Author: bekaburnsblog

You Were Called To This: encouragement for when God is doing something…but I’m confused

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It’s officially December. Are you taking in the lights and the music and breathing easy? Are you soothed and energized by all the gatherings and baking and letters and gift lists? Are you soaking up all that comes with Christmas? Does it feel like all is well, all is calm, all is bright?

Or are you feeling the stress? Are you under some pressure? If your answer is yes, I’m right there with you.

Looking back on this year, has it gone to plan for you? Have you faced a plot twist at some point? Have you been bowled over by something you didn’t plan for?

Many of you know that my story has taken a couple weird turns over the last 2 years. Cody and I finished up language study in Papua New Guinea in June of 2021 and everything was in place for us to transition into the flight ministry we had been training so long and hard for. We found out in July that we were expecting our second baby, and THEN the plot twists started rolling in.

I got sicker and sicker until the doctors in Papua New Guinea sent us back to the USA for a higher level medical care to manage the pregnancy. My OB set me up with IV therapy and an ongoing pump for nausea medicine, but then I was in and out of the hospital for abnormal heart rhythms. I delivered the baby safely only to find out two weeks later he had swelling, bleeding, cysts, and missing tissue in his brain. We tried to prepare ourselves for brain surgery and then the Lord answered prayer and the swelling stabilized with just medicine. Then he weaned from medicine and started meeting his milestones!

I thought “Maybe we’re going to be okay after all. Maybe, we’re finally headed back!” but his neuro team wanted to watch him for another 6 months. During that 6 months, Benaiah did fine, but my heart rhythms worsened and we discovered a tumor in my neck.  Benaiah was cleared by neuro in October and we got a surgical plan in place with Mayo Clinic for my tumor. Then my surgeon got better imaging and decided it was too dangerous to remove the tumor after all. He cancelled surgery, but reassured me that it will “probably” stay benign. I took a week or two to absorb that, thought I was ready to rally, and then Cody had an abnormal stress test and was referred for imaging of his heart.

Wave after wave after wave. I feel like I am a type A personality being crushed into a type B. You know how people choose life verses? For a while there, mine was Proverbs 20:24:

“The LORD directs our steps, so why try to understand everything along the way?”

For a long time here, my life theme has been: “God’s doing something, but I’m confused.”

After Benaiah was born, I went through a Bible Study on Hebrews by Jen Wilkin with my sisters and there were two ideas she discussed in that study that changed that perspective for me.

The first was the challenge to dwell in the “I don’t know.” Jen Wilkin prefaced the study by explaining the being confused is PART OF the learning process, and if we try to rush to understanding, we miss things. So it was a timely reminder for me to settle in and get comfortable with the tension of what is unresolved and unclear to me – it’s an indicator that God is teaching me something – and it may take time.

The second was a statement that has been so life-giving to me over this past year and a half: “For the believer, trials and difficulty aren’t punishment, they’re training.”

She brought up the simple fact that because our sins are paid for, the challenges we go through here on earth are not God’s punishment. We dwell in the unchanging, unwavering favor and approval of God that was secured for us by Christ’s perfect and satisfactory sacrifice on the cross. So, we don’t have to look at the hardships we’re facing and scratch our heads trying to figure out “What was that for?” We can just buckle up for what the Lord is going to TEACH us through it.

Last month, I spent some time in 1 Peter and I came across these verses:

“When you do good and suffer, if you endure it, this brings favor with God. For you were called to this, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example that you should follow in His steps…when He suffered He did not threaten, but entrusted Himself to the One who judges justly.”

–1 Peter 2:20, 23

Peter was writing to some stressed out people. He wrote to encourage them to stand firm in the midst of persecution. These guys were feeling the pressure. They were dealing with loss and threat and grief. Their lives were not looking like this beautiful example of God’s favor and blessing and provision. It would be easy to look around and say “Hold on! I’m just trying to do what’s right here, and it’s all falling apart! What am I getting wrong?”

When it comes to that mess and that pain and that confusion, Peter reassures them with these 5 words:

“You were called to this.”

Those words floored me. It was like the Lord took this blurry, confusing, “why try to understand?” section of my life and brought it into focus.

The hard things He allows in my life and yours aren’t just disruptions. They’re a calling.

And He left us an example for how to face hard callings. Again, Verse 20 and 23 say,

“For you were called to this, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example that you should follow in His steps…when He suffered He did not threaten, but entrusted Himself to the One who judges justly.”

How do I face hard callings? I entrust myself to the One who judges justly and I endure it.

You know what trust looks like? It’s quiet. It waits. It offers itself up as a slave and as a sacrifice to the One who will never waste what I offer.

Christ’s example did not have eyes fixed downward, despairing at the difficulty and loss, or behind, trying to make sense of the story, but upward, declaring “Yet I want your will.” And forward, to the joy set before Him.

That’s the only way I will be able to follow his example of entrusting and enduring:

To gaze, that is, to take a long look:

At the joy, not the loss.

At the Father, not the trouble.

At what’s ahead, not at what’s right in front of me, and not at all I still have to trudge through.

To look past the labor pains, to the new baby

Past the hardest leg of the race, to the rest and satisfaction of the finish line,

Past this body, to the new one,

Past the suffering, to the glory that outweighs it.

To be in it and yet look past it.

When I’m losing heart, When I am twisted into knots of grief and confusion; trying to make sense of what God has allowed into my life, what if I surrendered the need to understand? What if I entrusted myself to Him?

What if I looked at the most difficult and painful parts of my story as a calling? A calling where He promises to strengthen me with such endurance that my hope in Him survives it? A calling that Immanuel, God WITH us, has promised to walk WITH me through and that He has marched out in front of me, entrusting and enduring, looking up and looking forward, so that I would know the steps to get through it, too?

“…Let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race

God has set

Before us.”

–Hebrews 12:1

You and I did not set the race that is before us right now. We did not choose the course. Believe me, I would have picked a smoother one. But we were called to this.

“So, if you are suffering in a manner that pleases God, keep on doing what is right, and trust your lives to the God who created you, for He will never fail you.”

–1 Peter 4:19

Oh Lord,

As the pace of life accelerates, may I hold up for just a minute to take a long look at you, in all your perfection, and adore you.

Thank you for your faithfulness to me, your compassion for me, and the example you’ve given me of entrusting yourself to the One who will never fail me. Help me to lay aside the burdens so my hands are free to reach for you and my heart is light to hope in you and my voice is steady to sing your praises. In my suffering, you are working, you are worthy. Lord, help me not to lose sight of that.

When You’re Facing a Boulder

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“Therefore we do not give up. Even thought our outer person is being destroyed, our inner person is being renewed day by day. For our momentary, light affliction is producing for us an absolutely incomparable eternal weight of glory. “

–2 Corinthians 4:16-17

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It’s been another crazy month of appointments, procedures, and questions. There were truck repairs and medical bills. My surgeon cancelled the tumor resection, my cardiologist is adding a new med and getting another MRI of my heart, Benaiah got ear tubes, and Cody’s getting some testing on his heart as well. It feels like a lot and I’m still absorbing the new information and wrestling with it.

