Rachel E. Watson

Have you ever experienced real grief? Debilitating loss? Deep pain? If you have, you know platitudes don't cut it. People's assurances that "God has a plan" are salt in the wound. 

“Don’t urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if even death separates you and me.”

The chapter that really struck me today was Chapter 5, "The Power of Hesed."

Ruth and Naomi get to Israel and Ruth immediately heads out to work in a field, where the landowner (Boaz) extends compassion and lets Ruth glean more grain than what Israelite law requires for landowners to offer the poor/non-hired hands. She eats a full lunch of toasted grain at his picnic shelter (it was probably granola, lol) and takes the rest back to Naomi, who is waiting on tenterhooks at home with bare cupboards.

This is where it starts getting good. I was unable to keep the tears from flowing as I read about God's "hesed" for Naomi, Ruth and Boaz. 

Custis James (who has studied Ancient Near East languages) said "Hesed" is the Hebrew word for the deep, caretaking and communal love that God expected Israelites to show each other — more than kindness or hospitality, but actual responsibility for one another's wellbeing, especially whenever a power imbalance was present in that patriarchal culture. The strong care for the weak. The rich for the poor. The neighbors for the widows. Hence, the gleaning laws that required landowners to leave the margins of the field unharvested so the poor could collect the excess.

When Naomi loses Elimelek (her husband), and her sons, Mahlon and Kilion, in a decade span, she grows bitter in her deep grief because she believes God has removed his "hesed" from her life forever, and she doesn't know why.

When Ruth comes home from her first day of gleaning in Boaz's field with an "ephah" of barley — or about 29 pounds, which is 15 times the average daily harvest for the paid servants, let alone the  foreign, widow gleaners — plus she has leftover granola for Naomi to eat immediately, Naomi's epiphany is swift, startling and authentic.

"Where did you glean today? [Read in a tone of astonishment.] Where did you work? Blessed be the man who took notice of you!"

When Ruth responds it was from Boaz's field, Naomi is yanked out of her debilitating grief and says...

"The Lord bless him! He has not stopped showing kindness [hesed] to the living and the dead."

Naomi sits up and takes notice of incontrovertible evidence that God's "hesed" is still at work in her life. She is still part of his love, part of his tribe.

In this moment, she doesn't start matchmaking between Boaz and Ruth like most Christian books usually assume. That's not even a thought in her mind. All she knows is God has showed up through the actions of a distant relative (Turns out Boaz is related to her btw!), when she had believed her kin (spiritual and biological) were all dead, and there was nowhere left for her.

I don't think Custis James explicitly states this, but I think this was also a lightbulb moment for Naomi that Ruth is her new family. Maybe it dawns on her that her daughter-in-law isn't just a tagalong, lost-puppy character on the periphery of her grief.

No, Ruth is a force of nature, rising above her own deep heartache to care for someone else wholeheartedly. Isn't she a woman? Stronger than anyone knows, determined to fulfill her commitment to share Naomi's travels, homeland, people and God — and be buried next to her after death.

In that brief moment, the ashes of Naomi's grief turn to disbelief, then joy, then — incredibly — plans and ideas! She once again remembers how not just to exist, but to thrive.

This is where God's "hesed" will take us, and it's the whole point of Naomi and Ruth's story. There's a place, above our grief, where we can thrive in God's "hesed."

Last night was the kick-off to my church's fall women's ministry/small group sessions for the year, and I couldn't be happier that I went.

Here's my small group for the year.

If you're an introvert like me, you know that sometimes the most appealing way to spend an evening is at home in your pajamas, nose in a good book or binge-watching your favorite TV show. This is why it's always a battle for me when it comes time to decide whether I want to join a small group at church.

To be honest, most years I've opted out. In 2014-15, I joined a fall/spring group and a summer group—and was so glad I went!—but then I skipped 2015-16 altogether.

I said the song captured some of how I felt, because even though I did feel sad, I never felt truly hopeless.

The other day, I was minding my own business filling out paperwork in our backyard under a large maple tree. And nutshells rained down on me.

"It must have been a windy day," you might say. It was completely calm.

Not only that, but I was sitting under a maple. If you know your trees, you know maples do not produce nuts.

About 30 shells fell on my head, my shoulders and my lap, but none beyond the quilt rectangle on which I sat. I was suspicious.

So I looked up and saw a gleeful little squirrel perched far above me in the solid upper branches of the maple.

Here is where I sat when the squirrel started chucking nutshells at me

As soon as I looked at him, he looked straight into my eye and chucked another nutshell onto my head.

I couldn't help laughing, even though my shirt was dotted with sticky, half-chewed nut goo.

