• Miscellany,  Publications

    Catching Up

    June 6, 2021

    Well, friends, it’s been awhile.

    The reason is, of course, that I’m exhausted. Like many writers I know of, writing has been hard this year. Most days, I’m just trying to get a few hours of sleep in a row (thank you, 15-month old), and five minutes alone during the day.

    It’s been a year of notable things, really. I’ve had a lot of thoughts about a lot of things; a lot of heavy discussions; a lot of loss and grief that I’m not ready to write about yet. A lot of thoughts better left unsaid. But one thing that I did write out loud was a review of Jesus and John Wayne for Mere Orthodoxy. The review led to a rather…lively…discussion online, which some of you may have seen. It was, I think, ultimately, a good experience, though it has also had some pretty lasting negative impacts on me personally. I’ve had thoughts simmering about the experience since then, and if I can manage to organize them in a healthy way, I think I’ll write about it sometime soon.

    Otherwise, as I look back at these last months, I think what stands out is a profound need for rest and solitude. Earlier this year I read the book Quiet, by Susan Cain (I highly recommend it!). In one chapter, she writes about introverts needing to find “niches” of time and space where you can recharge during the day. And in a world where even my two-minute face-washing has become a loud and communal event, it sounds so nice and so…impossible.

    But amidst the exhaustion, there are dance parties (my kids all love Lord of the Dance, which is amazing) and teaching my daughter to read, learning to decorate a whole house in three months using Facebook Marketplace (oh, hey look! We opened a short-term rental in April!), listening to favorite audiobooks and watching Ted Lasso after bedtime. The exhaustion and sadness and worry from the last year cannot diminish the privilege of time with my family. My kids are small just once, and only for a little while. So I’m trying to make sure I can come out of my enneagram 5 shell long enough to enjoy them and invest in their little years. Which means there is very little energy left at the end of the day for other pursuits.

    Now that summer is here and the masks are off, though—in Minnesota, at least—the kids are playing outside and we’ve hired a babysitter so that I can help manage the rental better, and get some time alone. Which hopefully means you’ll be hearing more from me, either here or elsewhere. I’ll keep you posted. Thanks for following!

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  • Book Reviews,  Books

    Washing Your Face in Muddy Waters

    May 16, 2020

    I’ve spent some time recently swimming in the muddy waters of what’s been coined “me-ology”—or the trend in some Christian circles to focus on self-actualization, confidence, and success. As usual, I did things backwards, and read two book refuting this sort of tainted (if not outright false) gospel before reading more from the big names in those circles. So, I got Girl, Wash Your Face from the library to see what all the buzz was about (yes, two years late, I know). 

    Girl. It was no fun. 

    I’m an INTP, Enneagram 5. Please don’t talk to me like you know me if we’ve never met. 

    On a positive note, I enjoyed how she structured her chapters with bullet points at the end listing things that helped her overcome fears, obstacles, or regrets. Some of her suggestions were helpful, and I don’t want to take away from the fact that she’s worked hard to achieve her success. Overall, though, I came away frustrated. It is clear that her definition of the success revolves around celebrity, career, wealth, and comfort. This wouldn’t be so much of a problem if she didn’t also actively remind her readers of her faith.  

    In the end, I’d like to ask her: Do you realize that you are going to die?

    Missing Pieces

    All of her advice is geared toward a happier, more successful life on earth. By weaving Christian lingo in to her chapters and stringing references to her faith throughout the book, she places it as a central piece of her work, and moves her book from the category of career and goal-setting how-to into a more holistic sort of faith-based self-help book. And by labelling herself a Christian, she holds herself up as a role model while preaching what ends up being a false, or perhaps at best syncretistic gospel. She recognizes that people are not happy, but instead of pointing them to the story of redemption and telling the story of a God who rescues people who cannot save themselves, she tells her own story—a story where she rescued herself from the things that held her back. And, most prominently, instead of presenting the way to achieving real eternal happiness, she urges her readers to follow her into worldly success and empowerment. 

    And so, for all its motivational appeal, there’s a barb hidden in Hollis’s work. As a self-proclaimed Christian, it seems unkind to offer readers a gospel of self-actualization, a gospel of work, striving after material things, and conditional inner peace when you know  (or should know) that true happiness is found in work that has been finished and offered freely to us. Working hard is important. But it will only get us so far in life. Ultimately, we will still wind up at the grave. And when we get there, what hope can Hollis’s gospel of self-fulfillment offer? 