I know a lot of you are probably facing pressures and stresses just like we are, and I wanted to encourage you with this thought: Nobody looks at a 500 lb boulder and thinks, “that’s light.” Boulders are heavy. But if you weigh that boulder next to a Mack truck – the boulder is light because the Mack truck outweighs it. 

It’s not that our troubles are no big deal – they are truly heavy and difficult. It’s just that when you put them on the scale across from the weight of the good that’s coming, they are light by comparison. No matter how heavy the situation you’re facing feels, it’s a boulder of burden opposite a giant Mac truck loaded down with so much good it would break the road scale. When all you can see is the boulder, remember that the truck is en route.

This is a really hard lesson to grasp, and my heart is learning it over and over again right now. We are trying to remember for all we’re worth that our God is faithful to us, that He’s not wasting the things that make us weary, and that He is building something so good, even on the days where it feels like nothing is coming together. 

He can surely use every struggle, every hardship, every weakness, and every delay. He can fill in our gaps, provide where we lack, and move in ways we cannot even imagine.

Lord,

You are ABLE both to lift me up when it’s fitting – to remove what I am persevering under; AND to give me the power to endure the entire time that it is difficult, long-lasting, unclear, and painful. You know I’m longing for the first thing, but perhaps the second thing is even more impressive. Not just that you can bring me out of this, but that you can enable me to wait without losing hope.

A poem by Amy Carmichael – scribbled down in my journal

Sled Dogs: how to regain endurance in harsh conditions

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“…Let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us.”

–Hebrews 12:1


This has been a stressful, emotionally exhausting couple of months. The needs, the appointments, the tests, the new problems cropping up, the hum of uncertainty in the back of my brain, the internal pressure to do something! – but the external reality that there’s not a lot I can do to speed anything up or solve it.

I have pushed to the absolute end of my capacity, waiting for answers, resolution, and a plan to manage what’s wrong and move forward with life.  I crossed into a doctor’s office and gripped his hand with relief because finally, the waiting was over, but he didn’t have the answers. The threshold of his door wasn’t a finish line, it was just the first step of the next lap of the race.

If ever there was a time to strip off extra weight, it’s now.

Are you there, too? Are your steps growing heavy? Are you trying to rally, but you have even further to go than you thought?

I appreciated, as I read this verse in Hebrews, that it dealt with weight and sin as two distinct concepts. It mentioned “every weight” and then talked about sin in particular. But sin’s not the only thing that weighs us down. Our lives get hit with heavy things that aren’t our fault. Doing a word study on “weight” got me laughing because one of the definitions was “a mass.” I’m still coming to terms with the news that I have a mass in my neck; it’s been a heavy knowledge. Yet…somehow, I can choose to strip off enough weight to run with a light heart. But how? Anyone else out there struggling with how in the world you strip off the weight of something you can’t resolve?

“We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith. Because of the joy awaiting him, He endured the cross, disregarding its shame…”

–Hebrews 12:2

I loved this verse…until this month. You do it by keeping your eyes on Jesus. But how? HOW do I keep my eyes on Jesus with all this going on? I am not someone who ignores even minor distractions easily, so telling me to tear my eyes away from this felt like an impossible ask. I am not great at laying aside every weight.

When we lived up in Washington State, Cody got me a husky mix puppy for Christmas. True to her breed, she loved nothing more than to run hard and be in the snow, so we put together a make-shift sled and started training her to pull us. When we taught her sled dog commands, I thought we would just need four directions. If I could get her to go, stop, turn left and turn right, that would be enough, right? Wrong.

She’s not a car. She’s a dog. Dogs are not only taking in your directions, they’re taking in their surroundings, and, especially as puppies, they see a lot of things that are more interesting to them than the straight track ahead.

So, there is a special command for when you see they’ve become distracted and you realize they are about to go off track. “On by.” It means, “Leave that alone. Keep going.”

We’re also not cars. We’re people. We’re not just blindly responding to directions. We are also taking in our surroundings. There’s the load on the sled that we were designed to carry, and then there’s the extra workload of plowing through heavy snow off-trail because we’re angling toward a distraction. So Hebrews 12:1 tells us, “On by – Leave that alone. Keep going.”

How does keeping our eyes on Jesus help us do that? He’s the one ahead of us on the trail. We’re running in his tracks. And He finished. So, we can finish. He hit the cross, and he kept on going for the sake of the joy set before Him. He’s the one that proves we can make it past the difficulty, and that what’s waiting for us on the other side is worth it.

You can’t control the wildlife, and the trail we’re on is not tame. So, what’s the best way to not get killed by a moose or a bear you’ve noticed out in the brush? Keep your eyes on the trail and run hard. Don’t turn toward the distraction. Leave it alone and keep going. On by.

“When the Spirit of truth comes, He will guide you into all truth…He will bring me glory by telling you whatever He receives from me.”

–John 16:13-14

Jesus marked out the trail, then He sent his Spirit to run it with us. He is with us every step of the race, coaching us, directing us, and warning us. We stay light-hearted and on track by keeping our eyes on the Champion who finished the race out in front of us and our ears tuned in to the Musher who urges us on from behind.

So what about the things that ARE our fault?

People are all so different and all sorts of different things trip us up. For me, as I considered this verse, I asked: Lord…I’m having a really hard time enduring. I can’t control the external difficulties, and they do affect me. But will you show me where there is something on my part that is tripping me up?

And man, did it hit me like a stack of bricks.

You worry.

Oh. That’s just me trying to prepare.

I’ve already prepared you.

I get why the verse says it so easily trips me up. Worry is the thing I most easily justify. It’s the thing in me that runs absolutely rampant if I give it even the slightest foothold.

If the musher tells the dog to keep going, and the dog tries to run straight, but keeps eye-balling something off to the side, she can get tangled up in the lines. So. Easily. Even obedient steps can lose a lot of their strength to a heart that’s in knots.

If you’re waiting for me to resolve this one for you, I can’t yet. It’s the thing that so easily trips me up. And every time I’ve gained some momentum in the area of saying “no” to worry, the Lord has entrusted me with a harder thing to practice with. So far, I’ve never succeeded at that harder thing on the first try.

I’ll just encourage you with the reminder that He’s patient. And everyone has a thing that so easily trips them up. So, it can be valuable to ask Him what that is for you, keep an eye out for it, and get into the practice of inviting Him to come untangle the lines for you as often as you need Him to, so you can regain your endurance for the run ahead.

“Let us run with endurance the race God has set before us.” (Hebrews 12:1)

Here’s my last thought for you, especially if, like me, you feel weary and frustrated with how the run has gone so far: I didn’t choose the course.

Believe me, if I had, this is not what it would look like. The course I prepared for didn’t have sharp turns or slippery ice, and I could maneuver it without tipping the sled or getting tangled in the lines. The course I prepared for made me look impressive. But that is not the course God set for me.

