Tag: Healing

here i am, Lord, standing on the bottom step

I come to worship you, Lord. I desperately need it, but I’m having a hard time getting my head in a right place.

“Nothing in my hands I bring”?

Hardly. I come with wounds and weariness. There are stains on my soul. Battle stains. ‘I am for peace, but when I speak, they are for war’

…have mercy, O Christ…I am so, so tired…

Years ago I read a mostly forgettable book but for one sentence. That single line so resonated with me I can still quote it twenty years later. The author said, “Whatever the enemy wants to do to you he uses people to do it.”

Paul mentioned something to the Ephesians about the devil and his “fiery darts.” That’s real. If you’ve ever been in any kind of spiritual warfare you know it’s real.

Sometimes it’s an unkind text. Perhaps you caught an eye roll from your husband or a hurtful facial expression from your fellow staff member. Maybe you walked into a café and spotted your friend at a table with your least favorite person.

There was a time I had to take a strong stand as a pastor, and some of my dearest friends questioned my position. I had made enemies in the church and now even my friends were turning against me. Sandy and I were utterly bereft. I called my spiritual mentor and cried through the entire conversation. It was easily one of the lowest points of my life.

This was during a time our son was not doing well at all, constantly rebelling and deepening our sorrow. It was all too much. The devil was setting up bulwarks and laying siege to our home and Sandy and I felt completely cut off and alone.

Fiery darts, man. One day you’re going along happy as you please when a stranger cusses you out for trying to change lanes. Sometimes those fiery darts come in the form of words flung from people you are supposed to trust. Those are the hardest.

Sandy and I can easily put ourselves in the sandals of this pilgrim who has just come through a war zone. He stands on the bottom step of the temple, knees feeble, arms hanging. The man is spent. And he desperately needs a kind word from God.

In those seasons, of which we are in one now, the only comfort we have is the word of God.

Here we are, Lord, standing on the bottom step.

too stressed to bless

Psalm 120 is the first of fifteen worship songs created for pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem to celebrate a national feast day. The subscript in your Bible might read “ascent” since Jerusalem was “up” to the travelers; others call them “step” psalms to indicate the fifteen steps taking the pilgrims up into the Temple.

So this psalm is the very first step. Problem is, our soloist is already tired before he even begins. The journey starts out rough. This worshiper is struggling to get to church and now he’s wondering if he should even go. Maybe just turn this caravan around. Check out.

In my distress I called to the LORD…

Psalm 120:1

“Distress.” The word he uses in the opening verse means ‘rival wife.’ It’s possible he wants us to think about Hannah in 1 Samuel 1:6-7 where we find the same word. Read the highlighted text if you aren’t familiar with her story. The insults she got from her rival wife Peninnah were taunting her all the way to the tabernacle.

By the time she arrived, she was too stressed to bless the Lord. She went anyway. Hannah yearned for a kind word from God.

In some forms the word means ‘pebble’ and you can see how well that ties in. Ever tried to walk anywhere with a stone in your shoe?

What was so distressing? Why the furrowed brow, mate?

The very next verse tells us:

Deliver me, O LORD,

from lying lips,

from a deceitful tongue.

Psalm 120:2

Like Hannah, this weary worshipper was harassed by people who did not share his heart. They were unsafe. The taunts he received were an amalgam of bald-faced lies and honeyed words that hid a sharpened knife.

Our pilgrim in this story pulled into the church parking lot feeling like he’d been through a war zone. I’m pretty sure he wanted to put his feet in reverse and go home. Or maybe he realized he was home, the safest spot on earth.

“Woe is me!” he cries from the first step.

meshechites among us

Woe to me, that I sojourn in Meshech,

that I dwell among the tents of Kedar!

Psalm 120:5

Eugene Peterson sets the stage:

Meshech and Kedar were barbarian tribes with a reputation for wildness. They were neighbors to the biblical Hebrews. The person who prayed Psalm 120 was praying in the company of people who were on their way to worship God in Jerusalem but feeling immersed in enmity, lying lips, and a deceitful tongue. He is committed to a way of peace, God‘s peace, but he feels hostility all around him. ‘I am for peace,’ he says, ‘but when I speak, they are for war.’

