Permission to Vote 'No'

I did not know pain like that existed within the human experience.  There's pain, and then there's kidney stone pain. The kind of pain where you-want-to-take-a-serrated-kitchen-knife-and-slice-your-own-guts-open-if-that's-what-it-takes-to-get-this-heinous-thing-out kind of pain.  I have never plead for the mercy of God more than when I had a kidney stone. People who haven't had a kidney stone would say, "Ohhhh, I've heard those are worse than childbirth." And people who have had a kidney stone and given birth to a child would say, "Ohhhh, those are worse than childbirth."

I never really did find such comments comforting or helpful at any point during my nine-day bonding experience with my kidney stone. I seriously thought at one point - if there was a way to inflict kidney stones on terrorists, those surely would be a far superior method to waterboarding or some such torture method.  If I were a spy captured by a foreign government and they somehow injected me with a kidney stone, I would divulge every state secret I ever knew in the blink of an eye, without question.

There were so many moments in the dark of night, when the pain would be the worst, and I would think, "God, why aren't you stopping this pain when I know you have the ability to do so? You're able but you're choosing not to. Why?" That is the very tension we feel around us all the time as human beings - why does a supposedly good God allow suffering when he is perfectly capable of stopping it? Or better yet, never allowing it to begin with?

So often as Christ-followers it seems as though we don't have permission to ask those kind of questions or raise those kind of doubts. It goes unspoken that our declarations of faith should begin and end with "[God's] will be done," with no other objections before or after. Keep a stiff upper lip and "consider it pure joy...when you encounter trials of many kinds..." (James 1:2).

But you know one of the things I find so comforting about Jesus? He voted "no" to his circumstances.  "Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me" (Matthew 26:39a).

If it's possible.

If it's possible, I'd really like to avoid a kiss from my betrayer.

If it's possible, I'd really like to avoid being slapped and spit on by the chief priests and Sanhedrin.

If it's possible, I'd really like to avoid being flogged, with a crown of thorns then smashed on my head.

If it's possible, I'd really like to avoid having my hands and feet pierced with nails, my side sliced open with a sword, my mother left to watch me die.

If it's possible, I'd really like to avoid the cross.

If it's possible, may this cup be taken from me.

This picture of Jesus tells me I have permission to vote no to my circumstances.  I have permission to say out loud to God, "If it's possible, let this pain and suffering be taken from me, let it pass me by."  I can say those things to him and not feel the need to shrink in the process, to feel like some sort of fraudulent, wimpy Christian for admitting I would really like suffering to pass me by. If Jesus himself in his humanity could admit he wanted to avoid pain and suffering, then I should have no less permission to do the same.

God is big enough for those declarations. The God who was big enough to handle the vulnerable and honest expressions of his own heavenly Son in Gethsemane is the same God who is big enough to handle the objections of his very earthly daughter who is made from dust (Psalm 103:14). David instructs us in Psalm 62:8, "Trust in him at all times, you people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge." Have at it, David is saying.  Pour out your heart to God and hold nothing back.  Don't withhold your objections, your grief, your sadness, your sorrow.  He says similarly in Psalm 142:2, "I pour out before him my complaint; before him I tell my trouble." Pour it all out, and just when you think you're done pouring, pour some more.  God will not drown under the weight of your grievances. You will not leave him gasping for air.

 But -

There's always that pesky word, isn't there?

But while we have permission to vote no to our pain, our suffering, our trials, our tribulations, and while we have permission to say to God we would really prefer certain things not come to pass in our lives, our declarations cannot end on that note. They must not.

Jesus followed his sentence in the garden with, "If it's possible...Yet not as I will, but as you will."

Yet not as I will.

Quite possibly the five hardest words a believer will ever have to utter. As Christians, particularly in our moments of suffering and pain, we must narrow the amount of time which lapses between the words "If it's possible..." and "Yet not as I will."  The longer the space between those two statements, the greater the inclination toward disobedience and rationalization.  We must not allow our pain to eclipse our view of God and his character.  Some days that will feel like an all-out-war, a war it seems you are very much losing because your pain is shouting so very loud, discoloring and distorting all you know to be true.