    Faulty Foundations

    It is not wrong to want to be successful and happy, and it is not bad to work to achieve those things. It’s great to coach others along the way. But it is problematic for believers to offer that sort of advice as if those goals and desires are ultimate. Hollis herself admits that her success hasn’t brought satisfaction. Most of us know, at least in theory, the dangers of storing up treasures on earth. We also know, or ought to, the dangers of leading others astray. However, for all of her words proclaiming her faith, I did not come away from her book with confidence that Hollis knows either of those.

    If Hollis has any good advice at all (which she does!), it’s built on sand—its foundation is only as strong as your own endurance or resolve. She states no purpose for success outside of one’s own feeling of success. Her readers, she claims, are not using their “God-given” talents to their full potential. This is fair, perhaps, but she does a poor job of explaining why they should use them outside of self-satisfaction, if she even tries at all. All of the success in Girl, Wash Your Face is by your own effort, for your own sake. Christians should know that this sort of success probably won’t last a lifetime, and definitely won’t last into eternity. Unfortunately, I did not come away from Hollis’ book confident that she knows this, either.

    Missed Opportunity

    And this is the tragedy of Hollis’ work. Had she remembered her death, Hollis may have been able to give her readers a better foundation on which to build their success instead of luring them to a gospel of comfort and self-focused success. If she had remembered that she will someday die it would have rounded out her definition of success in a way that would have been a great help to her readers. Instead, she offers her readers only a temporal success that, as Ecclesiastes tells us, is only a vapor. All of our work on earth will be gone within decades, and probably sooner. In the long run, it is meaningless. Unless we recognize the work of another. 

    Christ’s work is eternal. And it is only by joining in his work that our work has value. Even the most menial tasks become valuable when they are tethered to his work on the cross, a story outside of our own. When we see our work in its proper place as part of the story of redemption—creation, fall, redemption, consummation—it takes on a value far greater than we can give it on our own. 

    If we do not remember that we are dust, and like Hollis focus only on what our work can accomplish for us, we are left striving after the wind. Eventually it will leave us not only exhausted, but with nothing to show for our efforts. 

    In contrast, remembering our death means that we can, as Matthew McCullough points out in his book Remember Death, rest—even as we’re working. Our work, whether it’s in a career, parenting or even eating and exercising, won’t save us—Christ’s work will. Even when we are stuck in the most lowly work, McCullough says, “[we] get to reflect the glory of the One who put every star in its place, marked off the oceans, and ordered every species.”[1]

    And that success, I think, is a much more satisfying than any amount of wealth, status, or earthly comfort.

    [1]Remember Death, 114.

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  • Death and Dying,  Grief,  My Story

    Older and Wiser Words

    April 7, 2020

    It’s taken me awhile to feel ready to write about COVID-19. I still don’t feel ready. Our society—our world, really—has come face to face with our mortality. Most of us have been thinking about the reality that no matter who is considered at risk all of us are vulnerable to this illness and could die. All of us.

    You’d think that would be exciting for me, as someone who firmly believes this realization is vital to who we are as humans. 

    It is exciting, in some ways. I see so much potential for good conversations among families and friends, I’m hopeful and praying that we would see patterns of renewed and mended relationships, healthier patterns of rest, better relationships between parents and children, and hopefully a greater humility before God and gratefulness for the common graces he’s given us. There is so much of our humanity to be reclaimed in moments like these.

    But on the other hand, this is scary! Who of us doesn’t have family or friends in the “at risk” category? Who of us doesn’t shudder as the unemployment numbers rise? Who of us doesn’t weep for the children and others trapped at home with their abusers? 

    These are serious matters, and I don’t feel equipped to speak into such large-scale suffering. To write as if I have answers would minimize real suffering that’s taking place. There are others, older and wiser, who can speak into this situation. All I can do is listen and weep and pray.

    My words can’t possibly provide enough strength or comfort or grit to get anyone through a crisis of this scale. I am only slowly growing older and wiser, after all, and I don’t write about mortality because I’m good at grief. In fact, I write about it, I think, because I’m not good at it. I’ve tasted just enough suffering to hate it, to avoid it. Recognizing that there is something better for us than fear, though, I write to remind myself and whoever reads that this is, in fact, true. But right now, even though I know that Christ is near us in our suffering, and that we, in his sovereignty, were no safer a month ago than we are now, the weight of suffering feels heavy enough that I’m left mostly without words. 

