Hope

A different kind of grief

/ Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

“19 years on the 19th”. That phrase has been echoing in my mind for the past several weeks as yet another anniversary of my husband’s sudden death approached. Shortly after lunch 19 years ago today I told Ray goodbye for the last time . . .

In 1997 the 19th fell on a Saturday. It was a beautiful, warm day, much like today. Life was proceeding normally – Ray left for his job at The Home Depot, I and my young daughters (ages 10 and 7 at the time) went shopping for summer attire. Mary, Jessie and I returned home around 7pm. We weren’t in the house 10 minutes when the phone rang. Chris, a patient care specialist from Kennestone Hospital was calling to tell me Ray had been brought to the emergency room from work and I needed to get there as soon as possible. No other details. It wasn’t until we were in a private room at the hospital that I got the devastating, life-changing news.

After a few questions about Ray’s health, Chris said a doctor would be in to talk to me. I pleaded, “Can’t you at least tell me if he’s alive?” For a moment she just looked at me. I asked more urgently, “Is he alive?” And then came the awful reply, “No, honey, he isn’t.” That scene, her words and the gasp of disbelief that simultaneously escaped me and my little girls will be forever etched in my mind.

But oh how God has comforted, upheld and sustained us across all the years since that fateful night. Over and over again He’s proved himself as a protector of this widow and a Father to my fatherless girls. [1]

Our pastor recently began a sermon series on Philippians. The past two weeks he’s reminded us that Biblically-based joy is not dependent on circumstances. It’s grounded in the assurances of God regarding the past, present and future found in His Word. Our faith won’t exempt us from hardship. Believers will face trials and troubles of various kinds. Jesus told us as much, but He didn’t stop there. He encouraged us to take heart because He’s overcome the world. [2]

We know the end of the story. Even now He’s preparing a place for us.[3] So we grieve, but not as those who have no hope. [4] There will be times when we’re hurt and disappointed, times when we may cry out, “Why, Lord?”, but we won’t be alone for He’s promised to never leave us.[5] In our humanity we’ll experience a full range of emotions associated with the events of our lives – Jesus, fully man, wept over Lazarus’ death even though being fully God, He knew He’d raise him – yet the Truth will allow us to not be controlled by our feelings.

Soon after hearing Chris’s answer, it was as if a giant door slammed shut in my mind. Looking back, I realize I couldn’t have taken in the enormity of it all at one time without crumbling. Instead, the Lord provided a protective, albeit primarily subconscious, bubble of denial and disbelief. It allowed the reality of Ray’s death to drip into my soul bit by bit over weeks and months as I was ready to accept it. In the days immediately after, I was in a state of shock, yet the Lord enabled me to make difficult decisions regarding the visitation, service and Ray’s final resting place. Most amazing, He gave me the strength to speak for a few minutes at the end of his funeral. I’ll close this post with the sentiments I expressed when concluding my remarks that day.

None of us knows when the last goodbye will be said. Keep current in your relationships. Tell your family you love them. Thank your friends. Hug people who are dear to you. Let them know you care. And let us leave today rejoicing because we know Ray is in the presence of God. I believe he’s planting flowers right now and I look forward to joining him in God’s garden one day.

055

 

[1] Psalm 68:5

[2] John 16:33

[3] John 14:2-3

[4] 1 Thessalonians 4:13

[5] Deuteronomy 31:6, 8

Family matters

/ Patsy Kuipers / 4 Comments

Week before last, a friend from church and I made similar journeys. She and her husband drove to Texas with their two small sons while my daughters and I flew to South Dakota. We were traveling to be with our extended families – she to say goodbye to a much-loved grandmother; me to help lay to rest a cherished brother-in-law. Back in our home state of Georgia last Tuesday, we hugged and tearfully shared details of our bittersweet treks. We affirmed to each other the assurance our loved ones are safely Home and agreed the tears we shed weren’t for them, but for ourselves, the ones temporarily left behind.