But somehow - somehow - even when we want to vote no to our circumstances, our yes must eventually rise up. It need not even be said with confidence; we can say it in weakness, with fear and trembling and timid faith, but faith nonetheless. God is no less put off by our feeble yes than he was by our pain-driven no.

So, cast your vote.

Jesus is big enough for your no.

And your yes.

Things for Which I'm Thankful

If I had Instagram, I suppose this would qualify as a #latergram. Thanksgiving has passed and we have now officially moved into the land of Christmas songs playing on the radio 24-7 without relief. My pastor encouraged us last week to jot down a list of things for which we're thankful, so before too much more time lapses and we get too far from Thanksgiving, I'd like to share a list of things for which I'm thankful.  

• My dad's support pillows for his knee while he was recovering from knee replacement, which were conveniently left on the bathroom floor. They made for great pillows while I laid on the bathroom floor in pain on Thursday afternoon.  
• A mother who is more than willing to violate the posted speed limit for the sake of her daughter.
• An emergency room less than 8 miles away. 
• An empty ER with no one else in line.    
• Joe Boxer sweatpants.  That was the best $4.80 I have ever spent at the thrift store.  While I was waiting for a CT scan, the tech asked me if I had any buckles or rivets on my pants that I would need to remove before we got started.  Dripping with sarcasm, I said, "No, I wore these pants today with an elastic band because I planned on this, ya know."
• Dilaudid painkiller straight into my body via IV.

And that's just the beginning of the list.

Y'all. Kidney stones are straight from the pit of hell.  It's like the Wicked Witch of the West and her legion of monkeys were unleashed on my insides - a hundred times over. Everybody's been saying that the pain from kidney stones are worse than childbirth.  If that's the case, then there are exactly 0.0 children in my future.  

I found myself alternating between the bathroom floor and the hallway Thursday afternoon, listening to everyone else in the house laugh and chat after Thanksgiving lunch.  Meanwhile, I was praying for the rapture. Either that, or a tranquilizer straight to my brain.  I finally couldn't hack the pain anymore, still not knowing what was happening to my body, and after losing my lunch several times, we abandoned the family festivities and headed for the ER to get some answers. 

Pretty much every night since last Thursday, from the hours of 6:00 pm to 2:00 am, I have wished I could either die or that I could slice my own side open and cut the stone out myself.  I have no idea what it is about the nighttime, but my body unleashes unimaginable pain that even painkillers can't seem to touch. I thought I had been through some pretty vicious doses of pain in the past related to my back, but this - this pain is in a category all its own. 

Do not, under any circumstances, ever put 'have a kidney stone' on your bucket list.  Instead, you should beg and plead with God that the angel of death would pass you by and that he would be merciful and spare you from ever experiencing kidney stones.   

I was reminded via Barnabas Piper's Twitter feed [quoting David Gibson] of how quickly gratitude can slip away from us if we do not pause to be grateful for the smallest of things : "If we are not grateful for the little things, it is only a very short step to no longer being grateful for anything. When we do not enjoy and savor and love and laugh and delight in the little things, then we are headed toward losing our delight in anything."

Since I don't want to lose delight in anything, I'm going to choose to delight in the little things. I'll continue my list:

• Timing. At least this didn't all happen the week before, which would have been during my largest work event of the year, a national conference where I worked over 65 hours in 5 days and was responsible for 100 different vendors.  Ain't nobody got time for a kidney stone in the midst of that.
• My parents newly-remodeled basement, which has provided ample room to pace and writhe in pain on plush carpeting.  
• Water. I've been drinking enough water to rival that of a woman who just found an oasis in the desert.  

Even in our great pain, there are still things for which we can be thankful. 

I'll keep telling myself that.

Please feel free to plead with the God of the heavens above on my behalf to throw some water on the Wicked Witch that has currently taken us residence in my guts otherwise known as a kidney stone.  

Loved By a God I Can't See

It came in the form of a fire extinguisher, a birthday gift from a co-worker, Simon, after I told him how I paranoid I was about using my fireplace, visions of burning the place down flashing through my mind. He left the extinguisher on my desk with a simple note that said, "Safety first. Always. Happy birthday! Simon."  The gift and the gesture brought tears to my eyes.  Ever know anyone to get weepy over a fire extinguisher? Now you do.  It was practical and thoughtful, and it made me feel known and loved, all because he had paid attention to the details of my life and had listened to my fears.

