Tag: Cameron Fry
Mourning Glory: Hoping in the Midst of Grief (Part 3)
- Part 1: https://youtu.be/8G6ohGFNQLs
- Part 2: https://youtu.be/sYnP19jQUyw
For the first time in this series’ history, I’m writing a post to compliment parts 1 and 2 linked above. After encountering a revelation deluge during a sultry late summer run last weekend, I figured integrating these points into this episode made sense.
If you’re checking in for the first time, our goal with ‘Mourning Glory’ is to learn what the Bible says about grief and how to channel mourning into giving God all the glory. In many ways, these posts capture the journey Lys and I have been on this year. We hope these truths minister to your heart regardless of your circumstances.
1) Finding grief in the account of the 12 spies (Numbers 13)
Whether or not we realize it, there’s a piece of us internally during seasons of healing, recovery, and intense grieving looking to scout and assess where we are. Since we almost always need something to anticipate, our idea of ‘Promised Land’ generally becomes the ultimate source of hope (on earth edition). The million-dollar question is: What is our ‘Promised Land’ and how are we getting there?
To answer this question, we have to know what constitutes the giants in our life – what constitutes the Nephilim, and God’s role in the entire operation. For most, we’ve misappropriated our grief within the analogy. We think the giant in the room is the heartbreak, depression, whatever is causing us pain/hurt, etc. However, I submit…
Your pain isn’t the giant in the room. Perhaps an elephant but not a giant. The giant in the room is any toleration or stronghold that keeps us from pressing through…by faith – anything that keeps us stagnant as we walk through hell and/or keeps us from wrestling with God the way Jacob did with the man in Genesis 32.
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Put another way, the giants in our lives are tolerated strongholds/sins and negative behavior patterns we use as coping mechanisms and bartering tools to maintain any sense of satisfaction. Tangentially, wrestling with God is how we conquer them and should not be considered optional in our journey to the Promised Land.
Speaking of Promised Land, what is it in the grand scheme of grieving, mourning, and journeying through pain/suffering? I think for most, we assume this represents a graduation, the proof of having healed and moved on. The problem is: If we abide by this perspective, then we limit victory as only realized once we’ve crossed a ‘finish line’, even if it’s one we can’t define it.
If we’re to correct from this mindset, we have to adjust the past vs. participle dichotomy within our thinking. For instance, while many view breakthrough as a binary function (I.e. you’re healed or not healed, moved on or haven’t moved on), the truth is:
We’ve already been set free and as such, can discover our new creation identity on top of our ‘loved by God’ identity day by day.
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While the Word says we’ve been purchased at a price, this doesn’t mean we’re going to hit a point in this life when we’re officially complete. In the context of fullness, we’re never going to be complete. We’re never going to be perfect; however, we can still pursue it as being perfected (Matthew 5:48).
Why does this matter? Because we can live and heal without the burden of feeling far from an end goal when the goal is Jesus and He’s never far away!
God is everything and as such, can’t be detached from the Promised Land we’re seeking. Accordingly, don’t forsake or undermine His oasis presence as you journey but receive Who is He as what sustains you and maintains momentum. Walking with us through the valleys and shadows of life implies motion; however, we can’t self-effort that motion (and e-motion for that matter) in a way that leads to where we want to go. This is one of the main reasons why it took the Israelites 40 years to journey through the wilderness.
The Promised Land is multi-dimensional. Although you can experience a part of it through Christ alone, you may still feel far from victory, or should I say the evidence of victory (I.e. being around a group of people that have historically misunderstood you, being in the same space where at one point you experienced trauma in some capacity). Certainly, we can’t embrace strength and courage without abiding by the Spirit and trusting in God’s sovereignty.
For now, I encourage you not to make certain people and circumstances the enemy, as the giants in the room. They are not worth the negative empowerment at the cost of your distrust. Rather, if you want to view your grief as a race, bring God into every leg of it. If it’s a journey, bring Him along as if He’s in your backpack, fanny pack, whatever. The joy in walking with Jesus is you’re being changed, perfected, and nurtured day-by-day. God isn’t just at the finish line waiting for you. He’s with you through the grieving/mourning process ready to share fresh facets of His nature you couldn’t have known had you not gone through the pain, hardship, etc. Hence, why we should see suffering as a gift more than anything else.
2) Finding grief in the account of Jacob’s wrestling with God (Genesis 32)
In this chapter, Jacob is looking for favor in the heat of stress and anxiety. Not only does he feel the betrayal from Laban, but the wrath from Esau, caught up in a bizarre series of deceptions with his life on the line. Like the griever, he’s desperate for assurance and blessing, the realization of comfort and God being for him, not against him. This sets the stage for the wrestling with ‘the man’ (v. 24 ), a beautiful picture of how we should cling to Jesus when we’re suffering and in some cases, grieving on the backend of loss.
