A commission for 2013.

Me to the Lord: What do You ask of me this year? I desire to do whatever You ask.

The Lord to me: Pray. Pray without ceasing. Pray with boldness. Pray with intentionality. Pray till the mountains move and the enemy is vanquished. Pray till My promises are solidified in your heart and in your mind. Pray till your knees are calloused with longevity. Pray as a warrior wielding the most powerful of weapons. Pray till chains are broken and freedom abounds. Pray till peace is restored in the tumultuous hearts around you. Pray till those I have chosen who reject Me fall to their knees. Pray and do not lose heart. Pray till you see what I see, till your heart reels with what I feel, till your mind is strengthened by who I am. Pray with the power of the Spirit and in the reality of the truth of Me. Pray with humility. I have growth that awaits you and strength of faith beyond what you have ever imagined. I have work to do through you, if only you will kneel. I have an anointing for you and on you--do not waste it. I have peace, joy and power to pour out through you. Abide in Me, enter My presence and pray. Pray. Pray and I will answer you. I will hear you. I will join you. I will pour My heart out of your mouth and move as I will through your folded hands.

----

May I honor the Lord through obedience to His request, and may 2013 be a year of prayer for me like no other before it. I am excited. :)

Love expanded

1 Corinthians 13:13 "So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love."

Love: Reflecting 
©11-30-12 Hannah McLean

My eyes flip through the words
preserved lest I forget
as my heart rolls through the emotions
engrained within me

I am undone

How many times have I stood
with hand poised outside Your gate to knock
only to find my eyes unveiled to see
that you have already opened the door
and carried me inside Your holy courts?

I overflow

While Your words on the greatest way of Love
have been laid before me as I sway along
my uneven path
I have considered long
how my life reflects You
on the heights
and in the valleys

I am moved

Love is not just found in generous giving
it is what carries us when much has been taken away
Love is not just seen in the beauty of bright light
it is also in the faintest flicker through which our eyes adjust to see 
the details hidden in the darkness
Love is not just in the prolonging of comfort and rest
it is the offering of deep comforts in the center of complete unrest
Love is not just the feeling of affection the causes the heart to leap
it is the holding and the keeping when the heart lies broken
Love is not just words that land upon your ears
it is the active commitment when words fail and ears cannot hear
Love is not just in response to my lovability
it is what lifts me out of my loveless stupors and redeems
Love is more
always more

I am certain

You have never lifted Your hand from upon me
You have never moved Your wings from around my wounded soul
You have never taken Your eyes off me
You have never turned Your back
You have never closed Your ears to the sound of my voice
You have never left me

You have never left me

You will never leave

You have lifted me with Your mighty hand
comforted me with Your faithful promises
soothed me with Your boundless hope
touched me with Your gentle favor
calmed me with Your steady voice
carried me with Your endless strength

And every time I have lamented the
feeling of wandering from You
I have marveled at how near
You have stayed
How I have reached out my frantic hand
expecting to find nothing
and have found instead
Your presence and closeness
within my searching grasp

I am Yours
and in this truth
is the reflection of Your love
that my life has to offer

Honor given "in due time."

Yesterday we went to a gate dedication ceremony at Wright Patterson Air Force Base. They closed down the stretch of road where my little brother Noah was struck and killed while biking to work and made it a private road for the base with bike lanes. The gate to enter this portion of the base has been dedicated to him as a memorial: The A1C Noah D. Muonio Gate. At the ceremony, an installation entry controller stood up and gave his shift report, the one he and all of his colleagues who will stand guard at this gate from now on will say with each change of shift.
The report began with these words:

“This is the Airman First Class Noah D. Muonio Gate. It is named after Airman First Class Muonio, a native of Saint Francis, Minnesota, who proudly served at Wright Patterson Air Force Base as a NASIC Remote Sensing Analyst. On the night of 4 August 2012, Airman First Class Muonio was riding his bicycle to work when a distracted driver crossed the solid white line onto the shoulder and fatally struck him from behind. This gate has been named after Airman First Class Noah D. Muonio to ensure he is never forgotten...”

This struck me like a ton of bricks. They’ve made his memory a permanent part of life on base, and not only have they preserved his name, but they have lifted him and set him in a place of honor. If you knew Noah, you know that he was a humble man of quiet strength; he did not seek praise nor did he let the praise he earned go to his head; he was the man who was quick to let his acts of service and personal sacrifice go unnoticed or pass by without thanks; he was not self seeking.

So as I consider this honor that has been given him, I can think of few others who could carry it so well as Noah’s name. I think of the miraculous mark of God’s hand all over this lasting memorial--Noah was an Airman First Class who had been at this base for 5 months; gates are usually named after Generals or people with many metals across their heart--and into my mind comes these words from the Lord found in 1 Samuel 2 and Luke 14: “...those who honor Me I will honor,” and “...he who humbles himself will be exalted.”

The Lord Himself has placed names on the gates of heaven for those He loves and bestows great honor; for Him to give our Noah a gate here on earth is a great honor from the Lord who exalts the humble and honors the one who honors Him.

For some the exaltation from the Lord that comes “in due time” (1 Peter 5:6) begins while they still stand upright beside us, but for others, like Noah, it has been given after he has gone away...maybe to help fill the expanse of the empty space he’s left behind. Either way, I praise the Lord for The Airman First Class Noah D. Muonio Gate and all it means for the preservation of his memory, and I thank the Wright Patterson Air Force Base for being a conduit of honor for this quietly honorable man.

The news that comes at night.

I don’t really do phones.
There’s an internal part of me that rebels
against culture’s attachment to them,
so phones and I minimally intersect.
But my phone is my alarm clock,
so it is always near me when I sleep.
I know that is good
because if someone tries to reach me
in the silent hours of the night,
I know it is important
that I am connected.

But phone calls in the darkness
rarely bring good news;
good news can wait till the brightness
of the morning.

On August 5th, my phone rang at 2:21am
and as I was jarred awake from a deep sleep,
“HOME”
lit up the screen.
I answered,
“Hello?”
My mama’s voice shook on the other end,
“Noah was killed, he got hit by a car...”
The remaining shards of sleep instantly left me
and I was wide awake.
I think I said, “Oh no.”
I know I said, “I’m so sorry, Mama.
I’m so sorry.”
And because neither of us had anymore words,
we said, “I love you,”
and hung up the phone.

I sat for a brief moment on the bed in silence
before out of my mouth came a long wail;
it sounded hollow
with disbelief
it came from a place of foresight
currently numb to reality
but knowing the pain that was coming...

Nathan, who had woken up before I had hung up the phone,
now sat upright and asked me what had happened.
He rested his hand on my back
as I sat with one hand folded
around the phone in my lap
and one pressed against my mouth,
unable to speak.
My shoulders shook
until my cry abruptly stopped.

“Noah was killed,” I told him,
“He got hit by a car on his way to work.”
“I’m so glad I’m home.”

And suddenly my mind returned to my mama
whose aversion to phones I had inherited,
but who had dialed my number
in the dead of the night
to tell me that she and my papa had lost a third son,
and I was overwhelmed with sorrow and compassion for them.
What could I do?
How could I help?
I picked up the phone I had laid down,
grateful for its convenience and connectivity,
and I called home.

I had to wait till morning
when everyone would gather;
and because a person cannot fall back asleep
after the news that comes at night,
I did the only thing I knew to do...
in the stillness and darkness of those morning hours,
I prayed.

i am His dove

Song of Solomon 2:14 “My dove in the clefts of the rock, in the hiding places on the mountainside. Show Me your face, let Me hear your voice; For your voice is sweet and your face is lovely.”
 
my Beloved speaks and says to me
©10-2-12 hannah mclean

on the mountain of my sorrow
i hide among the rocks
Your dove

it is not that i intend to hide
but sometimes i cannot find my way
out of the deep clefts
i fall into
longing for the son
i must wait for You to come
straining my ears for You
till through the darkness
cuts the gentle peals of Your voice
offering life
hope
and an invitation

“let Me see your face
let Me hear your voice”

i marvel at my silence
at my tear-stained cheeks
my joyless eyes
and wonder why

“for your voice is sweet
and your face is lovely
to Me”

and quietly i step
out of my shallow hiding place
and into Your light

Your dove
whose ruffled feathers You straighten
whose drooping wings You strengthen
whose hungry, gaping mouth You fill

in the open for this moment
i know
i am weak
but beloved

The struggle to adjust.

