Heather Mitchell

Joy is the experience of knowing that you are unconditionally loved.
-Henri Nouwan

As a culture our default is to rush too quickly towards celebrating the joy of the resurrection on Easter without letting ourselves experience the full weight of sorrow that Good Friday and Saturday held. We can spend the days before Easter preparing for our Sunday best, put together, pretty, in plaids and pastels. Focusing on the celebration and forgetting the dark days of lamenting that preceded the new day dawning.

For our world, our country and our own lives, we can’t help but feel the weight of these dark, uncertain days that we face in a pandemic. We can’t shut our eyes to the despair and loss we see all around us. We all have something to grieve in this time, great or small—it all matters.

We may know intuitively that this too will pass, that we will at some point come back to a state of normalcy. Yet at the same time, we can not ignore the heavy sadness felt in the pit of our stomachs, the acidic regret that rises in our throats also knowing intuitively that life as we knew it, will never be the same again. This will mark us, this will wound us, this will forever change us in both hard and beautiful ways.

This grief we are experiencing, we would rather push it down and ignore it. Brushing it under the table so we can once again set our Easter tables. Our Sunday best, put together, pretty, in plaids and pastels for our friends and family to gather around.

This grief is not something to ignore and it is not something unfamiliar to Jesus. He is well acquainted with the deepest of grief. In John 11:33-35, we read that a deep anger welled up in Jesus and He was deeply troubled, weeping over the death of his dear friend Lazarus. 

Jesus, the fullness of God yet fully human, was deeply angered and troubled even though He knew the outcome. He planned on raising Lazarus from the dead yet overcome with sadness, He wept. He still allowed Himself to feel the depths of His friends deepest sorrow. He still felt the full weight of losing His dearest friend. This deep darkness before dawns first light foreshadowed the deepest and darkest two days in all of history that preceded the rising of a new and glorious morn. Jesus knew He would soon overcome death once and for all, yet He still wept.

Now in this time, our grief, great or small—matters to Jesus. He is with us in our grieving. He weeps and laments with us. We are held in the arms of the One acquainted with the deepest of sorrow. We can put aside our Sunday best and we can allow ourselves to just be held in the balance of both sadness and joy.

No matter the condition of our hearts or the mess of our lives. In our Sunday best, put together, pretty, in plaids or pastels or in our mismatched pajamas, still with sleepy bed heads—We will rise! Separated and sheltered in our homes yet united, gathered together in faith. Our truest joy found not in the absence of sorrow but in the deep and confident knowledge that we are firmly held and unconditionally loved.

“He was despised and rejected— a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief. We turned our backs on him and looked the other way. He was despised, and we did not care.” Isaiah‬ ‭53:3‬ ‭NLT‬‬

“When Jesus saw her weeping and saw the other people wailing with her, a deep anger welled up within him, and he was deeply troubled. “Where have you put him?” he asked them. They told him, “Lord, come and see.” Then Jesus wept.”‭‭John‬ ‭11:33-35‬ ‭NLT‬‬

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.””
Joshua‬ ‭1:9‬ ‭NIV‬‬

This unknown, uncertain place that each of us finds ourselves in is unsettling, unnerving and most of the time feels unreal. As we face an unforeseeable future, we isolate against something that is unseen to the naked eye. We see the destruction, death and despair it has caused, around the world, in our country and in our communities, leaving no one unaffected. We feel and see the fear and unrest that this invisible invasion has created in our neighborhoods, for our family and friends, in our homes and in the beating of our own unsettled hearts.

How do we move forward when all around us there is this invisible threat living among us, holding us captive, taking up residence in our homes and hearts? How do we face another day when there is a microscopic enemy, lurking, waiting to attack, ready to steal our liberty and our very lives? This place we find ourselves in is a foreign and hostile land, where we feel afraid, lost and even abandoned.

Yet we are not lost nor abandoned, we are held and we are never alone. This uncertain time is no surprise to the One who holds each one of us, caring for and comforting the whole of this broken and suffering world.

God is with me,
He goes before me,
He will never leave me.

This I know with certainty and in this truth my heart begins to settle. I rest assured in the unchanging, unwavering love of my Father, Savior and Holy Spirit. Three in One, an unbeatable, unbreakable force, my ever present help in times of trouble. He surrounds me on all sides.

As we move into a Holy Week like no other one that we have experienced before, may we hold with hope the truth that Christ went before us. Jesus willingly suffered, died on the cross and rose on the third day so that the power of death would forever be broken. By grace alone we are not forgotten, we are never alone. We are set free, forgiven and redeemed.

With arms opened wide, He invites us in, welcoming us to follow Him. He has gone before us and He has made a way—ushering us into an abundant, eternal life in and with Him.

The words of Saint Patrick back in the 5th Century continue to ring true. This prayer has become a mantra for my days, my battle cry, a new cadence to keep time with. Quieting and calming my all too often fearful and weary heart. I hope and pray that these words will do the same for your heart.
May you go with God.