Later that day, I returned to the memory of the nut-chucking squirrel. Something shifted in my brain.

I've been tempted to view God like He's a squirrel in a maple tree, chucking problems my way.

First depression, then anxiety, then a mood disorder. Treatment. Meds. Avoidance of substances that interact with the meds.

Is any of that God's fault? If I really believe, like I so boldly and publicly declared a few weeks ago on this blog, that God is the Triune Creator of the Universe, why do I fall back on a belief that He is out to get me?

Doesn't it stand to reason He loves me, one of His children, created in His image?

See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! (1 John 3:1)

What if I start looking at those nuts being chucked my way as opportunities for growth? As a rain of  blessings?

What if each nutshell is an opportunity to help others who are suffering like I am?

[God] comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. (2 Corinthians 1:3-4)

Looking at the nutshells from that perspective totally brightened my mind that day, and I'm still feeling it.

What about you? How do you view the nutshells of life? What are the problems thrown your way? What are the resulting opportunities for you to bless others?

This quote is today's call to action: Go have yourself an adventure.

In my particular faith tradition, Sundays are for resting. I always thought that meant taking naps. Not even kidding. I now understand it's a broader concept. It's about resting from work and restoring the soul.

And where does the soul head when it wants restoration? Out into nature.

If you're looking for me the next several Sundays, I'll be out in the wild. Soaking up creation. Embracing play.

Go forth and do likewise!

A wedding party stopped 10 feet from my beach blanket and set up camp to pose for photographs.

The bride and groom seemed a sibling pair, with identical creamy brown skin, chestnut eyes and thick, chocolate-coffee hair.

She wore a flowing A-line mocha-colored silk dress, with a lace netting overlay that rose to a full lace bodice. The bodice cut away into a princess neckline beneath. It was capped by a translucent upper netting edged with white-cream flashing at her throat and across her shoulders.

The groom was tall, broad-shouldered, and sported his three-piece suit with casual aplomb, hands in pockets and shod toes digging into sand.

A flawless couple. My brain knows the "flawless" state has not fully existed since The Garden. But sometimes, I catch glimpses of moments that really could not be more beautiful. This was one such moment.

As the photographers lined up the six pairs of maids and men with the bride and groom front and center, they all gathered their poise and held it in one hand, preparing for The Jump.

The Jump is a years-old trend in wedding photos. It's where everyone lines up in landscape mode and the women hold tightly to errant skirts and bouquets in preparation for liftoff.

Then, the moment comes.

"One, two, three: JUMP!" The photographer yells over the surging Lake Michigan tide.

The party jumps, and the photographer snaps the shutter. One, two, three photographs.

Everyone in the party catches the air and grasps it for a split-second, suspended in time and buoyed by joy.

Then, gravity pulls hard. Instantly, the moment crashes downward.

Each moment is impermanent, breakable, fresh, dying, then dead. And each one holds the joy of a lifespan.

This is why we chase after experiences and document them in pictures: We can only ever live moment by moment, even when we travel forward or backward in worry and regret.

We need to experience all the moments. We need to feel and communicate the emotional responses they bring.

If we just let time pass, or if we actively stifle our feelings, we are robbing ourselves and ignoring the reason for which we were created.

What do you think that reason is? 

I'll leave you in this fragile moment to ponder your life's snapshots. The ones behind you, the ones happening now, and all the ones to come.

Carpe diem! Seize the day.

“Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.” — Anais Nin

• C.S. Lewis (eventually) believed it, after years of questioning and doubting. 
• G.K. Chesterton was convinced.  
• George Washington wrestled and found a form of God he could accept. 
• J.E.B. Stuart was devout and articulate in his written prayers and letters. 
• Robert E. Lee had trouble understanding God because of death and destruction. But He loved Him anyway. 
• Maya Angelou's poetry and personal writings clearly show a heart turned toward God despite unspeakable levels of trauma. 
• Flannery O’Connor was a lifelong doubter who rolled around inside Catholicism and prayed eloquently, fervently and honestly, grasping the truth tightly with both hands. 
• Louisa May Alcott wanted to believe God but felt she couldn’t. Transcendentalism was too powerful an influence, and it appealed to her deeply. 
• L.M. Montgomery often tried to find and love God but was distracted by the abuse from her preacher husband. 
• A.N. Wilson rejected the idea of God for years as an agnostic but finally came around. 
• So did J.R.R. Tolkien, who wrote the words above, "Not all who wander are lost." 
• Richard Dawkins and the late Christopher Hitchens built careers by destroying the evidence they saw in order to persuade others there is no possible way The Way could be true. 
• Folks like Ken Ham, John Piper and Albert Mohler have pieces of The Truth. But they have put up blinders to the rest, and, I believe, distort the parts they know.  
• Honest seekers like Rob Bell, Rachel Held Evans and Scot McKnight have made it their public mission to unhook The Church Universal from its warped presentation of The Gospel. 
• Pope Francis has tied the Vatican to a chair until the bishops and cardinals will listen to his voice of sanity, reason and compassion. The voice that traveled from humble roots in Argentina to sit in the world's most powerful chair is spreading healing to the whole world by washing the feet of lowly travelers.
• Jesus Christ represents the purest form of love that ever walked the Earth. His stories, writings, actions, words, group of friends and followers -- they all prove clearly to me He was not just a witty guy, a good prophet or an articulate and kind teacher. He was all of those things. And He IS -- STILL -- the Son of God, and He walks the streets of the heavenly realms waiting for the day when we will all finally get what He was all about. His mission was one of compassion and life-change everywhere He went. His voice accepts instead of condemning. He erases fear by spreading love and truth. 

