I’ve spent a couple of months looking long at the prophetic book of Amos, and I’ve been stunned to find a microcosm of our own current world affairs—as well as a God who speaks into the madness, whose voice is so powerful and authoritative that it leaves every other voice (even the ones screaming the loudest) sounding like whispers in a hurricane.

Amos begins his book by saying, “The Lord roars from Zion and makes his voice heard.” According to Amos, the Lord roars (and also speaks and sings) in order to:

…declare punishment on both his own people and their neighbors.

…recount all the ways he has tried to win back his people.

…proclaim his presence and his plan to redeem.

I love that God is an all-knowing, truth-telling God. He’s not passive-aggressive or unsure of himself, nor is he swayed by the masses. He calls a spade, a spade. And so, in chapter 1 of Amos, he brings grave accusations against three of Israel’s neighbors: Edom, for mistreating his brothers (as well as stifling his compassion and raging incessantly); Gaza, for exiling “a whole community”; and Tyre, for breaking “a treaty of brotherhood.”** To these nations who abused and enslaved people within their own communities, he promises to send consuming fire as punishment.

Then he accuses Judah of rejecting his instruction, of following ancestral lies that led them astray. For them, too, consuming fire is promised.

Then the Lord moves on to Israel, describing her as predatory, impure, violent, enslaved to sin, indulgent, proud, callous, complacent, and self-righteous. Because of her sins, the Lord says,

“Look, I am about to crush you in your place as a wagon crushes when full of grain. … I will punish you for all your iniquities.”

And then—perhaps just in case Israel dares to question God (“How could you be so cruel?!”)—God reminds her of all the ways he’s tried to stop her from self-destructing, all the ways he’s tried to get her attention and woo her back to himself.

I sent famine—yet you did not return to me.
I sent drought—yet you did not return to me.
I made you stagger—yet you did not return to me.
I struck you with plagues, disease, defeat, and death—yet you did not return to me.

Out of his great desire to be in relationship with his people, to save them from their sins, God sent crisis after crisis. Yet his people refused to return to him. (I don’t want to rush past these haunting verses. I want to sit here and feel the awfulness of them—and then be filled with gratitude that the Lord disciplines those he loves. Oh, how I’ve needed his discipline time and again when I’ve set out on a destructive path.)

My favorite moment in the book of Amos comes next. At the climax of exposing Israel’s sin and prophesying judgment, the Lord tells her that he is with her—and gives her yet another chance to repent of her sins and seek him.

“He is here: the one who forms the mountains, creates the wind, and reveals his thoughts to man, the one who makes the dawn out of darkness and strides on the heights of the earth. The Lord, the God of Armies, is his name.” (4:13)

“Seek me and live!” (5:4)

“Seek the Lord and live or he will spread like fire… (5:6) 

The heart of God beats with holiness and hatred for sin, yet tender longing and patience too—“not wanting any to perish but all to come to repentance” (2 Peter 3:9).

Judgment was coming. Israel would pay dearly for rejecting her perfect and patient Lover. Even so, the book of Amos ends with God promising a day when all things will be made right.

“I will restore the fallen shelter of David;
I will repair its gaps,
restore its ruins,
and rebuild it as in the days of old. …
I will restore the fortunes
of my people Israel. …
I will plant them on their land
and they will never again be uprooted
from the land I have given them.
The Lord your God has spoken.”

This year we collectively find ourselves in a chapter of chaos and crisis and conflict—but it is only just a chapter. The Story is a surpassingly great one, and it is always moving toward its glorious end (which is really not an end at all, but a breathtaking new beginning).

God is here. He is speaking, roaring. And his plans will prevail.

Speak, Lord, for we are listening.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Postscript: One of the most surprising and compelling themes of Amos (which I couldn’t capture in this scratch-the-surface post), is God’s heart for the nations. For this and so many other reasons, I highly recommend spending some time in this oft-overlooked prophetic book!

**Moab was a fourth neighbor God accuses and judges, and his crime was “burning the bones of the king of Edom to lime.” I found it fascinating that Edom was guilty of heinous sins, and God was going to judge him with fire, yet God would not tolerate another nation using fire to murder Edom’s king.