The question these days has been, “So how are you adjusting to Cambridge?” This is not an easy question for me to answer. I sat down today to attempt to do a little bit of processing as to why.

As a general rule, I answer questions honestly. Excuse the cliché, but I am an open book; I have nothing to hide and nothing to prove, I know Who I live for and before, and as a result, I am free to be open. That’s what makes this adjustment so difficult; right now, I am not an open book. There are things in my life that I don’t want to talk about, can’t talk about, or have no idea HOW to talk about. I am not in a place where I can welcome people of varying levels of relationship into my life’s story; because my life’s story at the moment is engulfed in a grieving process that brings to the surface not only my own vulnerabilities, but also the vulnerabilities of others. My openness is not, for lack of a better word, particularly “safe” right now.

This makes adjusting to a new environment and community difficult. I feel like I don’t know how to start or carry on a normal conversation. I feel stiff and awkward as I enter into conversations with new faces, and struggle to remember details they share with me or even their names. Where I naturally am at ease, I feel like I’m just stumbling along. It is not because I don’t desire relationship and friendship; not because I don’t get excited about meeting new people and enjoying the privilege of learning who they are; not because I’m shy or uninterested...but because I’m burdened by uncertainty of what to share about myself; because I’m limited by my lack of strength and joy to pour into the lives of those I meet; because I’m walled in by my own confusion and lack of understanding of where or how I am. What has been natural simply feels unnatural because I have not yet regained my balance.

So when I am asked the question of how I am adjusting, I say the only honest thing I can that won’t make them feel as though this new place or these new people have failed me...”I’m working on adjusting. It has been challenging, but I am actively trying.”

“Don’t ask about that, please don’t ask.”

We got your autopsy report and an in-depth accident report
the other day.
I surprise myself by reading them thoroughly
multiple times,
examining the details carefully.
I didn’t think I’d do that, Noah,
I didn’t think I wanted to know.
For some reason,
I have found the topic of the accident and the details of the crash
to be off-limits in conversation
outside our family;
my heart grimaces at others’ curiosity
and silently pleads as they look into my eyes,
“Don’t ask about that,
please don’t ask.”
I do not want the questions
and the speculations do not comfort
me in the realities of your death.

But still I read about
the moments and the injuries that took your life;
the accident report pulled deep, gulping sobs
from my chest,
while the autopsy report made me
praise the Lord for His mercy to you.

You did not fear and
you did not suffer.
You did not feel the pain of your broken bones
or the agony of crushing injuries.
You did not have to wonder
what was happening
or what would happen to you.
You only had to die
instantly.

It is your mercy
that instead of surviving the severity of
your injuries
and the immense physical, mental and emotional
anguish and loss that would have followed for you,
you got to instantly enter the
glories of heaven
and the presence of our Lord.
It is the gift of mercy
given to you.

And this mercy I see you have received
strengthens my heart
as I look at the numbers on the pages:
The lengths of blood splatters 1, 2, 3 and 4,
the position of your glasses, 43' from where you were hit,
the position of your body, 58' from where you were hit,
the position of your bike, 76' from where you were hit,
and between your body and your bike
your dislodged safety reflector at 71'
flashing red
flashing red
flashing red...

I would have been there, Noah
I would have taken the hit for you,
or at very least,
I would have held your hand in the place where you landed...
but the fact that I could not
is the mercy I’ve received.

I saw the visual aftermath
in a lesser measure:
The blood was gone
but the spray paint remained,
and they had picked up your glasses;
your body was gone
but the matted grass remained,
and they had picked up your bike;
the flashing lights and investigators were gone
but the illustration and measurements remained
and they had picked up your beckoning red reflector.
While I would have held your hand
and offered you every ounce of strength I could muster
as your heart beat its last,
even as I let your brothers go before you,
God knew it would have been
more than my human heart could have withstood
and so He covered my eyes with mercy.

To know you did not fear
and you did not suffer;
you did not feel
and you did not wonder
is my comfort in the center of description
of things my eyes never have to see.

I know that to live is Christ,
and to die is gain;
and to know you’re whole in Heaven
is healing balm for my searing pain.

You have promised me a fountain.

Isaiah 41:18a “I will open rivers on the bare heights, and fountains in the midst of the valleys.”

a fountain in this valley
©9-21-12 hannah mclean

i am not alone here
in this valley so low
i do not grieve as one
who has no hope

i am not afraid here
in this valley so low
for there is a time to laugh
and a time to weep

but i am unhinged here
and i am broken
i am without words though
there’s much to be spoken
there are rivers of tears here
that flow from my eyes
and the cracks in my heart show
the force of my sighs

You promise fountains in these valleys
Living Water that will flow
without measure in these moments
fountains I now long to know

You promise fountains in these valleys
when deep cries out to deep
so I wait here in my sorrow
longing for the One who keeps

i am filled with the honest sorrow
of sincere love
and the pain of lost joy

my aching soul wonders
as it calls for the healing flow
of the fountain You have promised
in this valley so low

Questions

What am I to do?
©9-7-12 Hannah McLean
For my Noah Boa

There is a place beside me
that you are suppose to fill
but these days
when I reach my hand out
to grab hold of you
I feel only air rush past my fingers
and an aching emptiness.

Without you
I’ve a gaping hole
within arms reach
the constant reminder 
of what is lost.

What I am to do?
Do I rattle around in this space that is now
too large for me?
Can I wedge myself in
by filling the gap?

If I gather all my memories of you,
will they shelter me from the
razor sharp edges of your empty space?
If I pour out all my affection for you
will it cushion my feet from the
spitting stones on the ground where you no longer stand?
If I pull together all the photographs of you
will they distract from the
heart breaking reality that I can no longer look into your face?

...Or if I collect all the things that remind me of you
will it only prove to magnify the gap between us
and the broadness of the expanse you’ve left behind?

What am I to do
when the air rushes through
my reaching fingers
and the gnawing ache of emptiness
overflows me?
What am I to do?

Proven.

Today the pastor preached on these verses:
Luke 14:25–33 “Now great crowds accompanied him, and he turned and said to them, “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple. For which of you, desiring to build a tower, does not first sit down and count the cost, whether he has enough to complete it?  Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it begin to mock him, saying, ‘This man began to build and was not able to finish.’ Or what king, going out to encounter another king in war, will not sit down first and deliberate whether he is able with ten thousand to meet him who comes against him with twenty thousand? And if not, while the other is yet a great way off, he sends a delegation and asks for terms of peace. So therefore, any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple.”

To clarify what this means, here is what is written of this place in the book of Matthew:
Matthew 10:37–39 “Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me, and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. And whoever does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”

These verses always strikes me. I find it to be a hard passage, but not in the ways that I typically hear it explained.

To me, this is a passage that the Lord uses to encourage me and to lift me up. It is a place that brings to mind James 4:10 where it says, “Humble yourselves before the Lord, and He will exalt you.” What strikes me about this place in scripture is that every time I come to it, I know my failures and where I simply fall short; I come expecting to hear conviction or even condemnation...but instead, I hear, as I did in this morning's sermon, the gentle voice of God say to me,
“I asked for this, and you gave it to Me.
I took this from you, and still you praise Me.
I said 'No,' and you submitted to Me.
I told you to trust Me, and you endure pain as you wait on Me.
You are My disciple.
You are not perfect, but you are proven.”

And the hard emotional pains of the cost I have counted and found “worth it” wash over me, and they are always accompanied by a comfort that the God I live to glorify has been shown as worthy in my grittiest details of my heart and life.

Trying to let the Healer do His work.