It came in the form of a late night FaceTime call with a friend of mine, Derek, from college.  I had already crawled into bed, and normally I would haven't answered my phone, but when I saw his name pop up and that he wanted to FaceTime no less, I fumbled in the pitch black to answer my phone, afraid something was wrong. He told me to get my laptop, he needed me to watch something. I opened my email, clicked the link he sent, and picked my jaw off the floor as I watched. It was a personal video from Matt Wertz, a longtime favorite musician of mine. Derek had managed to miss my birthday, and this was his way of making it up to me. It was lavish and outrageous, and it made me feel known and loved, all because he had paid attention to the details of my life and went to great lengths to make me feel special.      

Those moments, those gifts, and so many others in recent weeks have been like spring rains on parched ground.  When my co-worker left something as ridiculously practical as a fire extinguisher on my desk, he couldn't have known he wasn't merely being a gift-giver he was being a human courier delivering a supernatural message.  And when my friend called late at night with instructions to watch a video link, he couldn't have known that just days prior I had penned a note by my bedside, asking myself the question, "What does it mean to be loved by a God I can't see?" 

     
The love of God is terribly abstract to me, like some sort of painting by Kandinsky or Pollock, something you stare at for hours, squinting your eyes, straining to find something familiar but you still leave scratching your head a bit. Ever the 'reliable realist,' I prefer to deal in concrete terms, with things I can touch and feel and lay eyes on.  And God's love is seemingly not something I can touch and feel and lay eyes on. Yes, I can read about his love in the Bible, and yes, I know the Bible verses that say "God is love," but what does all of that really mean? How do I translate all of those abstract concepts into terms I can define and grasp? I want so desperately for God to make perfect sense to me, to have him line up in very linear ways.  I want to strip him of his mystery and put him in terms I can understand.

I have a photocopied version of a story whose source I cannot recall, tucked away in a stack of notes to keep. I've carted it around for years, probably since grad school. It's the story of a little girl who lost her mother tragically and suddenly.  Her father pulled a few blankets into her room one night after the funeral to sleep on the floor next to her bed, just to be close to her in case his daughter needed him.  He could hear her sobbing at one point, and he reached over to grab her hand. She sighed and said, "Oh, that's so much better."  The father responded, "Sweetie, you know we can lean on Jesus when we are sad, right?" His daughter replied, "I know, Daddy, but tonight I need someone with skin on."

That's what I say to God so often.  I know I can lean on Jesus, I know I can trust him and I can intellectually agree with the fact that he loves me.  But sometimes in my humanity and frailty and short-sightedness, I wish he had skin on and was sitting next to me to tell me all that. Maybe then I could wrap my arms around him, to deal with him in concrete terms, to lay eyes on him. Maybe then I could make sense of the words God is love. Maybe then I could make sense of what it means to be loved by a God I can't see.

But that is the crux of faith, to believe what we cannot see, to love what we cannot hold with our bare hands, to trust when it seems there is no net.  "For we walk by faith, not by sight," 2 Corinthians 5:7 declares. Somewhere along the way we have to decide that faith is greater and more precious than sight.  We have to decide that we'll follow God even when we can't make sense out of him, even when his love seems unfathomable to us.      

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade. This inheritance is kept in heaven for you, who through faith are shielded by God’s power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time. In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the end result of your faith, the salvation of your souls." - 1 Peter 1:3-8

Though I have not seen him - not in the literal sense, at least - I love Him.

Because I know he sees me.

And being loved by a God I can't see often means He sends earthly friends with skin on to remind me of that fact.

My Selfie Game Has Mildly Improved

Ah, Wyoming. How I love thee, let me count the ways.

It seems I can never quite get enough of that place, particularly Jackson Hole. Just stunning.  There's always some small part of me that feels like I'm home when I'm there.  I just love it.