The post A book like Amos (for a year like 2020) appeared first on Colleen E. Chao.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Take the very hardest thing in your life, the place of difficulty, outward or inward, and expect God to triumph gloriously in that very spot.
—Lilias Trotter, Parables of the Cross

The Lord knows how to order things better than I. The Lord sees further than I do; I only see things at present. … And how do I know that had it not been for this affliction, I should have been undone.
—Jeremiah Burroughs, The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment

It grew harder and harder. There was too much misery, too much seemingly pointless suffering. Every day something else failed to make sense, something else grew too heavy. But…one thing became increasingly clear. And that was the reason the two of us were here. The blacker the night around us grew, the brighter and truer and more beautiful burned the word of God.
—Corrie ten Boom,The Hiding Place (recalling her time spent in Ravensbruck Concentration Camp)

Spare not the pain
though the way I take
be lonely and dark,
though the whole soul ache,
for the flesh must die
though the heart may break.
Spare not the pain,
oh, spare not the pain.
—Ruth Bell Graham, Clouds are the Dust of His Feet

When it costs most we find the greatest joy. We find the darkest hours the brightest, and the greatest loss the highest gain. While the sorrow is short-lived, and will soon pass away, the joy is far more exceeding, and it is eternal. … In the presence of bereavement, in the deepest sorrows of life, He has so drawn near me that I have said to myself, “Is it possible that the precious one who is in His presence can have more of the presence of God than I have?”
—Hudson Taylor

If I refuse to allow one who is dear to me to suffer for the sake of Christ, if I do not see such suffering as the greatest honor that can be offered to any follower of the Crucified, then I know nothing of Calvary love.
—Amy Carmichael, If

The deep of misery calls to the deep of mercy; the deep of transgression calls to the deep of grace. Greater is the deep of mercy than the deep of misery. Therefore let deep swallow deep. Let the deep of mercy swallow the deep of misery.
—Girolamo Savonarola (Italian Dominican preacher martyred in 1498), Reformation Commentary on Scripture

Let no incident of life, pleasing or painful, injure the prosperity of my soul, but rather increase it.
—Christmas Evans, sermon from the early 19th century

I am afraid that all the grace that I have got of my comfortable and easy times and happy hours, might almost lie on a penny. But the good that I have received from my sorrows, and pains, and griefs, is altogether incalculable. . . . Affliction is the best bit of furniture in my house. It is the best book in a minister’s library.
—C.H. Spurgeon, The Complete Works of C.H. Spurgeon, Vol. 34

May I not instruct thee in my troubles, but glorify thee in my trials.
—Valley of Vision, page 133

It has everything to do with God and his grace that sustains—not just over the long haul, but grace given in tiny moments, like stepping-stones leading you from one tick of the clock to the next. And the beauty of God’s grace is that it squeezes those hard moments together, eclipsing the years until one day you look over your shoulder and all you see is five decades of God at work. Try as you may, you cannot recall the horror of it all—grace softens the edges of past pains, choosing only the highlights of eternal importance. What you are left with is peace that’s profound, joy that’s unshakable, and faith that is ironclad. It is the hard but beautiful stuff of which God makes your life.
—Joni Eareckson Tada, The Scars That Have Shaped Me

Grant me thy blessings with bitter things,
to brighten and quicken me,
not to depress and make me lifeless.
—Valley of Vision, p.140

The weightiest end of the cross of Christ that is laid upon you, lieth upon your strong Savior. For Isaiah says that in all your afflictions he is afflicted [63:9]. … Glad may your soul be, even to walk in the fiery furnace, with one like the Son of man, who is also the Son of God. Courage up your heart; when you tire, he will bear both you and your burden [Psalm 55:22].
—Samuel Rutherford, Letters (1628)

God has seen to it that [in my life] there has been a certain measure of suffering, a certain measure of pain. And it has been out of that very measure of pain that has come the unshakable conviction that God is love.
—Elisabeth Elliot, Suffering is Never for Nothing

Untried faith is such little faith that some have thought it no faith at all. What a fish would be without water, or a bird without air, that would be faith without trial.
—C.H. Spurgeon, The Trial of Your Faith: Sermons on 1&2 Peter and Jude

Not only this valley but all their earthly past will have been Heaven to those who are saved. … That is what mortals misunderstand. They say of some temporal suffering, “No future bliss can make up for it,” not knowing that Heaven, once attained, will work backwards and turn even that agony into a glory. And that is why, at the end of all things, when the sun rises here and the twilight turns to blackness down there, the Blessed will say “We have never lived anywhere except in Heaven,” and the Lost, “We were always in Hell.” And both will speak truly.
–C.S. Lewis, The Great Divorce

If Christ be not in view, there is nothing but wants.
—Isaac Ambrose, Looking Unto Jesus

Oh, the soul of man is more worth than a thousand worlds! It is the greatest abasing of it that can be—to let it dote upon a little shining earth, upon a little painted beauty and fading glory—when it is capable of union with Christ, of communion with God, and of enjoying the eternal vision of God.
—Thomas Brooks, The Complete Works of Thomas Brooks

The post Words of wisdom appeared first on Colleen E. Chao.

You brought me into being though you knew I would be your enemy from the first day—born into sin, enslaved to Self, hating your ways. You knew my greatest suffering would come from within, not without.

You foresaw the brokenness and the beauty (of myself and my world), and you tenderly, tenaciously placed me in the thick of it—to write a story of surpassing goodness.