Slow, promised healing
©8-29-12 Hannah McLean

The wounds are still fresh
I know it when the slightest
confrontation of the loss of him
brushes against my heart
and my walls come up
in an awkward, hurried fashion
that leave me feeling
as though I am in a hardened glaze
unable to receive or give

What am I to do
when the wounds are still raw
and uninvited pressure inflames
the pain and bypasses what numbed
as i grimace my way
through the jarring bumps
ignorantly surprised by how easily
I bruise
or maybe by how deep the bruises truly are

The wounds are still fresh
borne through the flesh
and penetrating into the depth
of my heart and soul
healing is slow, but promised

And as I wait expectantly
while walking through each day’s unknowns
I will carefully take down my
awkward, hurried walls
that when I reach the
moments when the wounds have healed
I will be soft and whole
not cemented beneath a hardened glaze
of faulty security

When the giving and the taking collide.

Psalm 139 has been of significant importance to me lately. It’s grace when the Lord solidifies verses in your mind that you will need for what is to come. For me, this psalm has been a very rooting place in scripture for me over the last two months. Even as I write this, I marvel that maybe it has been a bit longer than two months as it is actually the very first Psalm that I chose to memorize after I gave my life to the Lord (I grew up memorizing scripture because I had to, to choose to was something different all together). Over the years, different portions of it have held me up, as it is filled with comforting truths of God’s presence with, care for, and complete knowledge of me.

The past few weeks, I have held onto the comfort provided in two verses as I have found myself in the center of a strange collision of the Lord who gives and who takes away.

My brother Noah died on August 4 at the age of 22-years-old. As I have faced the quandaries in the air around me of, “He was taken too soon,” or “What if he had stayed an extra minute longer before he left for work?” or “Why did she hit him?” Through my mind goes the truth I see in verse 16, “All the days ordained for me were written in Your book before one of them came to be.” God is the One who created Noah, He is the one who planned his life and numbered his days before he even existed. I find it comforting to know that God had a purpose and a plan for Noah’s short life and that it was fulfilled, and Noah now gets to be with Him forever. For some reason, knowing that allows me to freely set aside the questions and the “what-ifs” and to submit myself to the Father’s will with peace.

Then there is verse 13, “...You knit me together in my mother’s womb.” I heard the news of Noah’s death at 2:21am on August 5. It wasn’t until later in the day that it began to sink in; I’m 10 weeks pregnant, what will this grief do to my developing child? The first trimester of a pregnancy is critical to a fetus, all of its organs and systems are forming; it’s a time that calls for intentional care, much rest, much water, a healthy diet, exercise...if you’ve ever experienced death before, you can see why I fell into my natural response to fear. Grief makes you sort of forget about all that; sleep doesn’t come easily, food seems unimportant, water is not on the mind, time stands still as the day-to-day goings on grow dim in the light of what you have lost. Not only does basic physical care and concern tend to fall to the wayside, but the crushing burden of grief takes its own physical and emotional toll that leaves you drained of strength to the point of exhaustion. But I know this verse is true; it is God who is creating this baby inside me, not me; it is God who can protect this developing child from the negative affects of sorrow, not me; and it has always been God who can carry my fears, not me. I am grateful for praying friends who let me set my burdensome fear for my 10-week-old unborn child onto their backs and willingly carried it for me as I grieved for my Noah and stumbled my way through the crushing blows of the week and a half that followed.

Friends, my fear was lifted by your strength and prayers, and it has not returned; I cannot thank you enough for carrying it for me to our Father when I was far too fragile to lift the added burden of its weight. May He overflow you with blessing for your care of me and the strength you have lent me.

So I continue to stand on Psalm 139 with confidence and cling to the comfort that has poured out of the verses onto my weathered soul. I believe with my whole heart in a good, faithful and sovereign God; a present and thoughtful Creator with a wisdom that far outweighs my own. While this time has been a strange juxtaposition of life and death, I am certain it has made my praises all the fuller as I bless the One who gives and who takes away.

"The truth is, we may never hear, 'I'm sorry.'"

The power of unspoken words
©8-25-12 Hannah McLean

There’s much talk of
the power of words,
be they soothing balm on piercing pain
or a tearing whip on a raw heart.
There is no doubt
that words hold the power
to release both life and death.

But what of
the power of words
that are left unspoken?
Of silence when a voice should be heard?
Or a piercing word that receives no reprimand?
Or a timely question left unanswered?
What of
the power of the words
we never hear?

There is no doubt
that words hold power,
but I think the ones that are never spoken
have a power all of their own.

"I have to bury my brother today."

I woke up in the morning
on the day we were to bury you
and realized I had nothing to wear
to your funeral.
So my morning started off with a teary
trip to the store
which is the least fun kind of shopping
a girl can do.
I numbly walked past racks and wondered,
“I have to bury my brother today...
how am I suppose to dress for that?”
But God has mercy on the grieving
and the first dress I tried on
I bought.

We drove to the funeral home--
my husband, my baby and me.
It was one of those trips that was filled
with those deep guttural sobs that catch in your throat
and leave you gasping for a breath.
It was a quiet trip,
punctured only by a grief that my body wouldn’t let escape
for fear of its affects.

We found ourselves greeted by a line of patriot guards;
they wrapped around the building
and guarded every door
like a leather-wearing, tattoo-bearing, flag-waving army of angels.
It was a moving sight.
I walked to the door alone,
but stopped short of entering
“I don’t want to go in.
That’s my brother in there.
I don’t want to go in.”
One of the guards hugged me
until I had mustered up the necessary courage.

I walked inside and up the stairs
feeling lost and fragile,
I imagine I looked as I felt;
like the slightest bump would have shattered me.
I didn’t really know how to greet people,
and was grateful when the service started.

We sang,
we cried,
we “alright”-ed,
we spoke,
we listened,
we said, “goodbye,”
we carried your coffin,
we survived.

Then we lined up in a processional
to escort you to the cemetery;
it was reminiscent of the tarmac caravan,
only much, much longer.

At the cemetery,
we found your fellow Airmen,
faithfully lined up,
standing tall in their dress blues to honor you.
We stopped our car and walked to
the freshly dug grave that was for you.
It was a large open hole,
the dirt to fill it with was piled atop
your brothers graves,
waiting.

The scene that we found was a bit unorganized,
but it all came together in typical Noah fashion.
Looking over the day,
the wrinkles that needed to be ironed out
were far better and full of purpose
than we could have planned.

When the vault was in the ground,
we sat in a line of chairs
alongside your coffin.
The honor guard carefully folded the flag
that was draped over you,
heart-wrenching fold
by heart-wrenching fold
until it was meticulously handed to a man
to present to our mama.

How do you hand a mother the flag
that laid atop her son’s casket?
What words do you say to bring her comfort
as you share in the moments of her grievous loss?
“On behalf of the president of the United States of America...”
Our mama’s hands accepted your flag,
even as they seemed to long to comfort
the one who placed it in them.

There was another flag for our papa.
What do you say to the man
whose son lay in the coffin on your left?
What words do you say to offer strength
to the father who had lost three and yet who "never had any extra kids?”
“On behalf of the president of the United States of America...”
Our papa’s hands accepted your flag,
even as they extended strength to
the one who placed it in them.

The honor guard behind us
stood ready with their rifles raised
in a three-volley salute.
>Bang<
My heart cringed
>Bang<
and my tears fell.
>Bang<
Then the woeful sound of a bugle
began to glide atop the air;
the peaceful proclamation of Taps
“Day is done, gone the sun
from the lakes, from the hills, from the sky...
as we go, this we know
God is nigh.”
After the scripture was read over your coffin,
your brothers-in-arms stepped forward
and took the honored task of lifting you up
to courageously carry you across unstable boards
and crumbing ground
to lower you into your grave.
It was no small thing they did for us,
I am certain none of them had placed a man
into a grave before
and I am certain none of them wish for the opportunity
to do it again.
One of them graciously left his hat with you.

And then the time was upon us
that our mama had told me would be as painful as
the labor it took to bring you into this world;
as we began to sing
“Now the moment has come when we must say farewell...”
one-by-one your siblings stood
and moved as those who’d taken on such a task
too many times before,
to pick up the shovels
that leaned against the linden tree
that sways majestically over our brothers’ graves.

The sound of the shovels
digging into the pile of dirt
joined the melodic voices,
and the harsh sounds of the dirt falling onto
the cement vault
hammered in the reality:
We were burying our brother today.

