says the LORD, who has compassion on you.
—ISAIAH 54:10
I wonder what would happen in our lives if we really lived in the absolute assurance of God’s love. I mean, as Christians we know He loves us. We sing the songs, we quote the verses, we wear the T-shirts and we sport the bumper stickers. Yes, God loves us.
I’m not talking about knowing He loves us.
I’m talking about living as if we really believe it.
I’m talking about walking confidently in the certainty of God’s love even when our feelings beg us not to.
I’m talking about training our hearts and our minds to process everything through the filter of the absolute assurance of God’s love. Period. Without the possible question mark.
Not too long ago, I had a conversation with a precious mom whose eldest daughter is nearing thirty and has never had a boyfriend. The younger siblings have all gone through the whole dating thing and one is now engaged to be married. The eldest daughter sat on the side of her mom’s bed recently with tears slipping down her cheeks and said, “Why mom? Why can’t I find anyone to love me? What’s wrong with me?”
This mom was asking me for advice in helping her daughter process these questions. These feelings are real. These feelings are tough.
We must process our hurts through the filter of God’s love, not through the tangled places of our hearts.
And I’m sure if I were able to untangle all the emotions wrapped in and around these questions, somewhere deep inside I would find this girl doubting God’s love for her.
But here’s the thing I’ve learned through my own heartbreak and doubt . . . we must process our hurts through the filter of God’s love, not through the tangled places of our hearts.
When we process things through the tangled places of our hearts, often the outcome is, If God loves me so much, why would He let this happen? Instead when we process things through the filter of the absolute assurance of God’s love, the outcome is, God loves me so much, therefore I have to trust why He is allowing this to happen.
I took the mom’s hand who was asking for advice and told her to help her daughter rewrite the way she is processing this. It’s okay to feel hurt, lonely, and sad. But these feelings shouldn’t be a trigger to doubt God’s love for her. They should be a trigger to look for God’s protection, provision, and possible growth opportunities.
I know this can be hard. But what if we really lived in the absolute assurance of God’s love? Oh, sweet sister, in whatever you are facing today I pray Isaiah 54:10 over you, “Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet God’s unfailing love for you will not be shaken.”
Dear Lord, You are good. And You are good at being God. Therefore, I trust Your plan and believe that You’re allowing this to happen for a reason. It may be hard, but I’d rather be close to You through a thousand difficult moments than apart from You in a thousand good ones. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.
60
WHAT MAKES REJECTION SO AWFUL?
“I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness.”
—JOHN 12:46
My mouth was dry. My hands a bit numb. There was a stabbing tightness in my chest. My mind blurred as my thoughts became a fragmented kaleidoscope of a million pictured hopes I thought were just around the corner for me. For us. For the us that was now becoming . . . just me again.
We were only dating. But my mind had already run ahead in time and built a life with this man. In the future we had romantic picnics to take, snowball fights to laugh through, a wedding to plan, a house to build, and kids to name with his smile and my eyes.
I’m not sure these were ever real to him. But to me, they were as real as the stone-cold coffee now sitting in front of me. The one I kept stirring to have something to focus on but that I never intended to drink. Drinking coffee seemed a bit too normal when my entire inner life had just been declared a state of emergency. Because suddenly, the rest of my planned-out life was aflame. I wasn’t just losing a boyfriend today. I was losing the connection to my dreams for tomorrow that would never be.
His words made their way through my ears to my heart. I felt the full impact of their harsh landing. As they skidded their way across the most tender places inside me, their piercing weight burned and cut and ripped apart what I thought would be so very permanent. Rejection always leaves the deepest, darkest marks.
Just because I’ve been hurt doesn’t mean I now have to live hurt.
That was decades ago. But I can pull up that memory as if it were yesterday. I have to search a bit in my past, but there it is. The wound is no longer pulsing with pain. It’s more of a scar. Like a war wound, it’s just a story now.
I pulled out my journal today and tried to capture the raw essence of what makes rejection so awful. But I couldn’t capture the depth of it with finely crafted words. Instead of diving deep with my thoughts, I let them come in simple, personal phrases:
I like stability.
I don’t like getting caught off guard.
I like feeling known.
I don’t like feeling thrown away.
As I wrote this list, one line finally emerged to sum up rejection better than the others: I don’t want my normal to be snatched away. Life feels impossibly risky when I’m reminded how unpredictable circumstances can shatter and forever change what I know and love about my life. And in the fallout, some pieces never fall back into place.
It’s like taking a photograph containing all the people you love and suddenly, some of them purposely cut themselves out of the picture. The gaping hole left behind in some ways is worse than death. If they’d passed away, you would grieve their loss. But when their absence is caused by rejection, you not only grieve their loss but also wrestle through the fact that they wanted this. They chose to cut themselves out.
Though you’re devastated, they’re walking away feeling relieved. Or worse, they might even feel happy. And there you sit, staring at a jacked-up photograph no glue in the world can fix. Normal? Taken. Not by accident. But very much on purpose from someone you never expected could be such a thief.