Even as you have allowed pain to have its wanton way with me these many years, even now as you have let rampant disease, racial division, and political upheaval change the shape of our days, I praise you for you have also—moreso—

revealed the path of life to me (Psalm 16:11)
made my heart glad (16:9)
hemmed me in behind and before (139:5)
helped me, sustained my life (54:4)
rescued me from every trouble (54:7)
fulfilled your purpose for me (57:2)
upheld me and exalted me (18:35)
delighted in me (18:19)
hidden me in the shadow of your wings (17:8)
increased strength within me (138:3)
loosened my bonds (116:16)
turned your ear to me (116:2)
given me a confident heart that is not afraid of bad news (112:7)
supported me with your faithful love (94:18)
made me happy by disciplining and teaching me (94:12)
never left me nor abandoned me (94:14)
made me rejoice by what you have done (92:4)
welcomed me into your house (5:7)
been my refuge in times of trouble (9:9)
listened carefully to me (10:17)
seen my trouble and grief and taken it into your hands (10:14)
provided safety for me (12:5)
counseled me when my thoughts trouble me (16:7)
given me a beautiful inheritance (16:6)
satisfied me with your presence (17:15)
led me along the right paths (23:3)
guided me with your faithful love (26:3)

God, you are Love itself, and in you I have found everything my heart craves. Teach me to love you more.

(All quotes from the Book of Psalms, Christian Standard Bible)

The post Everything my heart craves appeared first on Colleen E. Chao.

Don’t get me wrong. I absolutely adore being in my forties. I love getting older, and I’m more comfortable in my own skin than I’ve ever been. But in a culture that worships the ruthless tyrant Ageless—and with a heart prone to obsess over Self—I wage a daily war between lies and truth.

Lies say the greatest compliment I can receive is, “You look so young for your age! I never would have guessed you’re in your forties!” (Even today, on TV in the doctor’s office, a famous model offered me a special age-defying potion. She said there’s a magical fruit in the south of France that will take ten years off my face.)

But Truth says I’m an image-bearer of The Most Beautiful One—and by beholding him, I become like him. My spirit, the very essence of who I am, grows more beautiful in his presence.

Lies say women lose stock as they age.

Truth says these wrinkles represent some pretty amazing chapters in my story—chapters I wouldn’t give up for all the youthful looks in the world. (Why would I want to be mistaken for 34 when I’m so grateful for every one of these 44 years?)

Lies say your body is your worth. Your looks are your currency.

Truth says this life is just a shadow of the breathtaking reality to come. Aging is the passing of the shadow, the coming of all that is good and lasting.

So, when I’m tempted to resent how hard it is to maintain muscle these days, how my eyes seem to wax gibbous, or how my jowls are sinking into my neck, I catch myself. These wrinkles are my glory! Every altercation of age is a testimony to God’s good work in my life, to a heart that he is beautifying each day.

I hope that as I live into the fullness of middle age, the best compliment I receive will be, “You are radiant with Jesus. I see him in and through you, and it is beautiful.”

Bring it on, 44.

(Now if only I could make peace with my gray roots….)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.” Psalm 34:5

“Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.” 2 Corinthians 4:16

“A human is like a breath; his days are like a passing shadow.” Psalm 144:4

The post The Woman in the Mirror appeared first on Colleen E. Chao.

A few of those precious promises are packed into two little verses at the end of the book of Hebrews—two verses that have beat a beautiful path in my mind over time and led me to a breathtaking view of my God and His goodness to me. 

Now may the God of peace, who brought up from the dead our Lord Jesus—the great Shepherd of the sheep—through the blood of the everlasting covenant, equip you with everything good to do his will, working in us what is pleasing in his sight, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory forever and ever. Amen. (Hebrews 13:20-21)

As we look into the unknown before us, here are a few things we can count on according to this Scripture:

1. God is a God of peace. 
   We are not naturally a peaceful people. We are born into turmoil, all manner of anxiety, anger, and self-absorption. But with God, we can experience true shalom—a well-being of both body and soul. Ephesians 2:14 says, “He himself is our peace.”
   
   God, we pray that we would walk in the joy of your presence, which is perfect peace for our troubled souls.
    
2. God keeps His promises.
   He made gargantuanly good promises to us and then signed them with the blood of His only Son. Can we truly continue to doubt God’s goodness to us when He paid the highest price to fulfill such undeserved promises?
   
   We are so grateful, God, that you always keep your promises—and that you paid the highest price to fulfill them.
    
3. Jesus is our Great Shepherd, raised from the dead.
   This means that Jesus has the authority and power to perfectly protect us, provide for us, and guide us. Isaiah 40:11 says, “He will tend his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms; he will carry them in his bosom, and gently lead those that are with young.”
   
