Awestruck Wonder

Lamenting Praise

November 24, 2019

For this Thanksgiving week, I am reposting what I wrote on lamenting praise two years ago. I have many friends who have had sudden loss in their lives and pray that this encourages their hearts and yours this Thanksgiving. I watched as hundreds of birds flew from behind a sun-tipped cloud. It was as though they had been waiting backstage behind the curtain, and came out to perform. They first seemed to be scrambling to find their places—like tiny ballerinas in the Nutcracker escaping from under the massive skirt. They quickly fell in line and formed a magnificent ribbon that spanned the sky as far as I could see—with their “stage” lit up by the brilliant orange and purple paint strokes of the sunrise. I threw back my head like a five-year-old watching them dance over me until they were tiny pinpoints in the distant sky. That early morning scene seemed to shout, “Judy, I see you!” as I began my weekend getaway with God in the Colorado mountains. My life had been hit with storms that included serious health issues for some of my loved ones and broken relationship issues with others. I was reeling, and knew I needed to seek His face like never before. My original plan was to get some answers about suffering as I sought His voice and heart through the Scriptures. I was wrestling with some deep questions and hoped to gain a better understanding about the “why” behind the pain. But God had different plans that weekend. While dwelling in the songs of lament that David wrote, I noticed that he often turned to praise, even in the midst of his anguish and suffering. This sacrifice of praise is beautifully displayed in Psalm 13:1–2, 5–6 where David first cries out with heart-wrenching “How long, Lord?” questions, and then ends in worship and praise: “How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me? But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing the Lord’s praise, for he has been good to me.” Through that psalm, God whispered to my heart, “Judy, can you thank Me even in the midst of your deep sorrow right now?…

Not About Us

May 15, 2019

What if it’s not all about us? For years I have read blogs, articles, books and Bible studies that are all about us . . . about our identity, calling, purpose . . . about how God defines us, names us, sees us, love us. All important and needed messages for our searching hearts. But it can also be too much. Too much us. While visiting my daughter and son-in-law last week—the week of my new grandson’s birth—I started reading a book from the teachings of Nee T’o-sheng, known as Watchman Nee. Between rocking and cuddling our newborn boy, I’ve been reading Nee’s The Breaking of the Outer Man. The book is from his teaching in 1948 to coworkers in China, just a year before the Cultural Revolution. In 1952 he was imprisoned for his faith and remained in a Communist labor camp until his death in 1972. Nee languished in prison for twenty years. His beloved wife was the only one who could visit him during those years and she died a year before his death. Twenty years in a labor camp—then dying alone there—just for being a follower of Jesus Christ. We are told that when he died there was no announcement. No funeral. No eulogy. No pomp and circumstance . . . at least not here on earth. His body was cremated in prison before two of his relatives could even get there to view his body. Nee’s grandniece recounted the time when she received the news of his death: “In June 1972, we got a notice from the labor farm that my granduncle had passed away. My eldest grandaunt and I rushed to the labor farm. But when we got there, we learned that he had already been cremated. We could only see his ashes. . . . Before his departure, he left a piece of paper under his pillow, which had several lines of big words written in a shaking hand. He wanted to testify to the truth which he had even until his death, with his lifelong experience. That truth is—‘Christ is the Son of God who died for the redemption of sinners and resurrected after three days. This is the greatest truth in the universe. I die because of my belief in Christ. Watchman Nee.’ When the officer of the labor farm showed us this paper, I prayed that the Lord would let…

