face talks to you, and you get all giddy and wonder, “Maybe I’ll be one of her now?”
Or you’re a freshman sitting around in your college dorm on a Friday night and your roommate, who has already checked out all the bars in town, asks you if you want to go out that night too. That’s sounds like different. And fun. And exciting. You’ve never been to a bar before. You think, “Maybe this is who I am.”
But then you’re conflicted because you didn’t party in high school at. all. You were a good girl. A really good girl. So two nights later at the Bible study only three doors down from the dorm room where you were asked out by your roommate, one of the girls asks you to pray out loud. And that feels good too. Maybe this is me. Maybe I’m Bible study girl and I should like lead the Bible study next semester. Or major in religion. Or go to seminary.
On the right – me, 28 years old-ish, Halloween party. Maybe I’m a kitten.
Well, I’m 36 years old, and I’m still each of these girls.
I still don’t know who I am.
I recognized this pattern of somewhat delayed adolescence for the first time in my late 20’s. I was still good girl. I went to church. I led my small group. I served in the children’s ministry. I led the singles co-ed group. I checked all the boxes.
And then I went home.
At home I dated boys (yes, 35-year-old boys) who I shouldn’t have dated – who, I mind you, also went to church with me and served alongside me before we went to nightclubs and bars far more often than we got to know each other for real. I went to the tanning bed – for the very first time ever in my life – yes, at 28 years old. I bought clothes on credit. Learned to play tennis on credit. But still dreamed of a day when I wouldn’t have to do any of it anymore and could just go back to being me. Whoever that was.
30th birthday – in Las Vegas, but it was on a business trip – promise!
Most recently blogging, of all things, has brought out this schizophrenic state of not really knowing who I am. The only thing about having this problem now is that I’m not protected by my age anymore. Thirty-six-year-olds know who they are.
I started out blogging just wanting to be known. If you don’t know, in the blogging world there are a few “cool groups”. One talks a lot about being writers and fearless and the importance of telling our stories and living our dreams. I so want to be one of them.
Then there are the Christian homemaker bloggers – the mommy bloggers if you will. I tried to get into this group, too, except that I was only a mama-wanna-be at the time. I knew nothing about daily docket printables or menu planning or cleaning schedules. And really it all seemed quite annoying to me. But my dream was to be a mommy. Since I was finally married, it was the perfect time to try to break into this group.
And there’s the theologian blogger types. The ones who are a little more cutting edge and say things that shock people and debate and are really, really smart. Of all the blogs, I like these the most. I learn the most from them. I see the world the most through them. I want to be them too.
Recently a friend said to me something that might seem just downright mean, but it was completely liberating when I heard it. She was referring to the cool group at our church. Yes, we have a cool group of thirty-something year old women at our church who don’t let you in pretty much unless you have a pass. Anyway, my friend said to me, “Brenda, you don’t have the personality to be in that group.”
It’s like the world just released me.
So I’m here to declare that I really don’t know who I am. At, yes, 36 years old. But I know a little more about who I’m not. And right now, that feels pretty good.
Do you feel like you know who you are – at any age?
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