   Jesus, we ask You to lead us as a new day dawns—and to give us hearts that are happy to follow You.
    
4. God gives us everything we need.
   He is not cheap, unfair, or full of unrealistic expectations. Have you ever had someone charge you with an impossible task? And then perhaps they grew impatient at your incompetence when you couldn’t fulfill their expectations? God is nothing like that. He beautifully equips us for what He calls us to do, giving us everything we need (and then some!) to do it. He always out-gives us.
   
   Thank you, God, that no matter what unfolds today, You are with me, providing everything I need to do Your will—whether it’s to wash another sink of dishes or to forgive a difficult person in my life or to suffer in hope.
    
5. God is pleased with us.
   Because God looks at us through Jesus, our position as his beloved child is secure. Permanent. Indestructible. We may fall flat on our face ten times today, feel like an utter failure, and suffer the deep disappointment of others—but because we are in Christ, God delights in us and our smallest acts of obedience!
   
   O Lord, our hearts swell with joy to know that You take pleasure in us and our broken efforts for Your kingdom. Today, no matter how we feel or how we fail, we believe that we are Your beloved children. 
    
6. Jesus gets all the glory. 
   All of this lavish love and goodness and provision doesn’t result in us getting a big name or a place in history or the praises of the masses. It all crescendos in glory to Jesus and in His name becoming famous, which is what our hearts truly long for.
   
   Jesus, we praise You! We say, “You are greater than all others! Your name is like no other name! We love You and want to live for You because You are so GOOD! We are happiest when You are glorified!”

As we enter a brand-new year, may this power-packed benediction shape our hearts, our prayers, our joys, and our ambitions. And may these coming 365 days be spent in such a way that culminates in overflowing praise to our great God!

This article also appears on True Woman.

The post Benediction appeared first on Colleen E. Chao.

Think of that wonderful truth that God came here in human flesh and blood, and…died a cruel death upon the tree. Turn that over and over again… Think over all the details of it; accustom yourself to look towards God in Christ Jesus in your thoughts and contemplations. Set your face that way…

—C.H. Spurgeon

In the holiday hustle, I want to draw near to Christ, sit in his presence and reflect again on the way he happily made himself nothing—wholeheartedly surrendering to God’s grueling-but-glorious plan.

What if the frenzy of this season could be overshadowed by our awe-filled thoughts of the Incarnation? Let’s “set our faces this way,” let’s look long at God Almighty who pushed himself down into flesh-and-bone, to love us to himself. . . .

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The One who owns “every beast of the forest” and “the cattle on a thousand hills,” made his first bed in an animal’s feeding trough. (Psalm 50:10; Luke 2:7)

The One whose voice “breaks the cedars, flashes forth flames of fire, and shakes the wilderness,” cried and cooed as a newborn. (Psalm 29; Job 38:34, 40:9; Revelation 1:15; Isaiah 53:7)

The One who rides through the skies in his majesty, who binds the chains of the Pleiades and looses the cords of Orion, looked up into his star-studded sky through the wonder of a child’s eyes.  (Deuteronomy 33:26; Job 38:31)

The One whose love for his children is “as high as the heavens are above the earth,” became the humble recipient of a mother’s imperfect love.  (Psalm 103:11)

The One who treads the winepress of wrath, who has “walked in the recesses of the deep,” became a toddler whose feet faltered often as he learned to walk.  (Psalm 104:32)

The One “who can number the clouds by wisdom” and numbers the hairs on our heads, and keeps count of our tossing and tears, learned to count from the beginning, “1… 2… 3.” (Job 38:37; Luke 12:7; Psalm 56:8)

The One who adorns himself with majesty and dignity; who clothes himself with glory and splendor—he let himself be wrapped in swaddling cloths and “had no form or majesty that we should look at him, and no beauty that we should desire him.” (Job 40:10; Revelation 4; Isaiah 53:2-3; Luke 2:7)

The One whose fame leaves men prostrate and speechless, became the child of scandal (a virgin mother, indeed!), the subject of hushed (and not-so-hushed) conversations and chastising sideways glances. (Habakkuk 3:2; Psalm 19; Daniel 7; Revelation 4)

Let it leave us breathless all over again: our God became poor so that we could become rich in him. He was rejected so that we could be accepted. He set his gaze upon the cruel cross, “he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death”—so that we could live.

{How can we imitate this humble, sacrificial love this Christmas? How does Jesus want to live his life through us to those who are hurting around us?}

*Spurgeon quote from his sermon, “The Life Look,” January 21, 1904. Emphasis mine.

**A version of this post was originally written in December 2014 and appears on True Woman. 

The post Meditation for Advent appeared first on Colleen E. Chao.