    There is one word, though, that I’ve been pondering. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the term “microaggression.” Or, not about that word specifically, but about a correlated idea for which I’ve coined the term “micro-grief.” There’s surely a real word for it—I just don’t know it. So, in lieu of that real word, let me just explain that I’m “microgrieving,” and it’s not easy.

    I think a lot of us are feeling this. The fear of getting sick—of this unknown thing that could kill me and anyone I love is one thing. But perhaps even more weighty than that fear are the tiny griefs along the way. Celebrating my two oldest children’s birthdays without friends or family. My daughter missing her preschool teacher and friends. My son missing the childcare workers at the community center. Not getting to introduce my newborn to friends, or have my parents get to know him in his early weeks. Lamenting missing church for the month before lockdown because of sickness and childbirth. Even the loss two-hour grocery delivery, and instead having to wait several days so that Instacart can keep up with new demands. There’s grief in the action of disinfecting groceries, the handwashing after opening Amazon packages, the calendar reminders for cancelled events. And there’s grief in the good things, too—virtual game-nights, eating donuts while watching a sermon, and extra time for reading or hobbies. 

    All day every day I feel the small weight of these micro-griefs. And every now and then, I realize that they have become one giant, worldwide Grief, and it floors me.

    My husband and I caught up with our small group over Zoom the other night. Our time together was happy, with no imminent threats to anyone’s well-being. But after the call, Michael and I both felt exhausted. After hearing of all the little ways COVID-19 has disrupted normal patterns, those “micro-griefs” felt like a giant weight.

    I don’t mind bearing the weights of our friends and family—it’s a privilege. But, as others have pointed out, we need to acknowledge that all of this is real and heavy. Even if no one I know and love gets sick or dies, even if a vaccine is miraculously found tomorrow and not one more person dies from COVID-19 (Lord, let it be so!), these last weeks of suffering will have taken a massive toll.

    So, while creation groans like I’ve never heard it, I myself have no words. Although, happily, the days passing within the four walls of our home are mostly marked by joy, these little micro-griefs pile up and the weight is wearing. So I’m returning to the old and wise words of scripture to form my prayers. If you’re not turning to them already, now is the time. We’re only mortal, after all.

    Matthew 11:28–30

    Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

    Psalm 71:17–20

    O God, from my youth you have taught me,
    and I still proclaim your wondrous deeds. 

    So even to old age and gray hairs,
    O God, do not forsake me,
    until I proclaim your might to another generation,
    your power to all those to come. 

    Your righteousness, O God,
    reaches the high heavens. 

    You who have done great things, 
    O God, who is like you? 

    You who have made me see many troubles and calamities 
    will revive me again;
    from the depths of the earth 
    you will bring me up again.

    Isaiah 40:28–31

    Have you not known? Have you not heard? 
    The LORD is the everlasting God, 
    the Creator of the ends of the earth.  He does not faint or grow weary;  his understanding is unsearchable. 

    He gives power to the faint, 
    and to him who has no might he increases strength. 

    Even youths shall faint and be weary, 
    and young men shall fall exhausted; 
    but they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength; 
    they shall mount up with wings like eagles; 
    they shall run and not be weary; 
    they shall walk and not faint.

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  • Miscellany

    At Home

    March 15, 2020

    I wish I had some novel thoughts about the novel virus sweeping the globe right now. You’d think that a blog about death and dying would have something to say about a pandemic. But I’ve read too much and have nothing to add to the conversation, or I’m too tired from feeding a newborn every 2–4 hours. Maybe both. My world feels very small right now; I have no big thoughts, and I think that’s okay.

    I can say two small things—but they’re not really related to death or dying. 

    First, I’m grateful that my church was able to livestream a service held in an empty sanctuary today. I haven’t been to church since the week before my littlest was born—so about a month. In fact, I’ve only been out of the house a number of times since then. We had the flu the week before he was born so I’ve basically been social distancing since before it was cool. So it was good to at least see church, and sing with the worship team from where I sat on the couch.

    Second, today I spent some time reading Psalm 23. I’m hoping to use these weeks with Michael home as an opportunity to re-boot some better habits of reading and meditation. Psalm 23 seems particularly helpful today. I’ll just post it here without any more comments. Maybe it will be a balm for you today too.

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  • My Story,  Publications

    News and Updates

    February 25, 2020

    Hello Friends,

    As you know by now, Unhurried Chase is a hobby of mine. Unfortunately, I haven’t had much time to dedicate to writing lately (keep reading and you’ll see why), but I do have a few updates to share with you!

