Shalom Shattered, Shalom Restored

It didn’t bloom last Spring, this tulip in its little pot. A stem came up with promising green leaves but no blossoms ever appeared. Perhaps the confines of the planter restricted its roots.

What a sweet surprise to discover it pushing up through the soil a couple days ago. As I’ve been led recently to look at the shattering of shalom in my life, God is using this plant to speak to me. My heavenly Father has brought a lot of healing to my heart’s garden over the years. But I recognize that there are still constraints that choke my growth.

One of my earliest recollections of trauma involves the death of my sister, Debbie, at age four. I was born eleven months after her so we were very close. And yes, I remember her clearly. When she died, I was told that she’d gone to be with Jesus in heaven; my constant companion, my best and essentially only playmate, had left me behind. Such a time of confusion, bewilderment and the unfairness of it all. Then when I thought we were going to see her—it was the funeral we were going to but I didn’t understand what that was—and expecting to see Jesus too, because of being told earlier that’s where she’d gone, I was sorely disappointed that Jesus was only a painting on the wall, and my sister lay unresponsive and cold in a pretty box. I felt foolish for my beliefs and somehow thought I should’ve known. But how could I? I was only three years old.

I can see where this experience has led me to often see myself as left out, not worthy of being included. It seems silly, I know, to think of not dying as a message that I wasn’t worth including, but that is how my little three-year old brain worked. It was a lie I believed about myself and carried along with me, a box I restrained myself in. Also from this I can see where I hold myself away from whole-heartedly investing in relationship with loved ones because how could I stand it if they leave me behind too. Then there’s the sense of “I should’ve known” in any given circumstance where there really is no way for me to know in advance something that is beyond my comprehension.

Thankfully my Jesus is not confined to a painting. He was with me in that earliest time as He now is in this present time. The Holy Spirit has brought healing and will continue to do so. Fully experiencing the pain and sorrow and grief means that I will fully experience the joy He has for me. There is no shame in not knowing what is around the corner and failing to understand life and the confusing incidents in it. Like that little tulip in the planter on my balcony that didn’t reach its bloom last year but is poking its head up again this year, trying again for another chance, my heart is coming up through the grime of sorrow and finding a place of inclusion in His light. Shalom restored.

Can’t Drive Out the Way We Drove in

Ezekiel is a fascinating book in the Old Testament. Hey, you might call it weird. I call it fascinating. There’s room for all of us here.

I love that it is full of imagery and instructions for building the Jewish temple and lots of the religious activities. The other day as I was reading I was reminded of the car license plate holder my daughter used to have. Okay, so you’re right. That is weird.

But not totally weird—hear me out. See, there was this band she liked called They Might Be Giants and she liked one of their songs so much that a friend had the license plate holder custom made for her with the title of that song on it. “Can’t Drive Out the Way We Drove in”.

There were cars in the Old Testament, you’re asking? No, of course not. Although there was a Honda in the New Testament. You know, where it says the disciples were all together in one Accord. 

(crickets chirping loudly)

But seriously, I believe everything in the Bible means something. God gave those instructions for a reason. Most of His reasons may be beyond my comprehension in this world but I am seeing a little picture here that reminded me of that song title. The people are told in chapter 46 verse nine that when they come to the temple to sacrifice, they weren’t to go out the same way they came in. Literally in by the north door and exit through the south and vice versa. I wonder, did those people consider why God gave those instructions? I imagine some of them did. I’m talking more than just crowd control measures, although that's certainly necessary at times. I mean, here they were bringing sacrifices in worship. That had to be pretty significant. After all, sacrifice indicates giving up something valuable. So going out a different door than the one they came in seems more meaningful to me than just some weird thing.

What does it mean for me thousands of years later? Could this also be a foreshadowing of when God gave up something more valuable than anything we could ever give?

Is it possible that when we meet God at that ultimate sacrifice—His son, Jesus, giving up his life on the cross, who counted everything loss for our gain, we receive something even more valuable? I think so. In the victory Jesus Christ had when He exited the tomb, we experience the change from living death to living life. We leave that encounter a different way than we came in.

Having pretty much avoided the church scene for a couple of years and now starting to get back into it, I don’t want to go in the door of a building and come back out, same old same old. It’s my desire that my life exhibit that encounter even better than having it written on my license plate holder. Not in my physical appearance or what I wear or how many church programs I get involved in. But in how I view myself and others and God. Hope that’s not too weird.

Have you had that encounter? In what ways are you different as a result?

                                          An open gate invitation.