Our ever-present phones make us daily, instantaneously available to hundreds, even thousands, of people. Our “commuter-style community”—since friends and family no longer live together in the same village or neighborhood—demands Herculean time and effort. (You know that coffee date with your bestie? The one that took you 17 texts and 3 reschedules and a 45-minute drive? Case in point.)

Electricity allows us to stay up long past sundown (when our bodies are naturally wired for sleep), and a stealth little lie tells us that the more we do, the more we’re worth.

As if that’s not enough, our world is under the curse of sin, so our work is difficult, people expect more of us than we can deliver, and sudden crises make wreckage of our well-plotted calendars.

In the past, I dealt with this reality in a variety of unhealthy ways—two of which were as Lady Failure (“Everyone expects so much of me, I can never measure up!”) and Self-sufficient Savior (“I’m their only hope! I have to save them!”). My attempts to satisfy endless expectations and demands only succeeded in making me anxious, resentful, or withdrawn. I was keeping a lot of people happy, I was getting a lot done, but I was regularly running on fumes emotionally and physically.

But in recent years, I’ve been learning the skill of quieting myself in God’s presence, of perceiving him with me smack-dab in the middle of life’s pressures. This isn’t pie-in-the-sky talk. This is rubber-meets-the-road truth that is changing the way I think and feel and act. You’re already familiar with these, but take another look at a few of the Scriptures that talk about God’s “withness”—

• Even when I go through the darkest valley, I fear no danger, for you are with me…” Psalm 23:4
• But as for me, God’s presence is my good. Psalm 73:28
• So Joseph was there in prison. But the Lord was with Joseph and extended kindness to him. Genesis 39:20-21
• The Lord your God is with you; he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you. He will quiet you with his love. He will rejoice over you with singing. Zephaniah 3:17

God-with-us is our good, our confidence, our peace, our salvation. We may not be able to slow life down to a snail’s pace; we may not be able to circumvent exhaustion or avoid pain—but we absolutely can keep a quiet heart when we live in the keen awareness of God’s presence.

Let me give you an example of how I’m learning to do this on a daily basis.

I typically wake in the morning with my mind racing through all the messages I haven’t returned, the work deadline ahead, the places we need to be today, the people we’ll be connecting with. Then there’s the inevitable, Do I have snacks for my son’s school event? What gift am I going to take to the shower? Did I fill out that paperwork for my next doctor’s appointment?

Just as my stomach begins to tie itself into a nice little knot, I stop and remind myself that God is with me. I say to him,

“God, thank you for being with me and giving me everything I need in order to do what YOU want me to do today.”

Then I thank him for a few simple things: the time with sweet friends yesterday, my husband’s amazing forgiveness, the anticipation of my morning cup of coffee.

Finally, I bring a Scripture to mind. This isn’t the deeper Bible study I’ll get to later today, but it’s still meaningful truth that directs my heart to God.

And now? Now I can sense him with me, and the weight of today no longer rests on my shoulders—it’s on his, where it belongs. Inevitably, I’ll need to revisit this practice (prayer, gratitude, truth) many times throughout my day. But that in itself is a beautiful thing, is it not? We never stop needing him. And the more we go to him, the greater our peace and joy.

Here’s another simple way I quiet myself: I follow Elisabeth Elliot’s advice to “do the next thing.” If I knew everything that the coming month will require of me, I’d probably just stay in bed with the sheets pulled over my head. But I’ve been given extraordinary provision to do what’s right in front of me, this very moment. I can wash another sink of dishes, have a difficult conversation, or drive through traffic to another doctor’s appointment—because God is with me, and he has everything I need.

I love how Andrew Murray wrote of this in his book Humility:

“The life God bestows is imparted not once for all but each moment by the unceasing operation of His mighty power. Humility, the place of entire dependence upon God, is from the very nature of things the first duty and the highest virtue of His creatures.”

So when my day finally comes to a close, I can leave unfinished business at the feet of my Lord, trusting that he is God and I am not. Maybe I let someone down (someone I really wanted to care for). Maybe my phone is still full of unreturned messages. Maybe my to-do list is laughing at me.

Can I rest in that? Do I trust that God can work out these tasks and these relationships far better than I can?

How about you, dear one? Is someone deeply disappointed in you for not being available to them right now? Do you have more tasks than you do time? We are gloriously limited creatures—and it is a difficult but beautiful thing to be weak, to be utterly dependent upon the One who “bears our burdens day after day” (Psalm 68:19). Perhaps in our own acceptance of weakness and dependence, we will show someone else how to go to God.

As we seek the presence of Jesus, our limitations are not laziness, nor are they a means of self-preservation. Rather, they are divine invitations to experience the Spirit’s power in and through us. We are called to lovingly lay down our lives for others, but the life we lay down must flow from Christ in us—and not out of guilt or people-pleasing or self-sufficiency. When we practice God’s presence and ask him for moment-by-moment wisdom to “do the next thing,” we get to experience his joy—and his joy is our strength (Nehemiah 8:10)! On the contrary, when we frenetically try to “do ALL the things” and keep everyone happy, we ultimately fail at loving people well and redeeming the time.