I made it out recently for the annual fall arts festival, which was celebrating it's 35th anniversary.  And since I'm turning 35 myself in a few short weeks, I thought it only natural to celebrate the milestone in my favorite place.  My mom and a friend of our family also went with me for this girls' trip, and we had a fabulous time.  Words could never do the place justice, and I'm not sure pictures will either, but here are a select few photos highlighting our adventures.

I absolutely love watching sunrise over the Yellowstone Lake at West Thumb.
We were practically the only ones there, and it was glorious. 

This buffalo surprised us a bit.  We were coming down the hill after hiking up to the
Grand Prismatic overlook and he appeared out of the tree line, munching on some grass. 

I wore no less than two layers, sometimes three, most days, which I loved.  We were out hiking
near Leigh Lake where I could finally catch a few patches of the sun's rays and warm up a bit. 

I usually drink a grand total of two amaretto sours a year.  I drank this year's allotment in one week.
Nothing like a good amaretto sour with a view of the Tetons.  

The other great place to catch an amazing sunrise is near Moulton Barn on Mormon Row.
I rolled out of bed early one morning, threw on a ball cap and was able to catch the sun just as it started
to cloak the top half of the Tetons.

We took a tour of 4 homes in Jackson in their Showcase of Homes. Oh.my.stars.
So this is how the other half lives.  One home we walked through was valued at $10 million.
Ten.million.dollars. My mind can't even conceive.  And almost all of them were not primary residences.

Schwabacher's Landing is a favorite of mine.  We caught sunset there one night, and I got
some of my best photos there.

Selfies always feel ridiculous to me (see also my first trip to Wyoming with a series of epic selfie-fails),
so I took this one mainly for my own entertainment.  This is my pensive, mountain-admiring, contemplative look,
like I'm trying to be ultra-serious and reflective.  I think my selfie-game has improved since the first trip, yes? 

It's Time

Your kingdom is an everlasting kingdom, and your dominion endures through all generations. The Lord is trustworthy in all he promises and faithful in all he does. The Lord upholds all who fall and lifts up all who are bowed down.  The eyes of all look to you, and you give them their food at the proper time.  You open your hand and satisfy the desires of every living thing. - Psalm 145:13-16

I often wondered if this season of life would ever end.  In the deepest places of the valley, I wondered, "What if it never ends? What if it's always like this?" What if panic never leaves? What if anxiety always haunts me? What if I have to live with my parents forever? (That was always the real question.) Just like David in Psalm 13:1, I lifted up my eyes and asked so often of the heavens, "How long, O LORD?" 

What I have learned in this season of life, maybe now more than ever, is the answer to that question is simply when it's the proper time. It's not when I say it's time, and it's not when someone else says it's time.  It's not when I've decided I've had enough and when I'm ready to move on.  God, in his perfect sovereignty, ordains the proper time. He opens his hand and satisfies he desires of every living thing - at the proper time. And not a moment before then.

I'd like to believe this season of life has at last come to a close and that God in his infinite wisdom has finally declared, "It's time."  In what proved to be one of the most difficult seasons of my life, when it felt like everything I had ever known to be true about myself and about God was rattled to the core, I can stand on the other side of it and say I am grateful.  I am not grateful for the pain and suffering in and of itself.  I pray to God I never go through another panic attack again in my life.  But I am grateful for what it has produced in me - a deeper dependence on him, a deeper appreciation for people and how much I need them, a deeper affection for God's Word.

In a matter of months, I have changed jobs, left my church of nearly 12 years, moved into my own place, said goodbye to some old friends and said hello to some new ones.  In each of those instances, God made clear, "It's time."  It's time to change jobs.  It's time to part ways with my church.  It's time to move out.  It's time to let go of that friendship.  It's time to say 'yes' to that friendship.

It's simply time.      

Just like the words in Ecclesiastes 3, I've become acutely aware of how there is a time for everything. A time to plant and a time to uproot.  A time to tear down and a time to build.  A time to weep and a time to laugh.  A time to mourn and a time to dance. A time to scatter stones and a time to gather them. A time to keep and a time to throw away. There are seasons to everything.

