spring – Lisa J Radcliff ~ Finding Freedom from the Past

Scar Season

It’s the season of scars. The kids are outside again. Skinned knees are just a stone-under-a scooter-tire away from happening. Time to stock up on the Paw Patrol Band-Aids® and fill the freezer with boo-boo bunny ice packs. The adults are not immune to the scars of spring either. My husband has already started a few new ones from cutting down some trees, pulling out picker bushes (his nemesis), and getting the zero-turn ready for the season.

My scars are well documented in my second book, A Time to Laugh: My Life Over Fifty with talk of tattooing them into something fun (check it out). But just for good measure, I tripped over one of the picker bush vines while walking in the woods yesterday and did a full body plant. I told Doug where it is so he can eradicate it from the face of the earth. Fortunately, I didn’t break a hip, but I may have a new scar somewhere. Oh well. Tis the season.

The most important and most talked about scars of this season are the ones Jesus acquired when he went to the cross. And they should be. His scars were from wounds that bring us healing. Think about how he got those scars: from the crown of thorns pressed into his head; from the scourging (short whips with sharp pieces of bone and metal) of his back, buttocks, and legs; from the nails in his feet and hands; and from the spear that pierced his side. They ought to be talked about and pondered this Easter season.

In the past year, I had torn rotator cuffs (yes, cuffs, both of them). Because of my FQAD, torn tendons are common. I’ve had a torn rotator cuff repaired in the past. But this time, as I remembered the pain and difficulty recovering from that surgery, I hesitated to do it again. I didn’t have FQAD then. It can be negatively affected by anesthesia. It could cause more tears after the repair. I was torn about what to do with these tears. So I spoke to my physical therapist.

He said that if I decided not to have surgery, PT would help build the muscles around it, and scar tissue could develop, which would maybe do some “repairing” of the tear. I opted not to have surgery. I’m so glad I made that decision. I have almost full use of my shoulders. It seems scar tissue did form over the tears. So, the scars had some healing properties, but they can’t do what Jesus’s scars did.

His scars healed the broken relationship between the Father and his children. His scars brought eternal healing, full and forever. My scars bought me a little time to be able to do things with less pain. His scars healed me for all of eternity. My scars only affected me. His scars were effective for the whole world.

He was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace; and with his wounds we are healed. Isaiah 53:5 ESV.

Daffodil Hope

Early spring in my neck of the woods is one of my favorite seasons. Down by the lake behind our house, the peepers hatched, and they fill the air with unending chirps. The red-wing blackbirds are back, squawking loudly. Their songs are challenged by the grackles’ return and their calls that are reminiscent of an old rusty swing.

There’s a red hue on the tips of the tree branches, promising the gray winter woods will soon be replaced with the pale green of new leaves. Slivers of bright yellow are peeking through buds on forsythia bushes, ready to burst. A few pink cherry blossoms have already popped open. All of these are signs that spring is indeed here.

My favorite sign though is the daffodils blooming in the woods. I think it’s because they sprout and bloom among the dead leaves on the forest floor. New life rising from where there was only death. I can walk through the woods, with the dead leaves and fallen branches crunching under my feet and come upon a delicate daffodil with its colorful little trumpet reaching for the light. They brighten my mood, making me smile. They give me hope that more flowers and warmer temperatures are on the way. And they are a perfect picture of new life in Jesus. We were dead in our sins, but God made us alive in Jesus.

Maybe it’s not a perfect picture of new life in Jesus because the daffodils always had some life in them, even as dormant bulbs. They just needed the right conditions to sprout and come to life. We are kind of the opposite really. We are alive: eating, breathing, heart beating. But spiritually, we aren’t dormant, we’re dead. Warm temperatures, a change in seasons, the right amount of rain and sun—none of it will bring us to life. It took another death, the death and resurrection of God’s own Son, for us to have a chance at new life, eternal life.

