on seeking safety & sierra leone

 

". . .I've been listening to the radio, on and off while I've been working on the house,

a lot of news on NPR, and I'm struck that I don't think I've heard Africa discussed even once since I've been here. It's so strange for me. I mean, not that Africa has to be in the news. . . " She turned away, looking out her window. Then she said, "You know, it's always hard, coming back. Bridging the worlds. But this time around, it's so pointed, the sense of disconnection. . .

Somehow- maybe it's just being up here, not in a city, America seems so insular now.   More than before, yes. And the [current political drama], which is so ridiculous, really, is part of that for me. I mean, how can this be what Americans are talking about. . .when there's so much horror in the world."  excerpted from The Arsonist, Sue Miller, pg. 133

When we flew back to Chicago after our first trip to Africa, standing in a fast track customs line as a US citizen, I was just blown away by the lack of patriotism I felt.  American soil!  Wealth! Freedom! All I could think about was how insulated, how blind I had been my entire life to how the rest of the world lives. I think the world revolves around me; that's human selfishness.  But Americans think the world revolves around them and it's considered patriotism.  It's all so very complicated.

". . .we didn't have to worry with the poor because we were paid pros serving the saved.  We spent so much time blessing blessed people, there was nothing left over." Seven, Jen Hatmaker 

I've thought a lot about this over the past year and wondered at the happy bubble we're content to live in.  We want to send money to a crisis, we will quickly jump on board a hashtag activism bandwagon, we give our castoffs to charities and drop our loose change in red buckets at Christmastime.  We aren't mean.  We're actually pretty kind.  We're giving.  (Two years ago, American individual household contributions to non-profits and charities totaled 228.93 billion dollars.)  But we really don't want to know what's going on out there in the big wide world.  Maybe that's why Time Magazine even prints different covers for their US editions.  That way, during the aftermath of the Haiti earthquake, we can think about what's really important, like how dangerous football is.

And Ebola!  It's coming to town! 

I can't find any news source that's not bursting with some new development on this crisis.  Last week, a popular Christian ministry posted an article about the hospital in Houston.  It popped up on my Facebook newsfeed because a friend of mine commented that African Christians have been dealing with these diseases for so long and while it's alarming here, it's important to be in prayer for believers outside of our relatively safe nation.  She was blasted by the ministry's moderator for "criticizing the American church."  I would have laughed if it weren't so sad. 

So much fear and yet so few reasons to actually panic.  Unlike West Africa, we have running water, and efficient public waste systems; we aren't malnourished and we have an unbelievable amount medical options to choose in case something does go wrong. 

I won't pretend to have any knowledge of medicine, or even Ebola; but I have had my blinded little eyes opened to how the other half lives and I refuse to live with sanitary safety as my purpose in life.

Morningstar, a beautiful old hospital-turned-school in Welkom, South Africa welcomes children with HIV; this wall marks and remembers the lives of the little students who have died. 

America today is a "save yourself" society if there ever was one. But does it really work? The underdeveloped societies suffer from one set of diseases: tuberculosis, malnutrition, pneumonia, parasites, typhoid, cholera, typhus, etc. Affluent America has virtually invented a whole new set of diseases: obesity, arteriosclerosis, heart disease, strokes, lung cancer, venereal disease, cirrhosis of the liver, drug addiction, alcoholism, divorce, battered children, suicide, murder. Take your choice. Labor-saving machines have turned out to be body-killing devices. Our affluence has allowed both mobility and isolation of the nuclear family, and as a result, our divorce courts, our prisons and our mental institutions are flooded. In saving ourselves we have nearly lost ourselves. John Piper

At Morningstar, there is a bathing area for the older and weaker children.  In an effort to create sanitary conditions, this is a little personalized washcloth hanging area; it is next to an elevated tub, designed to reduce wear on volunteers and staff as they lift the children in and out of their baths.

 

I found this letter on the wall at Morningstar, written by a fifteen year old wise beyond her years.

Our west coast friends Jon and Kelli are headed to Sierra Leone with their children in February, not on a mission trip or visit but to live and pour into lives and people, extending hope and life and Christ.  I tell Kelli all the time I'm so jealous; ministry is never easy street but it is such a joy to be with people hungry for the Gospel and I can't wait to see what God will do through their obedience and lives. 