There's been a lot of uprooting recently in my life, but now it's time to plant.  There's been a lot of tearing down, but now it's time to build.  There's been a lot of weeping, but now it's time to laugh.  There's been a lot of mourning, but now it's time to dance.  There's been a lot of scattering, but now it's time to gather.

God knows just what I need - and he knows just what you need.  He'll provide it at the proper time.  He won't be too early.  He won't be too late.  He won't be rushed and he won't delay.  He's faithful to "make everything beautiful in its time" (Ecclesiastes 3:11).

Trust his heart and trust his timing.

"Because God is Almighty, we have been set free from thinking that we need to manipulate circumstances, maneuver people, manufacture resources, or move ahead of God in order to bring to pass what He has for our lives. God has everything to see to it that it is done. He will do it perfectly, in the perfect way, at the perfect time. When we let Him bring to us what He has for us, we can receive it freely and enjoy it fully." - Roy Lessin

Escape Rooms Are Overrated

You know, people are paying good money these days to get themselves trapped in a room and then problem-solve their way out.

I say save your money and come hang out with me for a few days.  I may not get you trapped in a room, but I sure as heck can get you locked out of a room.

Exhibit A

A few weeks back, my parents left for vacation two hours away.  I decided to leave a couple days later and meet them up at the lake.  I was at their house, packing some stuff up, and bounded down the garage steps to put some things in my car.  I came back up the steps, grabbed the knob to turn and nearly smacked my face on the door.  I was expecting the door to open.

It did not.

I had no phone, no keys, nothing.  Everything I needed was in that house, on the other side of that blasted locked door.  Fiddlesticks. I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do. Couldn't call anybody, and even if I could get ahold of my parents, they were two hours away. I could walk to the neighbors, which was over yonder, but even then, they don't have a key.  I searched all over the back of our barn for where I thought there was a spare key.  No luck.

And then I had this hazy, vague memory that my mother had hidden a key in the deep freezer.

The deep freezer.

So, here I am, practically falling headfirst into the freezer, rummaging my way around frozen pizzas and slabs of beef, hoping and praying and begging God that this key was where I thought it was.  I slide some trays over, shoved over some roasts - bingo. Praise Jesus, a key to the house. I practically froze my fingers off trying to find it, but hey - I have a key!  Off to vacation I went.

Exhibit B

Now, this next one required far more problem-solving skills than Exhibit A and took me 9 times longer to accomplish and happened less than two weeks later, but nevertheless, I eventually prevailed in my war with locked doors.

I found myself the last man standing at my office this past Monday evening.  The place was a ghost town. Lights were off across the building, all doors locked.  I was heading to Bible study straight from work, so I brought dinner with me.  I'm in the kitchen, heating up my food, when I have this very sudden and striking thought:

I just locked myself out of my office.

I went to confirm this unexpected thought, and indeed, the door was locked.  My phone, my car keys, everything I needed was on the other side of that blasted locked door.  And there was not a single phone in the entire building that wasn't behind a locked door.

My first thought was, "Well, that is indeed a bummer."

I decided to go back to the kitchen and finish my dinner while I pondered a possible solution to my unfortunate circumstances.  No sense in adding hangriness to the mix.

After I polished off dinner, I realized I could a) break the inset window pane on the door, b) go find a neighbor or someone walking their dog to see if I could borrow their phone, or c) double-check every building in the door and hope and pray that some very forgetful soul left their door unlocked.

I went with option C and praise Jesus, my co-worker left her door unlocked.  I nearly started crying.

I now had access to a phone, but the next problem was I had no immediate way of getting directly to a co-worker who had a key.  I started rummaging through desks in the hopes of a staff cell phone contact list somewhere. No luck.

I started with calling my mom, one of three phone numbers I have memorized.  "Oh, hey, Mom, just locked out of my office. You know, a day in the life of me here lately.  Do you have Jill's (my co-worker) phone number?" No. Okay, how 'bout our other mutual friend, Twyla, who might have Jill's number? Yes? Okay.

I call Twyla.  No answer.

She eventually calls me back, laughing, of course.  I call Jill.  No answer.  Meanwhile, I'm still rummaging through desks, hoping someone will have a phone number for the one woman I needed most, who lived closest to the office.  While I was hoping and praying Jill would call me back, I discovered a co-worker had left both his username and password to his computer out in a binder on his desk.  Praise Jesus yet again.