I have many miles to go in learning how to practice God’s presence in the pressures of life, but I’m so grateful for the journey. And it’s liberating to finally understand that busyness isn’t my enemy; it’s an opportunity to turn to God and experience his nearness.

“Do not fear, for I am with you;
Do not be afraid, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you; I will help you;
I will hold on to you with my righteous right hand.” —Isaiah 41:10

To further meditate on these sweet truths: Hebrews 13:20-21; 2 Peter 1:3; Isaiah 51:12-16; Proverbs 29:25; Isaiah 44:7-8; Isaiah 50:7; Joshua 1:6-9

The post Quiet, dear heart (God is with you) appeared first on Colleen E. Chao.

While I didn’t hike nearly as far as some, I spent 34 years on that beautiful arduous hill. It was harder than I can describe, and I’m left with some hardy callouses and a few long-term injuries. And though I’ve been married for nine years now, I still smell strongly of the dirt and pine of that hill. Contrary to the cliches, I didn’t arrive when I got married; life didn’t begin when I gave birth to my son. The terrain altered significantly, yes—but the Goal and the Guide remained the same.

•••

BEWILDERED
Singleness was the conduit of incredible blessings in my life, but it was not at all what I’d wanted or prepared for, and it was anything but the norm in my circles.

The problem was actually a good one: as a single woman who loved Jesus and his church, I held a high view of marriage, sex, and children, and I longed to enjoy those gifts—gifts God himself created, gifts he chooses to give most women.

I also understood that marriage would not be the answer to all my problems. And I wasn’t duped by the notion that a man (or children) would fulfill my deepest desires. Only Jesus could do that.

But when all except one friend had married and started their families—and I was left standing on the sidelines with a collection of bridesmaid dresses and baby announcements—I felt bewildered, even broken, as I figured out how to live outside the natural order of things. I wanted what God wanted for me (and on those days when I didn’t want it, I asked him to help me want it!), but I was a square peg in a round hole. I didn’t know how to fit into a world made for couples and families.

It wasn’t that I lacked love. I was surrounded by friends, family, roommates, colleagues, and church community—and my days were filled with meaningful work and ministry, travel and adventure. But for all practical purposes, I was flying solo. I paid my own bills, haggled with the repairman at the car shop, navigated revolving housing and roommates, held down high-pressure full-time jobs, and cooked and ate countless meals by myself. (Day after day, year after year.)

One of my roommates, Sarah, expressed it best when she said: “The hardest part of being single is knowing I’m no one’s first priority.” Sarah was not one to view singleness as suffering, but she grieved the reality that there wasn’t one main person to do life with and for. I’ve heard many single women echo this sentiment. I felt it keenly myself.

BELOVED
But the absence of a “first priority relationship” meant that Jesus became more to me—he became my First Love, and I truly felt like his beloved as I tangibly experienced his presence and provision, protection and power. As much as I didn’t like the Apostle Paul’s enthusiasm for singleness, I had to admit he was right: I was enjoying a unique and beautiful devotion to Christ (1 Corinthians 7:32-35; see also Isaiah 54:4).

Out of this devoted relationship with Christ flowed a life of ministry: I had time, energy, and love to invest in hundreds of junior high, high school, and college girls. My days spilled over with the joy of these relationships and my life was filled with the kind of purpose that can only come from loving and serving others for Jesus (no matter how poorly or awkwardly I did it!). Although the deepest desires of my heart went unfulfilled, I could see God’s hand at work in and through me. I knew my singleness, my suffering, mattered.

•••

BEHIND?
Over the years, I came to be known as a strong, self-sufficient woman (an identity not without its own issues), but still there was this underlying tone in many people’s comments to me—an unintentional message that I was not as complete or mature as my married and mommied friends. We’ve all been guilty of saying foolish things in our zeal to help a friend, yes? (In my twenties, I practically buried people alive with my naive advice and opinions.) But as the proverb says, ignorant counsel is a lot like a knife in the hand of a drunkard (26:9)—and many a single woman has been cut by comments such as…

“Motherhood is the most sanctifying thing in the world! I was so selfish and immature before I had kids!”

“Marriage is so hard. Don’t get your hopes up…”

“You’re so lucky to be single! I’d give anything to have a day all to myself!”

“As soon as you’re perfectly content, God will bring along your husband.”

“Maybe you should ____.” (try online dating, lower your standards, change churches, put yourself out there, learn to flirt, wear more makeup, etc.)