Kelli and I at my brother-in-law's wedding

The first time Jon and Kelli stayed with us Daniel was working and I was solo-hostessing.  I greeted them, brought a few bags in and feeling a weird poke on my finger, looked down at my engagement ring and saw four bright prongs staring back at me.  I'd lost my diamond.  I couldn't very well hide my surprise and thus ensued a housewide search which everyone enthusiastically took part in.  I couldn't even believe the irony.  I am hosting missionaries headed to the slums of Africa and I can't even say hello without asking everyone to help me find my jewelry. Jon even took my sink/ drain-trap thingies (whatever they're called) apart to see if it had fallen down there.  Realizing this was a needle in the haystack kind of event, I told myself I'd look in the recent trash and then just be done with it and try not to dwell on my diamond-less ring. I found it twinkling up at me from a pile of coffee grounds.  It was a pretty happy sight and Jon and Kelli were really gracious about my materialism.

In light of all the hubbub about Ebola, I can't help but think of them;  I asked Kelli if I could share from their most recent update and she agreed.  I love their courage, perspective and singleminded vision. 



from Jon. . .

First, I want to state that we are still moving forward towards a departure date of early February.  We are “watching and praying” as the situation unfolds in Sierra Leone and currently see no reason to change this date.  As we watch we are continuously reminded of 2 Tim 1:7.  The news coverage of the situation in West Africa has been VERY sensationalized and designed to promote a spirit of fear. However, God’s word reminds us that the spirit of fear is NOT from Him.

We have to continually bring “into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ”. (2Cor 10:5b)  We have His spirit giving us the power of the Almighty God to overcome the fears of this world.  We have His supernatural love to help us to love our neighbors as ourselves and to love them that Christ came to seek and to save.  Finally, we have His wisdom giving us a sound mind able to make Spirit led decisions.  We do not need to be swayed back and forth by the fears of this world.  What an opportunity to show the power of Christ to a lost and dying world!

I think that it is very important to keep the current situation in perspective.  There are over 20 million people in the three countries of Guinea, Sierra Leone, and Liberia and to date there have officially been under 10,000 people infected with Ebola resulting in the deaths of about 4,400 people.  These numbers show you how small the outbreak is relative to the populations of these countries.  It also needs to be remembered that every day in these same three countries, thousands of people die of Malaria and thousands more die every day from Yellow Fever, Typhoid Fever, Cholera, and Tuberculosis, etc.  We need to ask ourselves why so much fear over this disease?

The truly sad aspect of the Ebola deaths is that many of these people have died without ever having heard of the saving gospel of Jesus Christ“And as it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment:” it matters very little what someone dies of, but it matters for eternity in what state they die: Saved by grace through faith in Jesus Christ or an eternity in hell for the wages of sin is death!  We need to run towards those who need to hear of Christ and are dying without Him, not run away in a vain attempt to preserve our health or lives.  As my wife says so well “We are not going to Sierra Leone for our health!”

For over 2 years we have been going around the country telling people about Sierra Leone and have been amazed and somewhat saddened that so few people had ever heard of Sierra Leone and that even fewer where aware of the great need and open door for the gospel.  We “know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.” (Rom 8:28)  Ebola has placed Sierra Leone at the forefront of world news and now, for maybe the first time in it’s history, thousands of Christians are praying for these very needy people.  I believe that God is using this outbreak to further open hearts in Sierra Leone and to call more laborers into this white harvest!  Ebola is an opportunity!



More links:

From the son of the doctor treating Dr. Kent Brantly while still in Liberia

Don't Freak Out

Seemingly off topic, I found this article from the Washington Post fascinating; the thread tying it to seeking comfort and safety is our obsession with ourselves.

Even more terrible things are happening to the American Girl Doll

More on Sierra Leone

Jon and Kelli

a cemetery for children outside Thabong, a township in South Africa
 

He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he could never lose. Jim Elliot

ten reasons i am leaving my children for two weeks: here we come south africa

Daniel and I leave in four weeks to go to South Africa with a team of eight people from our church, serving the least of these at the Restoring Hope Village.

Three million + orphans in SA.  That is a staggering number.  Our tiny offering of time and love to give is a drop in an endless sea of need, but we want to start there, giving our little bit. 

This has been a matter of prayer and in the works for some time and we are so excited to go and follow God's leading. 

The trip was overwhelmingly and promptly funded, confirming that money is rarely an issue if God calls you to do something.  We're so thankful for the people who gave so freely. {you know who you are}

Below are my notes from sharing with our church family the reasons we each chose to go. 