    First, we welcomed the fifth Carlson (well, sixth, if you count the dog) last week! He’s little and cute, and we all love him.

    Secondly, a book review I wrote for The Gospel Coalition was published yesterday. If you didn’t know that Tim Keller was releasing a short book called On Death, watch for it in just a few days (or pre-order it!) and check it out. I reviewed it here (and a hearty Welcome! to those of you visiting as a result!). The book is well done, and I think you’ll enjoy it. One of my favorite things about it is that it’s short enough to read in one sitting (around 120 pages with large text and wide margins), and is something worth sharing with friends and family regardless if they are Christians or not.

    On Death, Tim Keller

    Finally, and this is not news for most of you, but if you’re just stopping by from TGC (or anywhere else)—I’d love for you to either follow the blog, or watch for updates by following me on Twitter (@UnhurriedChase).

    Okay. So there are my updates! Now back to snuggles and catnaps.

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  • Books

    Reading List 2020

    January 16, 2020

    I read close to 35 books last year. This year, I’m hoping for 50. Without regular time set aside for research or writing I’m not sure how I’ll get there, but I’m trying to make better use of my time, and desperately hoping that having a newborn won’t totally destroy my ability to read and think (this is my third… am I totally crazy?). 

    The list I’ve made isn’t complete. I’m always changing my mind and reading what’s available instead of what I’ve planned. But it’s a start. It includes books for research, books for fun, devotional books, and books I’m reading aloud to my daughter. I’ve found that while I’d like to spend my reading time highly focused on the things I usually write about, I actually read less if that’s all I read. I really need varying levels and styles of reading to continue making progress.

    Another way of saying it is: If I don’t have a book to read when I’m tired, I’ll probably find something to watch instead. So having books of all genres and levels helps me continue the habit of reading, even if it feels “off-track” sometimes.

    Let me know if you’ve read any of the books on my list, or if you’d like to join in and read some with me! I’d also love to see your book lists for the new year!

    2020 Book List

    Aging: The Fulfillment of Life
    The Broken Connection: On Death and the Continuity of Life
    The Coddling of the American Mind: How Good Intentions and Bad Ideas Are Setting Up a Generation for Failure
    Confessions of a Funeral Director: How the Business of Death Saved My Life
    Disciplines of a Godly Woman
    Facing the 'king of Terrors': Death and Society in an American Community, 1750-1990
    From Here to Eternity: Traveling the World to Find the Good Death
    The Goldfinch
    Handle with Care: How Jesus Redeems the Power of Touch in Life and Ministry
    Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
    How to Read a Book: The Classic Guide to Intelligent Reading
    How to Teach Your Children Shakespeare
    How We Die: Reflections of Life's Final Chapter
    Leisure: The Basis of Culture
    Little House in the Big Woods
    My Name Is Asher Lev
    Our Greatest Gift: A Meditation on Dying and Caring
    The Practice of the Presence of God with Spiritual Maxims
    Pride and Prejudice
    Religions in Africa: Conflicts, Politics and Social Ethics


    Jamie’s favorite books »
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  • Publications

    Honorable Mentions

    January 1, 2020

    I realized I forgot to post a link to the piece that was published at Fathom Magazine earlier this year. So, here it is, with an excerpt. If you haven’t read it, I invite you to do so now!

    “The trauma stemming from the losses in my life, then, do more than just remind me of the deaths that I have only experienced secondhand. Instead, they serve as continual reminders to remember my own death. Death, entering my life as a young teen, will continue its parade through my life in the form of sin and suffering and loss until the day when my flesh fails utterly. 

    But until then what am I to do with those intrusions?

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  • Books

    My Favorite Books of 2019

    December 31, 2019

    This year, Goodreads is telling me that I’ve read around 35 books. Since doing a “Top Ten” list would mean including nearly a third of my total reading, I don’t think that sounds reasonable. Especially because a good number of them were read-aloud or children’s books (i.e. Harry Potter) So, I’ll just give you a short list of favorites. [sidenote: it’s hard to make time for reading when you don’t have homework, you don’t get paid to read, and usually have small children in the car with you!]

    Favorite Book of 2019: The Art of Dying, Rob Moll.

    I’ve talked about this book a lot, I know. I made my mom read it, and my entire book club. I think the reason it’s gotten so much mileage for me this year is because it has both breadth and depth. It can be comfort to the bereaved, but also instructive to those of us who aren’t reeling from loss. If I had to pick one book for someone interested in the topic of death and dying, this would be my pick.