I log into his computer, thinking I can access my work email via the web-based version.

Oh wait. It requires two-step authentication.

Darn you, two-step authentication.  You're useless unless you have your phone.  Which I didn't.

So, now I was locked out of my office, locked out of my car and locked out of my own stinkin' work email account.

*Insert palm-to-forehead emoji*

Long story shorter, and after about 45 minutes of very rapid problem-solving that involved zero broken windows, Jill eventually called me back and came to my rescue with a key.

As I recounted my misadventures the following morning to my building manager, he says to me, "You're going to hate this when you find out where the spare key is."

I glare at him without him even telling me the answer because I could only imagine what he was about to reveal to me.

We walked down the hall and stopped about three feet away from my office door, the very same one that was nearly the bane of my existence 12 hours prior.  On the opposite side of the wall was a glass-enclosed fire extinguisher.  He turns the knob, opens the door, slides the extinguisher out of the way - and lo and behold.

A spare key.

My salvation was less than three feet away and I didn't even know it existed.

I wanted to smack him.

So, if you ever have a hankerin' to visit an escaped room, give me a call instead.

Pending you haven't locked your phone up behind a door somewhere, of course.

Seated Where I Don't Belong

Last weekend marked 7 years since my friend Jonathan passed away.  It's a day quietly noted on my calendar. Jon - 7 years, the reminder simply said.  I was curled up in my recliner last Saturday as I was texting his mom, acknowledging the day, my Bible splayed across my lap, opened to 2 Samuel 9.  For reasons I don't fully understand, the story contained in 2 Samuel 9 is quite possibly my favorite in all of Scripture.  It strikes such a tender nerve every time I read it, and last Saturday was no different as I read it yet again. 

You see, it's the story of a man named Mephibosheth, a man "lame in both feet" (2 Samuel 9:3).  Scripture tells the story, "Jonathan son of Saul had a son who was lame in both feet. He was five years old when the news about Saul['s] and Jonathan['s death] came from Jezreel. His nurse picked him up and fled, but as she hurried to leave, he fell and became disabled. His name was Mephibosheth" (2 Samuel 4:4).  My friend Jonathan was also lame in both feet, permanently wheelchair-bound, suffering the ravages of muscular dystrophy.  By the time our lives intersected as adults, he essentially only had control of his right thumb, enough control to operate his motorized wheelchair.  He's now been gone longer than I knew him alive.  

So in Mephibosheth, I saw my real-life Jonathan on the pages last weekend as I pored over 2 Samuel 9.  Mephibosheth was the son of the biblical Jonathan, who was the best friend of David, and the man who willfully gave up his own right to the throne in order that David could instead ascend to the throne as God's anointed king. And Mephibosheth's grandfather was no less than king Saul, a man who in the end would take his own life in the midst of a losing battle.  

Jonathan would die, too, in battle the same day as his father.  David was anointed king in the wake, and in the aftermath, he began to ask, “Is there anyone still left of the house of Saul to whom I can show kindness for Jonathan’s sake?” (2 Samuel 9:1). 

As king, and in order to protect and preserve his power, David could have opted to have every family member in the line of Saul annihilated.  Instead he went looking for someone to whom he could show kindness.  

Who does David find?  Mephibosheth, the son of Jonathan, David's best friend, the man with whom David had sworn a covenant. Before Jonathan died, he had requested of David, "But show me unfailing kindness like the Lord’s kindness as long as I live...and do not ever cut off your kindness from my family...” (1 Samuel 20:14-15). 

David made good on his promise to his now gone-but-not-forgotten friend, found Jonathan's son, and summoned him to the royal palace.  He had made a vow to never cut off his kindness from Jonathan's family, and David meant it then and he meant now, even though his friend was gone.  