He set this one. And it is not easy and I am not navigating it smoothly. I don’t look as good as I want to. It is revealing a lot of my weaknesses. In fact, I think for some of this, I have been the pitiful, injured dog that’s riding in the sled while her foot gets a break. There’s just not a whole lot of glory in that. There are easier races. Races where I could have been a front-runner. This one is above my skill level and it does not play to my strengths. But it’s the one He chose for me, and I trust His choice.

So can you.

When we make it to the finish, it will be His skill that got us there. It will be His victory. His trophy. His glory.

But you know what I saw in every single picture of the Iditarod champions, year after year? It wasn’t a lone racer, standing tall, and proudly holding up his trophy. It was a grinning Musher, seated on the podium, hugging his dogs close.

So, when the conditions are harsh and your endurance is flagging, remember who’s running this race with you. He loves you. He’s with you each step of the way. His voice is directing your steps, urging you to keep going, reminding you to keep your eyes on the trail and not to take on extra weight. He’s there to untangle you when you get knotted up. He knows you, He chose this course and He has the skill to navigate you through it. This will not be easy, but it will be worth it. And when you finally pull across that finish line, He’s the kind of champion who pulls you up on the podium with Him to hold you close and share the glory.

“And when Christ, who is your life, is revealed to the whole world, you will share in all His glory.”

–Colossians 3:4

“I am writing to all who have been called by God the Father, who loves you and keeps you safe in the care of Jesus Christ…Now all glory to God, who is able to keep you from falling away and will bring you with great joy into His glorious presence without a single fault.”

–Jude 1, 24

Adequate Shelter: a place of relief when the storm ramps up

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“But as for me, I will sing about your power. Each morning I will sing with joy about your unfailing love. For you have been my refuge, a place of safety when I am in distress.“
–Psalm 59:16

I’ve been digging through the Word of God and trying to flesh out the concept of joy. There’s a lot to it. Sometimes it’s the only word to express the emotional overflow in a hard-won victory, at the fulfillment of a long-awaited hope. It’s the mark of wholeness, celebration, abundance, and total satisfaction.

But sometimes, Scripture ties the concept of joy to danger, grief, and stress. I’m trying to understand this layer of joy because I think it can be a huge help to me in framing our situation.

Especially in the first half of Psalms, I found a lot of verses that combine the themes of joy and refuge in the same sentence. Joy: the elation and relief you feel when, having desperately needed cover, you have found your shelter adequate.

There’s a song I’ve been playing on repeat over this last week or so as I cling to the refuge visual.

/You can be still
You can trust Him
Even when your world feels busted./

-Jordan Janzen, “You Can Let Go”

My world feels a little busted.

Since Dr. Filart said that an ablation would likely not solve the problem, and he’d like more imaging of my heart. Since the radiologist sent over the report with the words “cerebral white matter disease.” Since I started on an antibiotic to try to clear up a possible pocket of infection in the base of my skull. Since the MRI showed a mass in my neck we didn’t even know was there.

I did pray that whatever was causing my symptoms would show up on imaging. Yeesh.

I’ve mostly responded by calling people and listing the findings. As if rehearsing that list again and again will somehow help it make sense. Or by distraction. Baking show. Survival show. Facebook. Music. Anything to fill the space. The silence. The gnawing awareness that I don’t know what it all means. I don’t want to sit in that awareness. I welcome anything to keep my mind busy instead, even the hum of the CT as I bite my tongue and try not to swallow so they can get a clear picture.

Cody sat me down the other day and told me that I had called my brother, my sister, his sister, and Eva Jeane, but I hadn’t really talked to him. I think…in the same way that I hadn’t really talked to the Lord. I had lightly conversed, I had listened, I had worshipped. But I hadn’t poured out. I was trying to just take in the truth, but a relationship goes both ways. I also have to let out the ache.

Instead, I had tried to satisfy my need to process on the phone, skirting the edges of this uncomfortable emotion, because with Cody and with Jesus…I can’t pretend I’ve got it together and I understand it. It becomes glaringly clear that I’m out of my depth and I’m reaching.  Reaching for any sort of way to describe what is happening that puts me back in a position of control over it, instead of victim to it.

I looked at Cody, and hot tears dribbled down my cheeks as I finally gave voice to my dread. What if, instead of growing stronger and stronger, I’m going to have less and less to give to my little boys? What if, after everything Cody’s already given for me, instead of being able to help him, I become an added burden to his load?

Cody gently reminded me that we live with our own little Ebeneezer, and we paused to listen to the happy pitter patter of his feet in the hallway.

“Maybe,” Cody continued, “maybe just like with Benaiah, first God is making it clear that we’re in an impossible situation, THEN He’ll step in and solve it.”

The next day, Cody left me a note on my desk:

“God sees when our beacons are lit, and unlike Rohan, there is no question as to whether He will answer. (Lord of the Rings reference) He will come. He will walk with us through the flames, and He will be – He is – our salvation! Keep your eyes on Him my love.”

Oh Lord,

Grow me from the person who scurries around on the beach of the Red Sea crying that I’m about to die, into the person who stands on the rock, holds up a staff and screams “Stand still and see the salvation of your God!” No Red Sea moment of options closing down and danger closing in is too hard for you. You make a way where there is no way.

“Peace. Be still.” Speak it over me, Lord. Help me yield to the rule of your peace in my heart. (Colossians 3:16)

Tears are just beneath the surface. Not always. Not when I speak clinically. Clinically, it’s a fascinating case. I’m excited to find out what’s next. But as the person who’s living inside the case study, I am frustrated, I’m scared, I’m troubled, I’m weary. I’m emotionally spent.

As we keep finding things, it feels more and more foolish to hope we will be able to return to the life we hoped for.

“Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done.“

–Philippians 4:6

–What have you already done?–

You saved Benaiah. He’s okay. We are maybe one scan away from a deep sigh of relief. He needed surgery. He had so many things going on in that fragile baby brain. And yet you healed him, Lord, when all we could do was ask you for help.

You sent phone calls. You put me on people’s hearts and they felt moved to call me and speak strength to me. You see me, El Roi. The state of my heart is on your mind.

You sent your words: Acquainted with grief (Isaiah 53:3). Strength to strength (Psalm 84:5-7). Promises of your understanding and compassion for me as the waves hit. Promises of your new strength to survive the next wave when I already feel bowled over and spent from the last one.

You gradually marched out the information so that I can absorb it a little at a time. It is not hitting me all at once, but at a pace I can tolerate.

Before I even asked, Dr. Gottschalk had an ENT he really, really trusted and asked me to go to THAT one. The one who just removed a malignant tumor from his friend’s throat. When I scheduled this new patient appointment with Dr. G, and he got the office staff to move it up from February, it was just to deal with my asthma. I can’t get over the perfect timing that it was all in place when this new round of symptoms hit. To have the doctor that walked through Benaiah’s entire journey with us, now set up to take care of me as the appointments multiply and the information floods in. Incredible. I was not prepared, Lord, but you were.