My shoes filled with dirt
as I carried the shovels full,
so I took them off.
As I stood in the dress I had bought that morning,
with my bare feet in the grass and dirt
beside your grave,
I offered you what was left of my strength, Noah,
and did my part to cover you.

Eventually the sorrow overflowed
and I fell into the nearby arms
of our sister
who absorbed my sobbing soul
with her own.

Others joined our efforts
as we buried you,
they offered their strength
where ours was stretched too thin.
And when the dirt had all been placed into
the freshly dug grave,
when the last note of the hymn faded,
when we had brushed the dirt from your brother's foot stones,
there was nothing left for us to do,
but turn around

and walk away.

“I have to bury my brother today.”
May those words never fall
from our lips again.

Though we cannot see you anymore beside us,
Noah David Muonio,
we will always see you fondly
in our minds-eye.

The coffin on the tarmac.

I sit down with my fingers poised above the keys
and wait for words to come.
But my mind swirls in circles
and I wonder,
how do I write about this moment...
this moment when the idea became the reality.

Wednesday, August 8, 2012, 7:29pm:
when the answer was presented in a
flag wrapped coffin on the tarmac.

We knew the plan for the day;
three cars could meet the Air Force Honor Guard at the airport
and caravan to the tarmac
to meet Noah’s body upon arrival...
a simple, straightforward plan.

So carefully following orders
we pulled into the airport fire station
at 6:30pm.
None of us was prepared for the silver hearse we saw
parked silently beside the Honor Guard’s van.
We passed out kleenex as we lined up
and waited for further instruction.
“Follow close,” they said
and we were off.
We carted across the stark runway that backed up to a beautiful sky,
one that had occasionally showered us with tears
as we had waited,
but that now lay open and lovely as it wrapped around us.
We eased our tense and dreaded anticipation
by amusing ourselves with the colors of our caravan:
silver car, silver hearse, silver van, light gold van, maroon van, blaze orange suburban...
Muonio style.
We went through a tunnel
and wound past luggage carriers
until we came to a stop beside
an open space where Noah’s plane
would park.
We got out and stood together beside our cars,
waiting hand-in-hand.

We saw the plane approaching,
it carefully pulled into its place
and was still.
I am sure there were noises around us,
but once they opened the small door at the bottom of the plane,
I didn’t hear them anymore.
We stood together,
silently,
with our breath caught inside our chests,
hands grasping the ones beside us tightly,
and our eyes locked on the little opening.
Floating on the air
sat the question we knew needed to be answered
but which we longed was just a terrible mistake:

“Is this really real?”

What would we do when the doubt met truth?
What would we feel when reality was revealed to us?
Would we stand or would we fall?
Could we bear the weight of what we were about to see?

And so we stood
together in our dread
without a word
or a breath among us.

Then it happened;
a man appeared,
and following him came the front of a flag-draped coffin
And the silence was broken
as a collective wail of pain rose
in a crescendoed chorus from our lips;
it cracked the air where the question rested
and shattered it,
even as our hearts fell to pieces.

Foot-by-foot we watched the coffin slide across the narrow opening
until we had seen the white stars, the blue,
and the length of the red stripes had disappeared on the other side.
It came back into view as they turned it
and carefully set it onto a belt
that slowly began to move,
presenting our new reality to us in full
as Noah’s body completed its journey from Ohio to Minnesota.

There it sat before us,
what had gone out standing
had returned in a flag-draped coffin that rested in a shallow wooden box.
My father and my brother stood in full salute
as the Honor Guard marched forward
for the noble task of carrying our Noah’s coffin
to the waiting hearse.
They faithfully did their duty,
in spite of the wooden box that fought back.
Sway by sway
the flag moved across the tarmac
and disappeared into the silver hearse.
The raised arm of my brother fell
as he crumbled in a heap
where we knelt with him,
partners in the heavy sorrow
he could not stand beneath.

We wept together,
as we had so many times already,
with a common understanding of
a deeper pain
and the even greater tasks that awaited us.
And as they called us to return to our cars,
we lifted each other up
and carried each other to the cars that would take us away.
Then the caravan of silver, gold, maroon and blaze orange
retraced the path we had come in on
until we had reentered the real world
that would never be the same.

And from our lips
fell yet again the words we’d marveled over
every time they were spoken:
“We survived that.”

fragments

the limits of a broken heart

©8-21-12 hannah mclean

my sentences are broken.

fragmented clusters of words

are all the heart can produce.

unable to put together 

an eloquent thought,

i write anyway

and let the shards fall where they may.

The heavy coffin that was ours to carry.

I woke up this morning thinking about
carrying your coffin.
There was a finality to the moment
we watched our parents close it.
My final words to you
had come out in a slightly panicked cry,
“Goodbye, my Noah Boa. Goodbye, my Noah Boa,”
as I clumsily brushed my hands across your chest
and kissed the top of your head one last time.

Your coffin was so heavy, Noah.
I don’t think it was because
it was made out of an element resistant
stainless steel
or that you were a full grown man.
I think it was because
my arms were ill-prepared
to carry it
and my muscles,
atrophied by sorrow,
had trouble lifting even myself.
As soon as I set my hands
on the metal bars,
lined up beside our brothers and sisters,
my heart crumbled.
Sobs burst out from the depth of me
as we lifted you,
pulsating through my body with each painful step.
We carried you to the hearse
which sat open before us
ready to bring your body to your final resting place.
Weeping,
our family’s cries accompanied you.
Together we bore the weight,
knowing we should never
have had to carry another coffin,
knowing we could never
have carried it alone.

Noah, the man.

One of the things that struck me the most was on day 5 of our Noah week, the day I looked into his coffin for the first time. My very first thought was, “He looks like a man.” I don’t know what I expected to see; maybe the big sister part of me expected the first response to be a lament over the face of the littleness of a boy I had cared for from birth (that came at other times), but instead, I felt a surge of pride as a big sister looked into her little brother’s face and knew that he had truly become a man.

When I mentioned that Noah looked like a man to my aunt, she said, “Is that a new thing?” Yes. It was a new thing. Joining the Air Force did that to Noah.

My favorite part about our day in Ohio (the Air Force flew our whole family out for a memorial service for him) was visiting the place where he worked. I know they went to great lengths to allow us the privilege of seeing what he did day-to-day and meeting the men and women he worked with, and I am so grateful they made that happen for us. He was involved in important work, work that not only impacted the people and place where he sat at his desk, but the United States as a whole. He worked with brilliant people and fit right in. He not only did what was required of him, but brought insight and information that was above and beyond, and stood out as a man of great potential who was (and would continue to grow in) having a huge impact.

As we talked to people he worked with, I was filled with gratitude that they saw him; Noah was always someone who was content with being invisible, and even in his place as tallest peak in the Muonio family mountain range, he would shrink back from drawing attention to himself (unless there was a statue nearby, in which case he would unhesitatingly pose with it). But at the Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, Noah didn’t hide. He stood with confidence and did his work to the best of his ability...and his abilities were great. He rose to the challenges placed before him, and as one who always sought to do his best, he was recognized, his giftings were nurtured and, as a result, he became the man he was made to be.

You know, I had always referred to Noah as my unlit firecracker, full of potential and waiting for the right spark to set him ablaze. It brought me much joy to know that while I never had the pleasure of seeing it, my firecracker’s wick was burning when he went to his grave.

The cross on the side of Ohio State Route 444

Dearest Noah,

Nathan made a cross for us to put in the place where you died.
 

I carried it for you...
from my house and through the airport
onto the plane and to Ohio
to the hotel and finally
to the place where you died.
It was an honor to carry your cross.
I wrote your name on it.
I wanted people to know
that it wasn’t just a bicyclist
who died there on Ohio State Route 444...
it was you:
Our brother, our son, our uncle, our friend
It was Noah David Muonio,
an incredible human being who we are deeply grieving the loss of.

I saw the place where you died, Noah.
I cried.
I saw the mark your tire made on the side of the road
I saw the place where you body landed
some 20 feet further.
I saw the position of your feet, carefully marked
with orange spray paint;
"RF"
"LF"
I saw the grass, discolored and matted down
where your body lay
alone on the side of the road,
the place where you took your last breath
and where,
in a piercing moment
we lost you.