And then my friend said something that resonated with me just as deeply: “When I’m with my family, I remember who I really am.” Yes! The world uses myriad criteria to judge us, each with an implied worth – income, education, appearance, occupation, and so many more. But in my family I’m valued simply because I’m one of them. I belong. Not that we don’t encourage each other to do our best and celebrate our successes, but they aren’t the cost of entry. And our calamities, even when self-induced, aren’t reason for dismissal. I’m thankful for the unconditional love I’ve experienced in my family of origin. I’m equally blessed to have married into a family whose members are there for each other. They accepted me into their fold when Ray first introduced me to them over 30 years ago and have welcomed me ever since.

As I listened to the prayers that punctuated many of our gatherings while we were in South Dakota, I was reminded of the heritage of faith undergirding my daughters and grandchildren. There are generations of faithful believers on both sides of our family, many now part of the great cloud of witnesses. Because of the boundless love the Father has lavished upon us in sending his Son, we’re part of his forever family – chosen, unconditionally accepted, destined for another Home. No matter how the world chooses to judge us, when we’re in the presence of our Father, we remember who we really are.

Fixing our eyes

/ Patsy Kuipers / 2 Comments

A while back, a friend asked if I’d ever heard the adage, “Heaven may be my home, but I’m not homesick yet.” No, somehow I made it through over half a century of living without hearing that one, in spite of being a believer for the vast majority of those years. Since becoming acquainted with it, however, I’ve had a number of occasions which have brought it to mind, but with a twist: “Heaven is my Home and I’m so very Homesick” . . . like the news I received a few days ago.

I was feeling a bit sorry for myself, stuck inside on such a lovely day when I would rather have been outside playing in the dirt. But, not wanting to risk injury or infection to my recently-operated-on hand, I opened a bunch of windows and enjoyed the breeze. A phone call from one of my sisters-in-law broke the afternoon silence. Even before I answered, I knew it was unlikely she’d call me in the middle of a weekday just to say hello. Sure enough, the tidings weren’t good. My youngest brother-in-law had died the day before, felled by a heart attack at a much-too-early age as were his father and brother (my husband) before him.

I’m all too familiar with phone calls that bring such life-changing news. The report that another loved one has suddenly been called Home puts everything else into perspective. The disappointment I was feeling about not being able to go outside was quickly eclipsed by the more pressing reality I’d been made aware of. I’m convinced no matter how many such life-altering phone calls I receive, they’ll never get easier. My tears are quickly followed by numbness and denial – Not again, Lord! How can this be happening? – Yet death is one of life’s certainties. And those of us left behind grieve, but not as those who have no hope.

God has great compassion on us, remembering we’re dust. He reminds us through the Apostle Paul that our present troubles, which are described as light and momentary, are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. He encourages us to fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, while what is unseen is eternal. Similarly, Jesus tells us to store up our treasure in heaven, not on earth. Commenting on Jesus’ directive in light of loss, Elisabeth Elliot states,

“The loss of someone we love, whether by death or otherwise, brings us to the brink of the abyss of mystery. If we wrestle, as most of us are forced to do, with the question of God in the matter, we are bound to ask why He found it necessary to withdraw such a good gift. Cover "The Path of Loneliness"We will not get the whole answer, but certainly one answer is the necessity of being reminded that wherever our treasure is there will our hearts be also. If we have put all our eggs in the basket of earthly life and earthly affections we haven’t much left when the basket falls. Christians, being citizens of Another Country, subjects of a Heavenly King, are supposed to set their affections there rather than here – a lesson few learn without mortal anguish.”[i]

Later this week we’ll gather in a tiny South Dakota town to remember Phil, a quiet, gentle man. He never married but cherished his family and endeavored to attend most all of the weddings of his numerous nieces and nephews. As we stand in the windswept cemetery just outside of town, I’ll strive to fix my eyes on the unseen. For then I’ll see two brothers, eternally reunited and I’ll rejoice in the assurance that our treasured family circle will one day be completely restored in a Home where there will be no more tears or death or pain.