Because it takes time to truly listen and understand someone’s story, to pursue knowing them past our own limited experiences, singleness is easily misunderstood by married people—and the single woman can be treated as a problem to solve or a lesser citizen, instead of an example to emulate and a vital part of the community.

My single friends who love Jesus are wellsprings of wisdom and maturity. They live out their faith in secular workplaces and high-profile ministries. They know how to navigate a wide variety of relationships. They’re generous and selfless and hospitable. They seek to know and love God more by knowing his Word—and that (not a particular status in life) is what forms wisdom and maturity in us. The psalmist wrote,

I have more insight than all my teachers because your decrees are my meditation. I understand more than the elders because I obey your precepts. (Psalm 119:99-100)

Yes, marriage and motherhood can mature us in big ways. We could even say they are the normative method for maturity. But when God chooses to work outside the norm, does he leave his beloved daughter stuck in a lower life-cycle? Should we assume that the 40-year-old single woman has less wisdom than the 40-year-old wife with three kids? Of course not. God desires all his daughters to grow up into his fullness—and he shows them the way to complete maturity:

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you experience various trials, because you know that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its full effect, so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing. (James 1:2-4)

So all of us, in every season of life, have the same shot at maturity as we remain in Jesus, in his Word, and in relationship with each other—and as we endure with joy.

•••

BETROTHED
Singleness, like hiking, is a feat of endurance. And endurance comes in a variety of forms, one of which is the pursuit of purity in a sexually crazed culture. For the single woman who believes that God has created sex as a sacred gift for a man and woman to enjoy only within the covenant of marriage (for the purpose of displaying Christ’s love for his Church)—regardless of whether she has gay or heterosexual desires—she faces what can feel like a Sisyphean task. (However, unlike Sisyphus, her task is eternally fruitful, not futile.)

When I was diagnosed with cancer two years ago, I began sending out regular email updates with specific ways people could pray for our family. To some extent, people “get cancer”—they know what’s at stake and understand the vocabulary. Words like invasive, aggressive, and chemotherapy communicated our family’s grave reality, and as a result, we received an outpouring of love and support.

In stark contrast, I felt incredibly isolated and without a vocabulary for my sexual reality as a single woman. How could I describe what it was like to daily deny the forceful impulses of my flesh—without sounding disturbing, inappropriate, or desperate? How could I share my struggle just enough to not feel so alone?

But again, grief is accompanied by gift, and when God called me to something as difficult (i.e., humanly impossible) as singleness and abstinence into my mid-thirties, he gave me an experience of his love that surpassed even my most ravenous sexual desires and infused immense meaning into my husbandless, childless life. During those years, I came to know the beautiful reality of Isaiah words:

You will no longer be called Deserted,
And your land will not be called Desolate;
Instead, you will be called My Delight Is in Her….
As a groom rejoices over his bride, so your God will rejoice over you. (Isaiah 62:4-5)

Rejoice, childless one, who did not give birth;
burst into song and shout,
you who have not been in labor!
For the children of the desolate one will be more
than the children of the married woman,”
says the Lord.

Do not be afraid, for you will not be put to shame;
don’t be humiliated, for you will not be disgraced.
For you will forget the shame of your youth,
and you will no longer remember
the disgrace of your widowhood.
Indeed, your husband is your Maker… (Isaiah 54:1,4)

My hike up that beautiful arduous hill may have come to an end, but every step I took is still part of me, part of my story, and (mysteriously enough) helping me keep pace in my present suffering. In a crowd of people, I’m drawn to the woman who also knows the ways of the hill. Her climb is unique, unlike mine in the passions or particulars (in fact, you could ask a hundred different single women and get a hundred different versions of the hill), but inevitably we agree on this: In God’s hands, our suffering finds glorious purpose. He is with us, and that changes even the most arduous hikes into holy places.

The post That Beautiful Arduous Hill (reflections on singleness) appeared first on Colleen E. Chao.

But this nomadic existence has been good for my soul. Yes, it’s exhausting at times—and I wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to stay put in one place for a nice long decade. But then, I’m so grateful for the reminder that this isn’t my ultimate destination.

This is just a pit stop.

So today I wrap my arms around the beauty of uprooting once again. These rooms turned inside-out are proof that everything here is transitory. This isn’t Home—this house on a tiny plot of cement in the ‘burbs, riddled with black mold, cranky pipes, and a negligent landlord. With its weeds and wasp nests and bugs that eat up my potted plants.

Home is on the horizon but not here yet—in a land that won’t burn, quake, erupt, decay, or flood.

Home is an intimate yet infinite affair, custom-built by a Creator whose designs are more captivating than any ever seen, whose architecture is unrivaled in all of history.