New life can come at any time of year for those pursuing it, not just springtime. It doesn’t have to wait for the seasons to change. It just takes recognition that you’re dead in your sins and a desire to be alive. Believing that Jesus died in your place so that you can have eternal life is the beginning of faith. Faith blooms and flourishes as it pushes through the dead stuff of our lives, leaving it all behind, and reaches for the light of the world. These are the thoughts I have when I see the first flowers of spring among the deadness of winter’s remnants. And my heart is forever grateful for the new life I was given forty-five years ago.

Why stay dead when Jesus offers you eternal life? Spring is a perfect time for a new life—a season of new beginnings, of hope, when the dead are raised to life, like my little woodland daffodils.

But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved. Ephesians 2:4-5 NIV

The Beauty of Hope

The beauty of spring is all around us. Sometimes Doug and I are amazed that God has provided such a beautiful place for us to live. While driving into town this week, Doug pointed out two routes that are faster than the one I was taking. I know there are faster routes, but the one I take is so pretty—red buds and dogwoods in full bloom, azaleas, tulips, and cherry tree blossoms swirling in the breeze. The natural beauty is complemented by lovely, restored Pennsylvania farmhouses and barns. This route is definitely worth an extra two minutes.

My favorite spot is a pasture encompassed by a split rail fence. It is home to two caramel-colored horses. And today, the pasture was covered with thousands of little yellow buttercups. Beyond the pasture is a picturesque view of the valley. It’s at an intersection, an easy spot to stop for a few extra seconds, taking in the scene. I was thinking I should write a blog on God’s beauty reflected in his creation.

But then, while at my infusion appointment, the doctor told me he doesn’t recommend doing any more infusions. They don’t seem to be making any difference in how I feel. This is my sixth one, and if I don’t feel any better, they probably aren’t going to work. The hope that I felt six weeks ago was lost as the last infusion dripped through the IV.

On my drive home, the same route I took to get there, I didn’t notice any of the beauty I had earlier. Nothing had changed along the way. The trees, flowers, houses, barns, even the horses were still there. But I had lost hope. We see everything differently when we have hope. But when hope is lost, even the beauty around us fades.

I tried to pull myself out of hopelessness. After all, what had really changed? The treatment didn’t work. So what? It didn’t make my condition worse. It just wasn’t going to bring healing. The only thing lost was some time and a boatload of money—but nothing of eternal value. One more thing can be crossed off my list of possible treatments. But I was struggling with this outcome, dwelling on it to the point of missing the beauty all around me.

Then I got a text from a friend who didn’t know what had happened with me today. She sent me a song by Matthew West called Don’t Stop Praying (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpbZqMJ-B44). She didn’t know where I was in my spirit, but God did. He knew, he cared, and he rescued me—the same things he has done for me over and over again. You might even say, he showed me his beauty, which never changes from season to season, regardless of my circumstances.

It’s okay (maybe even necessary) to grieve what is lost, whether that is people, finances, health, or anything else. God doesn’t expect us to ignore the difficult things in our lives and just move on. But he does comfort and strengthen us through those things, and then he refocuses us on himself. When we turn our attention to him in prayer, our hope is renewed, and his beauty fills our eyes and permeates our spirits.

This door in having my health restored has closed, but I’m going to take Matthew West’s advice: don’t stop praying! And I’ll get to that blog about God’s beauty another day (or did I do it anyway?).

“Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer” (Romans 12:12 ESV).

Spring. New life. Resurrection.

Spring. New life. Resurrection. I love this time of year. What I love the most is when the first spring flowers poke through the ground, a sign that winter’s grip is loosening, and new life is coming. A few daffodils popped up in my woods this week. They all heed the call that it’s time for the green shoots to burst from the bulbs and up through the ground. Those delicate, slender green leaves somehow push through the hard ground and the layers of dead debris resting on the forest floor. The first sighting of light green summons hope that spring is near. Soon after, the bright yellow blossoms pose a striking contrast to the greys and browns of the dead leaves and fallen branches all around them. Their sunny trumpets blast that life can come after death. Spring. Life. Renewal. Resurrection.