Rejection steals the security of all we thought was beautiful and stable and leaves us scared, fragile, and more vulnerable than ever.
But God. He’s there. Jesus said, “I have come into the world as light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness” (John 12:46). With Jesus I can walk out of this dark place.
Yes, He is the One who can help me. Heal me. Show me what to do when I’m hurting. Therefore, I must do whatever He instructs me to do. I must embrace Him. And I know I can’t continue to fully embrace God while rejecting His ways.
So I turn to Him. And really listen to where He’s leading with a willing heart.
God drops a word into my heart. Like a swig of orange juice just after brushing my teeth, I recoil at the unexpected taste. Of grace.
Why grace?! Because grace given when it feels least deserved is the only antidote for bitterness. Just because I’ve been hurt doesn’t mean I now have to live hurt. I can get mad and bitter and spread more hurt around. Or, I can choose grace and gentle responses and spread more hope around.
Hurt people, hurt people.
Healed people, heal people.
And I want to be in that latter group.
There’s nothing we can do to eliminate the pain of rejection. Oh, how I wish there were. With every fiber of my being, I wish I could remove it from my world and yours. But I can’t. The only thing to help my heart heal from these deep wounds is the constant pursuit of the sweetest grace.
To love God is to cooperate with His grace. And since I’m so very aware of my own need for grace, I must be willing to freely give it away. Each hole left from rejection is an opportunity to create more and more space for grace in my heart.
Father God, please help me be a woman who is quick to give grace, even when it’s the last thing I want to do. Thank You for the grace You extend to me each and
every day. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.
61
IF YOU EVER FEEL LONELY, READ THIS
Turn to me and be gracious to me,
for I am lonely and afflicted.
The troubles of my heart are enlarged;
bring me out of my distresses.
—PSALM 25:16–17 ESV
There were many feelings I expected to have at a conference I’d been looking forward to attending. Acceptance. Fun. Camaraderie.
On paper, these were my people.
They lead organizations. I lead an organization. They are vulnerable. I am vulnerable. Like me, they know the stresses of deadlines, trying to balance kids with ministry, and the nagging sense that we should keep hidden the fact that we have the pizza delivery place on speed dial.
Yes. I couldn’t wait to be with these people.
And I couldn’t wait for the deep friendships that would surely bloom as a result of our time together.
I walked into the meeting room and quickly located the table of the people I was excited to meet. Every seat had a nametag attached so I circled the table looking for mine. As I got to the last chair and realized my name wasn’t there, I got a sinking feeling.
I milled around the room looking for my name, feeling increasingly out of place. Finally, at a table on the opposite side of the room, I found my name. I rallied in my heart that the Lord must have a special plan for me to meet and connect with the others assigned to my table. I took my seat and pulled out my cell phone as I nervously waited for my tablemates.
I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
As the prayer for the meal concluded and the event got underway it became painfully apparent to me that the others assigned to my table weren’t able to come for some reason. So, I’d be seated alone. Very alone.
There is something wonderfully sacred that happens when a girl chooses to look past being set aside to see God’s call for her to be set apart.
In reality, I don’t think anyone else really noticed my predicament. After all, by this time everyone in the room was busy passing rolls and salad dressings.
In my head I started to have a little pity conversation: Well, self, would you like a roll? Or ten perhaps? It’s certainly an option when you’re sitting single at a table for ten.
And that’s when a very clear sentence popped into my head: You aren’t set aside, Lysa. You are set apart. It wasn’t audible. And it wasn’t my own thought. I knew it was a thought assigned by God that I needed to ponder.
To be set aside is to be rejected.
That’s exactly what the Enemy would have wanted me to feel. If he could get me to feel this, then I’d become completely self-absorbed in my own insecurity and miss whatever reason God had for me to be at this event.
To be set apart is to be given an assignment that requires preparation.
That’s what I believe God wanted me to see. If He could get me to see this, I’d be able to embrace the lesson of this situation.
Have you ever been in this place?
I wasn’t just in this place at the dinner that night. I’ve been in whole seasons of my life where, though I had people around, I felt quite alone in my calling.
Can I give you three thoughts that might encourage you today?
1. Look for the gift of being humbled. Proverbs 11:2 reminds us that “with humility comes wisdom.” In this set-apart place, God will give you much-needed special wisdom for the assignment ahead.
2. Look for the gift of being lonely. This will help you develop a deeper sense of compassion for your fellow travelers. You better believe when I walk into a conference now, I look for someone sitting alone and make sure they know someone noticed them.
3. Look for the gift of silence. Had I been surrounded by the voices of those people I was so eager to meet that night, I would have surely missed the voice of God. I’m trying to weave more silence into the rhythm of my life now so I can whisper, “God, what might You want to say to me right now? I’m listening.”
I know it can be painful to be alone. And I know the thoughts of being set aside are loud and overwhelmingly tempting to believe in the hollows of feeling unnoticed and uninvited.