Home is where every good desire is fulfilled, every beautiful dream comes true, every breathtaking wonder is realized—because in it…

“God’s dwelling is with humanity, and he will live with them. They will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them and will be their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; grief, crying, and pain will be no more, because the previous things have passed away.” (Revelation 21:3-4)

Home is where we finally get to be perfectly happy.

And so even the most luxurious houses and cities here in this temporary land look like child’s play compared to what’s coming.

As our family prepares to move into a much smaller space so we can pay off medical bills and live more simply after a cumbrous two years—we realize what a gift we’ve been given. We get to practice letting go of this extraneous stuff (stuff that just breaks down, rusts, and fades anyway, right?) and to remember the “eternal pleasures” to come—pleasures that will never be destroyed, in a land where we will finally feel wholly at home.

“By faith Abraham…was looking forward to the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God.”

“They saw [God’s promises] from a distance, greeted them, and confessed that they were foreigners and temporary residents on the earth. Now those who say such things make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. … They now desire a better place—a heavenly one. Therefore, God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.” –select verses from Hebrews 11

The post Home appeared first on Colleen E. Chao.

This simple California girl had no business being in a place of such power and prestige. I belonged on the outside with the other tourists taking pictures across the front lawn. Had it not been for a few special invitations, those vigilantly guarded gates would have remained closed to me forever.

But I’ve received many invitations to frequent a much more coveted place—one so superior that it leaves the White House looking like a broken-down shack. This place drips with incomparable beauty and power and treasure and comfort.

In my twenties, the invitations started rolling in—in the unexpected form of anxiety and depression. In my thirties, they came as extended singleness and chronic illness and a sick child. Just twenty months ago, the invitation was a cancer diagnosis. Sometimes the invites have come with less pomp and circumstance—a wounded relationship, a stressful job, a deep disappointment.

Though bitter and unwelcome, these sufferings have ushered me into privileged places, deeper and deeper into the Beautiful, Marvelous Expanses of God. Without them, I would have remained a tourist of sorts, admiring the glories of God from a distance, but never truly experiencing them for myself.

Obviously, suffering in and of itself is not redemptive nor desirable.

Who willingly signs up to be hurt?!

How could wounding ever be good?

But “since Christ suffered in the flesh,” killing sin and death, we experience more of his life when we suffer, “because the one who suffers in the flesh is finished with sin” (1 Peter 4:1). I have often sensed the Spirit whispering to me in my pain,

Come in further, dear heart. There’s more beauty in Me than you can possibly imagine.

I have prayer journals full of this beauty—breathtaking stuff he has revealed to me in the darkest hours of my life. Last year, in the thick of chemotherapy, I sensed the Spirit impressing this on my heart:

I know this is hard. I know there’s dread as tomorrow approaches; I know what it means week after week to sit in that chair. But I am here. With you. I’ve chosen you, beloved—to bring you nearer to Me.

I have everything, everything, you need for this journey. And I have poured out my Spirit on you, given you joy and peace and purpose like never before. I’m changing you, freeing you, blessing you. And this is not your doing, loved one. Your job is to hide yourself in Me and watch Me work on your behalf. Today that’s what I want you to do—hide yourself in Me. Rest. Trust. Enjoy Me. I am yours and you are Mine.

And through long years of singleness, I came to love the promises of Isaiah 54:4–5:

“Fear not, for you will not be ashamed;
be not confounded, for you will not be disgraced;
for you will forget the shame of your youth,
and the reproach of your widowhood you will remember no more.
For your Maker is your husband,
the Lord of hosts is his name;
and the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer,
the God of the whole earth he is called.”

And as I’ve watched my only son suffer mysterious illnesses, one after another, I’ve understood a little bit more of God’s sacrificial love for me. He too was a parent who anguished over watching His only Son suffer. Only, He chose to do it (He crushed His own Son!) so that I could be forgiven and healed and treasured and free.

Many have suffered far more than I have. (I read their stories to strengthen my flabby soul. I listen carefully to their words about how good God is even when life is unspeakably awful.) But the hardships God has entrusted to me have been perfectly tailored to draw me further and further into the Beautiful, Marvelous Expanses of God. He has not wasted one tear I’ve cried, one physical pain I’ve endured, one dream I’ve watched die. He has used every single sorrow and weakness to bring me into more of his joy, freedom, courage, power, faith, compassion, and love.

He is not a one-dimensional god. There is more to Him than we can possibly imagine. He has no beginning nor end; He is both tender and fierce; He is mesmerizingly mysterious. There is no end to his jaw-dropping goodness—goodness He longs for us to experience.

And so He gently pries our little-kid fingers off our little-earth treasures, then shows us “the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge” of Himself (Rom. 11:33).

Dear one, today’s sorrow may just be your much-coveted invitation to go further into the Beautiful, Marvelous Expanses of God.

This article also appears on True Woman. 

The post Suffering’s Invitation appeared first on Colleen E. Chao.