I picture David's palace with a grand, ornate hall, lavish in its opulence.  And I picture this long walkway down the center of the court, columns flanking both sides, rays of light scattering across the polished floor.  David stands at one end, Mephibosheth at the other.  Then I hear the shuffle and the drag of 'two lame feet,' as Mephibosheth ever-so-slowly makes his way to the king, the very king who may decide to take his life.  Step, drag.  Step, drag.  Step, drag.  His eyes are cast downward, not daring to look up, or to hope.  He reaches David and bows low.

I can't help but wonder if David also stooped low to get on Mephibosheth's level, places his finger under Mephibosheth's chin, lifts his head, looks him in the eye and whispers his name with fierce graciousness, "Mephibosheth!"  

No tone of condemnation, no tone of ill-will or hatred.  Just a tone of deep compassion, for this was the very precious son of his very precious friend, Jonathan.

“Don’t be afraid,” David said to him, “for I will surely show you kindness for the sake of your father Jonathan. I will restore to you all the land that belonged to your grandfather Saul, and you will always eat at my table.”   

Mephibosheth bowed down and said, “What is your servant, that you should notice a dead dog like me?”   

Then the king summoned Ziba, Saul’s steward, and said to him, “I have given your master’s grandson everything that belonged to Saul and his family.  You and your sons and your servants are to farm the land for him and bring in the crops, so that your master’s grandson may be provided for. And Mephibosheth, grandson of your master, will always eat at my table” (2 Samuel 9:7-10). 

Scripture goes on to say, "So Mephibosheth ate at David’s table like one of the king’s sons...And [he] lived in Jerusalem, because he always ate at the king’s table; he was lame in both feet." (2 Samuel 9:11, 13)

Mephibosheth got seated at a table where he did not belong, to eat food he could not afford, based on merit he did not possess. And all that in spite of his crippled feet.  

He was at the table for one reason and one reason only: because of who his father was. 

It wasn’t because David pitied him, felt sorry for him, or was obligated to him.  David bent low and lifted the head of a man who was not otherwise worthy of being in the presence of the king. For all intents and purposes, and according to the customs and traditions of the day, David would have been entirely justified in taking a sword to Mephibosheth and everyone else in the line of Saul, anyone who posed a remote threat to his rule.  

Instead, he stooped down and whispered, “Mephibosheth, come eat at my table, both now and forever - because I loved your father. For his sake and to honor him, I welcome you here without condition or payment. You come with your two lame feet, you pull out a chair, you sit at my table, you drink the wine poured for you, and you.feast. Neither your past tragedies, nor your lineage, nor your disability will haunt or hinder you while you sit here in this chair at my table. You need not wonder if any spears will be thrown at you. Enough spears have been thrown. No more. So, come and eat. Sit down at the king's table and partake.  Simply for the sake of your father.” 

For those who are in Christ Jesus, you have the same opportunity.  We get to sit down some day at the wedding feast of the Lamb with all the other saints, and shout "Hallelujah!  For our Lord God Almighty reigns.  Let us rejoice and be glad and give him glory!  For the wedding of the Lamb has come..."(Revelation 19:6-7).

But here's the catch - you only get a seat at the wedding feast of the Lamb based on one condition and one condition alone: 

Who your Father is. 

Nothing and no one else will merit or warrant your presence at the feast other than God your Father.  And neither will your literal or figurative limps merit your absence from the feast.  You get to pull up a chair at a table where you do not belong, to eat food you cannot afford, based on merit you do not possess in and of yourself.  You get to come with your crippled body and your crippled heart and your crippled mind. And in your coming, you will bow low only to find King Jesus who will lift your chin, look you in the eye, whisper your name with fierce graciousness and say, "Don’t be afraid, for I will surely show you kindness for the sake of your Father, and you will always eat at my table.”

So, pull up a chair and partake.  “Come, all you who are thirsty, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat!  Come, buy wine and milk without money and without cost.  Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy?  Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good, and you will delight in the richest of fare.  Give ear and come to me; listen, that you may live. I will make an everlasting covenant with you, my faithful love promised to David" (Isaiah 55:1-3).

Jesus declares over us, "Come, you who have absolutely nothing to offer in return.  I will show you kindness for the sake of your Father."  

And because of that promise, I will get to pull up a seat at the table where I don't belong.  

Right next to my friend Jonathan.

And we will feast.

Forever and always.