Think about it: Jacob had everything to gain tackling His Lord. The cost set before him, he was determined to be take hold of his inheritance relative to his identity despite a side effect in the most literal sense. And it’s here where my imagination has been captured of late.
In the heat of the moment, despite his mourning and discomfort, Jacob never let go…not only to the glory of God but for the sake of never walking the same way again.
As Jacob portrays, wrestling with God is an intimate experience. While it can be uncomfortable, the reality of pain being a gift can triumph through rest knowing we have a default way to react when something goes wrong. I’m telling you, my friends, this is the power and significance of the limp and why we should embrace it as we journey in unity, contend in hope, and help others in need.
Just as we limp when a bone is out of joint to protect us from further damage, we limp when we lose a beloved person and/or experience a significant life change. While limps come in various shapes, sizes, and severities, when we grieve the right way, our inner man is declaring ‘I need Jesus’/’I need my brokenness aligned amidst a broken world‘ . Conversely, when we grieve the wrong way, we declare the injustice is with God Himself and/or the specific people and strongholds involved in the situation that may be fueling the grief.
Therefore, we can take joy when we consider our grief/mourning in the construct of Genesis 32 knowing pain can help us not only reach for Jesus, but see Him reflected in what we’re going through, our limp an always present reality keeping us humble and hopeful along the way.
In closing, I charge you, brothers and sisters, to grieve in hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13) knowing…
And even if you feel you can’t, that’s okay. For in your weakness, He is strong and in your vulnerability shine all the more brightly through saints and providence alike. While more content on this topic will eventually follow, for now, as I always say in bidding adieu…
Selah.
Cover photo creds: Bing Wallpapers HD
Right Up My Aili: The Final Small Fry (Part 1)
It’s another sultry evening in west Nash as I type this. I don’t speak on my behalf when I say I’m glad recent storms have finally subsided.
For most of you reading this, you know how much I love storms. When I’m in one, I’m one step closer to awe – one step closer to life making more sense. After all, the winds within are never far away.
Of course, you wouldn’t know it given the script of 2023’s first half, a stretch in which the theme of forced rest amidst evolving pursuits have re-emerged. While the in-house volume has emphatically increased, in several areas of life, Lys and I have been forced to mute the noise to maintain heading.
And so it is, I pen this post during the last normal weekend for the foreseeable future. Houston, start down the countdown. We’re less than six days away from the final small Fry making her arrival.
While much attention this year has been given to the Juby Journey book, occasionally, it helps to zoom out to 20,000 feet and refresh a different page. Personally, I find the practice not just helpful but vital – a necessity during such disorienting days.
This dichotomy, man. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt and likely will ever feel again.
On one hand, the grief of losing Juby last September has finally started to subside. Slowly but surely, Lys and I are getting there though as I’ve said before: You can’t ever quantity a journey through grief and its cycles. You can only paint a picture through watercolor language. Even then, you’re talking about a mere speck on a 10′ x 10′ canvas of emotions. We’re moving in the right direction – an oasis there, a ray of sun there. Maybe someday, we’ll be out of the woods for good.
On the other, you have the anticipation of Aili, a golden surprise in what has been the smoothest pregnancy by a wide margin. Such a sweet kiss from the Lord as part of a redemptive narrative unfolding. Who would have guessed it based on what happened two years ago around this time?
Still, when you lose a child, you’re never the same again. And you certainly feel the rift when joyous occasions are on the horizon. As Lys and I shared in our Vandy grief support group in April, when you go through something like what we did last year, an organic strengthening occurs when perseverance is compelled to a life on the lines, when hope is forced to the end of its rope. Eventually, there are moments when the despondency softens and you realize you’ve made strides in becoming the person you’ve always wanted to be.
But there is a cost, one tracing back to that same hope ironically enough. While endurance may have fortified your faith, your capacity to positively anticipate is broken, at least bent. And it’s here where the bizarre paradox starts to unveil. Yes, you’re grateful for the forging through fire. Still, you can’t help but wonder why so many shades of happiness are gone. Perhaps they’ve melded into scars and the only possible way to sense them is through the prelude of thanksgiving?
Whatever the case, while eager enthusiasm is much harder to come by, our desire to look up and receive fresh perspective remains at ease. Take it from the battle-tested: All those sermons about intentionality in referencing God, I’m telling you…they aren’t Sunday morning fluff. At some point, you grow up and realize there is no other way to find those morsels of encouragement. Sometimes, all you can do is pray. And that’s okay.
