Because He Lives

I remember one day when I was eight or nine years old, my dad asked me, "Megan, would you still be a Christian if it could be proven that Christ had never resurrected from the dead?" He was a seminary student in Kentucky and I was following him as we wove our way through the pews of Estes Chapel, which was bright inside from the afternoon sunlight shining in through the windowpanes. For some reason I was on campus with him that day. 

In my little-girl heart, wanting to be true to my faith no matter what and not having the propensity to think through the theological implications of the resurrection, I paused for a minute and then answered in the affirmative. I still remember the incredulous look on his face when he turned around to me and said, "Megan, without the resurrection, there is no Christian faith!" 

I am having a particularly difficult afternoon. Since Olivia's birth I have been dealing with postpartum anxiety and I had reached a breaking point today. Desperate for just one moment to myself without holding/nursing a baby, coaxing a toddler to eat something other than a cracker, or arguing with a preschooler, I asked (okay, demanded) my husband for "just a few minutes" without the kids. 

As soon as the words leave my mouth, the flood of anxious thoughts slams into my mind. A fist squeezes around my heart because of knowing the grief that would come if he took them down to the playground and there was an accident and one of them died and the last thing I said was that I wanted a minute away from them. A visceral physiological response to the anxiety grips me, and I want to throw up in the shower, where I've ensconced myself for sanctuary. I can hear the howling of my heart - that there is something in me that is broken and that I am impoverished in spirit, with nothing left to pour into these little ones with whom I have been entrusted.  

Blessed are the poor in spirit... His Word washes over me as I let the hot water beat down on my head. I cry hot tears that I can feel through the scalding spray on my face. 

Now would be a good time to talk to me, I tell the Lord. I am weighed down by guilt at my inability to handle my easy life compared to so many others in this world who have endured terrible, crushing circumstances. But I know the reality of the state of my soul right now - and there is nothing or no one other than the Holy Spirit that is going to be able to do anything about it. 

The melody and lyrics to that old hymn Because He Lives floated through my head.

Because He lives, I can face tomorrow...

Because He lives... life is worth the living, just because He lives...

I pondered the lyrics. Can Jesus make life worth living, just because He's alive? My mind sprang back to the memory of wandering behind my dad in the seminary chapel when he questioned me about the importance of the resurrection. Which then led my mind to the foundational hope that I have found in Christ and the power of His resurrection... that He makes dead things alive again; He takes what has been crushed and broken and makes it into something beautiful; His Spirit can fill that hollowness of soul, that brokenness and poverty of spirit with a supernatural grace to turn my face, mind, heart to goodness and wholeness again, a fount overflowing with something to give. Something of His.  

He is a good God. A wonderful Savior. I am grateful for His attention, and He was there because I called out to him-- a bleating little sheep who had lost its footing today. I cried out from the pit, and He answered me. His love endures forever.

I wrote this blog because I know that although all of our lives' circumstances differ, we often find ourselves in similar straits, at the end of ourselves. Christ encouraged me today, and I hope that I can in turn encourage you by being a reminder of His goodness and response to our needs. Cast your cares on Him, and He will sustain you; cast your anxieties upon Him, for He cares for you.