It's Coming

The calendar is telling me that April will be here any day, but the view from my window deceives me.

Nothing much is green or blooming.  The wind is biting like that of early January.  And more snow has fallen this week than has all winter.

They say spring began a little more than a week ago, but...

Where?

I can't see it.

When the grips of winter's bony fingers refuse to let go of our forecast, my memory becomes foggy, and I soon have forgotten what it's like to step on the patio after the sun has set, and the air is still warm.  When the smell of grilling hamburgers becomes a staple for the evening hours.  When sleeves become short, feet go bare, and the sun blaring through a set of drawn blinds is all the indoor light you'll need for the day.

The unveiling of spring can create anticipation in me like that of a night before a birthday, a Christmas Eve, when you know...

Something incredible is coming.

But here you are.  Stuck in the season before.  The day before.  The minute before.

This is the end of Holy Week.  We've observed Palm Sunday.  Maundy Thursday.  Good Friday.

But what about Saturday?

What about that day before?

We learn in each of the gospels that once Jesus is crucified on Friday--a process which lasted a mere six hours, as opposed to most crucifixions, which could last days--he is quickly removed from the cross and buried in a nearby tomb, just before sundown.

The next day, Saturday, was the Sabbath, and because it was a day of rest, Scripture is silent as to any events, thoughts, or feelings experienced during that period of waiting on the day before.

And quite frankly, it drives me nuts!

I'm dying to know how Mary felt as she waited for her Son to rise.

What Peter's thought process was as he ruminated his denial.

If, like when our hope of spring runs dry as the winter weather lingers, did they wonder if this was it?

Was Jesus really coming back?

Perhaps the cold reality of a crucified Savior scorned their hearts like a promise forgotten.  Perhaps their outlook was as bleak as a spring snowstorm.

Even as I look forlornly at the dreary sky, I know the sun will shine again.  I know the trees will bloom.  The weather will warm.

Spring will come.

And even as He remained in the grave on Saturday, surely those who knew Him, who believed Him, knew that Resurrection Day was upon them.

It's coming.

A snowflake can't dissipate the promise of spring.  A tomb couldn't bury the promise of His return.

It's coming.

The sun will set tonight, and the day before will end.

It's coming.

Those burial clothes won't stay on.

It's coming.

The Son will rise before the sun will rise.

He's coming!

Praise God for a Savior who didn't forget to return.  Who remembered you and me.

We're almost there.

Just a few more hours.

Something incredible is coming.

"He is not here; he is risen, just as he said." ~ Matthew 28:6

I Love You. But No.

I shuffle through the packet they had given me at Harlow's 6 month check-up.  It lists developmental milestones, solids we should be introducing, blah, blah, blah.

And then I see it.

"Your child is now old enough to be told 'no.'  Begin telling them 'no' to establish boundaries."

I peer over the edge of the paper at my fuzzy-headed dumpling, who is happily clacking two stacking rings together to see what kind of noise they might make.  She gazes up at me with a smile so big that her healthy, round cheeks crinkle her eyes nearly shut.

I have to tell her...what?

It really hadn't much crossed my mind to tell her "no" before then because, well, she's just a little baby.

And so sweet.  And happy.  And I love her.

And the word "no" just sounds so...mean, doesn't it?

"No" is usually the word we never want to hear ("No, I won't marry you!"  "No, you didn't get the job."  "No, we're out of that amazing salmon dinner you like here at Stoney River, Mrs. Childress." [Sigh. True Valentine's Day story.]), and it's rarely the word we wish to say.

Why is "no" such a difficult word to inject into our vocabulary?  Is it because we fear it makes others feel rejected, upset, maybe even a little bit insulted?

If you're like me (and I pray you aren't), you desire to be agreeable and accommodating, so that everyone will be compelled to like you. (This just in: it doesn't work.)  Truth be told, I'm prone to letting someone slide by with a "yes" when a "no" is clearly in order if it scores me extra popularity points.

And if I can't bring myself to say it to an adult, how am I supposed to go about directing this harsh two-letter word at my daughter, who has never actually done anything disobedient or wrong?  It leaves me heartsick.

Until.

Those sweet little grimy fingers start creeping toward my white-hot hair straightener.  Or an electrical cord.  Or the scalding face of her bedroom heater.  And suddenly, it's lunging off my tongue, like Jessica Simpson hunting down a buttered Pop Tart:

"Harlow Nox Childress, that lighter is not a lollipop! NO!!"

And of course, she cries at this new tone in my voice and the loss of a new "toy" when I pry it from her fingers.  Her smile is gone.  She can't have what she wants.  And she.  Is.  Mad.

But that's quite all right with me.  I'd rather have her pouts if it means her protection.

When we long for something, reach for it, do anything to attain it, we may pray to God endlessly that it might be ours.  That if we pray hard enough, believe enough, have enough faith, God has to say yes.

A "no" must mean that He's opposed to our happiness or that something we did just wasn't enough.

Make no mistake about it.  Every action has consequences, whether they are positive or negative.  And flagrant disobedience often lands us in a position of missing out on some of God's incredible blessings (think Moses missing out on the Promised Land because of how he treated a rock, the death of David's and Bathsheba's first son due to his acts of adultery and murder).

"No" is the hardest word to hear when it seems to make no sense to you.

When you pray for the right man or woman to enter your life, yet you spend another Valentine's Day single.

When you pray to find a job and continually come up empty-handed.

When you pray, God, please heal this person that I love because there is no way I can live without him.

Like a wide-eyed baby in a room full of the unknown just waiting to be explored, you see and strive for something you think would be good for you, only to have it wiped away with a "no" from Someone you thought was on your side.

He is on your side.

Be assured, He is good and holy and just.  As much as circumstances He allows may crumble your soul, nothing He ever does has evil intent.  He doesn't wish anything but your good.  To make you great.  To set you apart for a greater purpose.

And if it's a "no," it's a "no" for a good reason.

Maybe it's to protect you, be it from physical or emotional harm or even from things like pride or a weakened witness.  Maybe it's just that you aren't quite ready yet to handle it.  Maybe He needs to rock your view of what a miracle can look like.

It's likely that the reason is something you couldn't possibly foresee.

Harlow has no clue what could burn her or prick her or do goodness knows what else to her.  That's why I have to protect her.  And teach her.

Friends, when the Lord must answer you with a "no," be thankful that you have a merciful Savior who is selfless enough to risk His popularity with you for your greater good.  That He doesn't give you over to those whims that might ultimately come to destroy you.  That He concerns Himself with our holiness and not just our happiness, which can be as inconstant as springtime weather in Tennessee.

It's a prickly kind of protection, but it'll set your heart straight if you let it.

He loves you.  But maybe this time, for now, it's just a no.

"And we know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." ~ Romans 8:28