As for Lys and I, we’re doing what we’ve been doing for so long now – one day at a time, one hour at a time, keeping hearts transparent and lifelines secure. To be honest, I feel a tad guilty – I probably should be more excited about Aili’s arrival on Friday. The last time one of our own came into the world, there was so much chaos and hostility. Forgive me, Lord, I’m just a weak man walking on the sea. I believe in You and yet reserve my joy to seeing the evidence of health without compromise, your breath in her lungs as we pour out our praise. At this point, I don’t contend for normality but vibrancy in abundance. Hence, why Aili is the name we’re going with. In dark depths, when shadows are at their most opaque, there’s a bright, shining light in our midst reminding us He’s there looking out for us.
As for life itself, the internal knots will eventually unwind and streams once abandoned will be returned to. God knows what we’ve had to release in the short term and why. Certainly, where the help has and hasn’t occurred this year has been telling. Like a weather vane turning in slow motion, the signs aren’t lost on me. Glory to God, He speaks through and to voids, even ones unauthorized, to reach us with what only He can provide.
Yet, despite the mysteries and unknowns, what I can say is this: While the heart is weak and willing, as far as it be with us, we will relish the ride. Even as we pass through the turnstile of significant dates, August 21 and September 18, most notably, you can bet the joy set before Him, along with the cost, will be counted. Even though we feel trapped in a parallel universe, far removed from our intended plotline, our trust will remain anchored, our times in His hands.
We got this ’cause He had it first. May it be.
Until then, selah and know…
Graphic creds: Tenor; HD Wallpaper
Miracle in the Making: The Jubilee Journey (Part 9)
One week into August…and we’re starting to hit those milestone anniversaries. Crazy how we’re already at the one-year mark from when the Juby Journey started, at least as we know it.
For those following our page updates, Juby has been oscillating on her paralytic the past 48 hours netting in a positive direction. Honestly, given the dire position she was in a few weeks ago, I’ll take baby step progress any way we can get it. Yet, while the arrow is a mild point up at the moment, I can’t help but feel I’m riding a similar line spiritually speaking.
In a sense, I feel so hollow, so numb…it’s like I’m threading the needle between supernatural protection and self-preservation. On one hand, it’s not hard for me to routinely release Juby into God’s hands and anchor surrender in yielded trust; on the other, the depressive thoughts continue to mount, the slope ever more slippery as the need for thought captivation increases.
From the ‘God, am I somehow the hold up to Juby being fully healed’ to ‘I wish I could go back to student pastoring again…somewhere far away from here’…the thought captivity meter is basically in whack a mole’ mode. And I wish there was an off button.
Still, every hour is one at a time laced with opportunities to say ‘no’ to fear and ‘yes’ to higher alternatives. From upticking K-LOVE radio play to binge watching posthumous footage of Joy Dawson, there are many ways to punch Satan in the face these days.
But then there’s last Sunday when Lys had the opportunity to share the Word at The Gate Church in Franklin.
Listening to her speak, I couldn’t quench the goosebumps as she delivered a message similar to one I shared with LEGACYouth six years ago during an ‘Intentionality of Jesus’ series.
Past and present infused, there I was in Matthew 14:22-33, storybooked next to Jesus ahead of his second Sea of Galilee cameo.
Six chapters earlier (Matthew 8:23-27), Jesus had demonstrated His power over the water in the boat; now He was about to manifest His power, patience, and Immanuel presence on the water outside the boat. You talk about poetic symmetry in motion. Here was the Son of God who used His voice to quiet the waves, who proceeded to miraculously feed the 5,000, who had already previewed His identity to the disciples…yet hadn’t employed His move strategic maneuver. At least until v. 23 in which Jesus retreats to pray following a massive ministerial stretch and learning his cousin, John the Baptist, had been killed. Aware of the weather conditions, Jesus then calls notable audible in v. 25:
“…He came to them.”
Now, for most reading this, these four words are perhaps anecdotal to the passage’s climax in v. 33 when the disciples acknowledge Jesus’ identity. But to this guy, these words hit close to home in a way I couldn’t possibly understand outside this current season.
‘Cause truth is: The disciples didn’t call out to Jesus to come to them; rather Jesus made the first move, calling out to them so they could call back and respond accordingly. Almost a complete reversal of Matthew 8, Jesus isn’t arbitrarily prayer-walking around waiting for something to happen. Conversely, He is resetting into the Father and planting himself, albeit in distance, to make His presence known. How many times have we sensed the faint fragrance of Christ and like Peter couldn’t resist the urge to confirm its realness?