Resolute Protector

May 2, 2019

Baby William (Wim) was born just two days ago on April 30 at 12:51 a.m. Apparently he was determined to wait until his exact due date to arrive—all 9 lbs. 7 oz. of him—making his mama labor for over 24 hours. Our daughter and son-in-law, Kelly and Cal are parents for the first time, and now we have our second grandson in our midst. Such GLORY and WONDER! On his first day I looked up the meaning of his name and discovered—resolute protector. Oh, how that describes the heart of God over Kelly and Wim as mother and son bravely labored together to get him safely here! I think resolute is my new favorite word. It means admirably purposeful, determined, and unwavering. Synonyms include resolved, decided, adamant, firm, fixed, single-minded, unswerving, undaunted, set, intent. All of those words make me think of God’s resolute love and protection over us. He is determined, unwavering, unswerving in His pursuit of our whole hearts. His love is purposeful, adamant, firm, and fixed. His guarding protection over us is resolute . . . undaunted . . . adamant. Our God is truly our Resolute Protector . . . . . . Over Wim’s new life. . . . Over the grieving heart of my beloved friend Sylvette, whose baby girl was stillborn. . . . Over dear Gail who is battling stage-3 breast cancer and Beth with stage-4 lung cancer. . . . Over my friend and author Kim as she bravely writes a book for grieving mothers. And, He was the Resolute Protector over this grandma’s anxious heart as I awaited the safe arrival of my new and glorious grandbaby. On Wim’s first day of life outside his mother’s womb, a full rainbow arched high above their home at dusk. What a sweet and not-so-subtle reminder of His guarding, resolute protection over all of us. He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young. Isaiah 40:11 What about you? I’d love to hear how God has been your Resolute Protector. Or if you’re a grandma, feel free to just brag about your grandkids! And yes, I’m including just a few pictures of Wim . . .

Mama Fear

February 24, 2019

If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. Psalm 139:9–10 I’ve faced anxiety since I was itty bitty. One of my all-time favorite books about anxiety is Calm My Anxious Heart by my dear friend Linda Dillow. She shares a quote in the book by French philosopher Michel de Montaigne: “My life has been full of terrible misfortunes most of which never happened.” That was especially true for me when it came to worrying about my babies. I remember holding my newborn baby girl for the first time and being overcome with such joy, awe, wonder . . . and paralyzing fear. I silently prayed something like this, “God, thank You for this beautiful new life. Thank You that Christie Anna arrived safely and is healthy and strong. Don’t ever let anything happen to her because if you ever take her, I will die.” It was one of those white-knuckled, fist in the air prayers thrown at God, where I thought I had made a deal with Him that went something like this: “I’ll be willing to go through anything, God, just don’t let anything happen to my baby . . . ever!” I didn’t realize it at the time, but I kept that prayer locked in my heart until five years later when our family was living in Beijing, China. We moved there in 1995 for Rick’s job. Our second daughter, Kelly, was just three when we landed in Beijing, and Christie was five. We arrived in January, and all four of us were immediately hit with upper respiratory illnesses due to the bitter cold winter months and the pollution, fueled by burning coal. It was especially hard on Kelly, tiny for her age. For a mama who struggles with anxiety, I was often gripped with fear about Kelly’s health. Toward the end of our first year in Beijing, she became extremely sick one week with a high fever and sore throat that was not going away. The doctor at the international clinic would not give her antibiotics because the rapid test for strep was negative. After two days, my mama bear instincts kicked in and I called my pediatrician back in the US, 3:00 a.m. my time, 3:00 p.m. his. He got on…

Pray, Already!

January 15, 2019

My uncle held it together while talking about the impact of his older brother’s life, showing much honor for his beloved sibling at his funeral just ten days ago. But then . . . my uncle tried to share about the impact of his mother’s legacy of prayer and he couldn’t speak as the tears came. Looking down the row I was sitting in, I saw both of my sisters wiping away tears and many of my cousins. I was a mess. Our grandmother left this earth in 1974—killed in a car accident with our grandfather—and yet, her legacy of prayer is still being heralded as one of the greatest gifts to her family. Forty-five years after her death—and at the funeral of her 92-year-old son—my Grandma Bubeck’s prayer warrior heart was highlighted. Oh, what a legacy to seek in my own life. What wonder if decades after I’m gone, one of my descendants still speaks of my prayer covering! My grandmother, Agnes (Nessa) Bubeck wasn’t perfect, just like the rest of us. But all who have come after her—her five sons, sixteen grandchildren and countless great-grands—all remember her as a woman who prayed, often on her knees by her bed late into the night. We joke that she had to pray because it was her only way to “protect” five rambunctious boys growing up on an Iowa farm back in the 1920s into the early fifties. She prayed for their safety, but also that they’d all grow into men after God’s own heart. During the last week of December, I started to sense a new calling on my life to pray more. Oh, I have been teaching and writing on the importance of prayer for years. But actually “doing” the praying has been more elusive for me. Perhaps you can relate? On New Year’s Day, I journaled that I want to be a true prayer warrior who prays more consistently over my family this year. Yes, I know that those type of new year confessions can fade away within weeks. But I pray that isn’t so this time. Just three days after my journaled prayer, my uncle shared about my Grandma Nessa’s prayer legacy at his brother’s funeral. I don’t think that was a coincidence, but a gentle reminder from God that I can try to at least follow in her footprints . . . or her kneeprints of…