It was healing to lay our hands
where your heart had been.
Every single one of us
longed to have been there
beside you
to hold your hand.
We reminded ourselves that
you were not alone.
You did not die alone
even though you died without us.

We love you.

We pounded in the cross
I carried for you
from my house and through the airport
onto the plane and to Ohio
to the hotel and finally
to the place where you died.
Your brothers faithfully
pounded it into the ground with a stone
that God had left there for us.
It is a small memorial
a simple, unpolished
cross of rough wood
written on with a sharpie...
you deserve much more.
But raw and present is what we could give you
and I know our efforts
would have pleased you.

We stood
and knelt
and held each other there.
We prayed, Noah
maybe you got to listen with the Lord
in heaven.
We gave the Lord our sorrow,
we asked Him to heal our broken hearts
and bind our wounds

because He is the healer.
We wept as we prayed blessing over the woman 

whose car took your life,
we asked Him for the greatest blessing
we could...
salvation and an eternity with Him
because “God SO loved the world
that He gave His only Son”
and whoever believes in Him
will not perish
but have eternal life.

We prayed over the breadth of our emotions

and all that was to come.
We prayed that God would help
us make the daily choice to say,
“Blessed be the Lord,
Who gives and
Who takes away.”

And then we sang a song
for you
“It’s one of those times when I really miss you...”
Our voices stumbled
through sliding octaves and warbling notes
but still we sang
because you loved to sing
and so do we.

When it was determined that
“In this earthly realm, some of us need to pee,”
We left our tears and blood
on the side of the road
and climbed back into
our caravan of government vans
and left behind
the orange paint,
the wooden cross,
the mark of your body,
and the details we will never know.

While it is true that
for now,
we have lost you
it is for forever that,
we will love you, Noah David Muonio.

A choice to bless.

I woke up this morning after a good night’s sleep. I hadn’t had one of those at all last week. I felt strange when I woke up, like I didn’t know what it was suppose to be like to be alive anymore. I listened to two songs as I sat very still on the couch; one of them had been posted on a friend’s facebook page, and the other my sister had read the lyrics to at my brother Noah's funeral yesterday. And then I went to church.

God knew I was coming. As I sat through several songs of worship, my heart was weighted down by loss, and then the songs I had sung this morning started flowing from the worship leaders mouths...and then all around me others joined in until I sat amid God's people who had joined in the songs on my heart.
First they sang "Blessed Be Your Name":
“Blessed be Your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name
Every blessing You pour out
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
STILL I will say
Blessed be the name of the Lord
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord, blessed be Your name”

It is important that you do not overlook the word “choose” in this song. For some reason, it seems of profound importance that I have made the choice to say in this time of remarkable loss and sorrow, “Blessed by Your name, Lord.” He is not forcing me to praise Him in my pain, or exalt Him in my weeping; I have chosen to praise Him in the giving and in the taking away because I believe Him to be deserving of all worship, no matter the circumstances. So today as the Lord offered to me this song, I laid at His feet an offering of praise and blessing as I looked down the road before me, fully aware of my wounded heart and soul.

And then they sang "10,000 Blessings":
“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
Bless the Lord, O my soul
O my soul, Worship His holy name
Sing like never before, O my soul
I'll worship Your holy name”

I think of the psalmists who speak instruction to themselves in their places of darkness, who ask themselves blunt questions like, “Why are you downcast, o my soul?! And WHY are you disquieted within me?” and give themselves blunt answers to their doubt, fear, pain or displeasure (ie “HOPE IN GOD!”). I might have no idea what life should look like, and I may stand or sit at times as though I am completely lost, but for now I will simply give my soul instructions as to what is right: "Soul," I say, “Bless the Lord. Worship His name. Sing as you have never been able to sing before.”

Thoughts of a grieving woman:

I lost my little brother, Noah David Muonio (aka Noah Boa).

I am grateful that he let me call him my Noah Boa...I think potty training someone gives you the privilege of calling them whatever you like, right? Maybe he agreed. :)

I miss him.

I love him.

He was so kind, so very kind. He was gentle and unassuming and a selfless servant. His quiet manner and pleasant presence had behind it a bundle of potential that I was so excited to see unveiled.

I used to call him a firecracker that was not yet lit...but that, when the right fire touched the wick, would light up this world and take away the breath of those of us who had the privilege of watching his life unfold.

But I don’t get to see this.

He’s gone.

Planning your brother’s funeral is a strange thing.

The grieving process in general is strange. We have traditions for death and grief. I didn’t realize that was unusual until my sister-in-law Jess said to me, “I hate that you guys have traditions for funerals...I can understand weddings or graduations, but no one should have to have traditions for deaths.”

We really have lost a lot. As a family we are seasoned grievers together.

Every once in a while I look at us and think, “And then there were 9.” How did we get down to the single digits? We’ve always been the family with the dozen kids.

As a family, I feel like God has really taught us how to hold His blessings in loose hands. He gives and takes away and blessed be His name. I am grateful that we got to have Noah for the short time that he was here. He is our brother, a part of our family...we got to have him. He was our gift. Lucky us. :)

I’m dreading Wednesday.

Wednesday we are going to meet his body at the airport. An honor guard from the Air Force will be accompanying him. Wednesday we are going to be confronted with Noah’s death head on. We are going to look into a coffin and see his lifeless body; and every strand of “this isn’t real” is going to be torn down and we are going to know that this is real and undeniable. And I don’t know how I will be able to stand.

But more than my own confrontation, I am going to look upon my family confronting this reality. I am going to have to watch their hearts break in front of me all over again, I am going to have to hear and see them weep. And I can’t do anything about it; I can’t take away their pain or carry their grief; I can’t mend their broken hearts or lift up their crushed spirits...all I will be able to do is hug them and weep with them and love them and our tears are just going to flood the place.

I’m dreading Wednesday.

But will that be harder than Saturday?

Saturday I am going to bury my brother. We are going to honor him at his funeral and carry him to his grave. Then we are going to bury him and walk away from a pile of dirt.

And I won’t get to see him again this side of eternity.

And I miss him.

Pondering the joy of a Prayer.

I love to pray. I have discovered that while it is not uncommon to meet people who pray, it is a rare pleasure to encounter another who truly loves to pray; whose heart rejoices at the idea and delights in the privilege of speaking with the Lord. I once had someone say to me, “I wonder what the rest of us are missing?” And I thought I would attempt to write a little bit about what prayer has looked like in my life...not that I know the answer to the question, but maybe I could give a glimpse into my oddity.

Growing up, I remember two things about prayer being emphasized:
1) The Lord’s prayer was sufficient and it was prideful to think I needed to pray anything above or beyond those words, and
2) Matthew 6:6 was taught repeatedly when the topic of prayer arose, “But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly.” In other words, you talk to God alone and quietly.
Don’t get me wrong, I was told TO pray. But my experience with prayer growing up was limited to the prewritten prayers in the back of our hymnal that were read every Sunday.

The main reason I left my childhood church was because I knew there was more than what I was being taught (not just surrounding prayer). I found that as I sought the Lord alone, reading my Bible and seeking His face, I was overwhelmed with a joy and hunger that left me thinking, “What am I doing wrong? A Christian walk is a sobering and serious thing, what is this joy and life I feel?” But I knew it was real, I wasn’t the one creating it in me; and when I met a person whose eyes and life resonated with the joy and hope I felt, my heart leapt that the Lord had opened the door into the “more” I knew existed...and I ran through it.

My first encounter with prayer when I entered into this new and exciting chapter of my walk with the Lord came when I joined a small group of women for a bible study. On my very first visit, they went around the circle and asked for prayer requests. This surprised me, and I remember marveling that these women who didn’t even know me wanted to pray for me. And then God sort of just tossed me into the deep end; the women split up in pairs to pray together. I had never prayed out loud before and I had never prayed WITH anyone before...and yet, I didn’t run away. The Spirit tugged at my heart and I knew that while I didn’t know HOW to pray, I just wanted to do it. I wanted to be a part of this marvelous thing called prayer, and so with both feet, I leapt into the waters of prayer and never looked back.

