Tag: Disappointments

REMEMBER YOUR CREATOR

Before Difficult Days Come

Dear ones,

I HAVE NOTED that high school senior girls are beautiful, enthusiastic, energetic, excitable, eager, as well as serious and a little unsure about their future. My husband and I meet weekly at school with a group of these senior girls over lunch to encourage them in their faith.

I’ve also been privileged to attend the Fall Formal, Prom, and Spring Banquet with Don, who takes photographs at these events. The images linger in my mind—beautiful young women in gorgeous gowns, with perfect makeup and hair falling in exquisite curls onto smooth bare shoulders. The young, strong men escorting them look like princes, with bright eyes and handsome smiles beaming over their dates.

Ahhh… the days of our youth when we too were young, vivacious, and beautiful.

Don and I have been having many conversations about what is happening to us at this age. One of my recent journal entries began:

“Lord, this journal entry is not for a blog. I’m just trying to work through this age-related reality. I need You to deliver me from the frustration and disappointment that have come as a result of health issues, doctors’ visits, lack of energy and motivation.”

Perhaps the hardest part isn’t actually aging.

It’s the continual negotiation with it.

We seem caught between two places:

“I can still!”

and

“I can’t anymore.”

Yet there is a third place I want to find—not giving up, and not fighting to remain young, but receiving the life we actually have today.

Some days I laugh. Some days I fight. Some days I grieve. And I’m trying to learn what God wants me to do with all of it.

Then the LORD led me to Ecclesiastes 12:1–7—one of the most striking descriptions of aging in the Bible, and a passage that spans the entire chasm between seventeen and seventy-seven.

Solomon begins:

“Remember now your Creator in the days of your youth, before the difficult days come.”

What are those “difficult days”?

Solomon uses poetry to describe them because the raw facts are rather stark. I dared to look at that stark reality without the softening poetic cushion.

Solomon is essentially saying:

You are going to get old.

Your body will gradually lose strength. Your muscles won’t do what they once did. Your joints and bones become less dependable. Your teeth may deteriorate. Your eyesight and hearing may weaken. You don’t sleep as deeply, and little noises can wake you. Things you once did without thinking—climbing stairs, walking on uneven ground, getting up from a chair, carrying something heavy—may become difficult.

Your hair turns white. Your physical vitality changes. Your desires change. You become more conscious of your vulnerability and realize that your body is not invincible. And eventually, the process ends in death:

“Then the dust will return to the earth as it was, and the spirit will return to God who gave it.” — Ecclesiastes 12:7

That is remarkably blunt.

Solomon isn’t pretending that aging is beautiful. He acknowledges that aging involves loss.

Strength is lost. Vision is lost. Hearing can be lost. Mobility changes. Sleep changes. Desire changes. Confidence in your body changes.

Eventually, life itself is lost.

And yet Solomon puts the crucial instruction before the description:

“Remember now your Creator…”

He doesn’t tell us to pretend we are still young. He tells us to remember our Creator.

The body is temporary, but it is not the whole of us.

The dust goes back to the earth. The spirit goes back to God.

Perhaps this is where humor becomes helpful.

Because there are, after all, some telltale signs that we may be losing the battle against aging:

  • After twenty minutes of carefully applying makeup, you discover that without your glasses, you have been putting it on approximately where you hoped your face was.
  • The magnifying mirror reveals things about your face that God, in His mercy, never intended you to see at that distance.
  • Your arms continue waving long after you’ve stopped.
  • You squat down to retrieve something from the bottom shelf and immediately begin calculating how you’re going to get back up.
  • You need your arms to be longer because the words on the medicine bottle have mysteriously shrunk.
  • Your hair has become white enough that you no longer need to worry about whether it matches your outfit—it goes with everything.
  • Your eyebrows have apparently decided to migrate to other parts of your face.
  • Your “comfortable shoes” have become your “only shoes.”
  • You finally succeed in looking younger—until you catch sight of yourself getting out of the car.

We laugh because underneath the humor is something almost everyone eventually has to face:

The body is changing, and we don’t get to negotiate the terms.

Maybe the goal isn’t to look young.

Maybe the goal is to remain fully alive while becoming old.

And this is where Solomon’s words become important not only to those of us in the “golden years,” but to those beautiful young women I see at school.

Solomon doesn’t tell young people, “Enjoy being young because you’ll miss your beautiful body someday.”

He says something much more important:

Know your Creator now.

Why?

Because the body you have today isn’t permanent.

The beautiful young face will change.

The strong young legs will weaken.

The clear eyes will dim.

The thick hair will turn white.

The effortless things will eventually require effort.

And you don’t want to wait until everything begins disappearing to discover the One who never changes.

