Tag: Truth

One Weary Accord

Published on by Abigail Rehmert8 Comments

A certain carol lyric sang in my heart one day as I drove to work underneath a magical pink sunrise. Still several weeks before Thanksgiving, I wasn’t trying to meditate on Christmas, but I felt I had stumbled on something deeply meaningful for the coming season. Something to be shared.

“A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices.”

It turns out I wasn’t unique to claim this theme.

I bumped into these words in a number of Christmas missionary letters I’ve edited this year. The same phrase is fastened on my boss’s cubicle wall. Perhaps you’ve seen them too, in a friend’s Instagram post or felt new meaning when hearing this song on the radio.

There’s a reason we’re lingering on the theme of rejoicing a little extra this year.

With every Christmas card we write, every strand of lights we string, every gift we buy — hope is stirring for those who know Christ. We crave hope and light as we wrap up this historic year, and we’re thrilled to focus on the source.

“Long lay the world in sin and error pining, then He appeared and the soul felt its worth.“

Just this past weekend we visited KC and were reminded of both error and worth. We rejoiced in my husband’s graduation with his Master of Divinity. We smiled to learn friends were dating each other. We sat shocked over breakfast menus to hear of a fellow seminary grad friend who had gone back home but split paths with God. We listened to loads of (welcome!) advice about diaper brands and sleep schedules for our new baby. But also heard of health struggles of other infants. My husband shared the gospel with someone on the plane next to us on the way home. Due to all the ups and downs of our trip, we fell into bed exhausted but grateful because of all the hope we have in Christ’s appearance in the flesh.

Passages buried in the Old Testament remind us we–in our weariness–have ever so much to rejoice in. And I’m happy to sing what might be cliché in Christmas 2020. Like Israel on that holy night, we can celebrate Immanuel!

Many feel that the New Year ball will drop (or in my Idaho’s case, a potato?!) and hope will land with it. That’s a familiar lie we’ve all faced before. “Things will get better if we can just get through this week, clock out for the weekend, go on vacation, free up my schedule, get over this head cold . . .” We wait and pine for the next thing, perhaps with a thrill of false hope.

The fact is our futures could be as terrifying as Charles Dicken’s ghost of Christmas yet to come. I’m an extremely optimistic person, but I have to admit no guarantees exist for 2021. But even if they did, our spirits can not be lifted simply by a change in circumstances or the passing of a crumby year.

What we need is a friend who sticks closer than a brother. A ruler who reigns in understanding of our weakness. A song of rejoicing in the midst of any oppression.

Behold the One who meets this need:  

“The King of Kings lay thus in lowly manger;
In all our trials born to be our friend.

He knows our need, to our weakness is no stranger,
Behold your King! Before Him lowly bend!
Behold your King, Before Him lowly bend!

Truly He taught us to love one another;
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother;
And in His name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
Let all within us praise His holy name.

Christ is the Lord! O praise His Name forever,
His power and glory evermore proclaim.
His power and glory evermore proclaim.”

Apart from Him we won’t find worth — He is the One our souls greatly anticipate. Our earthly voices may be weary indeed. But they are grateful. Let us join the chorus with one accord and fall on our knees to worship our KING of kings, who will return in a second advent (coming). His power and glory evermore!

Merry Christmas and thank you so much for following my blog this year!

*Song “O Holy Night” Adolphe Adam, Placide Cappeau

Grace Isn’t Going Anywhere

Published on by Abigail Rehmert8 Comments

“We’re singing Amazing Grace … again?”

I used to feel we over-sang the lyrics of this hymn and passed over playing it on the piano, the tune too old fashioned for my taste.

Eventually it became a favorite as I grew to understand the heart of the words:

Was Grace that taught my heart to fear
And Grace, my fears relieved

I had no idea my childhood fears would make grace more than just a song title.

One night at Pizza Hut we fellowshiped with another family from church. On a slick chair, chewing a breadstick, I overheard the mom say, “…back when Jay was in a four-wheeler accident, and then later he needed surgery…”

Surgery? For someone the age of eleven like me?! Horrifying!

I began to feel sick and asked if I could go sit in the van. Thus ensued an army of what ifs. What if I would have to face surgery? What if I experienced intense pain? What if someone I knew got cancer?

Food didn’t seem swallow-able for the next week, and I spent a miserable few days in irrational fear of trials that could strike at any untoward moment.

My parents gently quoted Scripture to me about how “worry doesn’t add a cubit to your stature” and reminded me God is in control. These conversations would help, but I would just sink back into anxious thoughts.