I’m already set up with weekly therapy appointments. I don’t have to wait until it gets too rough and then try to think about adding another appointment to the schedule. It’s in place. I’ve got a space to talk and process and work through both what we’ve already been through and what’s coming.

You have worked on our behalf, you have heard our cries, you have seen our grief, you have promised your strength, you have prepared the way. It is mine to walk in it. But your fingerprints are all over this.

–What do I need?–

I will ask you. Please, Son of David, have mercy on me. With a word, with a touch, with a thought in your mind, all of my problems would be no challenge at all for you to clear away. Creator, you could totally restore me. I believe you. Please heal me.

“Jesus answered, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned, but that the works of God should be revealed in him.” 

-John 9:3

May the reason I’m sick be so that You get glory. So that the work of God may be revealed in me. And don’t do it in the shadows. Show your strength in my weakness. Give me victory that could never have come from me. Use my story to overcome arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of you in the minds of people (2 Corinthians 10:5). Through me, teach them who you are, that they may come to love you and trust you.

Please, please, make this mass removable, and may it bring relief when it’s removed. Please no radiation. Please no chemo. But not my will but yours. If you ask me to walk that road, strengthen me with the understanding of the incredible greatness of your power for me, the one who believes you (Ephesians 1:19). The same power that raised Christ from the dead? Sickness doesn’t stand a chance against it. My enemy doesn’t stand a chance against it. You can solve dead. You can surely solve everything short of that.

As I look at my erratic heart rhythms, my weary soul, my damaged mind, and my dwindling strength, Help me still to love you with all that’s left of my heart, my soul, my mind and my strength. What little I have, may I give it all to you.

Show me what you are asking of me. Strengthen me to give it. Move me to love you deeper and to humble myself to receive and receive and receive from your love. Oh how I need it. Ground me in it. Help me to stand.

May that love overflow into waiting rooms and doctor’s offices. Help me to see and minister to the needs around me rather than being absorbed in my own concerns.

Help me to exercise discretion with my thoughts: which ones I pick up and hold onto, which ones I lay aside. Give me the wisdom and self-control to choose to dwell on only that which will serve and strengthen me. Give me the trust and the confidence to let tomorrow’s troubles wait, to refuse to suffer them early.

Help me to count it all joy. Give me your joy, your endurance, your strength, your humility.

Give Cody your peace. Comfort his heart. It is so painful to watch someone you love face scary possibilities and be helpless to fix anything about it. I hate that he’s going through that again. Thank you for this husband you guided me to and gave to me in your grace. He is one in a million. Make me a blessing to him. When I feel afraid that I am a burden he will come to resent, remind me your truth, that I am your gift to him. And give to him, through me, Lord.

Help me to trust you with my whole heart and to relax in your goodness – like I do in a beautiful cabin, snuggling by a fireplace and enjoying the giant windows that look out on a violent storm. When I start running through that daunting list, help me to draw it in my mind: the clouds, the lightning, the rain, the wind, the flood. Then, to draw a window framing it. Because the storm is real, but I am inside. You are my adequate shelter.

Give us the joy and relief that is ours because we rest inside your protection. We can watch the storm ramp up and ramp up and appreciate how solid you are and be fascinated by the contrast of the outer chaos and the inner calm. That it’s an impressive storm, but we are safe in it.

“Taste and see that the Lord is good. Oh, the joys of those who take refuge in him!”

–Psalm 34:8

“As pressure and stress bear down on me, I find joy in your commands.”

–Psalm 119:143

“Because you are my helper, I sing for joy in the shadow of your wings. I cling to you;
    your strong right hand holds me securely.“

–Psalm 63:7-8

“He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might, He increases strength.”

–Isaiah 40:29

“Do not gloat over me, my enemies!
    For though I fall, I will rise again.
Though I sit in darkness,
    the Lord will be my light.”

–Micah 7:8

Look Harder: a gentle first step when your eyes are cast down

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“Consider the ravens: They don’t sow or reap; they don’t have a storeroom or a barn; yet God feeds them. Aren’t you worth much more than the birds?”

–Luke 12:24

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I am in an ongoing learning process in my battle with worry, fear, and stress. This past two weeks, we had another round of overwhelm.

Cody went in for emergency surgery to deal with a sudden case of appendicitis and my doctor put in some orders for bloodwork and imaging to get a clearer picture of what’s going on with me. One thing she wanted was a brain MRI. I’m still not quite over the last time our family went through getting a brain MRI “just to rule something out.”

And so, these past two weeks have highlighted where I still struggle in this learning process, especially with waiting and with fear. One thing I have noticed in my reading is that God does not just say what NOT to do or think. He directs us in what TO do and think.

He doesn’t just say, “Don’t be afraid.”

He says, “Take courage, I am here.” (Matthew 14:27)

As I read through Luke 12 this week, the heading in my Bible caught my attention: “The Cure for Anxiety.”

The cure? Does anxiety have a cure? I have only ever seen management for anxiety in the medical field. Meds and processes and tools to lessen its effects. I’ve never had a patient tell me, “Oh, I used to have anxiety, but it’s cured.”

The title isn’t part of God’s inspired word, it was a section label added later. But after so many passages of Jesus dealing with the incurable: leprosy, years of bleeding, blindness, muteness, deafness, paralysis; I thought it was spot on, to take what he said about anxiety and call it the cure. Because “cure” is what He can do with things that men can only manage.

I live with the proof.

And so I looked past “Do not worry” and hunted for what Jesus said TO DO. Where is the Siloam pool He directs us to go wash in for this blindness? And He repeated it for me, so I wouldn’t miss it.

He didn’t just say, “Don’t worry.” He said, “Consider.”

Right! I thought. Fix my eyes on Jesus! That’s always the answer.

But no. Not exactly. Not this time. For weariness, He says “Consider Him who endured such hostility from sinners against Himself, lest you become weary and discouraged in your souls.” (Hebrews 12:3). For endurance, He says “We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith…” (Hebrews 12:2). But for anxiety, Christ himself, who held in his hands the ability to heal our torment, said to look at something else.

“Consider the ravens: They don’t sow or reap; they don’t have a storeroom or a barn; yet God feeds them.” (Luke 12:24)

“Consider how the wildflowers grow: They don’t labor or spin thread. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was adorned like one of these.” (Luke 12:27)

I looked up this word that is translated “Consider” in Greek, and this is what I found:

It is the word katanoēsate (κατανοήσατε) – from kata: “down into,” and noeó: “think/understand/realize.” It means to take note of, consider carefully, make account of, or discern. Properly, “to think from up to down.” To understand fully, to consider closely. The word expresses real comprehending: considering attentively until reaching a clear and definite understanding.

There’s a scene in the animated movie The Lion King, where the wise baboon Rafiki promises Simba he can show him his father, then leads him to a pool and tells him to look into the water. Simba peers over the edge and then lets out a defeated sigh, “That’s not my father, it’s just my reflection.”

“No,” Rafiki grabs his head and points back at the water, “Look harder. He lives in you.”