I love top ten lists; some of you know that Daniel even used a top ten list to ask me to marry him.  There are so many reasons I want to go to South Africa, but I decided to put them in my favorite top ten format. 

So here they are.

1.  Thankful for the hope of eternal life that my salvation brings; wanting to share hope, knowing that only Christ brings hope for the pain life brings.  I accepted Christ as a child and knew the talk, walked the walk, but our son's death changed everything I believed into something more real.  You can't just be here, then gone, and that's the end, with just this little shell left of you.  There has to be something more.  There has to be eternity;  because if not, where does your soul go,  the part of you that's you?  Everything I believed about God became startling and clear and real to me.  Eternity = hope.  I want to share that.

2.  I know what hopelessness feels like.  It's crushing, it's demotivating, it's dark, dark, dark.

3.  I know what it means to be given the gift of hope.  That gift- that so many of you have given to us. . . is priceless.

4.  I want to honor and follow my husband's leadership. It can be a little scary to be married to a man who walks with God.  You kinda never know what he's going to do.  Daniel told me over a year ago that he was going to go on a mission trip, and I was like. .  . oooookaaaay!  When Louis and Amber came, during their presentation, Daniel leaned over to me and said, this is it, I'm going there!  I was really happy for him but then I started thinking. . . what if God tells him something big while he's there, like adopt or move to Africa. . .   maybe I should go so that I could know what my future might look like!  But I also want to go just to share in this experience with him, rather than haave him explain it to me when we get home.

5.  I want to say yes to God.  I'm blessed by so many people in our church who say yes to God and lead by example, and I want to be that.  I just don't want to start saying no to Him:  I want to say yes.

6.  I want to listen to wise counsel.  When we first started talking about me going too, we sought counsel from people that we were sure would advise me to stay home with our children.  Our parents floored us by enthusiastically supporting the idea and tripping over themselves to watch the kids during our absence; no, don't go wasn't what we heard.  I then went to my beautiful Mrs. A. . .sure that she would tell me to stay home and take care of my children.  Instead she pointed out that they would be fine, following God was more important than following safety, marriage priority > children priority and she also made me aware of point # 7.

7.  I want to teach three little white kids that the world is bigger than smalltown, USA.  And they are so excited and supportive of us going.  They want to go.  I hope they will eventually.  We aren't fans of children running family direction, but we wouldn't go if they weren't okay with it.  They're okay.  They care about these little people without any mom or dad.

8.  Because there's no substitute for human touch and compassion; $$ can't hug.  Just that.

9.  Seeking a wider perspective of the work God is doing globally. We don't have the corner on ministry here.  I know that zooming out can bring clarity to our vision and I'm so excited to see what God is doing in another part of the world.

10.  Because the world will know we are Christians by our love for one another.  And I think that extends to loving the least of these.

And then there's the many who are called to be faithful at home;  Africa isn't in your future, but lots and lots of endless laundry and Sunday School teaching and feeding hungry neighbor kids and being there when people need you and sharing hope with your coworkers and employees and the list goes on and on. . .

You are important, you are needed, we are not all that and a bag of chips because we're going a little farther than across the street. 

My sister writes about staying home when others go.  Read it, she's awesome.  That's her quote below.

This is my life, Lord,
Help me not to wish it away,
Waste it away
Or, not taste the joy of the people around me.
Lord, help me to be a joyful giver of Me.

three year birthdays & what scars represent

 

Today our littlest man would be three.

 

It's such a sweet thought. . . not as bitter as the last two years.

 

Healing is slow.

 

Much like  deep wounds, at first the grief bleeds, throbs, you don't have a life outside the all-consuming pain.

 

Then there's a break in the pain, there's check ups, flare-ups, maybe infection, or tearing open and sutures needed again.

 

But if cared for, a wound heals. 

 

One day, all that's left is scarring, marking what once consumed, tore, ached, changed the landscape. 

 

Are scars beautiful?

 

I don't know, maybe they are.

 

The scar on my soul left from losing my son, my precious little Gabe, who should be in the throes of potty-training and first real sledding trips - that scar represents so much to me.

 

It does have a strange kind of beauty.

 

That scar has taught me that life is precious.

 

That scar has taught me that the role people play in caring for the hurting is monumental.

 

It's taught me sometimes tragedy is just plain out of our control.

 

(I should have known that, you say.  I know, I should have.  But I didn't.)

 

I learned that God is truly near to the broken-hearted.