I finished this book about two weeks ago and gave it five stars out of five on Goodreads. I'm still processing it. Still remembering the characters' struggles and still learning from the insights they experienced on their journeys.

It's a one-of-a-kind novel that's part fiction, part spiritual retreat manual, part Bible study experience.

The four protagonists are Meg, Hannah, Charissa and Mara. They each are carrying burdens that have become too much for them to bear, although they don't all know it yet. The women find out through various channels about a sacred journey retreat that has helped friends of theirs release baggage and experience peace. With much reluctance, each of the four women sign up for the eight-week class, and they end up sitting at the same table and becoming friends.

Meg Crane is a recent empty-nester single mom of 46 who is alone in a big Victorian home she inherited from her parents, haunted by memories about her recently deceased angry, critical mother. She is weighed down by her many phobias and insecurities, trapped in the grief of her past.

Hannah Shepley is a single, 39-year-old associate pastor who is given a forced nine-month sabbatical from pastoral duties, because, as her lead pastor puts it, she needs to learn to "disentangle her personal and professional identities." She has spent her whole life avoiding her problems and pain by helping others through theirs. She is the classic "fixer."

Mara Garrison is a 50-year-old mother of three, haunted by a lifetime of rejection, who believes she's never been wanted. She is married to an unkind man who doesn't love her, and she buries her sorrows in comfort food and reality TV. What she really wants is peace, rest and someone to love her.

Charissa Sinclair is a 26-year-old Ph.D. candidate studying English literature at a small Christian university, a big fish in a little pond. She is a statuesque beauty with an adoring husband, doting parents and the respect of all her peers. She is Miss Perfect and she lives for The Right Answer. But when she embarks on the sacred journey, she finds herself suddenly without answers.

I found myself drawn most powerfully to the struggles of Hannah, the fixer, and Charissa, the perfectionist. They are "just fine" in their own minds. They don't need help. They don't even believe they have needs. This was me for so many years. It was an emotional and life-giving experience to travel with Hannah and Charissa as they gradually came to the end of self-sufficiency and realized they did need help, grace and love, and that it was OK to have those needs.

If you see yourself in any of the four archetypes of this novel, I highly recommend you read it. There's hope in the healing process. There's life in the sacred journey toward God.

Read more of my book reviews here.

No, I'm not about to tell you a silly joke. I stole today's blog title from the opening anecdote of the Memorial Weekend sermon at my church, Ada Bible. It was called "Your God Response."

Listen to the sermon here.

Here's a recap: Guest speaker Marcus Bieschke shared about the musicality and beauty of Psalm 19, one of my favorite Psalms ever. According to C.S. Lewis, it's "the greatest poem in the Psalter and one of the greatest lyrics in the world."

Bieschke is lead teaching pastor at the Crystal Lake campus of Willow Creek Church in Illinois. He is a music lover, just like me, and asked us in the sermon's opening minutes to turn to our neighbor and tell him or her our favorite song. I dislike that game because I have too many favorites, so it was awesome when he admitted he himself has about 83 favorite songs and can't narrow it down.



For his talk at Ada, Bieschke selected three of the Top 500 Songs of All Time, as compiled by Rolling Stone Magazine in 2011. And he held those songs, full of pain, despair and hopelessness, up to the light of Psalm 19, written by King David thousands of years ago.

Here are the songs he chose to compare against Psalm 19. I'm embedding videos in case you haven't listened to the songs before.