It’s the best visual I can come up with for what “Consider” means here. “Look harder. Look more closely. Think from up to down until you understand more fully.”

Look harder at the birds and the wildflowers, at these “cures” for my thinking that my Heavenly Father has placed all around me, until I reach real comprehending of what they mean:

Birds don’t store up.

Wildflowers aren’t the result of someone’s carefully tended garden.

And yet look at them, thriving.

Next, Jesus asks two questions:

  1. “Aren’t you worth much more than the birds?” (Luke 12:24)
  2. “How much more will He do for you?” (Luke 12:28)

He says “Don’t worry.” And then He tells me what TO DO instead.

Think this: “Your Father knows that you need these things.” (Luke 12:30)

Do this: Seek His kingdom, give to the poor, and store up inexhaustible treasure in Heaven instead of frantically gathering and trying to hold onto what you can here on Earth. (Luke 12:31-34)

Because why would you store up something that’s going to be GIVEN to you?

This summer, we got to visit Melvin and Brenda, one of the awesome couples who has taught and mentored us over the last several years. I shared with them how it had felt to be so spent and so frightened that I went limp. How disappointed I was that I froze and ended up depending on the faith and the prayers of others; that I despaired for my son, while others kept hoping and asking that God would rescue him.

Melvin told me I was not alone. There have been moments where he has gone limp, and that his rule for seasons like this is to have four good friends. Like the paralyzed man who couldn’t get himself to the feet of Jesus, but let himself be carried, lifted, and lowered by friends who were determined to get him to the place of help, we may face times where we know we need the Lord, but we are so bowled over by what we are going through, that we feel too weak to even carry ourselves to Him.

Melvin said those are the moments to invite four good friends, one for each corner of your mat, to carry you to the feet of Jesus, to intercede for you, to rip open the roof, and to beg Him to help you. And that, when you can walk again, it’s time to grab a corner of the mat and carry someone who can’t.

I think that’s one reason “consider the birds” and “consider the flowers” hit me differently this time. Because I know what it is to know God is right and good and able and that what I need is to fix my eyes on Jesus, and yet to be bowed down by so much pain and fear that I struggle to lift my eyes and meet his gaze.

And in those moments, the One who gently calls me to come to Him and find his rest, points to a simple first step when my eyes are cast down:

Are you so stressed and anxious that it’s hard to see me? Does it feel impossible to fix your gaze on me? Then look around you, at what you CAN see.

Wildflowers. Birds. Common. I’ve put them everywhere so you are never without the reminder.

See them? Good. Now look harder. Consider what they mean.

When you cannot see my face or understand my heart, look at how I care for the small things that are not near as valuable to me or as lasting as you are. This is what it means: I will absolutely care for you.

No matter what it looks like, when you’re going under, look again. Still don’t see your Father? Look harder.

“Then he said to his disciples, “Therefore I tell you, don’t worry about your life, what you will eat; or about the body, what you will wear. 23 For life is more than food and the body more than clothing. 24 Consider the ravens: They don’t sow or reap; they don’t have a storeroom or a barn; yet God feeds them. Aren’t you worth much more than the birds? 25 Can any of you add one moment to his life span[d] by worrying? 26 If then you’re not able to do even a little thing, why worry about the rest?

27 “Consider how the wildflowers grow: They don’t labor or spin thread. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was adorned like one of these. 28 If that’s how God clothes the grass, which is in the field today and is thrown into the furnace tomorrow, how much more will he do for you—you of little faith? 29 Don’t strive for what you should eat and what you should drink, and don’t be anxious. 30 For the Gentile world eagerly seeks all these things, and your Father knows that you need them.

31 “But seek his kingdom, and these things will be provided for you. 32 Don’t be afraid, little flock, because your Father delights to give you the kingdom. 33 Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Make money-bags for yourselves that won’t grow old, an inexhaustible treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. 34 For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

–Luke 12:22-34

Here’s a song I wrote about considering the lilies:

Never Enough: bold desires and broken cisterns

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“Commit your works to the Lord and your plans will be established.”

–Proverbs 16:3

—

It was time to push the button.

Years of crafting, editing, tweaking, molding this message that had become so anchoring and life-giving to my own heart in my own hardships, and now it was about to be a book. Surreal.

It’s hard to describe the combination of excitement and ache I felt in that moment. Thrill at the idea of this blessing people, of people loving it and enjoying it and sitting at the feet of their Savior because of it. Dread because I didn’t know what to expect. This is self-publishing after all. Would people only buy it because they wanted to be a help to me, or would it hold its own value? I had poured my heart out across these pages. Would there be crickets?

I breathed a prayer and clicked “Publish.” Then I cracked open my Bible and stared at this verse. “Commit your works to the Lord and your plans will be established.” (Proverbs 16:9)

I looked up “works.” It came from the Hebrew maaseh – activity, labor, practice, vocation, workmanship, actions, achievements, accomplishments, art. Perfect! Labor, workmanship, art – what a cool fleshing out of that word – it sounds a lot like my book, a book I’m committing to the Lord!

I looked up “plans.” It came from the Hebrew machashabah – thoughts, designs, intentions, plans, purposes, plots, schemes. Yes. This resonates with me too! I have purposes, designs and intentions for what I want this book to accomplish that matter a LOT to me!

I looked up “established.” It came from the Hebrew kun – firm, set in order, reliable, carried, appointed, confirmed, made sure, maintained in position. So good. Only the Lord can carry and maintain in position the work I’ve entrusted to Him. I do not have the power to establish it.

Then, for fun, I looked up “commit,” not thinking I would learn a whole lot, because, how much is there really to the verb “commit?” It just means to trust, right?

It had a few translations, but one definition: “to roll away.”

That gave me pause. The establishing of those deep desires for the work that is so precious to me? It depends on rolling it away, into the hands of the One who can make it firm.

That’s not the same as gesturing to a corner of it and asking Him to team-lift with me. This is not sharing the load. This is rolling it completely onto His shoulders, and leaving mine free to take up His yoke. I give Him my work and take up His rest. I labor and craft and pour my heart into something. And then I surrender it – for Him to do whatever He pleases with it.

Why is that tricky? Because it’s a lot of heart work to balance sharing boldly out of your gifting and remembering that if the Lord uses it, it’s not about you.

“The lust to be noticed and appreciated will never be satisfied. It has to be crucified.”

-Gary Thomas, Cherish

Some of my desire is to build up other believers:

“Even so you, since you are zealous for spiritual gifts, let it be for the edification of the church that you seek to excel.” (1 Corinthians 14:12)

Some of my desire is to glorify God:

“He must increase, I must decrease.” (John 3:30)

Those are desires I think the Lord delights to establish.

But some of my desire is to receive enough affirmation to combat some deep-seated beliefs I battle: that I am burdensome, not keeping up, and not wanted. And no matter how many beautiful reviews or encouraging comments I receive, they will never be enough. The Lord has given me enough proof in HIS word that those thoughts are not true; He will not establish my desire to supplement it with man’s words.