 

I learned that sometimes strong people don't want to live anymore, and sometimes weakness looks strong on the outside.

 

I learned that underneath our happy small talk, every single person struggles with something.

 

 

And healing. . . it does come.

 

 

Time heals.

 

 

It's true, it does. 

 

 

I heard someone say the other day that you don't realize how much you've healed until you look back and remember how broken you were.  I wanted to stand up and shout, yes yes yes. 

 

 

Healing looks different on everybody.  Maybe it just means you can smile.

 

Maybe healing is being able to breathe. 

 

Maybe it's just knowing it's okay to remember and not cry. 

 

I didn't dread Gabe's birthday this year;  it was just sweet, to look back and realize how much he changed my life.  I smiled remembering how difficult the transition from two to three children was for me.  I was exhausted. 

 

One of my favorite moments with Gabe was at one-thirty in the morning when he was about two months old.  He was awake, crying, and wanting to cuddle.  I was tired, sleep deprived, yet something just nudged me to savor him.  I took him downstairs, curled up in my favorite big chair and just drank him in.  I  kissed him, stroked his dark, dark hair, smelled his still-newborn scent.  I clearly remember looking out the window at the dark night and just thinking this is going to fly by.  I don't want to forget.  I want to sear this moment in my heart.  Of course I was thinking of first cars and college, not of tiny caskets or death certificates.  But God knew, and He gave me that precious moment with my little son. 

 

 

Healing is knowing that Heaven is real.

 

Healing is knowing here isn't the end.

 

Healing is knowing that the process isn't over.

 

Losing a child isn't something that is ever over.

 

Healing is embracing what the scars show. 

 

I'm thankful for my little son's life. 

 

I wouldn't wish losing a child on my worst enemy, yet I'm truly thankful for what I've learned on the grief road.

 

I'm so glad that three years ago little Gabriel James was born. 

 

Happy birthday, my sweet, sweet baby.  I love you so much.

 

{and just because it's his birthday. . . some of my very favorite pictures, in no particular order}

25,000 graves & 10,000 reasons

You would think by looking at the little brick building with it's steep roof and swooping covered drive that it was from a fairy tale. . . 

The covered drive breaks away to cobblestones and then asphalt,  lined with trees, magnificent grandfather trees, strong, old, wise, shading the path that sharply rises.

At the crest of the hill, up through that  tree-canopied drive, is my little man's resting place.

And that's why we're in the little brick building, which isn't a fairy tale at all.  It's hot and stuffy and lined with monuments and markers and urns.  Daniel and I are seated in 1970's era squeaky chairs with papers spread on the Formica table.  Polly, the lady helping us design Gabe's stone is new to our ideas.  She isn't familiar with substituting different fonts.  She wants to add clip art.  We don't want clip art.  She seems relieved to answer the phone and her associate begins to small talk.

Twenty-five thousand people buried out there, he begins, waving his arm in the general direction of the tree lined drive and we're quite aware that he is just referring to the size of the cemetery. . . but my baby is numbered there now. 

Maybe thirty thousand.

Maybe I hate death.

Maybe I never wanted to drive through cemeteries trying to pick a spot to bury our son.

Maybe I'd rather be anywhere but here in your office.

I think back to the days of wanting to scream at the unthinking comments of well-meaning people.  I did scream. 

Two weeks after Gabe's death Daniel asked me if I was going to stop crying.  I remember being incoherent, retching, wailing, screaming the grief out at him. . . I want my babyyyyyyyyy. . . . .

He didn't know.  He was just scared, too, unsure, life spun out of control and searching desperately for mooring.  He wasn't finding any stability in me.

I bring myself  back to the present, a startling new concept for me. The Hayley of a year ago didn't have the strength to overcome insensitive words. This is a new Hayley, a different one.  Mr. Cemetery Man (Tom? Ted?) is rambling on about how they do rubbings of grave markers all the time. 

We finalize a bunch of details and write a check for an enormous sum that still doesn't feel like enough and then we leave and I feel spent and wasted.

There won't be Cubbies, swimming lessons, drivers ed or football. No snow-shoveling businesses, no camping trips, no first car, no graduation parties, no wedding plans.

I feel like this is the last thing I get to plan for my little man.

Yay!  We get to plan a grave stone!

Oh, I'd so much rather plan little boy stuff right now. . .



My friend Loren asks me how I'm doing and I tell her that I'm fine.

I tell her that I think I'm just stuffing the grief away because life is so good right now and the grief. . . two years of it. . .was so very dark.