Phil Kuipers. a kind and gentle man 1-9-1961 to 8-26-2015

Phil Kuipers, 1-9-1961 to 8-26-2015

[i] Elisabeth Elliot, “The Path of Loneliness”, (Grand Rapids, Revell, 2001) pg. 59

Letting go

/ Patsy Kuipers / 5 Comments

Over the years Ray and I were married, I saw him pull up perfectly good plants to make way for the next season’s annuals. I was always a bit appalled since I’m one of those people who doesn’t like to waste anything. Yet he knew the next season’s plants needed time to establish their roots and get acclimated before the harsher temperatures of the upcoming season arrived, be they summer’s highs or winter’s lows.

Purslane, Portulaca oleracea

Purslane (Portulaca oleracea) is a dependable sun-loving, drought tolerant summer annual. Mine has bloomed enthusiastically since I planted it in May, but is starting to look a bit tired and leggy. Soon it will be replaced by mums which will in time be replaced by violas.

As I’ve become more knowledgeable horticulturally, I’ve realized Ray was right and I try to get my cool-season annuals placed in their beds at a reasonable time even if it means pulling up still-blooming warm-season plants and vice versa. (I do, however, usually apologize to the plants I’m pulling up and thank them for providing so much enjoyment across their respective season.)

A wise friend recently pointed out that our strengths become weaknesses when pushed to their extremes. I’m loyal and dedicated, a consummate Golden Retriever for those of you familiar with Gary Smalley’s animal-based personality profiles. Just as I hesitate to remove still-flowering plants from my garden, I find it difficult to let go of people or situations, even when it would be best to do so – loyal and dedicated . . . to a fault. I’ve said on many occasions since losing my job four and a half years ago I’d still be sitting in my cube, working away, if God hadn’t made it abundantly clear that chapter of my life was over. And what an amazing adventure I would have missed had He not (lovingly) slammed that door and sent me on my way. After all, I went back to school to study horticulture and became a first-time grandmother within six months of losing my job. What a joyful, and somewhat humorous, combination of events!

Becoming gainfully unemployed is just one of many positive life-changing examples I can look back on. So you’d think I’d be better at letting go by now. Sadly, that’s not the case. Probably because letting go feels too much like giving up or losing. Plus there’s the fear of the unknown. Yet I firmly believe God always knows what’s next. He encourages us, saying, “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” (Isaiah 43:18-19a) There are times when I’m so focused on the known and the now I can’t perceive anything beyond an underlying sense of disquiet beckoning me to move forward. Tentatively, I’ll let go with one hand while keeping a tight grip with the other. But God is able to do far more than I can ask or imagine so isn’t it likely I’ll need both hands to receive whatever it is He wants to give? Being a patient and compassionate Father, He works to loosen my grip and enable me to embrace His plan – His good and perfect plan.

Even though it’s only mid-August, a few leaves are starting to fall, early harbingers of the major leaf-drop to come in a couple of months . . . signaling another chapter, another season, reminding me letting go isn’t giving up or losing.  It’s making way for the new.

Here comes the sun

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I try not to complain about the weather. As a dedicated gardener, I know plants need the rain every bit as much as they need the sun. However, for the past week or so, the sunny South had been anything but. One cold, cloudy, drizzly day followed another in somber progression until I finally succumbed, sadly lamented the lack of sunshine and spent the better part of one day earlier this week in tears.

Yesterday the glorious sphere of light finally reappeared, warming the earth and restoring my customary optimistic outlook. There was renewed activity around the bird feeder, which had been woefully devoid of the happy twittering of my feathered friends on those seemingly endless dreary days. A squirrel scampered back and forth on the deck railing, plotting strategy for an attack on the feeder (which he wisely didn’t try!) The violas planted by my mailbox, drooping after the cold days and frigid nights, began to lift their heads toward the sunlight. Indeed all of us were buoyed by the sun’s return.