Someday, girls, some of these will be your battles too.

But here is what I wish I had understood when I was your age:

The real tragedy isn’t getting old. The real tragedy would be reaching old age without having learned to know and love your Creator.

Don’t think, “I’m young now, so I need to prepare for becoming unattractive.”

Rather:

“I am young now, and I have an extraordinary opportunity to establish where my identity rests before life begins taking things away.”

Because life will take things away.

Childhood. Athletic ability. Certain dreams. People we love. Physical strength. Eventually, the body itself.

And if our identity has been built on beauty, accomplishment, popularity, intelligence, athleticism, romance, motherhood, career, independence, or physical ability, every loss can feel like a little death.

But if our identity has been rooted in our Creator, the losses are still painful—but they don’t destroy us.

That is a message for seventeen and seventy-seven.

Young:“I have my whole life ahead of me.”

Middle-aged:“I have so much I need to accomplish.”

Older:“I can’t do everything I once could.”

Old:“What remains when so much has been taken away?”

And Solomon answers:

“Remember your Creator.”

At the end of Ecclesiastes he says:

“Fear God and keep His commandments, for this is man’s all.”

We were never meant to build our lives around the things that eventually disappear. And perhaps this is what I am learning now. I can laugh at the white hair, wrinkles, knees, and all the other evidence that my body is telling the truth.

I can grieve what I have lost. I can be frustrated by what I can no longer do. I can even say to God, “Lord, I don’t want this.”

Trusting Him doesn’t require me to pretend that I like it. But perhaps I can stop fighting a battle I was never meant to win. Maybe the real battle is not against aging at all.

Maybe the battle is against the belief that my value, usefulness, beauty, or joy depends upon remaining physically young.

That is a battle worth winning.

And perhaps, as our bodies become less capable, there is an opportunity—painful, yes, but real—for something else to become more visible:

Who are we when we can no longer prove our worth by what we can do?

That is a very different kind of strength.

So, dear ones, whether you are seventeen or seventy-seven, don’t wait for the difficult days to remember your Creator.

Seek Him now.

Love Him now.

Build your life on Him now.

Because one day you may wake up and realize that the young woman you once were has quietly become the older woman I am today.

And when that happens, I hope you can look back and say:

“I knew Him then. I know Him now. And He has been faithful through every version of me.”

I’m certainly not the expert. I’m just a woman still figuring it out. Perhaps that is exactly what God can do with a struggle that initially felt too personal to share.

And perhaps my prayer is no longer simply, “Lord, help me accept aging.”

Perhaps it is:

“Lord, I don’t want this. I don’t know how to accept this. But I want You more than I want to win this battle. Teach me.”

And maybe that is where contentment begins.

Therefore we do not lose heart.

Though outwardly we are wasting away,

yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.

For our light and momentary troubles

are achieving for us an eternal glory

that far outweighs them all.

So we fix our eyes not on what is seen,

but on what is unseen,

since what is seen is temporary,

but what is unseen is eternal.

— 2 Corinthians 4:16–18

Posted on by MarJean Knaak 1

The Treasure Beneath The Paint

HIDDEN TREASURE has always captured our imagination. Treasure is never left lying in plain sight. Its very value demands that it be hidden. And discovering it requires a search.

For most of my Christian life, I knew God had given me a treasure, but I don’t think I fully appreciated it. Only in the last couple of years has He taken me on what feels like the greatest treasure hunt of all.

Last spring our Bible study journey led us through Proverbs, where wisdom is described as more valuable than silver, gold, or precious jewels. As I read those familiar passages, an old worship song drifted back into my memory:

Lord, You are more precious than silver.
Lord, You are more costly than gold.
Lord, You are more beautiful than diamonds,
and nothing I desire compares with You.

I have sung those words for years. But sometimes God lovingly leads us into circumstances where we must decide whether we truly believe them.

Almost two years ago, He surprised me with a second love story. After losing my husband of fifty-two years, I never imagined I would marry again. Yet the Lord graciously brought Don into my life—a godly, gentle man whom I dearly love.

Like many people entering a new season, however, I carried some quiet expectations. Somewhere deep inside, I imagined this chapter would restore pieces of life that age had quietly taken away. It would feel energetic, adventurous, perhaps even a little younger than reality allows.

But time keeps moving forward.

Bodies slow down. Limitations appear. Plans require adjustment. And if we’re not careful, disappointment quietly slips into the space between our expectations and reality.

Over these past months, the Lord has been gently teaching me that even His sweetest earthly gifts were never intended to satisfy the deepest places of my heart.

Every human relationship, no matter how precious, has limitations. Every season changes. Every earthly treasure eventually fades.

But Jesus Christ remains the same yesterday, today, and forever.