It was, frankly, a nightmare.

I've reached the point in my grieving that it feels like reopening a deep wound to go back to the grief, the loss. 

It took so much time.  It was exhausting.  It was sleepless night upon sleepless night.  It was so dark.  I cry just thinking about the darkness. 

And now it's different.  I don't know exactly at what point it changed, but now I have the ability to cope, to laugh, to sleep, to smile about Gabe.

This is freeing.

It is not fun to be the people with red rimmed eyes.

It is not fun to be the drain on your friends and family.

It is not fun to be broken and needy.

But the grief didn't really go away, it just sinks below the surface, and the calm, apparently still waters of life hold so much deep pain.

On Mother's Day this year. . . that's the last time I broke down and wept for everything that could have been.

That was . . .well, two months ago.  Initially I never imagined being able to go a day without the screaming, burning pain being eased by tears.  But even in the tears of today, the calmer, gentler tears, there is a different sort of grief.

On Mother's Day. . .  Cambria (with much help from my sister Elizabeth) brings me breakfast in bed at 6:30 am.  I am thinking about Mother's Day two years ago and our happy little family, untouched by loss.  Gabe "wrote" me a mother's day card too, and I still have it, treasured. We ate at Las Lomas and he nibbled on beans and rice.  Details that would normally be forgotten are seared in my brain because it's all I have left of him. One week away will mark two years without Gabe and the grief is mixed up with Eli's laughter and the music playing. . .

The sun comes up

It's a new day dawning

It's time to sing Your song again

Whatever may pass and whatever lies before me

Let me be singing when the evening comes

The tears spill over and I weep for all of the pain and the growing and the changing and I cry because God is still so good.

I cry for the weariness that comes from "fighting the lies of the economy of deficit."  I cry for the simple trust that is broken and will never return, because I found out that life was cruel and earth is not my home not by being told, but by finding my little son asleep forever in his safe little bed.

That cruelty, that brokenness, that's not a reflection of God.

Those twenty-five thousand graves (or thirty) - that's not about God, that's about sin.

He is not okay with all of this pain.

He is not sitting in the Heavens watching suffering, cold and unmoving.

He is the only way out.

He is the only reprieve from the suffering.

You're rich in love and You're slow to anger

Your name is great and Your heart is kind

For all Your goodness I will keep on singing

Ten thousand reasons for my heart to find

So I while I weep for the 25,000 graves (mostly just one), I look for the 10,000 reasons that His heart is kind.



Well, it's not tidy and it's not neat, but there's the grief post for the summer. 

so is He there when hearts stop beating?

Mom, can God see into our house?

(doubting Thomas Jacob Daniel)

Through curtains?

Incredulous.

Through walls?

Deep thought, wrinkled forehead, trying to come up with a place God can't reach. . .

Through really, really gross, green, dark water?

And the privilege of reminding him that God sees in the uttermost parts of the sea is mine.



He sees.

He knows.


What does He see when our hearts break?


Two thousand years ago, Martha, grieving the sudden death of her brother, cries out to Jesus. . .

Why didn't You come?

You could have healed.

You are big enough to stop this.

You are God, we believe that!

We even know he'll rise again!

But why didn't You come?



And Mary, the one who chose the better part, seconds Martha's cries. . .

Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died.



John says that Jesus was troubled and deeply moved in His spirit, standing in the middle of the street where the sisters had stopped Him. . .

He asks them where their brother is, and they lead an ever-present, all-seeing, all-knowing God to a cemetery.



And He weeps.



I wonder, like many others before me, why He wept.



Does He weep for mammas down through the ages who rail at the Heavens why weren't You there?

Did He weep because our earth is so needy and so hurting and because He knew the Road to our Redemption was full of pain and loss for Him?

Did He weep for brave Stephen who chose stones over survival and forgiveness over understandable vindication?

Did He weep for His mother, who would watch her Son die?

Did He weep because they didn't understand the complete irony of taking God to see a grave?  

Did He weep because they don't understand that He was there?



Does He still weep because I don't want to believe that He was there?


Tonight I tell my son precious words that I stored in my heart as a child:

Where can I go from Your Spirit?

Where can I flee from Your presence?

If I go up to the Heavens, You are there.

life is beautiful, You are there

If I make my bed in hell, You are there.

life has crushed me, and You are still there

If I take the wings of the morning

when my heart is strong

or dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea

when I am sinking

even there Your Hand will guide me, Your right Hand will hold me fast.