—Eugene Peterson, Practice Resurrection, 135

Some people are always spoiling for a fight. They quite enjoy starting fires. Their demeanor is mostly antagonistic, but if you happen to catch them on a good day, count your blessings.

Our pilgrim worshipper had come through a string of bad days. Like a certain apostle, he was “troubled on every side…distressed…persecuted…knocked down.” There seemed to be no end to the assaults. Enmity was everywhere.

a closing word

Sometimes the enmity never lets up. You pray, plead, beg, cry, and practically crawl for resolution, but no help comes. Unfortunately, this psalm doesn’t end on a high note. However, we mustn’t forget a very important truth: the very next step offers a better view of things.

I hear you: Lord, hurry up and get me on the next step!

Sandy and I are right there with you.

If perchance you read on you’ll find the worshipper ascending to a new step. In fact, go ahead and read the next psalm now; we could all use some of its encouragement.

I’ll give you the highlights, the better vantage points from the next step:

  • My Source is true, theirs is a lie
  • My strength and hope comes from God
  • He’s wide awake; he sees what’s happening
  • He’s right beside me, protecting me

The last thing I’ll say is this. Our weary traveler is not alone. Yes, of course God is with him. But he’s also in a company of fellow travelers.

They’ve heard the taunts too. They’ve also been blindsided. They are people of faith of whom can be said, ”They understand. They’ve been there also. They have scars too.” Know they are standing with you on the first step, linking arms, holding you up.

No matter how bad I am feeling, how lost or lonely or frightened, when I see the faces of the people at my church, and hear their tawny voices, I can always find my way home.

—Ann Lamott

Selah, beloved.

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grace canyon

I’m dedicating this post to the grandest 
of earthly companions, 
my wife, 
who’s gone everywhere with me 
since the start. 
Thank you, Gracious Lord, 
for the gift of Sandy. 
You know how much I needed her.
From South Rim Chamber & Travel public website.

Today marks 40 years I’ve been a paraplegic. That’s ten years from ‘Jubilee’ if you’re keeping score, but if you don’t mind, I’m going to party like it’s 2031.

Much of this blog site is dedicated to sharing my journey through disability and how God has faithfully shepherded me through it all. For 40 years I’ve been one of his broken sheep, hind legs dragging, but he has been my Good Shepherd. He coaxes and carries me along, through valley and vale, all the way home.

I’m now in my 60s, a far bleating from 21 when I still had youthful vigor and a ready-to-take-it-on bearing. Now I consider a good day when a Carolina wren or hummingbird comes to the feeder. I do other stuff too, but birds are my party jam these days. And I never tire of it.

We were going on a two-week road trip to the Grand Canyon a few weeks ago but somebody ended up in the hospital. [Me, I’m somebody.] It was going to be a celebration of life, milestones reached, and a long-time dream come true. And then somebody got a kidney stone, went septic, and nearly died. I’m still holding that against him.

©️ Yan Li

Anyway, can you imagine a wheelchair on those ridges and cliffs?

Of course we scouted out the park before our proposed departure date, taking special note of the accessible views and attractions but still found them limited. While the national parks system tries to ensure everyone has a memorable time, the fact is there are lots of trails and views which folks with physical limitations can’t experience. Those spots aren’t for the feint of heart, however. Some are downright perilous. The narrow trails and sheer drop-offs are enough to give the most experienced hikers pause. But, oh the payoff!

For four decades I’ve been given views of God’s grace that make me shudder inside. I’ve heard the voice of the Grand Shepherd singing over me as I’ve fed in green pastures, played beside babbling brooks, and softly slumbered by quiet streams.
He’s faithfully stood by and helped to navigate me over treacherous terrain and through starless nights of the soul. I’ve clapped my hands over my mouth — too many times to count — being witness to his magnificent mercies. He’s been so grand to me!

His love is the Grand Canyon and I’m an ‘able-bodied’ man standing on the pinnacle of the South Rim, watching the sun rise every day bringing with it new mercies and fresh grace. He takes me places I’ve never dreamt possible. Tenderly, he’s fed me from rations of sweet manna for forty years.

Jesus and me, we’ve crested such heights and plumbed depths so low you’d grow old before your time. He unfolds deep mysteries of sacred spaces and teaches me my life is a miracle.

