Author: Laura Frederick (Page 2 of 3)

I’ve walked off a cliff and am free falling – arms flailing.

I feel like Lot’s wife.  Remember her?  She’s the one who died.

Lucky me.

This walk began last year.  Back when I first got the inkling that God was asking me to step away from a job I’ve loved.  Step away to focus on counseling and life coaching, with some speaking and teaching on the side. He whispered to my heart that this combination would allow me to serve the world utilizing the skillset He designed for me — with the added benefit of greater flexibility to give more time and energy to my family…

a critical combination as we seek to foster-adopt.

Months – many months – passed.  I prayed and talked it out with Jason and a few trusted friends.

In my perfect world I wouldn’t have stepped away from the current until the new was solidified.  BUT, a week came when I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was time.  Time to walk it out.

So I did.

Right off the edge of that pesky cliff.

Falling, all I can see is the fog below. My stomach flies into my throat and I’m tempted to panic.  Tempted to reach for the side of the mountain.  To somehow pull myself back to where I was before.  Somehow reverse time.

Did I make a mistake? Do I have what it takes to be self-employed?

I have compassion for the desert-wandering Israelites who thanked God for his mighty deliverance one day and longed for their former life (i.e. bondage) the next.  It reminds me of clients who are tempted to stay in an awful situation because it’s less scary than the unknown of something new.

So human.

So relatable.

Here’s the problem:  even IF I could somehow grip the side of the mountain and pull myself up, the landscape at the top has changed.  I’d be going back to something that no longer exists.

So here I am – falling – stuck between the fearful new and the absent old.

Then it hits me.  FLIP AROUND.

Did you ever do a trust fall when you were a kid?  Or maybe as an adult during some overeager leader’s teambuilding exercise?

The answer isn’t the fog or the cliff.  No.  I need to turn my gaze upward.

Flip my body around and focus on the One I can trust.  HIS character.  HIS promises.

As my eyes come into focus, the whole experience begins to change.  Slowly – but – surely.

My stomach is returning to its rightful place. A calm is washing over the fear. The first hint of excitement is peaking through the fog of the unknown.

“FOCUS  UP” the whisper says.  “Keep your eyes on me.”

I’m not sure when my feet will hit the ground.  Or, what the new landscape will look like.  The only thing I’m sure about is that I can trust the one who told me to walk.  And, with that in mind, I’ll take this free fall for the thrilling ride that it is.

I am the Lord your God, I go before you now. And though you feel I’m far away, I am closer than your breath. I am with you. More than you know.

– Come to Me by Bethel Music

Laura

On this cold December morning, my daughter’s singing transported me from a mountain of laundry to a holy place…

O Holy Night, the stars are brightly shining

As my ears attuned themselves to her sweet song my soul whispered:

Can you feel it? Can you sense the coming of the King?

• A King who chose to step down from his position of privilege.

• A King who chose a poor family and made them his own.

• A King who spent his early years as a refugee.

• A King who required no pomp or circumstance.

• A King who met people in the very CENTER of their weariness.

This is the King I look to in December. Not some helpless babe in a manger. No! My King is powerful. He performs the miraculous.

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices

My King has this amazing ability to hold us in our weariness, our rage against injustice, grief over lost years, and fear about the future. He designed our emotions; he can help us learn how to read them.

AND

His ability doesn’t stop there.

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn

Not only can my King meet us in the center of our weariness and complicated emotions…

HE CAN REDEEM OUR STORY.

My King can take the dry, dusty, weary parts of our lives and coat them in a fresh blanket of snow.

Snow that holds the promise of new life when kissed by the warmth of spring.

This, my friends, is the King we sing songs about.

Laura

‘Go to the mattresses’ has been a running theme for me. A reminder to look up, bare my soul, and reframe my perspective. I hope you can relate…

Have you ever heard the story of Job? It’s a tremendous tale of loss and restoration. I’ve always focused on the poor advice Job received as a lesson in what NOT to do when I’m in the mud with people.

Recently my sister opened my eyes to an earlier part in Job’s story, the account of what happened when his friends first discovered his muddy state. Job 2:12-13 says: “When they saw him from a distance, they could hardly recognize him; they began to weep aloud… Then they sat on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights. No one said a word, because they saw how great his suffering was.”

Wow.

What do you think they did during those seven days of silence?

Did they feel helpless? Were they talking to God? Were they racking their minds in search of solutions?

After seven days of silence (seven days in the mud) Job felt safe enough to become even more honest with his friends. You can read about it in chapter 3 – “Why is life given to the bitter of soul, to those who long for death that does not come, who search for it more than for hidden treasure.. My groans pour out like water.”

That’s when things took a turn. Job’s friends shifted from silently communing with him to advising and diagnosing – proposing ways to clean off the mud.

I wonder if the book of Job would have been shorter if his friends had understood the posture of power God offers us when we get down in the mud with people. It’s a posture as powerful as that of a fully armoured warrior kneeling to pay tribute.

That image reminds me of the Godfather scene from You’ve Got Mail – “Go to the mattresses. You’re at war. I know you worry about being brave. Don’t. This is your chance. Fight! Fight!” 

Jason and I like to keep moving even when we’re down in the mud with people. We feel the need to fight for those we love that are hurting.  For example, we won’t rush you through your grief process. In fact, we’ll watch your kids to give you more space to grieve. – Do you see how that is still an action?!

Action is great. BUT, sometimes God asks us to stop moving. To sit in the mud without flinching. To stop racking our minds for solutions and simply remember his power.

This is really, really hard for me. Especially if I’m down in the mud with a child. In that type of pit I find that reaching the end of possible actions feels like running at a full sprint straight into a cement wall.

I shared about one such wall in The Painful Side of Love.

There, at the wall of the pit, bruised by the hard cement, my Good God taught me something new.

He gently whispered Psalm 3:3 over my broken heart: “You, O LORD, are a shield around me; you are my glory, the one who holds my head high.

God reminded me that David uttered Psalm 3:3 when he was in serious danger. People wanted to kill him and yet David talked about God being a shield around him. God taught me that this type of shield was used when people were preparing to move deeper into danger.

That day my Good Dad, my Warrior King, invited me to go to the mattresses – to pray Psalm 3:3 over my muddy loved one. To fight the discouragement that’s only natural when you’re overwhelmed by mud and cement walls. To fight the discouragement in order to shift into battle mode — putting on my full armor and kneeling in tribute to my Warrior King.  I kneel because He crumbles cement walls. I kneel because He holds all answers. I kneel and keep my eyes wide open to watch and wait for evidence of my Warrior King in action.

We’re at war. I know you worry about being brave, Don’t. This is your chance. Fight! Fight discouragement. Kneel to the one who offers you the ability to look up, to hold your head up high.

-Laura