Ironically, I even began to grow concerned I would have health problems because I worried so much. The battle raged in my mind to wrestle tomorrow’s problems today. The potential problems.

I cried to my mom one day in her room. “I don’t understand why this is happening. I’m a Christian. I’m asking God to take this away.”

She asked if I truly believed He could take away my fears. This stunned me. She also said:

“God gives the grace we need when we need it (and not before).”

Could I believe He is who He says He is, that He is able to answer the very prayer I was praying?

Holocaust survivor Corrie ten Boom shared a similar problem in her book, The Hiding Place. Along with her mother and sister, Corrie visited a poor family with a basket of bread. The family had lost a baby the night before. Corrie’s first real brush with death threw her into confusion and fear. Later that night Corrie’s father shared encouragement with her:

At last we heard Father’s footsteps winding up the stairs…But that night as he stepped through the door I burst into tears. “I need you!” I sobbed. “You can’t die! You can’t!”

Father sat down on the edge of the narrow bed. “Corrie,” he began gently, “when you and I go to Amsterdam, when do I give you your ticket?”

I sniffed a few times, considering this. “Why, just before we get on the train.”

“Exactly. And our wise Father in Heaven knows when we’re going to need things too. Don’t run out ahead of Him, Corrie. When the time comes that some of us will have to die, you will look into your heart and find the strength you need–just in time.”

—The Hiding Place

This moment my mom shared about real grace for real scenarios (not our imagined ones) was when it clicked for me. Back beside my bunkbed, I knelt down and prayed again, “Lord, please take this fear away. I know that You can. I have faith that You will give me grace when I need it.”

When I truly believed I prayed to the God who is able, when I realized He is the One to fear, I didn’t worry about these irrational scenarios of my future.

Was Grace that taught my heart to fear
And Grace, my fears relieved

Nearly all of what I worried about in those days after Pizza Hut never occurred. But things that I didn’t think to worry about DID occur.

But grace my fears relieved, and my Father gives me strength like a train ticket at just the right times. Don’t run out in front of Him.

Yes, I’ll always fight fear. But I remember His grace is sufficient, and it’s not going anywhere since a wretch like me never deserved His favor in the first place. I recall my bunkbed prayer and the peace which comes from deeply knowing and believing He is bigger than the future trials. And worrying now won’t change anything.

“Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength.”

Corrie ten Boom

His grace – the unmerited favor of God toward man – cannot be snatched from what lies ahead.

On a recent Sunday my dad preached in the first chapter of I Timothy. Verse 14 reads:

“And the grace of our Lord was more than abundant,

with the faith and love which are found in Christ Jesus.”

Grace super-abounds like the broken sprinklers swamping the flowerbeds this time of year. Grace upon grace overflows like a river in flood stage.

After the sermon we sang the words below, and I noted the unique adjective for grace (indelible), later searching for its definition.

Making marks that can’t be removed.

How grateful I am for that time at Pizza Hut — and many other places of doubt — because God’s been tuning my heart to sing His grace, yes even using an old fashioned, now-beloved hymn by John Newton.

No wonder how sweet the sound of God’s amazing, abounding, permanent grace.

–Augustus Toplady, Bob Kauflin

Let’s Have Some Good News

Published on by Abigail Rehmert2 Comments

I need some good news.

Tidings of comfort and joy. Peace on earth and goodwill to men. Joy to the world.

Soon we’ll enjoy the season just around the corner where we’ll spend time and parties singing and soaking in these themes of the Coming of Immanuel, God with us. I’ve never been so tempted to pull out the tree and fill the corners of our house with extra light. I may be secretly singing carols when I drive places alone.

But first . . . I feel I haven’t conjured up enough gratitude out of this autumn. Do you ever grasp at the passing season, hoping to squeeze out the last of the nostalgia before it moves on?

In September I eagerly gathered fall foliage, put together an autumn playlist, and made plans to write things I’m thankful for on 3×5 cards each day. It’s been a beautiful season, with many more reasons to rejoice than to despair.

Determined to feel thankful vibes, I’ve made pumpkin chocolate chip bread and pulled out my book about pilgrims and made new traditions. Sweet nods to the season, but what I most needed was the power that real heart-rooted thanksgiving to God brings.

This week I sat in the waiting room for an appointment. Over an hour crept by as people more sick than me shuffled in and out, but I felt the full soak of the inconvenience of waiting — er dreading — the extra time before my name was finally called.

My wait turned out purposeful. Ashamed of my impatience, I remembered and prayed for my brave brother-in-law and sister-in-law who have practically been living at their hospital with their baby, watching him experience layers of suffering. They’re sustained by the Lord.