The sun shone brightly again today, beckoning me outside to check on my beloved plants. The busyness of the holidays and the recent cold temperatures had deterred me from my practice of walking the property on a regular basis.  I began my afternoon by removing last year’s spent foliage from a number of perennials and then went in search of new growth. I didn’t have to look far. Even though the garden may appear lifeless and barren, plants are alive and well, preparing for a new season. Finding these signs of life gives me great joy and fills me with hope, just like it has every year since I first faced the task of cleaning up the beds by myself (see “Consider it pure joy”, July 1, 2014).

As the succession of overcast days left me feeling dejected, wondering if the sun would ever reappear, there are times when a spiritual chill can settle upon us. Worries and fears cloud our perspective, leading us to question the presence of the Son. Yet, just as the sun is there when we can’t see it or feel its warmth, the Son has promised to be with us always, to the very end of the age (Matthew 28:20). He will guide, sustain and protect us through all the seasons of our lives until the day when we dwell with Him in the City that will not need the sun or the moon to shine on it, for the glory of God will give it light and the Lamb will be its lamp (Revelation 21:23).

A single red rose

/ Patsy Kuipers / 1 Comment

Red roses have been associated with romantic love for centuries. According to the ProFlowers website, “The red rose began its illustrious symbolic history in Greek and Roman iconography, where it was tied to Aphrodite, or Venus, the goddess of love.” In his enduring poem, “A Red, Red Rose”, Robert Burns likened his true love to one of the exquisite flowers. I, too, have been touched by the beauty of red roses. As a matter of fact, it’s probably not an overstatement to say one played a role in changing the course of my life . . .

When I was in my early twenties, I met a handsome young man and promptly fell head-over-heels for him. Surely he was “the one”! Some months later, it became evident he wasn’t, as he stated his desire to return to his college sweetheart, who he’d never completely gotten over. I was crushed. Yet, a mere week later, I met Ray, another handsome young man who I’d come to know and love. He was thoughtful and kind and had a bit of a stubborn streak. His tenacity came in handy since it took no small effort on his part to break through the fog of despondency that settled around me after “not-the-one-after-all” broke up with me. As summer turned into fall, I continued to turn down Ray’s invitations, seeing him instead at activities sponsored by the singles group where we first met. I commented to my mom, “I’m not sure why he keeps asking me out.” Her reply, “He’s obviously found someone he likes and isn’t going to give up easily!”

The Singles Group Christmas dinner was held on my birthday that year. After the banquet, Ray presented me with a single red rose. Somehow that rose broke through my defenses and opened my heart to the possibility of loving again. And, as the saying goes, the rest is history. Wedding photo for blogWhen Ray and I got married, I carried a red rose with a sprig of baby’s breath and some greenery, despite the florist’s protestations that the bridesmaids’ bouquets would cost more than mine. Over the years we were married, Ray frequently gave me a single red rose for my birthday, our anniversary and other special occasions, hearkening back to the first one and what it meant to us.

The last birthday Ray spent with me was no different. When I came home from work that night it seemed like the kitchen was full of roses – miniature pink ones for our daughters, a dozen yellow ones and a single red one for me. In addition to the real red rose, Ray gave me a beautiful pin. 010I still marvel at this gift in light of the fact he died four months to the day later. Ray didn’t know he wouldn’t be around to give me single red roses on birthdays yet to come, but God did and I believe he somehow encouraged Ray to give me the pin which I wear one day each year – now 18 birthdays and counting.

When Ray died, I took a single red rose to the funeral home and asked the funeral director to place it in his hands for me. It was a fitting close to our tradition. Sometimes I think about what it will be like when I finally get to see Ray again. Might he have that rose in his hands, ready to give it back to me? After all, nothing’s impossible for God. Yet rose or no rose, I’m certain the longed for reunion will take place. I will see Ray again and we’ll spend eternity together worshipping and praising our great Redeemer. I can be sure because the baby whose birth we just celebrated was the Word made flesh, who dwelt among us, lived a sinless life and died on a rugged cross that we might live with him FOREVER.