I see the invitation to pray as possibly the sweetest extension of love in the bible (second only to salvation in Christ). God Himself, perfect and holy and mighty and majestic, has asked us to sit with Him and commune with Him; He has extended His ear and the pleasure of being heard by the Creator God; He has invited us to approach Him with boldness and in an unceasing fashion...how can we resist such a marvelous hand reaching out to us?

To me, prayer is as close to the relationship between God and man as we see in the Garden of Eden that we can experience this side of eternity; where God and man walked and talked side-by-side, and where humanity was “naked and unashamed” in the presence of the Lord. Let me try to explain this: To me there is great freedom in prayer. Psalm 139 states just how thoroughly God knows me as it speaks of God knowing all of my days before i even existed, how He knit me together in my mother’s womb, how He is with me no matter where I go, how He knows my thoughts and words even before I speak. To me this reality of being so fully known brings about great freedom in my prayer life. It was only after the fall into sin that man and woman hid themselves...we were not made to be hidden from the eyes of the Lord; and for me, prayer is me simply walking and talking with God...raw and unhidden and utterly free. He knows everything about me--my failures, my triumphs, the deepest longings of my heart--and He wants to be with me anyway. For a girl who grew up feeling as though I was always on the outside of relationships looking in, this knowledge that God has invited me into a relationship with Him--not out of convenience, pity or obligation, but out of love and desire for me--is almost too overwhelmingly sweet. I get to be with Him...and in prayer, I get to talk with Him and hear from Him.

Earlier this year i had the urge to write down a few of my favorite verses on prayer; verses that fuel, encourage and uplift my spirit right into the throne room of God. I shared a few with my life group and they probably thought I was a little loopy as I giggled my way through the loveliness of God’s invitation and promises. But the appearance of loopiness is not enough to stop me from sharing several of these life-changing verses with you:

Lamentations 2:19: “Pour out your heart like water before the presence of the Lord”
Unfiltered, raw, real...God knows the reality of my heart (with it doubts, fears or faith); and brother and sisters, I truly believe that it is honoring to God to trust Him with our mess. Poured out in His presence, could there be a sweeter way to live?

Hebrews 4:16: “Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”
What I love about this verse is the boldness that should accompany our need. I often hear people talk about “God helping those who help themselves” (which totally removes God from the picture, by the way) and think of this verse. No, God knows our every need and tells us to boldly approach His throne and find in Him all we need to help us. Boldly seeking grace and mercy. Yes, let us, a desperately needy people, boldly seek grace and mercy at the foot of His throne.

Daniel 9:18: “O my God, incline your ear and hear. Open your eyes and see our desolations, and the city that is called by your name. For we do not present our pleas before you because of our righteousness, but because of your great mercy.”
The book of Daniel bowls me over, it will teach you so much about a correctly positioned prayer and what true confidence in the character of God looks like. It is totally worth your time if ever you will stop to wring it out. These words melt me as Daniel pleads with God for vividly undeserved mercy for a rebellious people, not one ounce of his prayer banks of the merit of man but instead on the great measure of the mercy of God and the faithfulness of His character. You must read Daniel’s prayer in chapter 9. Knowing the character of God makes all the difference in a prayer life, the Bible is where God tells you who He is, what He is like and His promises to you. I cannot tell you enough how utterly important it is to read and know the revealed word of God.

1 Samuel 12:23a: “Moreover, as for me, far be it from me that I should sin against the LORD by ceasing to pray for you.”
God wants me to pray for others, and He desires it to such an extent that it is as sin to me to neglect such a call. Prayer is a way to intentionally seek the good of another, and the fact that God calls us to bring others before His throne should bring us to our knees to lift them up.

Jeremiah 33:3: “Call to Me, and I will answer you, and show you great and mighty things, which you do not know.”
Oh, such lovely words. He will answer my call and He will show me great and wonderful things; sometimes He directs me through His word or reveals His truths in visions or comforts my heart through a song or speaks a word into my heart or lays out His purposes through my pen...But whatever way He chooses to reveal Himself, He never fails to share with me depths of the greatness and the wonder of Him that I have not known. Prayer brings about revelation of the heart of God that we would be hard-pressed to discover any other way. I desperately desire to know His heart, and so, I pray.

There are more verses, if you want to hear them, ask. I realize that words and time are far too limited to adequately describe my thoughts on prayer, but if this would encourage your voice to be heard in heaven or your ears to open to the voice of God, I am grateful to have taken the opportunity to share even this small amount.

The bottom line is this: God has extended to you and to me an invitation to enter His presence, to be heard by Him and to hear from Him...and there is deep joy (and yes, deep sorrow...my forehead wrinkles are actually prayer lines) that awaits you in stepping into His Almighty presence and resting at His feet.

the Spirit's whispers

Today I sat in a coffee shop with the Lord and my journal, and as I poured my heart out before Him through my pen, I found this: I have definitely been threatened by doubt lately. Why doubt? Childlike faith has always been my mark--simply taking God at His word--how could I doubt? How could I, with the life I have lived and the vibrancy of God’s hand though it, doubt? Then I looked as a group at the verses that the Lord had given me over the last several weeks, that I had somehow feebly written down in the dryness of my days, and tears streamed down my face as I saw the verses He had been whispering in my ear:

Psalm 119:14: In the way of Your testimonies I delight as much as in all riches.
 

Psalm 139:17-18: How precious to me are Your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them! If I would count them, they are more than the sand. I awake, and I am still with You.
 

Ephesians 5:14b: “Awake, o sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.”
 

2 Corinthians 1:20: For all the promises of God find their Yes in Him. That is why it is through Him that we utter our Amen to God for His glory.

binding doubt with Truth
©7-29-12 hannah mclean

such kindness
You who suffers long
pours on me.
when drying doubt
rests upon the stagnant air
of this deserted wilderness
choking out the breath
that is in me,
You whisper,
“rise, o sleeper,
awake to find
I am still with you.”

wicked doubt,
i bind you in
my Savior’s name
and cast you out.
i silence your goading voice
that grates upon my
childlike faith,
and deafen you with
testimony of the One
in whom my faith abides.
no matter where i go
He never leaves,
or where i fall
He never forsakes,
and though i fail
as many times as sands at sea
He is faithful
and innumerable are His thoughts
toward me.

oh You in whom
all promises are “yes”
i thank You for
Your rest.
You who have not withheld
Your only Son
blessed are You,
Father of mercy
Son of love
Spirit of hope.
firm in faith
i will stand in You
as one.

He has given me His best.

Today I was having a hard time fixing my heart on the Lord and in my Spirit felt that I needed to hear testimony of God’s goodness and work from the lips of another who walks with Him. I remembered that a friend had posted a link on facebook, so I watched it; it was a testimony from a man named Steve Saint, who has suffered a spinal cord injury that left him completely dependent on others for the most basic things in life. He spoke of his new position and the beauty of what he was learning from it, and in the video, he read this poem:

The Thorn by Martha Snell Nicholson 

I stood a mendicant of God before His throne
And begged Him for one priceless gift, which I could call my own.
I took the gift from out His hand, but as I would depart
I cried, “But Lord, this is a thorn and it has pierced my heart.
This is a strange, a hurtful gift, which Thou hast given me.”
He said, “My child, I give good gifts and gave My best to thee.”
I took it home and though at first the cruel thorn hurt sore,
As long years passed I learned at last to love it more and more.
I learned He never gives a thorn without this added grace,
He takes the thorn to pin aside the veil which hides His face.

I wish I could explain to you how thoroughly this melted my hard heart. For the last year-and-a-half since the birth of my daughter, I have really wrestled with God about my health. While I have never been “healthy,” the last 18 months have been particularly painful as I have regressed in nearly every area where I had--over 10 years of work, prayer and intentional care--previously stabilized.