Toddler Christmas

December 15, 2018

Last year I wrote a post about our Still Christmas where we chose a quiet, still Christmas because of my dad’s death just a month before. Our daughters were celebrating with their in-law families and the only decoration we put out was a treasured manger scene I bought in Warsaw over thirty years ago. It’s a Christmas I will always treasure for its simplicity and stillness. But this year will be different! Our Colorado home will be filled with our girls and their dear husbands. And, of course, our almost-two-year-old grandson, Liam, will be there. He will take center stage with his menagerie of stuffed animals, books, cars, and dinosaur toys—and most likely he’ll play with the Warsaw creche. Oh, the wonder of having a toddler BOY in our home for Christmas! We’ll journey to our Cheyenne Mountain Zoo—with its sparkling Christmas lights and a ski lift tucked against the mountain. Liam will feed the giraffes and roar with the lions. And on Christmas Eve, we’ll line a pew at our church for the candlelight service, where I’ll keep an eye on the candle that toddler Liam is holding. I’ve dreamed of a Toddler Christmas for years, often watching the awestruck grandmas holding new grandbabies while celebrating the arrival of the newborn King. This Christmas will take me back to Christmas of 1988 when we surprised our parents with the news we were expecting our first baby, now Liam’s mama. The room exploded with joy that Christmas Eve when we told them our first baby would arrive August 1989, now almost 30 years ago. That makes me think of the most spectacular baby announcement ever given in the Gospel of Luke, chapter 1, where Angel Gabriel announced to a teenager that she would give birth to Messiah Jesus. What WONDER AND AWE . . . and FEAR that must have washed over dear Mary as she tried to comprehend what was spoken over her. I love how the angel took time to tell Mary that her old cousin, Elizabeth, was six-months pregnant with her own miracle baby. When you first read this account (vv. 36–37), it almost seems that it’s an afterthought, as though the angel just decided to tack on something like, “By the way, I thought you’d want to know that your old cousin is pregnant too.” But instead, I know the heart of our God and I think…

One Year

November 6, 2018

Photo by Nico Frey on Unsplash I WONDER . . . Is there a celebration in Heaven on the anniversary of the day you arrive, like we celebrate birthdays here—only much, much better? One year ago this morning my beloved father entered Glory. Early this morning I awoke to this text from our daughter Christie . . . “Love you Mama. Praying for you today as we remember and celebrate the life of our Grandpa Bubeck. Though we miss his presence daily, he gets to celebrate one year today in the throne room enveloped in the presence of his King, best friend, and Creator.” What a stunning way to look at the one-year anniversary of my father going Home. In the midst of my sorrow today, I’m choosing to celebrate that he’s had a whole year in the presence of his King Jesus! My dad would want it that way. A friend recently shared a quote from Victor Hugo with me that so resonates with my heart today: “When I go down to the grave I can say, like many others, ‘I have finished my day’s work!’ But I cannot say, ‘I have finished my life.’ My day’s work will begin again the next morning. The tomb is not a blind alley; it is a thoroughfare! It closes on the twilight, it opens on the dawn!” —Victor Hugo In loving memory of my father Mark I. Bubeck February 20, 1928 — November 6, 2017