“The fear of man is a dangerous trap but trusting the Lord means safety” (Proverbs 29:25). Placing my trust back in Him and His word, day in and day out, as often as I feel insecure, is a lot of work. I am often tempted to seek out and settle for the approval of man. And it would not be loving for God to provide fuel for the fire at the altar of that idol.

In His love, He may give me some encouraging glimpses that He’s using my work, that He’s established it. But He will not establish my desire to find security in broken cisterns. They can produce no steadiness in my life.

I glanced at the cover of my book and chuckled at my own mixed-up heart. “One thing is needed, Beka.” And my Savior’s desire for me is that I find it, again and again and again, and let my roots grow down deep into it. That I would be empowered with inner strength, rather than chase and grasp after external reassurance. That I would experience His love and take on His humility so that I am not thrown by being overlooked. That I would receive from Him a steadiness that is not littered or poisoned by fear that I am not loved enough or will not have enough.

“I pray that from his glorious, unlimited resources he will empower you with inner strength through his Spirit. Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong.” (Ephesians 3:16-19)

I opened up my journal and wrote this:

Lord…please take this book – my art and labor and design – and spread it far and wide and move people to sit at your feet, to listen to you, to fix their eyes on you, to trust you, to find healing in you, to take courage from you. Use my book to deepen people’s relationship with you. I do not have the connections to get this resource as far as I want it to go. But I’ve written my story and my challenge to believe you faithful into it. So Lord, give it wings. Take it further and use it more powerfully than I could ever imagine. Break it and bless it and feed 5000. Here is my jug of water. Only you can make it wine.

But You must increase. I must decrease. Give me the heart to see I have nothing and did nothing that was not given to me. You are faithful to me with your unfailing love, so help me to endure the quiet when there is a void of feedback. Teach me to crucify the lust to be noticed and appreciated. Make my soul’s desire pure to see you increase. You alone.

A few weeks later, upon reading one of the kindest reviews ever, I was thrown. I just did not know how to answer. You’ll laugh at me, but I’m telling the truth: I googled “humble Christian author responses to compliments.” And I came across an article that said this:

“Humility is not a response. It’s a heart attitude.” – Jonathan Malm

Ouch. You can’t google your way to a right response here, Beka. You need your Savior to transform your attitude. And you’ll keep needing Him. And He’ll keep being all you need.

Oh Lord,

A humble heart doesn’t stress about how to respond humbly. It just does, flowing from a humble source – not itself – but YOU. Meek and lowly. The One who calls prideful, weary hearts like mine to come and rest.

Humble my heart, Lord, and give me your rest, please. Master, do as you will with my life, provide what you will. I commit my book, my work, my voice, and my life to you.

Establish it.

My brand-new book, “One Thing Is Needed” releases on Amazon today!

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God has really used the verses I’ve highlighted in this book to challenge, shape, encourage, and change me. I’ve done my best to take those moments where He squared up my thinking and shored up my confidence, and to put it into words for you.

“I must decrease, He must increase” – John 3:30

May my book push you to His book. It was crafted as an offering to remind my heart and yours of the treasure we have in Christ and the immense value of regularly taking the time to listen to Him.

I hope you enjoy it and can’t wait to hear what you think of it!

Get your copy here:

The Lord Is Building: the reason for confidence when the way before us is unclear

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—

“Unless the Lord builds a house,
    the work of the builders is wasted.
Unless the Lord protects a city,
    guarding it with sentries will do no good.
It is useless for you to work so hard
    from early morning until late at night,
anxiously working for food to eat;
    for God gives rest to his loved ones.”

–Psalm 127:1-2

—

April 25, 2023

It’s Day Five up at Guthrie Lake, Michigan. My mom and dad come up this early every year to open the cabin for rentals after the long winter. I’m glad we decided to come along this year. It’s been sweet. Peaceful. Also exhausting. Funny that those things can co-exist. That you can be so physically drained and yet find that some of your inner wrestling has settled. I think living a different rhythm for a minute has given some needed space to sit with the changes, to ask questions, to gain clarity and to acknowledge what remains unresolved.

My whole family is sick. I’m now using an inhaler multiple times a day. We’ve had many, many Abi tantrums. Failures, tears, walks in the woods, and grace. Cold weather and aching throats. Fussy baby, another ear infection, rocking by the fire at 2 a.m., and discovering beaver-chewed trees. Another round of searching for houses in the woods on the water. Nothing’s turning up that we can afford. Cody seems like if we found something, he’d want to go for it – to set us up with housing for furloughs – with land we can start paying off and renting out while we’re overseas, maybe even blessing other families with it as we’re able to. I, too, have a growing desire to own a place that confuses me sometimes…but I have a lot of hesitation about the amount of stress it could add to our lives this year as we prepare in so many other ways to return to life and ministry overseas. Especially just coming out of my weakest, shakiest years ever, it’s hard to judge where I am strong enough to face risk and challenge again, and where I will buckle if I push too soon.

Here’s what I keep coming back to:

“Unless the Lord builds the house, the work of the builders is wasted…it is useless for you to work so hard from early morning until late at night, anxiously working…”

–Psalm 127:1-2

God says that the anxious work that robs me of rest is useless. Wasted. What the Lord builds, that’s what stands. How much restlessness have I endured, so concerned about whether dearly-held hopes for my life will come together, instead of standing in confidence that the Lord is building – and that what He is building will stand?

“The Lord will work out his plans for my life – for your faithful love, O Lord, endures forever…”

–Psalm 138:8

“The Lord directs the steps of the godly.
    He delights in every detail of their lives.”

–Psalm 37:23

God is a good communicator. He is the source of peace. He is able to lead and guide me every step of the way. He’s building the details of my small life, and with it, He is also building something so much bigger. I have every reason for confidence.

“For you are my hiding place;
    you protect me from trouble.
    You surround me with songs of victory. 

The Lord says, “I will guide you along the best pathway for your life.
    I will advise you and watch over you.”

–Psalm 32:7-8

Lord,

My whole heart is before you. Not just with thoughts of a settling place for my family when we face transition again, but with all our hopes, all that we’ve worked toward, and all our worries and burdens.

I want to rest content, holding all that I do not yet grasp in surrender. I want to walk bravely, thoughtfully, patiently, and humbly. I want to work with all my might and rest when it’s warranted, even when the need for rest comes unexpectedly.

Lord, quiet my anxious heart. Give us lamplight for the next step. Give us unity and peace if you are granting us a desire that takes risk. Help us to wait on you. Encourage our hearts for the calling of parenting our kids and shepherding them toward you. Fix my gaze on you alone.

My work is in vain unless you carry it out.

So I will not labor anxiously, striving to bring about things that I cannot. Not in my life, not with my kids, not even in my own heart. I must hold in view who does the work.

I will hold out for what you are giving and labor heartily according to the route you are carrying us along, even when it confuses me.

Give us understanding, Lord – that we may use our small strength well – given to the One who can multiply it.