Warmed by the Son

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Contrary to popular belief, fall, not spring, is the best time to plant most perennials. As air temperatures cool, top growth gradually comes to a halt. Since soil temperatures drop more slowly, the plant can then shift additional energy to its roots, thereby establishing a healthy network to convey water and nutrients to support the plant’s next round of growth the following year.

As is usually the case, we’ve been experiencing a beautiful fall here in the Atlanta area, with daytime highs near 70⁰F and nighttime lows in the 50s. However, I’ve been busy and haven’t been able to spend nearly as much time outside as I would have liked. Finally, there was an opening on my calendar last Thursday. I set my sights on installing numerous plants, some purchased, some adopted from friends, along the path taking shape through the woods.

Wouldn’t you know it? By the time Thursday rolled around, the arctic blast that’s put a big part of the country into an early deep freeze had made its way to north Georgia. Not one to be deterred from my mission to get the plants out of their pots and into the ground, I proceeded to spend several hours happily planting my new friends as my fingers and toes got colder and colder.

As forecast, temperatures that night dipped below freezing – well below when the wind chill was factored in. When I got downstairs the next morning, I went to the kitchen window overlooking the woods and scanned the scene, trying to ascertain how the plants had fared in the less-than-ideal conditions. The Calycanthus was upright, its bright yellow leaves a cheerful greeting in the early morning light. The Fatsia were slightly drooped, yet still green. But where was the beautiful Ilicium floridanum ‘Pink Frost’ that had enchanted me the day before with its spicy scent and lovely green leaves outlined with a margin of creamy white? Illicium floridanum Pink Frost nipped by the coldSurely that brownish mass of sagging leaves wasn’t it! I quickly pulled a heavy coat on over my PJs, slipped my feet into my work boots and headed to the woods for a closer look. Alas, it was the Ilicium. Its leaves so graceful and aromatic the day before were stiff. In that moment, I think I knew what Charlie Brown must have felt like when he put the first ornament on his spindly little Christmas tree, only to watch it bend to the ground, overwhelmed by the weight. “I’ve killed it!” As I trudged back inside, I chided myself with thoughts of “Why didn’t I heed the forecast and leave the Illicium in its pot in a sheltered area?”

Even though there was a brisk wind and the temperature remained below average, the sun shone brightly throughout the day. Several hours after I made my initial trek to the woods, I peered out the window again. Much to my surprise, the color had returned to the Illicium! Once more, I made my way to the woods for a closer look. Sure enough – the leaves were supple and fragrant.  Just like Charlie Brown’s tree, all it needed was a little tender love and care. In this case, the TLC came in the form of warmth from the sun. Illicium floridanum 'Pink Frost' warmed by the sun

There are times when chilling winds blow through our lives. They present themselves in myriad forms – harsh words, a disappointing turn of events, unfulfilled hopes. Jesus told us, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33) Indeed, he is the Light of the world, guiding, reassuring, encouraging us along the way. The warmth of his presence can revive and restore our souls. And we are called to provide that same care to others. “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.” (2 Corinthians 1: 3-4)

May we love others well because we have been well-loved. (I John 4:19)

Family Resemblance

/ Patsy Kuipers / 3 Comments

How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!  And that is what we are! 1 John 3:1

Before I got the opportunity to study horticulture, I would look at leaves when trying to identify trees.  Even then I was only familiar with the leaf shapes traditionally associated with plants such as oaks, maples and hollies. I now realize there are many different species in those genera, some with leaf shapes people typically associate with those trees and some fairly dissimilar.  I’ve also learned that even though botanists consider leaves and stems when classifying plants, they use fruit and flowers, the reproductive parts of plants, to group them into families. I don’t know if it’s my eye for detail or my love of family, (maybe some of both!) but I enjoy recognizing similarities in the flower structures of different plants and then checking to see if they’re in the same family.