In a few days, we will celebrate Jesus’s resurrection from the dead. Unlike the daffodil bulbs, that are simply dormant through the winter, Jesus was actually dead. But on the appointed day, life flowed back into his body. His heart beat again, blood coursed through his veins, and breath filled his lungs. His winter-cold corpse was restored to life. In newness of life, he rose and walked out of the grave.

I wish I could have been there to see that moment when life returned. Did he suck in air and jump to his feet? Or was it a gradual awakening as his body systems came back online? We do know, before leaving the tomb, he took the time to fold the cloth that had been wrapped around his head. And the other graveclothes were left behind. What was he wearing? Bright, shiny, new clothes? What do resurrection clothes look like? For someone like me, who loves to shop for new clothes, I’m very curious. Maybe as the graveclothes unraveled another garment was revealed, like a superhero. He wasn’t in a hurry. He waited around for the women to come (probably why he folded the face cloth—just good manners).

I do remember the day new life came to me. I was sixteen, angry and broken. It happened following a friend’s funeral. Why weren’t those closest to him also angry and broken? That’s when his love and grace breached my anger. They knew because of Jesus’s resurrection, their loved one was with him. He had lived his life for Jesus, and now he was with Jesus. I wanted that and knelt down asked Jesus to forgive my sin and show me how to live for him. As his forgiveness washed over me, I felt new life fill my heart. The joy and peace that filled me were undeniable. Springtime. New life. Resurrection.

His resurrection did cause something to die. Death. He conquered death and, along with it, the power of sin. Satan was defeated. His head was crushed, his power vanquished, and his doom sealed, fulfilling the Genesis 3 promise. There is no point to Christianity without the resurrection. It would not make any difference if Jesus was just an historic figure or a good teacher. He had to be God incarnate. He had to die and be resurrected or nothing else mattered. Paul put it this way in 1 Corinthians 15:19-20 (ESV) “If in Christ we have hope in this life only, we are of all people most to be pitied. But in fact, Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep (died).”

Resurrection. All things become new. And one day spring will come and last forever. No more death. No more suffering. Forever alive with Jesus. Winter is losing its grip, and spring is coming. I await it with anticipation and great joy! He is risen! He is risen indeed.

Dandelion Love

My three-year-old granddaughter loves dandelions. It is her mission in life to pick every dandelion she sees. She thinks they are beautiful and highly prized. With great pride, she presents her bright yellow bouquets to her mother, who is instructed to put them in water to keep them pretty. In her world, the only thing better than a blooming dandelion is a dandelion that has gone to seed. The seed-filled puff balls are picked and the seeds blown, sometimes with a few sticking to her little lips. Dandelions bring her joy.

Driving to church yesterday, my husband pointed out a field covered in dandelions. He sort of groaned, but I commented how happy our granddaughter would be in that field. That got me thinking how different our perspectives can be. To some, dandelions are just a nuisance, a weed to be eradicated from an otherwise pristine lawn. But to others, they are beautiful and even desirable. I’m okay with dandelions. To me they herald spring, which I am always happy to welcome.

I heard a radio commercial this year asking people to allow dandelions to bloom because they are one of the first and most vital nectar sources for pollination. They serve a very important purpose. Without them, we might not have other plant species we love or foods we enjoy. We can take a lesson from the lowly dandelion.

Sometimes I see myself as that dandelion that others dread seeing and would like to get rid of. I know I can be annoying. And I feel sometimes that I am not contributing anything of value to others’ lives. But then I remember my granddaughter and her perspective on dandelions. That is how God sees me. To him I am not a nuisance. I am his beautiful creation. And he has given me purpose and equipped me to serve others in my own unique way, that I may be a blessing to them and bring joy to him.

My worth doesn’t come from who or what I am, but from him. He made me. He gave me life. He died for me. He desires to have a relationship with me. So, like the dandelions in my front yard, I’ll keep growing, reaching toward heaven, doing my part to glorify the God who made me and loves me as I am. I will trust him to use me in my little sphere of influence to do the works he has prepared for me to do.

“For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” (Ephesians 2:10 NIV)