Back at home, I wished to complain in my raspy sick voice (that sounds like pathetic whining practically no matter what I say) about the discomforts of pregnancy. Then I remembered how many would love to feel a little baby pressed up against their ribs. Precious, precious gifts.

But comparison and optimism alone aren’t what bring year-long worship that will spill into Advent season. No amount of white pumpkins or orange-hued branches will replace the worship prompted by gazing at Him.

An old, old friend — Philippians chapter four — gave me hope today:

“Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

Thanks to the grace of the Spirit for spurring me to place my supplications, bathed in thanks, in God’s hands, all with a promise of a powerful, unexplainable peace in Christ. This is the good news.

I hope this peace can settle in our hearts even if our Thanksgiving gathering isn’t everything it always used to be. If it’s robbed of health or laced with heartbreak, our minds and hearts are safe, guarded with peace on earth sent from God.

Do not be anxious and neglect the great peace available to us. Here with us is our Immanuel. The PRINCE of Peace, yes, even far as the curse is found. He receives all the supplications and praise our holiday tables can give Him. And our ordinary tables.

Our hearts will respond in thanks when we simply gaze on Him in truth and holiness. Please, remind me of this good news in the days to come.

Photo by Cole Keister

The Blessed and The Besieged

Published on by Abigail Rehmert4 Comments

This week I’m sharing a short story I wrote as a writing assignment. The goal was to capture an attribute of God. I hope you enjoy! Have a beautiful fall Tuesday.

The Blessed and the Besieged

“I’m home–if anyone cares!”  

No answer, but a wave of butterscotch oatmeal greeted me as I slung my keys onto the hook.

    A pile of warm cookies and a hot pot of coffee on the counter was all the apology I needed for the absent welcome from my family. I left my jacket on as I surveyed the empty patio out back. With use of every limb and a shoulder, I gathered my Bible, journal, coffee mug, and a sweaterish blanket and stumbled through the backdoor. 

    My coffee steamed as I arranged myself on the patio chair. Tufts of raked leaves meant my brothers were somewhere nearby, but for now I breathed the bright, crisp stillness. 

    I thumbed through my “thankful journal,” thick with lists of God’s faithfulness of the past few months. Good grades on the midterms. A way to serve my church at the upcoming harvest party. Family who followed the Lord. Forgiveness.  

    Today I added butterscotch and bowling parties, the book of Psalms and piano music. I closed my eyes and fully felt the warmth of the sun. God, you are so good. 

    The door burst open. “Kate? There you are.” 

    My brother Tobias waved my phone. “You’re getting a bunch of calls in a row.”

    “Oh, I hope I don’t have to go back into work for some reason.”

    “It’s Lindsay.” Tobias tossed me the phone.  

    I snatched it and re-dialed. 

    “Kate?” my best friend sounded desperate. “Can you come pick me up? I was in a wreck and my car . . . was damaged.”

    My heartbeat quickened. “Are you ok? Tell me where you are. Ok, I’m on my way.” Almost tripping on the creamy sweater blanket, I wadded up all my books and the blanket and thrust them into Tobias’ arms. “Tell Mom I’m going to pick up Lindsay.”

    The orange-gold branches waved at me from the sides of the road just like before, but they seemed to lose their magic as I made my way to the intersection. 

    It was a mess. Where to park? Police lights, ambulances, traffic directors. The peace I had felt moments before seemed wadded up with the blanket I had left behind. Finally I spotted a turquoise hoodie I knew well. 

    The tow truck loaded Lindsay’s new-to-her buick. The side looked like a chewed-up caramel.

    “Oh Lindsay! Are you free to go? Are you ok?”

    “I’m ok. Everyone’s ok. But let’s get out of here!”

    Questions nagged me, but every time I tried to voice them, my words failed. I drove through a nearby coffeehouse and ordered a double cappuccino with whipped cream.

    Tears broke through my friend’s stunned frozen expression.  

    I didn’t blamer her. This was a financial hit on top of an emotional mountain. Lindsay was on the heels of a painful breakup and her mom’s mysterious health issues worsened by the day. Her boss recently cut her hours and no one had heard from her dad in six weeks now.  

    I handed Lindsay the coffee, scanning her face for signs she was ready to verbally process. “Thanks, Kate.” She sighed. “I thought God was loving.” 

    My eyebrows shot up. “But you know He is.” Surely a bent-up buick wouldn’t be the breaking point for one of my strongest friends. I fumbled as I put my change back in my purse.  

    “Then why does my life play out like this? All the time. Seems like He’s kind one day, and then He’s forgotten me the next.” 

    I swallowed and fixed my eyes on the road. “God is good all the time…He isn’t a mood ring. He’s all of His attributes all of the time.” 