It’s strange really, my journey with my physical health. God has used it in so many ways that it could easily make my head spin in attempts to list all of the invaluable lessons I have learned from my position of weakness. Poor health is the tool God used to bring my to Himself; it is the thing that has most vividly revealed my dependence on Him and the reality of my lack of control over even the smallest detail of my life; and while it has been a source of deepest pain in my life, it has also brought about the deepest gratitude. I have known physical strength from His hand, peace that surpasses understanding during distress, and the freedom of accepting my weakness as He has literally held me together. I have heard Him in the silence of being unable to speak, I have leaned on Him in the weakness of being unable to stand, and I have seen Him in the small details of day-to-day life that I would have otherwise overlooked. Today, as I sit in this current wave of physical chaos, weary from my wrestling and deafened by my whining, I am finally willing to just be still and silent before God...and even as I do, I have to marvel at the abundance of my life over the last 18 months, He has truly poured Himself out on me and for me in ways I have never before known.

I think what struck me the most in this poem is the line that says, “My child, I give good gifts and gave My best to thee.” After all of these years of walking with the Lord, how can I still be so blind to the truth of the Giver of all good gifts? He has given me His best.
It is not that I have just made the best of what I've been given, it is that He has given me His best. He has not withheld the ease of good health from me because I don’t deserve it (which frankly, I don’t), He has given me something better; His best.
“I learned He never gives a thorn without this added grace, He takes the thorn to pin aside the veil which hides His face.”
The greatest gift God can give me is the joy of seeing His face. As I write this, I think of the psalm that has so potently fueled my prayers for the last three years, Psalm 27, “ONE THING have I asked of the Lord and that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to inquire in His temple.” To know Him more, to see His face, to fix my eyes on Him, to fill myself with the glory of His presence, to simply abide with Him and converse with Him, to hear from Him and never leave His side. If it is this thorn I have needed to pin back the veil, revealing His face, I praise Him for it and overflow with gratitude that He loves me enough to give me His very best.

I know Your mercies
come every morning
and I wake each day
with open hands
desperate for
the daily bread that sustains me

You never fail me
faithfulness springs up from the ground
as righteousness looks down from the sky

longing for a glimpse of Your face

“please show me Your glory!”
©6-2-12 hannah mclean
exodus 33:18

i want to stand in the place
where heaven touches earth
to be engulfed in the collision
and caught up in the vision
of the place You have prepared
for me
and all that now awaits me
on the other side

i want to stand in the place
where heaven touches earth
emboldened by my faith becoming sight
and darkness knowing light
You’ve told us one day we will see
Your face
i long with moses for a glimpse
of what i live for

it’s at the cross
i know
where heaven opens
wide its gates
may i wait
may i wait
may i wait
until You come
seeking till i
praying till i
hoping till i
wrap myself around You
in the place where
heaven and earth collide

An experiment in Lordship

For the season of Lent, our church collectively went through (as an individual or a LIFE Group) our choice of 1 of 6 experiments. We didn't necessarily take something away (as is typical of Lent), but more likely added something to our day-to-day walk with the Lord with the desire to become more like the Christ we worship. The experiments spanned a wide spectrum from "Abiding" to "Community" to "Giving." Below is the testimony I had the blessing to share with the church yesterday of how I was changed by my time with the Lord over the Lenten Season.

The experiment that our life group went through was one of Lordship. This was an important experiment for me to embark on because I find that it is necessary to realign myself again and again in my walk with the Lord to His will and resubmit to His authority over ALL of me.

So I came before the Lord with the question: What area of my life am I not giving you lordship over, and what do You wish for me to change that would have lasting and eternal effects on my life for my good and Your glory?

What God showed me was this: I am an incredibly self-centered person. This translates into the smallest details of my life as I am constantly aware of the most minute inconvenience to the flow of my days. Me me me...And since the whole point of the experiments is to seek to become more like Christ, I was totally humbled by how contrary to this He is. Christ gave ALL of Himself, leaving behind the pleasures of Heaven even to death, for His enemies, for the glory of the FATHER.

I ventured into this experiment with this revelation: In my self-centered world I am pretty much just gross, but there is joy in the opportunity to grow in likeness to Christ, and to therefore become something lovely.

The answer to my question of “What do you want from me?” was this direction:
Pray, praise and write.
Every day I asked the Lord, “Who do You want me to pray for?” I began my prayer with praise, looking intently at the person God placed on my heart and acknowledging His work in them, His care for them, His love and attentive heart to their every need and pouring out praise to our faithful God for them and for His care. Then I brought before Him the needs He placed on my heart on their behalf. And finally, I wrote them a letter of encouragement.

This had a profound impact on me.

As I considered what I would tell you about this, I realized the privilege God gave me through this experiment of putting others before myself, loving others as Christ loves, and not wasting the gifts He’s given me when they were intended to build up those around me...God gave me the opportunity to observe for a moment through His eyes His love and care for His own. The reality is, if you got a letter from me during Lent, it wasn’t because I am loving and was thinking of you...It was because God is loving and HE was thinking of you, and when I was willing to let Him be Lord over me, He gave me the privilege of being a conduit of His affection.

It really is an incredible thing to observe God’s heart for those He loves, to take the time to stop and tune our eyes to see His hand’s faithful, precise and subtle movements on our behalf.

Another thing that struck me during this experiment was the freedom from guilt or burden. Even in the face of failure, I never once felt like a failure, instead I found the layers of my selfishness accompanied by gentle guidance that equipped me to fight for selfless, Christ-centered living.

I only have time to share one quick example with you: Sometimes my husband works very early hours, and I always get up to make him breakfast so he can go to work with a full stomach...it’s something small I can do to help him begin the day well. I actually enjoy doing this, feeding people is one of my love languages. But I wake up earlier than him to prepare, and often times end up waiting for him to make it down to the table 5 minutes or so before he has to leave. One morning, I found myself frustrated by this again. While my attitude had begun in a pure place of joyful servitude, it landed in a grumbling heap of “I got up early to cook for him, the LEAST he could do is come eat the food I made for him while it’s still warm...” But this particular morning as this played out, I felt the Spirit gently nudge my heart with “Hey, that’s all about you, tell Me, what are you thankful for?” And so instead of wallowing in my complaints, I started to consider my very tired husband and began to thank the Lord for him and the things he does, I thanked Him that Nathan faithfully gets up every day and perseveres through his inhumane residency, that he sacrifices his time, his social life, his health, his energies to work hard and provide; I thanked Him that He gave me a husband who not only lets me stay home and take care of Myla, but values that I do; and as I kept listing off the things I was grateful for, my heart changed. When Nathan came downstairs, the Spirit said, “Now tell him what you just told me.” It is immense grace that the Lord would take my grumbling heart and not only softened it with a spirit of thanksgiving (which is a powerful weapon of spiritual warfare we’ve been given), but turned the situation into an opportunity to encourage and thank my faithful husband.

This Lenten season, I let Him be Lord of my eyes, and the results were firstly, the praise, honor and magnification of Jesus, who loves with perfection, for things I would have overlooked and through means I would have otherwise wasted; secondly, the encouragement of at least 35 people other than me (that’s how many letters I sent); and thirdly, what is hopefully an eternally changed woman who is looking at Christ and continually seeking to love others through His eyes and with the gifts He has given.

1 Corinthians 13:1–8a "If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing. Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends."

Serving and receiving

John 13:4-17  [Jesus] rose from supper and laid aside His garments, took a towel and girded Himself. After that, He poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet, and to wipe them with the towel with which He was girded. 

Then He came to Simon Peter.
And Peter said to Him, “Lord, are You washing my feet?”
 

Jesus answered and said to him, “What I am doing you do not understand now, but you will know after this.”
 

Peter said to Him, “You shall never wash my feet!”
 

Jesus answered him, “If I do not wash you, you have no part with Me.”
 

Simon Peter said to Him, “Lord, not my feet only, but also my hands and my head!”
 

Jesus said to him, “He who is bathed needs only to wash his feet, but is completely clean; and you are clean, but not all of you.” For He knew who would betray Him; therefore He said, “You are not all clean.”
 

So when He had washed their feet, taken His garments, and sat down again, He said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you? You call Me Teacher and Lord, and you say well, for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have given you an example, that you should do as I have done to you. Most assuredly, I say to you, a servant is not greater than his master; nor is he who is sent greater than he who sent him. If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them.”
-----

Today as I was thinking about service, this passage came to mind. I have heard this passage preached on many times, most often in the context of humble service, even as Jesus took on the lowliest of servant task and knelt to wash the filth of the day that had gathered on His disciples feet. But today as I looked at this passage, I found myself instead looking at Peter.