    Favorite Memoir on Death and Dying of 2019: Lament for a Son, Nicholas Wolterstorff

    This book is a short read, but takes you into the depths of grief more effectively than others I’ve read. That doesn’t sound like it should be a compliment, but it is. It combines beauty with profound insight and raw emotion in a powerful way. If you are processing through grief, read it. If you want to understand your friend’s grief, read it.

    Favorite Christian Living of 2019: Liturgy of the Ordinary, Tish Harrison Warren

    In a season of wondering what’s next and trying to better understand my role at home as wife and mom, this book was a helpful pointer to intentional living, finding beauty in the ordinary, and worshipping throughout the day.

    Favorite Fiction in 2019: The Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkein

    I’ve read it a million times, but it has never been so sweet. You all know this, though. I don’t need to belabor the point—these books are perhaps my favorite of all time.

    Some Other Mentions:

    honorable mention: Rebecca, Daphne duMaurier. Amazing.

    least favorite: Exodus, by Leon Uris. It went on and on, and felt pretty one-sided.

    currently finishing: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and Believe Me, by John Fea

    books I’ve listened to or read with my daughter a million times: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, C.S. Lewis; Henry Huggins, by Beverly Cleary; The Jesus Storybook Bible, Sally Lloyd-Jones; The Beginner’s Gospel Story Bible, Jared Kennedy; The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum.

    tried and failed: judge me if you will, but I cannot for the life of me make it through Russian lit without imposed deadlines. I gave myself the whole year to get through Crime and Punishment. I think I made it 100 pages. I don’t doubt it’s quality, just its ability to hold my attention without having to take it to class.

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  • Death and Dying,  Dust

    Life, Death, and Limitations

    December 21, 2019

    This week, Christian Twitter has been alight with the hashtag #wakeupolive. Bethel Church leaders have been holding services pleading with, or even demanding, God to raise a little girl from the dead. Christian leaders from all the expected ministries, and a surprising number of people I wouldn’t have expected are joining in the plea that God would do this miracle.

    Meanwhile, I have been mulling over a YouTube series put out by The Guardian called Death Land for a few weeks now. In it, reporter Leah Green seeks to confront her own fear of death. For the first episode, she travels to a conference in Las Vegas called RAADfest—a conference for people who believe (or want to) that we are on the cusp of scientific breakthroughs that will allow for “radical life extension,” if not immortality. It’s both fascinating and unsettling to watch. 

    Both of these cultural phenomena point to our basic fear and avoidance of death: If we can’t avoid it altogether, we want to control it. This seems natural in some ways, but it also misses what I think is a gift and provision from God to his creation.

    It’s tempting to think that the things that are truly “good” are things that are the least limited in beauty, strength, intelligence etc. But all of that seems to stem from a forgetfulness or even open rebellion against the reality that Adam and Eve were created with limitations, rules, weaknesses, and were still called “very good.” They were limited and humble in their bodies—they were created from dust. They were limited in their authority—God gave them nearly free reign in the garden, and dominion over it, but they were still asked to submit to him by not eating the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, or the Tree of Life. They were clearly limited from the start.  

    This seems really important for us to remember, but we seem to forget it more often than not, don’t we? I do. 

    This tendency isn’t new, though, is it? Adam and Eve, after yielding to temptation and eating the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, looked at their weak bodies and hid them with fig leaves. They did everything in their power to cover their weakness out of prideful shame, or even a feeling of need. Weakness and vulnerability was a problem for them—and when they had the chance to turn toward God and receive his care and protection, they instead tried to cover themselves and hid.

    Death—either our own or a loved one’s—is a sort of testing grounds for Christians. It asks us if we will submit with humility to the limitations and weakness of our dust-made bodies. Death is our greatest enemy, it is true. But it was also given as a means of protection.  

    Adam and Eve didn’t think their limitations were good, but God did. Adam and Eve probably would have eaten from the Tree of Life as well as the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, presuming it would help them live happily ever after. But God saw that it would have an ultimately harmful effect and exiled Adam and Eve from the garden (Gen 3:22–23). His desire was for them to live with him forever in a restored relationship, not a broken one. So with the end in mind, he withheld what Adam and Eve would have probably thought was a good—immortality and the fruit of the Tree of Life.

    In that way, while death is a consequence of sin and a great evil, it is also a provision. Trusting God’s goodness and love for us means trusting that the limits put in place by our nature as creatures are good for us too. This includes, and I want to say this carefully and sensitively, death. Death does not feel good—for the dying or their loved ones. And these words are not a balm to those walking through raw grief. Death is an enemy, and loss should be mourned. Full Stop. 

