Day 39: Lindsay Ingram
Blessed are those whose strength is in You, in whose heart are the highways to Zion.
As they go through the Valley of Baca they make it a place of springs; the early rain also covers it with pools.
They go from strength to strength; each one appears before God in Zion.
Psalm 84:5-7
Words usually come so easily for me that I have a hard time stopping somewhere, but here I am in late-January struggling to find words to put on paper to Boast in the Lord. This past year, my father was diagnosed with a combination of vascular dementia and Alzheimer’s disease, and is already well into the moderate stages of his cognitive decline. His diagnosis came with a range of emotions, and it was a breaking point in great sense for me, which I have spent so much of this last year navigating.
I had experienced the sudden loss of my stepdad at the end of 2022, and now I am having to experience the other side of that coin through the slow demise of my earthly father, who will one day forget who I am before he is ever gone from this world, the thought of which brought the painful realization that so much of what once had the hopeful potential to be redeemed and restored in our relationship one day is no longer a possibility.
Most of this year for me has been spent wrestling with God, but also drawing far closer to Him as a result. Suffering, as a human concept, seems so utterly pointless and is usually one of the first reasons someone will give as to why they don’t believe in God. But God is sovereign over everything, our suffering included. He tells us in Isaiah 55:8-9, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts”.
God made us in His image, and so like Him, we are able to grieve, weep, mourn, and lament as Jesus did as we journey through this life. It’s a comfort that because of who I am in Christ, there is always purpose in my pain, and in view of eternity, all of our human sufferings can be viewed as “light momentary afflictions” (2 Corinthians 4:17).
I came to faith much later in life than most. My life before salvation was miserable, but these past four years I have experienced more pain and loss than I would have been capable of handling prior in my own strength. I see God’s wisdom in His waiting to give me the greatest gift I have ever received and spent a lifetime never fathoming how badly I needed, knowing all that would be coming my way these past four years. But as someone who spent 90% of her life completely separated from God, it can be a struggle to not head towards that singularly human emotion of despairing. There is great comfort that if we are in Christ, we can never actually reach the point of despair, for we know that hope is another gift we receive from God, (and one of the three virtues that will last forever (1 Corinthians 13:13)), yet still we can get dangerously close to despair sometimes.
We read the book of Psalms as poetry, but we don’t often stop to consider that the Psalms are a songbook. The Psalmists words of praise, joy, and thanksgiving were sung out loud together in corporate settings, but so were laments like Psalm 88, the last line of which ends on a declaration of “Darkness has become my only companion”.
Before I ever got to the events of last year, I lamented that the Christian Church as a whole is not encouraged or taught how to lament enough. There is great strength in knowing that lament is a form of prayer, praise, and proof of our personal and intimate relationship with God. But we can struggle with viewing God as our Father, who we can unashamedly run to like a hurting child for comfort, and so often instead, we apply our worldly knowledge to situations, fleeing from God, putting on a brave face with a smile that doesn’t extend to our eyes, answering “I’m fine” when asked, yet in reality, as a Church, we are commanded not only to rejoice with those who rejoice, but also to weep with those who weep (Romans 12:15).
Intentional and daily time spent in the Psalms has been one of the ways that I have deeply grown in my relationship with God in the last few months, and without a doubt has been the most important book of Scripture for me this season, which came about through a series of events and conversations that let me know the idea was entirely God’s and not mine.
God isn’t just aware of our sufferings, but He Himself collects and accounts for every tear we shed (Psalm 56:8) and also sees each one that we wipe away when we can’t bear the weight of the pain in that moment. But He doesn’t just comfort us in all of our afflictions alone. He also gives us a family of believers so that we may comfort each other with the comfort we have received from God in Christ (2 Corinthians 1:3-5).
When I stop to truly reflect on this past year and take my eyes off of all the painful circumstances, all I can see is the magnitude of God’s love for me. He has blessed me with a closer relationship with Him, purposing this pain and suffering into something so beautiful. God has also blessed me this past year with relationships and friendships that have been aid stations, allowing for wonderful moments of respite and light to shine through the dark valley of this past year which has been the hardest stretch of the race I have been called to run in this life thus far.
God in His infinite wisdom knows what we need and delivers those things right when we need them most. Sometimes it’s hard to sit in the power of the true hope we have in Christ, but we can be sure that whatever we may be going through, it is nothing that the resurrection won’t be able to repair. I boast in the Lord today knowing that whatever I am going through, a day will come when the promise of the new heaven and the new earth in Revelation 21:1-7 will come to pass, and all of the pain and brokenness we endure in this world marred by sin will be no more.
Prayer
Heavenly Father, I thank You that as we travel through the Valley of Weeping in this life filled with so much sorrow and difficulty, the tears we shed are received as offerings of praise to You, watering the barren ground we travel along. Thank you for giving us the hope we have in You, Jesus, knowing in full confidence that we are headed towards an eternal life spent with You that will be free from tears, mourning, crying, pain, death, and sin. Thank You for faithfully bringing us from strength to strength as we continue along the path You have laid out for each of us. May we never forget how privileged we are that it is You we are running towards, and that it will all be worth it when we are one day finally standing face-to-face with our Lord and Savior. In Jesus name, Amen.