Paul tells us that in Christ “are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge.” Suddenly Proverbs began to sparkle with fresh meaning. Wisdom is far more than learning how to make good decisions. True wisdom always leads us to the One who is our greatest Treasure.

It teaches us to enjoy God’s gifts without asking them to be God.

That lesson came to life this summer over an old oak dining table.

When I first walked into Don’s home two years ago, one of the first things I noticed was a large table covered in layers of chipped brown paint. Years ago, painting solid wood furniture had been fashionable. To Don’s credit, he was simply following the trend of the day.

But somewhere along the way our tastes had changed. Perhaps it comes with age. We have grown to appreciate authenticity far more than fashion.

We wanted to uncover what the Master Craftsman had placed there all along.

So the work began.

The old paint softened under the stripper. One stubborn layer after another surrendered to the scraper. Then came hours of sanding. Some places yielded quickly; others resisted every effort. Coarse sandpaper gave way to finer grits until, little by little, the rich grain began to emerge.

Every newly revealed section encouraged us to keep going.

What we thought might take a few days stretched into nearly two weeks.

When the wood was finally smooth, we stained it a rich dark walnut. The beauty of the grain almost seemed to come alive. At last we were ready to apply the polyurethane finish.

A few hours later we walked outside, eager to admire our work.

Instead, we looked at one another in disbelief.

The entire tabletop had bubbled and flaked.

Somewhere we had made a mistake. Perhaps the stain had not fully cured. Perhaps the finish wasn’t compatible. Whatever the reason, there was only one solution.

Start over.

Out came the scrapers again.

More sanding.

More stain.

More waiting.

Then three careful coats of a different finish, each one allowed to cure before the next was applied.

Only after the table was finally complete did we look around and realize six matching chairs were patiently waiting their turn.

That restoration, however, is another story for another day.

As we worked, I slowly realized that God had been doing something remarkably similar in my own heart.

How often I have covered what God originally intended with layers of my own making—expectations, disappointments, anxieties, misplaced hopes, even subtle forms of idolatry. Most of those things did not begin as sins. They began as good gifts that gradually took on too much importance.

Even good gifts can quietly become substitutes for the Giver.

The Master Craftsman lovingly begins removing what doesn’t belong.

Sometimes His scraping feels uncomfortable.

Sometimes His sanding seems endless.

Sometimes, just when we think His work is complete, something unexpected happens and we wonder why we have to begin again.

The bubbling finish on our table reminded me of those moments.

How many times have I thought, Surely I’ve learned this lesson by now.

Then life takes an unexpected turn, and the Lord patiently whispers, Not yet.

Not because He delights in making life difficult, but because He sees something I cannot yet see.

Looking at our finished table today, no one would ever guess there had been a setback. In fact, because of what we learned, the finish is probably better than it would have been the first time.

Isn’t that often true of God’s work in us?

Paul writes, “Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you both to will and to do for His good pleasure.” And in another letter he gives this wonderful assurance: “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.”

Unlike our table, His work takes far more than two weeks.

It takes a lifetime.

Thankfully, the Master Craftsman is never in a hurry.

Little by little…layer by layer…He patiently removes everything that hides His workmanship. He is not merely making us better people. He is conforming us to the image of His Son.

And as He does, He uncovers an even greater treasure.

For a long time, I thought God’s greatest gifts were the blessings He had placed into my life—a loving husband, good health, meaningful ministry, precious family, fulfilled dreams.

Those are all wonderful gifts.

But gifts, by themselves, were never meant to carry the weight of my deepest longings.

Only Christ can do that.

Sometimes God lovingly loosens our grip on His gifts, not because He wants to leave us empty, but because He wants to fill our hands—and our hearts—with something infinitely greater.

Himself.

I think that is why Proverbs urges us to seek wisdom above silver and gold. Wisdom is not an end in itself. It leads us to the One in whom “are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge.”

The treasure hunt always ends with Christ.

As I look across our dining room now, I no longer see only an antique oak table.

I see a story.

I see old layers stripped away so hidden beauty could emerge.

I see setbacks that ultimately produced a better finish.

I see the patient work of hands that refused to settle for something merely acceptable.

And I see the far greater work of a heavenly Craftsman who has patiently refused to give up on me.

The old worship song has become sweeter to me now than when I first learned it all those years ago.

Lord, You are more precious than silver.
Lord, You are more costly than gold.
Lord, You are more beautiful than diamonds,
and nothing I desire compares with You.

I used to think those words were simply beautiful poetry.

Now I know they are the testimony of a heart that has discovered its greatest Treasure.

Perhaps that is the treasure God has been uncovering all along.

Posted on by MarJean Knaak 0