    “You remember when we used to play dollhouse? We’d use the cushions and the bookshelves to make mansions and pool houses. Their lives were perfect.”

    I smiled. “Yes, of course. Not to mention the horse barns and boats galore.”

    “I feel like your life is like that. Mine just isn’t.” 

    Defense rose in my chest, and I gripped the steering wheel tighter. But it wasn’t the time to point out how we didn’t have a pool or horse barn or to say how I sprained my ankle recently, or that our wifi was terrible or my dog died earlier this year. She was right. The pain wasn’t comparable. I thought of my thankful journal, creased and crinkled. My parents were strong Christians, and I didn’t have to worry about chronic back pain that had kept Lindsay from sports in her senior year. 

    “Everything is going to be ok…” I knew this was the wrong approach but I had to say something. “Just take a moment to rest. It will all look better in the morning.” We were now in her driveway. Her eyes were dry now but the frown assured me I hadn’t persuaded her. 

    “I’ll see you at the Harvest Party.” She shot out of the seat. “Thanks for the coffee.” 

           

  

    My thoughts, cinnamon sticks, and orange slices bobbed as I scooped cupfuls of cider to different church members. As I handed them away, I thought about each of their circumstances. An older widow who was losing her eyesight and thus her driver’s license. A man whose wife left him years ago. A toddler who already had undergone several heart surgeries. 

    Nothing seemed fair or just. No one tasted the same cup of suffering. 

    I smiled at each of them and tried not to mind the hot drops of liquid spilling over the ladle. I hoped Lindsay would join me soon, but she seemed occupied at the kettle corn booth. What would I say to her when she did come? She thought I had a perfect dollhouse life.  

    “And teach me humbly to receive the sun and rain of Your sovereignty.”

    Was it just this morning in church that we sang The Perfect Wisdom of Our God? My eyes found the turquoise sweater again then dropped to my boots. Leaves bigger than my head pasted to the damp ground. Yes, there was a lot of sun in my life when it came to tangible blessings. 

    And yet, did this give me a silencer — a reason I couldn’t speak into my friend’s trials? Should I be afraid that my turn was coming? 

    Corrie Ten Boom, a Papuan believer in the jungle, my pastor’s wife. Believers from shades of history who, though they had different earthly gifts, still had access to God’s person and character.

    God is all of His attributes all of the time regardless of our situations. 

    The joy spilling around the Harvest Party, the strength of the Ten Booms, the promises of trials but also shared holiness — all of it the evidence of everlasting lovingkindness.

How could I remind Lindsay?  

   

   

Praise and smoke drew upwards, the bonfire concluding our time together after sunset. 

    I joined with my cider as our pastor said, “Please share a testimony of what God’s done for you!”

    I sat next to Lindsay and tugged my beanie closer around my face. “Hi,” I whispered. She halfway smiled.

    Testimonies brimmed between songs. All the same people I had served cider to hours ago, were now giving thanks for the blessings truly tasted in the contrast of pain. It gave great hope for me . . . and for my friend. Trials now and unknown would receive His same sovereignty and grace. 

    Lindsay pushed away a tear, I hoped borne from a softening heart. After a rousing round of Come Ye Sinners, the pastor again called for our testimonies. The silence tugged on me. I had so much to share. But I didn’t want to seem like I was boasting and insensitive when I knew about Lindsay’s doubts. 

    That’s not a good reason to withhold praise! I can’t be afraid. 

    I stood. “God has been encouraging me through a thankful journal I’ve started.” I glanced around at the fire-lit faces. “Every day it seems I use a different pen and have different circumstances, but His attributes stay the same. I’ve been reading a lot about His lovingkindness. The Bible says it’s better than life…my life is very sweet. But I’m finally realizing it’s because His love is larger and longer than life. It will outlast and outshine both the good and the hard of right now. Sin and death will end. No matter what trial He sends, we can humbly receive it with this perspective. So…yeah. That’s all.”

    I thudded back down on the bench. My eyes stung for a moment because of the smoke and because I was checking to see if Lindsay was mad.

    “Thanks for sharing,” Lindsay whispered. “You are one way God’s shown His love to me. And that’s an encouragement.” 

    I gave her a hug. I didn’t want to be the extent of anyone’s experience of God’s love, but I knew He would be faithful to her. He would show her the depths and heights. If I was a start of her remembrance of His love, there would be no end to the marvels she would discover. And God will wipe away every tear one day.     

“Blessed be the Lord, 

for He has made marvelous His lovingkindness to me 

in a besieged city.” 

(Psalm 31:21)