God Plants: a prayer for releasing our baskets and our brokenness

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“She saw that he was a special baby and kept him hidden for three months. But when she could no longer hide him, she got a basket made of papyrus reeds and waterproofed it with tar and pitch. She put the baby in the basket and laid it among the reeds along the bank of the Nile River. The baby’s sister then stood at a distance, watching to see what would happen to him.”

–Exodus 2:2-4

—

March 15, 2023

Just going to pour out my heart here.

Today, I walked to the fridge, opened the door, looked at the bottle of Benaiah’s brain medication, and left it sitting there. This is Day #1 of NO DIAMOX for Benaiah. And he is all grins.

Praise Him.

Praise Him.

Praise Him.

Praise Him.

Lord Almighty, Thank you for restoring my little baby.

I was watching “Prince of Egypt” with Abi yesterday and the scene where Moses’ mother lays the baby in the basket and releases it to the Nile – with its waves, the crocodiles, the ships and nets and hazards, and then it finds its way to the calm riverbank with a bathing princess, ready to take him in and return him to his own mother’s arms. It had me breaking inside. THIS. THIS is what I felt with my baby. Releasing him into all these dangers I was helpless to protect him from. Pressed between the soldiers coming after him and the unknowns of pushing him out to sea. CSF shunting on one hand, Endoscopic third ventriculostomy and choroid plexus cauterization on the other, watching and waiting and begging for a med that never works to WORK, please God, WORK! Helplessly releasing my baby to His hands – I’ve done everything I can for him here, you have to protect him now.

I didn’t know what God had for him. But like Moses, I see that he is a special baby. And just as He shielded that little basket and swept it to safety, He held my baby with delicate care and dropped him back into my arms, healthy and whole, despite every odd. Despite hydrocephalus, despite arachnoid cysts, despite congenital malformation of the cerebellum, despite spina bifida, despite strabismus, despite nystagmus, despite weight loss and jaundice and tongue tie and lip tie, despite abnormalities on his abdominal ultrasound, despite birth defects, despite complications in surgery, despite plagiocephaly, ear infections, and fevers, he is okay.

He is okay.

Lord,

The river was turbulent and the dangers were many and the basket was handmade and it was out of my hands and my heart screamed “SAVE HIM,” and you heard my cry. The basket held – watertight – and you swept him into peaceful waters.

Lord. What will his life hold?

And why do I need counseling after a miracle?

Because no mother should have to lay her 17 day old baby in a basket of wires and testing and specialists and hospitals and brain scans. And if she must, the basket and the baby may make it to safety, but she will not be okay.

Past the stage of not okay, I’m trusting that this makes for a strong mama. One that has practiced acknowledging how little control she has and releasing what she holds most precious in the whole world into your capable hands. One that knows she can trust you.

But in the aftermath, I do not feel strong. I feel like someone took a blender to my heart.

I told a few close friends the full story this last week, and I shared about a brutal moment. After all the results had come in at the children’s hospital and I’d called Cody to come – come right now. And I was curled up in a recliner staring and Cody walked in the door, scooped our new baby from his hospital crib and held him and grinned at him and bounced him and sang him a silly song.

Here’s the picture of that moment:

I remember it, because he was being what I so badly wanted to be for Benaiah.

I couldn’t look at my baby – tears would start spilling and it would be too hard to breathe. I wanted in that moment to cuddle him close and reassure him and tell him everything would be all right, but the world had just spun out of my control and I couldn’t make it okay for him and I was afraid that if I picked him up and took a good long look at him, I would scream. I was afraid I would give into the utterly devastated wail of my soul and it would frighten my baby instead of soothing him.

I once asked Cody, “How? How did you just swoop in and find that silly place and love him so well in that moment right after that news broke over us?”

Cody’s eyes misted over, “Beka…I didn’t know how much time we had left with him. I wanted to cherish him every moment of it.”

This last week, a close friend of mine was sharing some scary possibilities she’s facing for her baby – he has some persistent symptoms she’s afraid to get checked out. She told me, “I can’t do it! I can’t test him because I can’t face it if it’s bad news. I. will. die.”

“Yes,” I said, “A part of you will die. And then you call me.”

Because that part of me has died, too. When you push what you hold most precious out into the water in a handmade basket and it drifts away from the reach of your fingers, you will not be okay. That moment will wreck you and a piece of you will die. Surrender is a death. And in this life, our God will ask us for surrender.

But Lord, you are the resurrection and the life.

So, I bring that death to you. That churned up, bleeding heart. The fear and the heartache and the despair I felt. The layers of being so sick for so long and finally the nausea is over but I’m facing uncertainties with my heart arrhythmia and tons of tests are slotted for me and I just found out I have a dilated heart ventricle and I don’t know what that means for my future and I’m trying to heal post-partum and coughing all night long in the recliner at the children’s hospital because I’m also fighting the flu and trying to nurse and it’s not working and there’s a thousand wires coming from my baby’s head and his eyes won’t stop tremoring.

The moment the resident walked in and started listing things they’d found that they were hoping they’d rule out – after I’d been trying to convince myself all night long that what I saw on that scan could somehow be a variation of normal. I give you these moments that wrecked me, Lord, that are painful for me to revisit. That visit me unprompted.

I have never felt so helpless, so afraid, or so much dread as I have this year.

Heal me, Oh Lord, and I shall be healed. (Jeremiah 17:14)

Surrender is a death. But when I went limp, you held me. And when my baby swept out of my reach, you had him. And what you have allowed to break and die in me was not serving me. It was a pressure to strive for control that suffocated my spirit. What you plant in its place will breathe life and trust.

“The Spirit of God, who raised Jesus from the dead, lives in you. And just as God raised Christ Jesus from the dead, he will give life to your mortal bodies by this same Spirit living within you.”

–Romans 8:11

Every place in me that you’ve allowed brokenness to touch holds the promise of resurrection. You give and take away. And what you give is more than what you take away.

Oh Lord,

Teach me to leave time in our schedule for all that is happening underneath the surface in our family as we recover. Lord, give me patience for the time it takes to feel better and the process it is to work through things. Teach me to hold space for soul rest, and the labor it takes to enter into it.

I don’t want to be afraid of the things I am afraid of. I don’t want to be twisted up over the things you have allowed. All your ways are just and true. You are trustworthy. Start to smooth the knots in me, Lord.

I read today in Hosea that “Jezreel” means “God plants.” The very place of Israel’s downfall – the name that meant their doom, also prophesied restoration. Our God is a restorer – and we have his promise that what He gives and what He grows will outweigh the suffering that once overshadowed this place. If my heart is thoroughly churned up – may it be as fresh tilled soil: ready for the planting. Plant your truth deep and bring forth life, Lord. My prayer for this grief is “Jezreel” – God plants.

And to you who are reading this with tight throats and hearts in shreds, my prayer for your grief is “Jezreel” – God plants.