A Mighty Fortress

August 28, 2018

Twenty years ago, our family of four lived just outside Beijing, China due to my husband’s job. One autumn day, we caravanned with a few other families to a remote part of the Great Wall in our cars, Jeeps, and sidecar motorcycles. To make it even more of an adventure, we decided to bring our tents so we could camp on the Wall that night. My husband drove the motorcycle with our two little girls and their lop-eared rabbit, Moses, tucked in the sidecar. I followed behind in our car loaded with our tents and cooler of food so we could have a BBQ on the Great Wall of China. Arriving at our favorite portion of the Wall—free from crowds and tourists—Rick pitched our tents while the girls and I climbed some steep stairs leading to a part of the Wall that resembled a remnant of a castle, surrounded by a high and strong rampart which is defined as a “wall forming part of a defensive boundary.” Our four-year-old Kelly started singing a Disney movie song, pretending to be a princess, while our six-year-old Christie twirled ‘round and ‘round inside her “castle.” Later that night as the sun began to set, we grilled chicken wings and then roasted marshmallows until the harvest moon lit the outline of the Wall as far as our eyes could see. Though it’s a memory we will never forget—and it sounds like a magical, storybook life—our three years in China were actually some of the hardest years on our family. Kelly, tiny for her age, battled many illnesses that often gripped my heart with fear for her safety. Rick’s job was extremely stressful, and just navigating the traffic in Beijing often made me wonder if he’d make it home alive after work. The enemy was also stepping up his attacks on me, especially in the area of escalating fear, and there were days I thought that he would win. Years later, when our family was long settled back in the States, I found the pictures from our camping trip on the Great Wall. One of the images was of our two small tents right in front of a portion of the Wall that included ramparts, shelters and strong towers. I realized that for most of my time in China I lived like someone in a tent, fearful and vulnerable to the storms and attacks…

Goodness and Mercy

March 30, 2018

I tried going to Psalm 23 for comfort and hope in the midst of my father’s suffering from cancer, just weeks before his death. Those familiar words that have brought comfort to so many rang hollow to my grieving heart . . . The LORD is my Shepherd; I shall not want. . . Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me . . . Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life . . . Those promises seemed to mock. Peace was elusive. God seemed distant . . . far away . . . uncaring. One morning as I tried turning to Psalm 23 to read those promises over my father while he was in hospice care, my Bible opened to Psalm 22 instead . . . My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer, and by night, but I find no rest. In you our fathers trusted; they trusted, and you delivered them. To you they cried and were rescued; in you they trusted and were not put to shame. The psalmist’s cries were the same cries of my heart for my own father. But then as I kept reading, I knew those ancient words weren’t about our suffering, but a prophecy of what our Messiah would endure . . . for us. But I am a worm and not a man, scorned by mankind and despised by the people. All who see me mock me; they make mouths at me; they wag their heads; “He trusts in the Lord; let him deliver him; let him rescue him, for he delights in him!” They have pierced my hands and feet— I can count all my bones— they stare and gloat over me; they divide my garments among them, and for my clothing they cast lots. Suddenly my heart was no longer questioning and groaning for my father, but bowed at the foot of the cross as He bled and died for me. Tears were in my father’s eyes and mine as I finished reading Psalm 22 aloud over us . . . and then I finished by reading Psalm 23, which crescendos to. . . Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the…

A Still Christmas

December 12, 2017

My dad passed away only five weeks ago. We just returned to our home in Colorado after being near him in Phoenix the last few months of his life. And, Christmas is coming. It will be simple and quiet this year. A still Christmas. I think Dad’s suffering and death has put the fray of the Christmas season into a new perspective for me. I haven’t purchased one gift yet, and the only Christmas decoration I’ve put out is a treasured manger scene, reminding me our Immanuel is with us. What I love, is that is all okay. A quiet, still Christmas is an unexpected gift. As empty-nesters—with our daughters with their in-law families this Christmas—we’ve chosen a simple Christmas. And in the midst of an especially busy season at work leading right up to Christmas, I’ve given myself permission to . . . Breathe. Grieve. Embrace the quiet and simple this Christmas. I give you permission, too, to find the quiet in your Christmas. (I found this manger scene back in 1982 when I was in Warsaw, Poland, and that country was behind the Iron Curtain. It was like a breath of fresh air—and Light—to find this handmade treasure in a communist country right before Christmas.)