As they go through the Valley of Baca they make it a place of springs; the early rain also covers it with pools.
They go from strength to strength; each one appears before God in Zion.
Psalm 84:5-7
Words usually come so easily for me that I have a hard time stopping somewhere, but here I am in late-January struggling to find words to put on paper to Boast in the Lord. This past year, my father was diagnosed with a combination of vascular dementia and Alzheimer’s disease, and is already well into the moderate stages of his cognitive decline. His diagnosis came with a range of emotions, and it was a breaking point in great sense for me, which I have spent so much of this last year navigating.
I had experienced the sudden loss of my stepdad at the end of 2022, and now I am having to experience the other side of that coin through the slow demise of my earthly father, who will one day forget who I am before he is ever gone from this world, the thought of which brought the painful realization that so much of what once had the hopeful potential to be redeemed and restored in our relationship one day is no longer a possibility.
Most of this year for me has been spent wrestling with God, but also drawing far closer to Him as a result. Suffering, as a human concept, seems so utterly pointless and is usually one of the first reasons someone will give as to why they don’t believe in God. But God is sovereign over everything, our suffering included. He tells us in Isaiah 55:8-9, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts”.
God made us in His image, and so like Him, we are able to grieve, weep, mourn, and lament as Jesus did as we journey through this life. It’s a comfort that because of who I am in Christ, there is always purpose in my pain, and in view of eternity, all of our human sufferings can be viewed as “light momentary afflictions” (2 Corinthians 4:17).
I came to faith much later in life than most. My life before salvation was miserable, but these past four years I have experienced more pain and loss than I would have been capable of handling prior in my own strength. I see God’s wisdom in His waiting to give me the greatest gift I have ever received and spent a lifetime never fathoming how badly I needed, knowing all that would be coming my way these past four years. But as someone who spent 90% of her life completely separated from God, it can be a struggle to not head towards that singularly human emotion of despairing. There is great comfort that if we are in Christ, we can never actually reach the point of despair, for we know that hope is another gift we receive from God, (and one of the three virtues that will last forever (1 Corinthians 13:13)), yet still we can get dangerously close to despair sometimes.
We read the book of Psalms as poetry, but we don’t often stop to consider that the Psalms are a songbook. The Psalmists words of praise, joy, and thanksgiving were sung out loud together in corporate settings, but so were laments like Psalm 88, the last line of which ends on a declaration of “Darkness has become my only companion”.
Before I ever got to the events of last year, I lamented that the Christian Church as a whole is not encouraged or taught how to lament enough. There is great strength in knowing that lament is a form of prayer, praise, and proof of our personal and intimate relationship with God. But we can struggle with viewing God as our Father, who we can unashamedly run to like a hurting child for comfort, and so often instead, we apply our worldly knowledge to situations, fleeing from God, putting on a brave face with a smile that doesn’t extend to our eyes, answering “I’m fine” when asked, yet in reality, as a Church, we are commanded not only to rejoice with those who rejoice, but also to weep with those who weep (Romans 12:15).
Intentional and daily time spent in the Psalms has been one of the ways that I have deeply grown in my relationship with God in the last few months, and without a doubt has been the most important book of Scripture for me this season, which came about through a series of events and conversations that let me know the idea was entirely God’s and not mine.
God isn’t just aware of our sufferings, but He Himself collects and accounts for every tear we shed (Psalm 56:8) and also sees each one that we wipe away when we can’t bear the weight of the pain in that moment. But He doesn’t just comfort us in all of our afflictions alone. He also gives us a family of believers so that we may comfort each other with the comfort we have received from God in Christ (2 Corinthians 1:3-5).
When I stop to truly reflect on this past year and take my eyes off of all the painful circumstances, all I can see is the magnitude of God’s love for me. He has blessed me with a closer relationship with Him, purposing this pain and suffering into something so beautiful. God has also blessed me this past year with relationships and friendships that have been aid stations, allowing for wonderful moments of respite and light to shine through the dark valley of this past year which has been the hardest stretch of the race I have been called to run in this life thus far.
God in His infinite wisdom knows what we need and delivers those things right when we need them most. Sometimes it’s hard to sit in the power of the true hope we have in Christ, but we can be sure that whatever we may be going through, it is nothing that the resurrection won’t be able to repair. I boast in the Lord today knowing that whatever I am going through, a day will come when the promise of the new heaven and the new earth in Revelation 21:1-7 will come to pass, and all of the pain and brokenness we endure in this world marred by sin will be no more.
Prayer
Heavenly Father, I thank You that as we travel through the Valley of Weeping in this life filled with so much sorrow and difficulty, the tears we shed are received as offerings of praise to You, watering the barren ground we travel along. Thank you for giving us the hope we have in You, Jesus, knowing in full confidence that we are headed towards an eternal life spent with You that will be free from tears, mourning, crying, pain, death, and sin. Thank You for faithfully bringing us from strength to strength as we continue along the path You have laid out for each of us. May we never forget how privileged we are that it is You we are running towards, and that it will all be worth it when we are one day finally standing face-to-face with our Lord and Savior. In Jesus name, Amen.
Posted in Boast in the Lord \\\'25 pt2
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