No. 3 from the Rolling Stone list: "Imagine," by John Lennon:



Bieschke said he imagines King David sitting down with each songwriter, one by one, and having a conversation about the merits and philosophies behind each work of musical genius.

To Lennon, he imagines King David would have said something like, "This is beautiful. Your longing for a world free of pain and united by peace is a truly worthy aspiration. But let's start with a new premise. God is not the cause of our pain. Sin is. Eliminating Him from the equation won't fix our world. God sees the pain that we humans caused, and it breaks His heart. In fact, he promises that in heaven, he will wipe away our tears, and there will be no more sorrow and pain." (Isaiah 25:8, Revelation 21:4)

I love that. It reminds me of the deep heartbreak I felt when I attended the funeral of a dearly loved mentor three summers ago, and a colleague of his sang "Imagine." It frustrated me to hear that message at a funeral. The lyrics are wistful and beautiful, but they offer no hope to grieving hearts.

No. 9 from the list: "Smells Like Teen Spirit," by Kurt Cobain:

I am always finding new truths about life, faith and creative pursuits in the music of Brandi Carlile, a Seattle-based folk rock singer-songwriter. (Photo: NPR.org)

I hopped in the car to visit a friend recently. Brandi Carlile’s “Bear Creek” album was in the CD player. The day before, I was listening to it for the first time in a few months. I said to my husband that Track 8, “I’ll Still Be There,” is a beautiful picture of friendship.

Then, while listening to it on the road to my friend Pam’s — holy waterworks — I realized something.

“I’ll Still Be There” is not just a sweet picture of human love. It also describes my relationship with the Holy Spirit. Especially lately, as I’ve emerged from a difficult season. Grief. Shame. Depression. Anxiety. I have a new appreciation for the Spirit’s role as The Comforter and Power-Giver.

To understand what I mean, listen to “I’ll Still Be There”:



I imagine this as a conversation between me and the Holy Spirit. I am talking to him and he is responding.

I tell him, “There never was a better love / to see the light of day” than his. He replies, “If the world should let you down / if the sky should fall and never make a sound,” he’ll be there.

We are both brokenhearted. The world let us down. I am brokenhearted by my suffering, yours and ours.

He is brokenhearted because he never wanted us to suffer. It was a known but not wished-for consequence of giving humanity free will. He wouldn’t take free will back, but our pain breaks his heart.

Otherwise, why would he say this through the Apostle Paul?

“In the same way, the Spirit himself helps us in our weaknesses. … (He) intercedes for us through wordless groans.” (Romans 8:26)

Wordless groans. That sounds intense. Does the Spirit of God care for me so much he would put himself through the pain of wordless groans on my behalf?

I am forced to conclude he does. All the evidence in my life points to it. And Scripture backs me up.

I am like King David in the Old Testament. I say to God,

“Have mercy on me, Lord, for I am faint; heal me, Lord, for my bones are in agony.” (Psalm 6:2)

While live streaming my church’s sermon in our living room this morning — yes, that’s right, we didn’t make it to church, tsk, tsk — I found myself having a hard time concentrating on the pastor’s words of wisdom. Why? I was fixated on the accumulated dust and cat hair underneath the arm chair across the room.

After the sermon was over, I got out the broom and dustpan and went to work.

This incident struck me as funny. Here I was, on my hands and knees, still wearing my bathrobe, scraping out months worth of dirt from underneath the chair. Then, suddenly it seemed very profound.

What if we are blocked from fully hearing and absorbing God’s truth if there’s accumulated “dirt” in our lives? If there’s sin we are intentionally harboring or ignoring, does that make it harder for us to hear and be changed by good teaching?

Or, on the other hand, what if hearing good teaching is what illuminates the dust under the sofa?

I think it can go both ways.

Recently, I went through a period of intense self-focus. My eyes were trained on needs that weren't being met how I thought they should be, and I was ignoring little blessings that otherwise would have jumped out at me. Like how God was providing for me. How I had so much to be grateful for. I was also ignoring truths I was hearing that could have helped me course-correct.

Through the teaching of the Word and through the counsel of wise people God sent my way, I started seeing that dirt under my sofa. He shone a brilliant light on it, and he gave me a broom to sweep it away.

I pray for the light to always shine on the dirt in my life. I pray I will stay willing to be made new. I pray to be restored like a freshly polished floor.

As many of you will have heard by now, earlier this week, three of my poems were accepted for publication in the May 2015 issue of Indiana Voice Journal.

While I’ve had nonfiction essays and articles published before, this is my debut as a poet.

In the past couple of days since I heard the news, I’ve become aware of some persistent questions banging around inside my head: “What’s next?” and “How can I top this?”