Just like plants can be identified by their fruit, Jesus told his disciples people would be known by their fruit. Because of the amazing grace of God and Jesus’s sacrifice on our behalf, we’re part of God’s family and, as such, we’re called to resemble Jesus, “the firstborn among many brothers”. (Romans 8:29) Fortunately, we are enabled to become more and more like him through the power of the Spirit, whose fruit is “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.” (Galatians 5:22-23)

Not only are we called on to “produce fruit in keeping with repentance” (Matthew 3:8), we’re instructed to impress God’s commands on our children. “Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up” (Deuteronomy 6:7). In other words, telling our children about God, his directives, his covenant and his character should be woven into the daily ebb and flow of life, not just reserved for Sunday school, and we must endeavor to teach by example, not just words.

As is probably true of most parents, when my daughters were young, I used to wish they’d always be as happy and carefree as they were during those pre-school years. At the very least, I yearned to protect them from adversity and pain. I have similar feelings now when I look at my precious grandchildren. Yet I know life can be difficult and no one makes it through without some measure of grief, disappointment, and hardship. But God, in his providence, often uses our most trying times to draw us closer to himself, teaching us experientially that we can trust him no matter what. And that, in turn, is what I most want my children and grandchildren to know. There is a Father who loves us. There is a Son who we are to resemble. There is a world in great need of the fruit we’re called to bear.

In a moment, take 2

/ Patsy Kuipers / 1 Comment

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build,  a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.” Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

The last few months have brought several life-changing moments that, in turn, have led to times shaded by weeping and mourning for me and people close to me. Yet I know there will be times when laughter and dancing predominate again and so I want to reflect upon some past moments which led to great joy.

One such moment occurred on Thanksgiving Day, 2010. Our extended family was sitting around the table, chatting amiably, having enjoyed a delicious meal of smoked turkey and our favorite side dishes. My daughter, Mary, said she and my son-in-law, Justin, had news to share. My heart leapt! Could it be the announcement of an impending birth? Sure enough, Mary passed around an ultrasound photo and confirmed we could look forward to the arrival of a new family member the following July. At that point, Baby was roughly the size of a blueberry, but my eyes still welled up with happy tears knowing there was a new person to love.

The weeks passed and sometime toward the end of January, I got a phone call from Mary and Justin letting me know Baby was a boy.  Later that evening, Mary texted, “We’re going to name him Joshua Patrick.” In that instant, I fell in love with him! Not that I hadn’t been happily anticipating his advent since first peering at the ultrasound photo and trying to figure out exactly where the baby was, but now I knew who I was waiting for and my heart prepared a place for him. Little did I know then how much joy and love Joshua would add to my life or that I would lose my job a few days after receiving Mary’s text, making it possible to spend time with him on a regular basis and bond with him in a way I wouldn’t have been able to if I’d been employed full-time. He became my study buddy from his earliest days, sitting in his little seat by the table while I reviewed notes for plant ID classes and watching intently from his stroller as I collected weed specimens for my pest notebook when we went for walks.

Fast forward to April 20th, 2013 and another family gathering, my dad’s birthday celebration. It, too, would be punctuated by a joyful moment, as Mary and Justin informed us we could anticipate a very special Christmas present – another new family member! This time however, instead of thinking of the baby in gender-neutral terms, I consistently thought of “her” from the start. My premonition was confirmed at Joshua’s birthday party in July when Mary announced Baby was indeed a girl. I was glad Mary had shared the selected name a few days before the party – “IF it’s a girl, Mom, we plan to name her Lyla Ray in memory of Dad” – since even typing that sentence now causes bittersweet tears to spring to my eyes. Similar tears of joy mingled with sorrow flowed when I first held Lyla and longed for her grandfather to be there to cuddle her too.