    At the same time, death is a God-ordained weakness. So our struggle against the weaknesses of our body, including death, should not look like the shame-filled reaction that marked Adam and Eve’s response to their bodies. Can we instead respond to our limits without shame? Medicine is a gift and a tool that we should use. But when the tools start to cause more harm than good, can we accept the limits that God placed on the bodies as a good? God can certainly raise anyone he chooses to life from the grave. But shouldn’t our faith in his resurrection power recognize that his ways are not our own, and life and death come on his terms, not ours? Our hope, after all, is not immortality on this side of the grave, but in the God who, “veiled in flesh,” defeated death itself. 

    In the second segment of Death Land, the reporter follows Dr. Sunita Puri, a doctor of palliative care, as she makes rounds with patients who are dying. The contrast between Dr. Puri and the events at RAADfest and Bethel Church is glaring. At one point, Dr. Puri says something really profound: “Without mortality, I don’t know what humanity would be.” We don’t know what would come of living eternally in our fallen state, but I don’t think most of us truly want to see that. Our salvation, our eternity in right relationship with God will come through the trial of death if Christ tarries. We don’t know exactly why God ordained death as a consequence for sin. But do we believe in his goodness enough to know that if this was his plan for us it can only be for our ultimate, final good? 

    Believing this is hard—really hard. Maybe impossible in the micro, close-up view, when we see the evil of death up close. But as Christians we need to work hard to develop both macro and micro lenses—we need to somehow develop the ability see both the close-up, short-term and the long-term. Why? Because the God incarnate who wept at the death of Lazurus and his sisters’ tears, also tells us that he is working good for those who love him. The long-term view doesn’t make evil less evil in the short-term. But trusting that our limitations can be both painful and good can provide stability for us when our faith might otherwise be destroyed by the evils in this world.

    Aslan said in Prince Caspian that our existence as humans is “both honour enough to erect the head of the poorest beggar, and shame enough to bow the shoulders of the greatest emperor in earth. Be content.” Our weakness is a chance to turn, again and again, to the one who formed man from dust. Instead of striving foolishly for the removal of created limitations, let’s aim to be more like the apostle Paul, who boasted in his weakness and rested in the all-sufficient grace and power of his creator who called his creation “very good.” 

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  • Grief,  My Story,  Stories and Songs

    Their Span is But Toil and Trouble

    November 5, 2019

    “For all our days pass away under your wrath; we bring our years to an end like a sigh. 
    The years of our life are seventy, or even by reason of strength eighty;
    Yet their span is but toil and trouble;
    They are soon gone, and we fly away.
    Who considers the power of your anger, and your wrath according to the fear of you?

    So teach us to number our days
    That we may gain a heart of wisdom. 
    Return, O Lord! How long?
    Have pity on your servants!

    Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love,
    That we may rejoice and be glad all our days.
    Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us,
    And for as many years as we have seen evil.”
    Psalm 90:9–15

    O, Lord. Who am I, but dust and ashes?

    Sometimes the fragility of life just seems overwhelming. Our false hopes come to light, our co-worker’s stillbirth didn’t mean that our pregnancy would be healthy. Our good news is overshadowed by someone else’s bad news. That’s what happened to me today, and I am feeling my fallen, dusty nature. 

    After two weeks of uncertainty and anxiety, yesterday I came home from the doctor feeling relieved and hopeful. Today, I found out that someone in a parallel phase of life received devastating news and had her life turned upside-down.

    Sometimes, life feels like an affliction, either ours or someone else’s. Our lives are destined for death, either before or after “seventy, or even by reason of strength eighty” years of suffering and toil. Sin must be really terrible to deserve this sort of curse.

    Of course, all of the other parts of the gospel story are still true. This curse is the one that Jesus bore. This curse is the one that he conquered on the cross and in the tomb. This curse is the one that will be forever made right when he returns. 

    And yet right here, right now, all I can do, and maybe you too, is cry and say with the psalmist: 

    “Return, O Lord! How long? Have pity on your servants. 
    Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love,
    That we may rejoice and be glad all our days.
    Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us,
    And for as many years as we have seen evil.”

    Amen. Let it be so.

    I know this is an incredibly vague post. It’s vague for privacy, both mine and the other person mentioned here. I’m fine, really. Grief is good, and so is lament. It’s good to sit here for awhile.

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