“And the Lord said, “Name the child Jezreel, for I am about to punish King Jehu’s dynasty to avenge the murders he committed at Jezreel. In fact, I will bring an end to Israel’s independence. I will break its military power in the Jezreel Valley…Yet the time will come when Israel’s people will be like the sands of the seashore – too many to count! Then, at the place where they were told, “You are not my people,” it will be said, “You are children of the living God.” Then the people of Judah and Israel will unite together. They will choose one leader for themselves, and they will return from exile together. What a day that will be – the day of Jezreel – when God will again plant his people in his land.”

–Hosea 1:4-5, 10-11

Saddle Your Donkey and Go: when you’re deeply troubled, don’t stop short

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“…He said to Gehazi, “Look, the woman from Shunem is coming. Run out to meet her and ask her, ‘Is everything all right with you, your husband, and your child?’”

“Yes,” the woman told Gehazi, “everything is fine.”

But when she came to the man of God at the mountain, she fell to the ground before him and caught hold of his feet. Gehazi began to push her away, but the man of God said, “Leave her alone. She is deeply troubled, but the Lord has not told me what it is.”

–2 Kings 4:25-27

This is the story of a woman who never thought she’d be able to have children. After she used her resources really generously to care for Elisha, God’s prophet, he promised that she’d have a son within a year. She’d given without asking for anything in return and hearing this, she begged Elisha not to get her hopes up. But sure enough, in a year’s time, she was holding the baby boy she hadn’t dared to hope or ask for.

Then the story takes a brutal turn. The boy grows until he’s old enough to head out to the fields with his dad. One morning, while they’re out working, he suddenly starts screaming that his head hurts. Reading this less than a year out from our ordeal with Benaiah’s brain scans, you know at this point, this story had me tense in a whole new way.

The dad sends his kid home to mom, who holds him in her lap. By noon, the baby boy she hadn’t dared to hope or ask for is dead.

I have no idea how I would have reacted. After two days of testing in the hospital, the doctor brought me a pretty scary list of things they’d found on Benaiah’s imaging. Cody had been holding down the fort at home and I’d been handling the baby and his care up until that point, but as soon as that doctor left the room, I got on the phone with Cody.

“It’s time for you to come now. I need you.”

I would have expected the Woman from Shunem to send the servant running for her husband. “Come back from the fields. Come now. I need you. My whole world has just fallen apart. I can’t face this alone.”

Instead, she sent this message:

“Send one of the servants and a donkey so that I can hurry to the man of God and come right back.”

“Why go today?” he asked. “It is neither a new moon festival nor a Sabbath.”

But she said, “It will be all right.”

So she saddled the donkey and said to the servant, “Hurry! Don’t slow down unless I tell you to.”

–2 Kings 4:22-24

The woman didn’t call for her husband. She didn’t call for a doctor. She didn’t run to her mom. She didn’t settle for Elisha’s servant. It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine. She waved them off. AKA: You are not the one who can help me and I’m not stopping one single step short of God himself. She high-tailed it straight to the man of God and fell at his feet. Elisha tried to send her back home with his staff and his servant.

“But the boy’s mother said, “As surely as the Lord lives and you yourself live, I won’t go home unless you go with me.” So Elisha returned with her.“

–2 Kings 4:30

And through Elisha, this woman got her son back. Back from the dead. It’s only the second time this has ever happened in all of history. And God did it for the woman who saddled a donkey and ran straight to Him for help. I laughed a little to myself at her laser focus.

Her husband tries to ask what’s going on and her response is “It will be all right.” Nope. You can’t do anything about this. Not you.

Gehazi, the right-hand man of God’s prophet, recognizes her, greets her, tries to check in on her and her family. Her response: “Yes. Everything is fine.” Nope. You can’t do anything about this. Not you.

She gets to the feet of Elisha, the one through whom she can access the words of Jehovah Himself, and she hangs on for dear life.

“Did I ask you for a son, my lord? And didn’t I say, ‘Don’t deceive me and get my hopes up’?”

It reminded me of the time King Hezekiah got a letter threatening the total destruction of Judah. He didn’t write back or hold a press conference or summon his advisors. He hurried to the temple, spread out the letter before the Lord, and begged for help:

“O Lord, God of Israel, you are enthroned between the mighty cherubim! You alone are God of all the kingdoms of the earth. You alone created the heavens and the earth. Bend down, O Lord, and listen! Open your eyes, O Lord, and see! Listen to Sennacherib’s words of defiance against the living God….Now, O Lord our God, rescue us from his power; then all the kingdoms of the earth will know that you alone, O Lord, are God.”

–2 Kings 19:15-19

It reminded me of King Jehoshaphat who, having received word that three nations had formed a vast army and were marching toward Jerusalem that very moment, begged the Lord for guidance, headed to the Temple courtyard and before all his people, prayed for help:

“O Lord, God of our ancestors, you alone are the God who is in heaven. You are ruler of all the kingdoms of the earth. You are powerful and mighty; no one can stand against you!.. O our God, won’t you stop them? We are powerless against this mighty army that is about to attack us. We do not know what to do, but we are looking to you for help.”

-2 Chronicles 20:6, 12

I like this straightforward approach. When you have a God-sized problem, don’t stop short of Him. Hurry to the place where you can hear his words. Ask your questions. Beg for help. Wait and see what He will do, who He will send. But don’t settle for any person, no matter how impressive or well-meaning, on your way to lay a problem before him.

Don’t wrack your brain for a strategy, beg your mighty God to help you. He’s the one with the power to part waters or poison them, weave worlds with his words, shake mountains with his breath, drop food from the sky, draw pools into the desert, bring children back from death. He’s the one that can guard your heart with peace while you wait in the dark and the unresolved places. He’s the one who restores your soul. He’s the one who holds you in your grief and binds up your broken heart. He’s the one who is crafting a home and a story for us that outweighs every hardship, loss, and suffering this world has ever held, and he has cut a pathway for us to enter into it with his own blood.

There is nothing too hard for Him. He is ready and willing to help you. Go to Him. Saddle your donkey and go. He may not give you the thing that you ask for, but He will never fail to help you, and He will never, never ignore you. When your hope is in Him, you will not be disappointed.

“God is our refuge and our strength. Always ready to help in times of trouble.”

–Psalm 46:1

You do need people. Let them love you and care for you. Learn from their counsel. But this is the lesson I take from the Shunemite woman and from Hezekiah and from Jehoshaphat: When you’re deeply troubled, seek Him first.

“Casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you.”

–1 Peter 5:7

“Unless the Lord builds a house,
    the work of the builders is wasted.
Unless the Lord protects a city,
    guarding it with sentries will do no good.
 It is useless for you to work so hard
    from early morning until late at night,
anxiously working for food to eat;
    for God gives rest to his loved ones.”

–Psalm 127:1-3

“Some nations boast of their chariots and horses,
    but we boast in the name of the Lord our God.“

–Psalm 20:7

“Oh, please help us against our enemies,
    for all human help is useless.
With God’s help we will do mighty things,
    for he will trample down our foes.”

–Psalm 60:11-12

“Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. 7 Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.“

–Philippians 4:6-7