Peter would have run to the ends of the earth for Jesus; he did things like jump over the side of a boat and walk on water to get to Him, follow Him into enemy territory after He was taken from the Garden of Gethsemane just to keep Him in his sight, and even die on a cross, upside-down, for his faith because he wanted to be with Him for eternity. There is no doubt that Peter loved Jesus. Nor is there any doubt that Peter counted Jesus as his master and Lord; he left all things to follow Him (Mark 10:28), he was the first of the disciples to acknowledge that He was the Christ (Mark 8:29), and he counted it a joy to endure all things for His sake (Acts 5:41). There is no doubt that Peter counted Jesus as his Savior and His God.

Maybe that is why there was such horror in Peter’s response to Christ’s action of service? Peter must have been sitting there, watching Jesus get closer and closer to him, realizing that HE should have been washing the feet of JESUS, not the other way around, wishing his feet weren’t so desperately in need of a good scrubbing...that by the time Jesus knelt before him, he burst out with something along the lines, “What do you think you’re doing?! There is no way that I’m going to be the one who muddies Your hands, You cannot touch my filth.”

But Jesus didn’t praise Peter for his “humble” response. Instead, He stated quite bluntly, “If you won’t receive My service, you can’t receive Me.”

We can’t forget this passage is about the example of humility through the display of Christ and His disciples. Jesus served and the disciples received, and they were instructed to do so to one another. If we did things Peter’s way, there would be neither the opportunity to be a humble servant, nor the opportunity to receive service with humility. Christ was teaching both through His example.

Do you recognize Peter? Why is it that so many of us, though willing to stretch ourselves to our greatest limits and inconveniences to bless another, find it so difficult to allow another to serve us?

Several years before I was married, the Lord really shook up my independent spirit. I had taken on the mentality that I could take care of myself from a young age, and had proven my competency (at least in the most basic sense) in doing so. I got a job when I was 15, I learned how to fix my own car, I worked my way through college, I got my own place and paid my own bills, etc. And then one day, the Lord pressed on me my need for move out of my own place and into a house with roommates...and in the years that followed, I learned many things, including how to be served. Setting aside my independence--whether or not I could “wash my own feet” wasn’t the point--to allow another to experience the joy of service, to not steal away another’s opportunity to exercise and grow in their personal gifting, to get a glimpse of the Body of Christ building itself up in love. The Spirit showed me the lies that made me jump back in horror as Peter did at the hands that reached out to me, and to stand in the Truth of Christ living in those around me as they ministered to my needs. I learned how to say, “Yes and thank you.” without fear of being a burden, and grew to deeply appreciate the times I myself got to hear, “Yes and thank you,” from the lips of another.

I truly believe that until you learn how to receive, you cannot serve as Christ exemplified. Jesus’ first step in teaching His disciples about serving was to have them receive His act of service, and from there, He said to serve one another with humility.

I would like to challenge and encourage you, brothers and sisters, to consider your thinking when someone offers to serve you...are you bombarded by worry and anxiety that you are an inconvenience or burden? That is from the enemy, Jesus gives you the freedom to receive service. Do you recoil at the thought because you are too proud to allow another to see your vulnerabilities? This is from the enemy, Jesus gives you the freedom to bare your filthy feet. What are the thoughts that enter in when looking down into the eyes of someone with a basin of water? Should you not feel joy that another would seek to put you before themselves? Should you not feel gratitude that Jesus uses His people to be His hands and feet, and He wishes to minister to you? Should your spirit not be uplifted and strengthened that another would seek to help you shoulder your burden?

If we want to be a part of Christ’s Body, we must learn to not only humbly serve others, but receive with humility the service of another.

my love is like the morning dew

Hosea 6:4 “What shall I do with you, O Ephraim?
 What shall I do with you, O Judah?
 Your love is like a morning cloud,
 like the dew that goes early away.” 

when i am Hosea 6:4
©4-26-12 hannah mclean

Oh Holy Eyes
that look on me
lamenting and sorrowing,
what is this flimsy love i offer
in claims of devotion?
Worthy Father,
i bend so easily
in the sway of daily life
quickly taken from
my place before You
to the nothingness
that abounds behind me.
why does my head
so effortlessly turn
and my back
so naturally follow?
i find myself
looking up to find
darkness
where only a moment before
Light had boldly shined.

i praise You
that though i cause You
sorrow
You always carry me back.
that though my frail
excuse for worship
fails to do You justice,
You hold out Your hand.
You breathe in my
fumbling prayers
as though they were
the sweetest of incense
or the loveliest aroma.

and Your answer
to the question You ponder
is to pour on me
a perfect Love
that redeems my own.

Jeremiah 31:3 "The LORD appeared to him from far away. 'I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have continued my faithfulness to you.'"

His words to me.

acceptable
©3-18-12 hannah mclean

“I receive you.
I receive your worship, your prayers, your offerings, your sacrifice.
I receive your life and all that you present to Me
on open palms.

I receive you
when you return after wandering
when you humble yourself after questioning
when you submit yourself after controlling
when you lay yourself down after leading.

I receive your burdens, your fears, your suffering.
I receive your hopes, your desires, your longings.
I receive your past, your present, your future.

I receive you
when you are wounded
when you wound.

I receive you
when you are confused, ashamed, helpless
when you are weak, worried, waning.

I receive you
because you are Mine.
I have chosen you
I have accepted you
I have promised you
you are Mine.

I take you are you are.

I see you as you will be.

I love you now and forever.”

it is not the robe that makes the King

John 19:2-3a And the soldiers twisted together a crown of thorns and put it on His head and arrayed Him in a purple robe. They came up to Him saying, “Hail, King of the Jews.”

a robe of purple
©3-18-12 hannah mclean

though men arrayed Him in a purple robe
with the purpose to debase
and not to exalt
it is not the robe that makes the King

and though men “hailed” in mockery
and stripped the robe from off His back
discarding it in a blood stained heap
of purple finery
the removal of man’s robe does not mean
a forfeited throne

Royalty remains
and forever is His reign

what i am certain of

forever it will be Jesus
©2-28-12 hannah mclean

there is certainty
finality
for eternity

there is hope that
does not disappoint
and truth
on which to stand

there is victory
and majesty
a faithful hand

no shame
it will not fail you
no, this Name
it will not
it will not
fail

i stand upon the Rock
singular
yet three
complete and
forever
revealed and
revealing
mercifully transforming
graciously upholding
meticulously molding

of greatest price
worthy of
all
i cannot withhold
i cannot withhold
i fall
i fall
i fall

trembling at
Your feet
You lift me
strengthening
my knees
You take the
burdens from my hands
that I may
raise in praise
and swaying stay
as worship
flows
within this heart You’ve moved
i dance
i dance
redeemed and free
i believe
i hear
in faith
i see
You live in me
You live
in me

Jesus
Jesus
forever it will be
Jesus

Mercy comes.

Always merciful
©1-25-12 Hannah McLean

In life we find
both hills and vales
Our feet on ground
of fleece or nails
Sometimes we wave
sometimes we cling
Our hearts both weep
and also sing
You know the place
our feet must trod
You know all things
for You are God
And all the hours
on our knees
You see and
answer faithfully
You’ll lead us ‘round or
carry us through
For mercy always
flows from You

I cast myself upon His Mercy

I cast myself upon His Mercy
©1-8-12 Hannah McLean

Oh cumbersome thoughts of today
and memories of time past
Oh burdensome worries for tomorrow
and fears too weighty to be carried
Oh troublesome companions of this life
and enemies that seek opportunity
you would conquer this weary soul
and crush this fainting spirit to dust

But
I cast myself upon His Mercy
He is enough

“Stand up,” He says
“Stand up in Jesus.”
His mighty hand can
reach down to the depths of me
that I may rise in entirety

Oh whom shall I fear
when Grace has made a way
that I may stand in the presence of
the One with power over my forever

Set free that I may worship
serve
rejoice

Covered in the blood of the Lamb
ashes wash away
for a beautiful headdress
and a garment of praise
adorned by the One who saves

“You are Mine.”
He says

“Thank You for having me.”
is my reply
as tears spill
upon His feet