Prayer of Saint Patrick

I arise today
Through the strength of heaven;
Light of the sun,
Splendor of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of the wind,
Depth of the sea,
Stability of the earth,
Firmness of the rock.

I arise today
Through God’s strength to pilot me;
God’s might to uphold me,
God’s wisdom to guide me,
God’s eye to look before me,
God’s ear to hear me,
God’s word to speak for me,
God’s hand to guard me,
God’s way to lie before me,
God’s shield to protect me,
God’s hosts to save me
Afar and anear,
Alone or in a multitude.

Christ shield me today
Against wounding
Christ with me, 
Christ before me, 
Christ behind me,
Christ in me, 
Christ beneath me, 
Christ above me,
Christ on my right, 
Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, 
Christ when I sit down,
Christ in the heart of everyone who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in the eye that sees me,
Christ in the ear that hears me.

I arise today
Through the mighty strength
Of the Lord of creation.

“A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices. For yonder breaks a new glorious morn!” -Oh, Holy Night

This year has brought with it many changes for our family that were both hard and wonderful. We have had heartache, last goodbyes, loss and letting go as well as celebration, warm welcomes, long embraces and new beginnings.

As the New Year approaches, I feel a thrill of hope rising up within me, one that I have not felt in sometime. I don’t mean the wishful thinking kind of hope. Instead a deep rooted hope that groins inwardly for that which has not yet come to pass while also waiting expectantly. A hope that rises up to meet the new day, believing that even on the darkest nights, the glorious light of dawn will surly come.

I see Him who is able to do immeasurably more than I can imagine, weaving His way through my own heart, renewing and restoring broken places. He feels so tangibly close. His gaze always one of kindness, understanding, delight and unwavering love.

I pray that whatever hardships you may have endured this year, whatever trails you are facing, whatever expectations you may have for the New Year, may you know deep down that you are not alone. Jesus, Emmanuel, God with us, is tangibly close. His gaze of sheer delight and unfathomable, unwavering love always on you. He is doing something new, weaving His way through our lives and our hearts. Bringing beauty from that which is broken.

May the truth of His birth, life, death and resurrection give you a thrill of hope that rises up from somewhere deep within. His love making way for something new, expansive and glorious.

Happy New Year with love from our family to yours!

““Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” Isaiah‬ ‭43:18-19‬ ‭

“Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us,” Ephesians‬ ‭3:20‬

“Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go, for to you I entrust my life.” Psalms‬ ‭143:8‬

“He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me.” Psalm‬ ‭18:19‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Our youngest daughter, Hope spent the first two years of her life in an orphanage, confined to only two rooms. From a lot of what we can see, we believe she spent most of those first two years confined to a crib with very little human interaction and physical touch. Her very basic needs were seen to but not much more than this. In every sense, she was only surviving not thriving, not growing, not experiencing the love, comfort and security that a family can give. Even the best of institutions can not fully provide these crucial elements that each child needs to truly thrive. My heart breaks to think of how alone she was.

In May of last year when we first met Hope, she gave us very little eye contact, she showed very little emotion. She was closed off to the world around her, a shell of a little girl—afraid of her own shadow.

I remember our first afternoon with her. I carried her outside where we were to spend time bonding with her. She began to softly coo with delight in feeling the warm sun and the gentle breeze on her face. From what we know this was her very first time outside. Her gentle cooing continued as she looked down at the rows of beautiful multi-colored roses lining the path to the playground. Her face changed from a blank expression, she became more alert and curious.

I reflect on our first playful interaction with Hope that day. I held Hope on my lap and Robert faced her, touching her gently with a textured purple ball, making funny noises and facial expressions. She began to laugh and not just slightly but from somewhere deep within, a true belly laugh. I began to cry because I was so relieved to see her smile and to hear her laugh. I did not realize until that moment how afraid I was, how I was almost holding my breath. What if this place had already stollen her joy, her light, her life?

Today, Hope is a different girl than the shadow of the little one we first met just over a year ago. She is always full of joy, laughter, chatter and movement. She loves exploring outdoors, delightfully discovering new flowers and plants. She enjoys interacting and is learning to relate more fully with herself, her environment and her family. She is curious and open to the world around her which is expanding more and more. She is learning to trust that she is safe. That she resides in a spacious place right here with us—where she is free to grow, to thrive, to find delight and to be delighted in.

Surrounded by love, she is blooming a little broader, smiling a little brighter, laughing a little louder, each new day.

Lord Jesus,
I breathe in, your love surrounds me.
I breathe out, your love knows no limits.

Your love is larger than life, a spacious place for me to grow, to bloom, to thrive. To think that you delight in me just as I am. Under your gaze—I come alive.

Thank you for being my safe and spacious place in a world that threatens to bind and break me. Amen.

In the last several months, I have felt the burden of too much, way more than I can bear alone. I have needed to find my very breath in Christ alone.

I share this podcast and this one with you. Both have helped me to gain new tools and a fresh perspective. The breath prayer is one tool that I am using when I feel anxious and when sleep does not come easy.

I hope and pray that you too will find a spacious place, a breath of fresh air, when this weary world weighs heavy.