But do I believe that He can see into my house?


I've cried too, Jesus, why weren't You there?

And isn't that actually so much easier to cry out than the alternative?

Because what if He did see that little bed, what if He did hear my little man's heart stop beating, what if He was there?

Then I am faced with believing exactly what I say I believe, that He is there.

And crying why weren't You there is really denying that He is God, and pretending that God is surprised and caught off guard by small white caskets ignores the reason He came.

My heart shrinks from thinking about these things.

It's deep, and it's hard, and it hurts.

But the longer my heart knows the pain of death, the more I rejoice that He came to free us from this aching loss.

The more it hurts, the deeper I see the need for redemption.

And then I have to say. . .

I am so grateful, Jesus, that You see me.

love from. . . us

{thank you to sweet Rebecca who continues to bless our family with the gift of her photography}

merry christmas, little man

Hi, my little man. . .

How are ya doing?

I was hoping that the angels are singing you Away in the Manger; I think you could almost do some of those actions. . .

I missed you, little man, every minute this month. 

We made our tree for you. . . we got little lanterns like you helped mama order for the weddings this summer and big tissue flowers like at your baby shower and we put them all over our tree with tinsel. . . and that was all we could do.

Your brother and sister had their cracker sandwiches without you and we all wished you were there, so bad.

I was trying to be brave on our Christmas day and then your daddy said "this is really hard for me," and then I just laid my head down on the table and cried for you, little man. Neither of us want anything but you.

Your daddy wrapped gifts for you that he picked out. . .

Baby mittens {cuz he totally would have taken you sledding on his Christmas vacation}

Handwarmers {so you wouldn't get cold}

A little fire truck {cuz he wanted you to grab it and put it in your mouth and then he would take it out and explain to you how it worked}

And he even bought you some ice cream of your very own - Chunky Monkey, for our little Chunky Monkey.  {it's in the freezer }

Ahhhh, little man. . , my little Gabe. . . . I wish you were in our house, buddy.

I filled the kids stockings last night, and we didn't leave you out, little man. . . you got some cheerios and a little flashlight and playdough. . . mostly just for your big brother and sister to open because they wanted to do a stocking for you, too.  They aren't up yet; they're all tuckered out from their big night last night of caroling and sledding.

I wish lots and lots of things, little man, mostly that you were here;  none of the things I wish for this Christmas can change until Heaven, so I have to choose to hold on to the gifts God has given me.

You were a gift, Gabriel.  We loved every minute with you.

Life is a gift.

Eternal life is a greater gift.

We know we will see you - in just a little while, Gabe - because Jesus left all of the gifts that God had given Him and chose to come down to our little messy yucky crummy selfish aching world and give us

hope when there is no hope

peace when there is no peace

love when there is no love

and life when there is death.

That's what Christmas is about. . .

And I celebrate that with all of my heart.

Tell Jesus Happy Birthday for me, little man. 

Mommy loves you.

Merry Christmas, buddy.








                                      

Deuteronomy 18. . . and The Three Trees. . . and Jesus

Lots of things swirling around in my mind today.

Cambria, while I was organizing her {extremely messy} room. . . Mommy, Jesus died on the cross for me.

I turned to look, wanting to burn that moment forever in my heart.

Cheesy grin.

Reading The Tale of Three Trees.

*naked*

Hmm. 



Lately the issue of communication with the those not here has surfaced frequently.  Maybe because someone I love has died. . .?  I know that the grace of God has kept this desire from my heart and I'm thankful for that;  today I went searching for answers from God's Word.  As a believer, it's easy to pass off, gloss over, and ignore this issue, but when you are faced with it, I don't want to simply dismiss someone and their earnest desire to see or hear from their loved one again.

I expected to find what I thought was there; a negative command.  Don't do it.  I found that.  I also found an
incredible promise, right there in the middle of the Old Testament. . .

. . .proof to me that the One who created our hearts also knows how to care for them, even in unthinkable sorrow. . .

After God says not to ask for answers from the dark. . . He says this. . . "The Lord your God will raise up for you a Prophet. . .listen to Him. . ." {Dt. 18:15}

In one of those light bulb moments, I realized that once again, God always gives so much more.  Instead of psychics, how about eternity with all of the answers and Gabe?  In place of shadowy quests for bits of hope. . . Jesus, the Light of the World, and our firm foundation.

I'd pick Jesus any day.