Granted, we should respect Peter in this story for breaking physics through child-like faith alone. For he knew He couldn’t control the elements yet understood His calling in the moment…get out of the boat and draw near to Jesus…cyclone be darned. Through hell or high water, Peter knew what mattered most was where he was going and who he was going to; hence, why he had no problem doing what he deemed most sensible when he lost visual: He cried out to Jesus for a supernatural, warp-speed extension of the hand ever reaching into the chaos…
…met with the grasp of saving grace.
‘Oh, you of little faith. Why did you doubt?’ (v. 32).
Not a reprimand, mind you, but a reminder: I’m with you always and was there from the beginning. Don’t ever think my hand is too short to save.
Back in the NICU, I continue to marvel at this little life. As one who feels small often, I can resonate to a certain extent. But strangely, I couldn’t care less…because like Peter, if Jesus confesses His proximity and in response, I ask Him to ask me to believe the impossible…heck, yes, sign me up for that as long as I have breath. No matter how long Juby lives, I don’t want to ask Jesus to save her, to save me, to save my family…if I’m not willing to walk on water amidst the neighboring halls praying without ceasing. I don’t want to ask Jesus to help me if I’m not willing to press into the Father…if I don’t make vertical reliance a priority over a given moment or assignment.
After all, the Son of God is with me…and comes to me. May our faith, like Peter, understand what’s most important and progress correspondingly…
Selah.
Cover photo creds: ImageVine
Miracle in the Making: The Jubilee Journey (Part 8)
So lately, I’ve been basking in the early Psalms…
…soaking in security metaphors relative to God’s sovereignty.
No question, this journey is wearing me out. Five days to one month to one year. Like the text on Evy’s new ‘Sleeping Beauty’ t-shirt, ‘I can’t even’…
From driving to work without a modicum of ‘I can’t do this today’ to imaging life a year from now, the writing on the wall is a tattoo on the heart: I can’t because I shouldn’t…but I can because He will just as He always has.
For Lys and I, we’ve been overwhelmed by basic math in recent days wondering why Juby has coded seven times in five weeks not to mention a pair of baggings the past five days alone. We wish we had the answers though we’re learning the freedom of anticipating them in our day-to-day interactions. After all, if our faith is to mature, there must be a catalyst, often a challenging one, compelling our perseverance to discover God in a fresh way.
Perhaps this is why we’re often confused and discouraged but also confident and encouraged at the same time. As for any NICU family leaning into God, not relinquishing their hope, there almost has to be an uncomfortable friction between the emotional and spiritual where in between, perpetual paradoxes are broken down.
For instance, when I hold Juby’s hand, I’m reminded as she clings to my finger, so too must my hope, my trust, my devotion also cling to Jesus. Just like Caeden, Evy, and Milo at her age, she squeezes whatever she can get her hands on and doesn’t let go until I pry it loose. Sometimes, I forget how desperate she must feel, wishing the lines running across her body were gone yet oblivious to the fact this isn’t how a first-year body was meant to function.
Obviously, I know where she’s at and what she’s enduring is short-term within the grand scheme. By God’s strength, she will eventually auto-correct through these setbacks be it six months or six years.
Still, I suppose if there’s a head scratch for me, it comes back to what must I do apart from believing God is who He says He is. As this adventure has taught me, God is glorified in our suffering as we hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering and boast of it firmly until the end (Hebrews 10:23; Hebrews 4:14). However, as I’m also finding, this doesn’t exactly simplify the pathway to touching His robe. In my case, while embracing stillness has been a perk to the load-bearing, I’ve also noted it can keep me idle when God is calling me to motion.
It’s like I’m content to contend…to put one foot in front of the other…but struggle to believe I can get to Jesus in my weakness. And so, on my dark days, I stay where I’m at anchoring in worship and His Word though ashamed I didn’t try harder to make that contact. On brighter days, I sense that slow motion surrender though in the wrestling still wonder, ‘Jesus, can you slow down a little? I know you’re up to something amazing but we just need more of you right now.’
Again, I don’t say this to draw empathy. Rather I say this because I’m desperate…not only to see Juby healed while operating free of fear to whatever intimacy is required…but also to know how the Father responds when any part of us, well, codes! Be it a physical code, a sin/stronghold code, a generational and/or word curse code. Who knows…for most of us, it’s probably a combination of things.
As always, time will eventually stir my pen to capture findings to my curiosities, among them why only one ‘how long’ reference in Psalms actually ties to sorrow.
For now, I bid this post and you, my friends, a fond adieu. This man needs rest and a charge to His best.
Tomorrow, we live to see another day. I will pre-rejoice and be glad in it.
Selah.
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