Here is where I need to hit pause. None of this is because I’m special or his favorite. Even this has been all of grace. You’ve read enough of my journey by now to know these forty years have been a gift. I wouldn’t trade a day for anything I might have scripted for myself when i was 21. All praise to him.

Turns out, Sandy and I could’ve gone on the trip anyway as I’d pretty much recovered and begun to feel normal again. But COVID escalations in some of our trip’s plot points, added to my weakened immune system, and we were seeing yellow flags. So we’ve chosen to wait.

Herein lies another lesson of the broken road: disappointments down here remind us we are not supposed to feel entirely at home. The late Clive S. Lewis wrote in Mere Christianity, “If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world.” Amen, Clive. The wait will be worth it all. So we wait in faith.

I’m living in Grace Canyon. My disability has been his mercy’s vaccine against a wasted life and I take my daily medicine with, at times, a pinch of salt. Sometimes it can be hard to swallow but it’s always what I need. I trust my Grand Physician. He knows best.

My sister texted me and asked what I’m doing to celebrate 40 years. Here’s what I’ll be doing: dancing on the rim of Mercy Rock and soaring skyward as the God of Grace meets me — yet again — with healing in his wings. Today marks 40 years but it feels more like ‘The Year of Jubilee.’ It’s been quite a trip.

Selah, beloved.

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two words that shape my faith

I’m not a Muslim because of two words. I have friends who follow the teachings of Mohammed regarding Allah, and I love them, but could never take their path.

These two words safeguard me from turning to agnosticism or atheism. I can’t fall away from the faith because of the way these two words are put together. I can admire some of the kinder gentler tenets and proverbs of various eastern religions but would rue the day before entrusting my eternal destiny to them.

Here they are, in all their glory. Sit before them and be amazed:

Jesus wept.

Call me an old softie, but I quite like a deity who feels what I feel. Isaiah promised a Messiah who “suffers when we suffer” (Isa 63:9). Paul didn’t say God merely pities us, he said the Father spills over with mercy and embraces us with smothering comfort (2 Cor 1:3).


Jesus is no remote deity, watching suffering from a safe distance. He is the God who inhabits our suffering.

– Rebecca McLaughlin


John, specifically, zeros in on the “I AM” episodes of Jesus in his gospel. When you see “I AM” in scripture your mind probably goes to burning bushes and almightiness, shoes-off zone, time’s-up for oppressive regimes, and the like. You envision an all-caps “LORD” not the lower case kind.

John’s gospel shows us the I AM-ness of the Almighty also allows space for himself to weep. Anger from deity we get, but sorrow? Tears?

Jesus is called “Man of Sorrows” in Isaiah and our Lord is not the least bit embarrassed by that designation. The powerful “I AM” is moved to tears and that moves me. As the Holy Spirit moved John along to pen the words to his gospel, he let the aged apostle know he wanted this most vulnerable part of Christ’s earthly ministry published for all the see.

“Jesus wept.”

First he snorted like a Roman warhorse, then he sniffled and sobbed. A lot of folk prefer their Messiah to be all thunder and lightning and calling down of fire. Others can only stomach a gentle and lowly Savior.

With Jesus you get both, but mostly the Jesus you get in the gospels is the One who enters into our pain.

There are two times in the gospels we find Jesus weeping. Here, and in Luke.

Jesus doesn’t just “feel your pain.” He also hates it. He hates what it does to you. He sees the long game, that every eye will be dried one day and there will be no more pain, but he also meets us in our most painful moments with mercy and justice in the here and now.

In “The Lion King” when Simba returns after a long time away and sees what Scar has done to the kingdom, plunging it into death and despair, there is an alarming look of righteous anger that clouds his countenance.

That’s what’s going on just before the dam inside Jesus of Nazareth breaks.

Weeping Jesus sees the enemy of this world wreaking havoc on his creation, disturbing the order. The same emotion Jesus felt when he saw the court of the Gentiles being barred and barricaded by hucksters, charlatans and snake oil salesmen, preventing the people from gathering to worship, is the emotion of this anger he felt outside Bethany. If he had had a whip in his hands he would’ve been swinging it at the enemy.

I’ll follow a God like that anywhere and all the way into eternity.

Selah, beloved.