But as you pray through your feelings, ask God exactly what the psalmist does in Psalm 25:16–17—to turn to you and be gracious to you in your loneliness. And then see if maybe your situation has more to do with you being prepared than overlooked.
There is something wonderfully sacred that happens when a girl chooses to look past being set aside to see God’s call for her to be set apart.
Dear Lord, help me see the gifts hidden in this season of loneliness. I’m believing today that I’m set apart, not set aside. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.
62
THE GIRL CALLED LOSER
Holy brothers and sisters, who share in the heavenly calling, fix your thoughts on Jesus, whom we acknowledge as our apostle and high priest.
—HEBREWS 3:1
The year was 1982. I was in the seventh grade.
With frizzy brown hair and buckteeth, I walked down the pea-green hallway of my middle school. It was the day after student council elections.
The day after my classmates confirmed what I’d so desperately feared: If you didn’t have beauty and a boyfriend, no one would vote for you.
I shuffled toward my locker, wishing I were invisible. I kept my eyes down while I willed my feet to just keep walking. Finally, my locker was in sight. That glorious metal box was where I could sort of escape this world of critical girls with cute outfits and spiral-permed hair. I could hide my face, let the tears slip, and pretend to be busy shuffling books.
No amount of outward success can give you inward acceptance.
But instead of finding respite in that tiny metal space, I found one of my election posters plastered to the front, with the word “loser” scrawled across the top. How do you quickly hide a poster-sized proclamation by the world that you aren’t good enough, cool enough, pretty enough, or accepted enough?
Books dropping, girls laughing, tape ripping, and poster crunching were the sounds throbbing in my ears as the poster board resisted my attempts to ball it up small enough to fit into the mouth of the hallway trash can.
Please fit, please fit, please fit! Oh God, please help this stupid poster from this stupid election with my stupid face on it disappear into this stupid trash can!
The bell rang. And as all the “normal” people scampered past me, I heard Stephanie’s voice like a dagger’s deathblow whisper, “Loser.”
I turned and saw my one confidant. My one friend. My one secret-holder, being welcomed into the popular girls’ circle. Her public rejection of me was her ticket in to the crowd we’d secretly loathed together. Together.
I sank beside the trash can where the poster slowly untwisted on the ground in front of me. Loser.
I remembered this one night recently as I sat in front of a group of young high school students. Girls who vulnerably shared how hard peer relationships can be. They described tangled relationships and feelings of loneliness so consuming they sometimes wished the world would open up and swallow them whole.
I understood their feelings all too well. I have known the sting of loneliness. I knew it in middle school and I know it now in adulthood. Relationships can be hard no matter what your age.
And here’s the real kicker.
I always thought my ticket to acceptance would have come had I won that school election. Not so. For I’ve discovered on the other side of achievements, if you were lonely before you win, you’ll be lonely after you win. No amount of outward success can give you inward acceptance.
I’ve only been able to find that in the comfort of Jesus.
One quick glance at our key verse confirms that Jesus is exactly the One we need to look to—“Holy brothers and sisters, who share in the heavenly calling, fix your thoughts on Jesus, whom we acknowledge as our apostle and high priest” (Hebrews 3:1).
Thoughts fixed on, h
eart filled with, life defined by Jesus.
Jesus.
The One who will never reject us. The One who knows what it feels like to be rejected—though He should have been the most accepted. The One who will sit with us and remind us rejection from man doesn’t equal rejection from God. The One who whispers to each of us, “The voices of shame and rejection can come at you, but they don’t have to reside in you.”
I wish I could go back and preach this truth to my seventh-grade self, but since I can’t, I’ll preach it to my grown-up heart. And to yours too. We are loved. And no person’s rejection can ever take that love away from us.
Father God, thank You for the reminder that I don’t have to let the labels from others stick to me. You say I am loved. You say I am chosen. You say I’m forever Yours. And Yours is the voice I’m choosing to believe. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.
63
YESTERDAY’S HURTS IN TODAY’S RELATIONSHIPS
My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.
—JAMES 1:19
We don’t need you there.”
A simple sentence. Five words. Five syllables. However, in my brain the interpretation of this sentence was anything but simple.
It unleashed a flood of uncertainty. My brain instantly fired off locator arrows that traveled to past rejections in my memory. Pulling past hurts into the current conversation. Suddenly, I wasn’t hearing “We don’t need you there.” I was hearing, “You aren’t wanted.”
Rejection always wants to steal the best of who I am by reinforcing the worst of what’s been said to me.
The best of who I am was certainly not the one interpreting this comment.
The most hurt version of me took what was said and added pages of commentary. This additional dialogue highlighted my insecurities, brought to mind all the many reasons I was surely being excluded, and vilified the person who uttered those five words that started this whole thing.
Suddenly, this person was unsafe. She was insensitive. And worst of all, I pictured her rallying others to believe the worst about me as well.
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