Today Joshua is a boisterous, intelligent 3-year old with an amazing vocabulary. He assigns me roles in his elaborate make-believe scenarios and warms my heart with detailed recounting of his Sunday school lessons. Lyla is an eight-month old bundle of smiles and determination, happily exploring her world and delighting me with tiny hands that reach for me when I liberate her from her crib after nap time or bend to steady her as she pulls herself up.

Amidst the sorrows and losses of this life, God blesses us with life-changing moments of joy as well as tender occasions that give us glimpses of what we not only long for but are assured of because of another birth announcement 2000 years ago:  “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord.” (Luke 2:10-11) That baby grew to be a man of sorrows who was familiar with suffering. He took our flesh upon himself. He understands how hard this life can be and encouraged his followers, saying,“In this world you will have trouble. But be of good cheer! I have overcome the world.” Furthermore, He’s promised to never leave us or forsake us and even now He’s preparing a place for us where there will be no more loss or pain or grief. And so I treasure the moments of joy and love and tenderness we’re allowed to experience here. They remind me of the time when every tear will be wiped away and we will rejoice forever in the presence of the One who loves us more than we can imagine.

Thoughts on Romans 8:32

/ Patsy Kuipers / 1 Comment

“He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?” Romans 8:32

Commenting on this verse in his book “Future Grace”, pages 112-113 and 114 (Multnomah Press, 2012), John Piper says:

“He did not spare his Son.  And therefore it is impossible that he should spare us the promise for which the Son died — he will with him give us all things.  What a truth!  Giving us all things is the easy thing! Think on that every time you fear being denied something that would be good for you.  You think it is a hard thing.  You see many obstacles.  It looks impossible.  At that discouraging moment think about his heavenly logic.  Giving you what you need is the easy part.  And the hard part is already done.  Creating the world and running it for the good of his people is a relatively easy thing for God to do compared to handing over his Son to ridicule and torture.  But he did it.  And now all future grace is not only sure; it is easy . . . The great promise of future grace, guaranteed in the logic of Romans 8:32, is that nothing will ever enter your experience as God’s child that, by God’s sovereign grace, will not turn out to be a benefit to you.  This is what it means for God to be God, and for God to be for you, and for God to freely give you all things with Christ.”

And Susannah Spurgeon in a compilation of her devotions, “Free Grace and Dying Love”, page 3 (The Banner of Truth Trust, 2006), writes:

“‘He that spared not his own Son.’  He gave his most precious treasure; could he withhold any lesser good from you?  He has given you pounds; will he refuse you pence? . . . ‘How shall he not with him also freely give us all things?’  Think well my heart, what ‘all things’ mean to you! . . . All spiritual blessings, rich and precious, are laid up for you in this divine storehouse . . . There is not a need or desire of your inner life which cannot be triumphantly met by faith’s unwavering challenge, ‘How shall he not?’  Nor is there a necessity of your temporal state which cannot equally claim the blessing of possessing ‘all things’ in Christ.”

My heart is heavy this morning and in need of reassurance.  These quotes remind me that nothing is impossible for God, nor will He withhold any good or necessary thing from me. Therefore, it seems reasonable to conclude if He is withholding something it must not be best or needful, at least not at this moment in my life.

Over the years, God has given me glimpses of his truth in some rather mundane situations. As I typed the last couple of sentences, one such episode came to mind. I’d been to the store and was putting the purchased provisions away. More specifically, at the moment this particular insight came, I was placing packages of toilet paper in my young daughters’ bathroom closet – can’t get much more mundane than that! I thought, “Mary and Jessie don’t have to worry about having things available when they need them. I make sure whatever they need is on hand.” And then I realized, “I don’t have to worry either. Everything I’ll ever need is already in God’s ‘closet’ and He’ll make it available as needed.” Furthermore, if I, as a finite, imperfect human parent know how to give good gifts to my children, I can certainly count on my perfect, infinite heavenly Father to give good gifts to me. (Matthew 7:11 and Luke 11:13)

And so, with the Psalmist, I’ll say, “Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.” (Psalm 42:11)