I thought they were just fleeting thoughts, but if anything, the urge to rush onward to the next milestone has only gotten stronger.

I think there’s a degree of this urgency in every productive writer’s life, and it’s healthy to a certain extent. It’s the drive to keep writing, to continue answering the call that’s been placed on our hearts.

But the feeling I’m describing now does not feel like a healthy one. It feels like an inability to stop in the moment and enjoy and celebrate my success. It feels like discontentment. Worry, even.

So, where do I turn to explore this phenomenon? Where do I find rest from the voice inside that whispers that this achievement is not good enough?

Looking for scriptural encouragement and instruction, I seek and find:

“But godliness with contentment is great gain.” (I Timothy 6:6)
“Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens.” (Psalm 68:19)
“Cast your cares on the Lord, and He will sustain you.” (Psalm 55:22a)
“The Spirit helps us in our weaknesses. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.” (Romans 8:26)
“But may the righteous be glad and rejoice before God; may they be happy and joyful.” (Psalm 68:3)
“Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice!” (Philippians 4:4, emphasis mine)
“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 4:6-7)

Besides reading these verses, and offering up prayers, I am also trying to remember that I am not the only writer who has felt this restless discontentment, this feeling that a modicum of success is not enough, this realization that achievement does not equal happiness.

I've a hunch it’s partly why so many writers and artists battle depression and addiction. We forget, continually, that our creations can’t fulfill our every need.

To state this struggle of disillusionment is not a solution to the problem. It’s a reminder to stay alert for this temptation when and if success comes knocking again.

I will need to reread this post someday, when I have again forgotten that publication doesn’t bring complete satisfaction. I pray I'll have a copy of the scriptures nearby at that time, to connect me with the only One who can.

Today's Easter message at my church, Ada Bible, was one of the best I've heard our lead teaching pastor, Jeff Manion, preach since I started attending there five years ago.

You can watch it here. Or, if you'd like the short version, read on.

"The Road to Emmaus," by Robert Zund (1877)

The Disciples on the Road to Emmaus 

Instead of a sermon on the discovery of the empty tomb, or a look at the resurrection through the eyes of one of the Twelve, Pastor Jeff's message zoomed out a bit and took a look at a conversation between two of the disciples in Jesus' outer circle, as they walked from Jerusalem to a small village called Emmaus on the Sunday of the resurrection. On that seven-mile hike, the pair were discussing Jesus' execution and their disappointment with the way things had apparently turned out.

[By saying these disciples were in the "outer circle," I mean they were more like groupies than bandmates. In other words, they weren't part of the chosen Twelve.]

These two groupies, Cleopas and another unnamed person, had believed Jesus was the one who would redeem Israel. But when Christ was crucified that Friday, it seemed to them that all of that had fallen apart. They were rudderless. Losing their faith.

But then, Jesus joined them on the road, alive, in the flesh. They were prevented from recognizing him, so he took the opportunity for a teachable moment. Luke chapter 24:17-27 has the story:

17 He asked them, “What are you discussing together as you walk along?”
They stood still, their faces downcast. 18 One of them, named Cleopas, asked him, “Are you the only one visiting Jerusalem who does not know the things that have happened there in these days?”
19 “What things?” he asked.
“About Jesus of Nazareth,” they replied. “He was a prophet, powerful in word and deed before God and all the people. 20 The chief priests and our rulers handed him over to be sentenced to death, and they crucified him. ...
25 He said to them, “How foolish you are, and how slow to believe all that the prophets have spoken! 26 Did not the Messiah have to suffer these things and then enter his glory?” 27 And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he explained to them what was said in all the Scriptures concerning himself.

After this, they invited him to dinner in the village. As he gave thanks for the meal, the two disciples finally recognized him. Just like that, he vanished. They were so excited, they trekked all the way back to Jerusalem in the dark to tell the other disciples he had risen from the dead.

What's amazing to me about this story is that Jesus cared so much about these two that he took the time to personally explain everything they were so slow to see — all that the Scriptures had foretold but that they had either misinterpreted or forgotten. And, in so doing, he helped them regain their moorings.

Lost and Found 

A.N. Wilson

The existence of language is one of the many phenomena — of which love and music are the two strongest — which suggest that human beings are very much more than collections of meat. They convince me that we are spiritual beings, and that the religion of the incarnation, asserting that God made humanity in His image, and continually restores humanity in His image, is simply true. As a working blueprint for life, as a template against which to measure experience, it fits.

I can't think of a better truth to reflect upon this Easter evening.

That, and the unparalleled beauty of Bach, some of the most stunning and spiritual music you'll ever hear: