Weeping and rejoicing

Singing in the van with my two-year-old. Smiling, laughing. Praising God for a dentist visit that showed all was well, and for hearing the words, “No charge.”

Waiting for lunch, looked at my phone. Shocking headlines. “Selling body parts of aborted babies.”

Heart twists. Stomach does too. Horrified. Heartbroken. How do I absorb this wickedness?

Daughter laughs and says, “Look at my pink balloon!”

Living in two completely opposite moments simultaneously.

Weeping. Rejoicing.

Life in a desperately wicked world.

Life filled with grace.

A few weeks ago, waking up early to take my super-excited daughter to the gym for her private choreography session. Last-minute preparations to head out afterwards to visit grandparents. Happy anticipation in the air.

News starts rolling in. “Nine people killed last night while at church.”

Heartache.  Tears in my eyes. Mind struggling to comprehend evil.

“Come on, Mom! I can’t wait!” Daughter is bouncing with joy.

Living in two completely opposite moments simultaneously.

Weeping. Rejoicing.

Life in a desperately wicked world.

Life filled with grace.

A world where Boko Haram and ISIS pillage, rape, and murder at will, seemingly unstoppable.

And a world where my children squeal with glee in a summer swimming pool.

A world where people are imprisoned, tortured, and killed simply for proclaiming the name of Christ.

And a world where my daughter says, “Dance with me, Mommy.”

A world where babies are legally crushed to death while still inside their mothers, where business owners can lose everything they have–including their constitutional rights–for refusing to compromise their religious convictions when bullied, where almost every life around you has been touched directly or indirectly by abuse, suicide, broken marriage, sexual sin, cancer, and other tragedies that are tragically innumerable.

But also a world where babies are born to joyful families, where whole towns rally to help a child who is in the hospital, where children giggle, where a man and wife celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary surrounded by loving friends and family, where families open their homes and hearts to hurting children, where we spend our evenings blowing bubbles and making s’mores around a campfire.

“Mommy, why is there an all-black picture on your phone?”


How do I explain dismembered babies to the girl who is on top of the world because she mastered her skill at gymnastics tonight?

I hold my daughter close, breathe in her scent, and mourn all the babies who are not safe because they are inconvenient.

I embrace the man who loves me and protects me, and sob for those who have no voice and no protection from evil.

I read the news of more heartbreak, more pain while I hear my babies working together to make a tent out of blankets in the living room.

I drive home, lost in the sorrow of the day, and I see the most beautiful sunset we’ve had in weeks.


And this is life right now.

This is life as it has been ever since the Fall in the Garden.

Everything is tarnished. Everything is marred.

But everywhere is grace. God is so good, so merciful, to restrain the effects of our sin and leave so much good in such a messed-up world.

Living in two completely opposite moments simultaneously.

Weeping. Rejoicing.

Mourn over the atrocities. Weep and fast and pray. “Maranatha! How long, oh Lord?”

And don’t stop with mourning. Take action. Rescue a baby. Sign a petition. Give sacrificially to a trusted organization that is working to bring relief. Love your gay or Muslim neighbors and tell them about Jesus. Tell the woman who aborted her baby that there is grace and hope in Christ for her, that abortion is not the unforgivable sin.

But while you’re mourning, while you’re working, wait. Trust. Never fret or worry. God is still Sovereign. He has a perfect plan and a perfect timeline. He is good. He is wise. His ways cannot be thwarted. By anyone.

And while you’re waiting, mourning, working, see the rejoicing around you.

“Mommy, watch this!” I see her strong healthy body, jumping and flipping with no cares in the world.

And I rejoice through my sorrow.

This entry was posted in Spiritual Thoughts and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Weeping and rejoicing

  1. So good. So, so good.

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