Redemption

 As 2013 dwindles, my mind and heart are still wrestling with the host of unexpected things this year brought us. Still trying to recover bits of meaning and purpose, and things I would do well to remember and learn from, that may have slipped by me in the dark. It is not a year I would ever choose to repeat.

Yet on this, its 365th day, the word that lingers in my ever-busy mind is redemption. 

In a sense, it has been a year of losing and redeeming Sanctuary. The Big House looks better than it did pre-flood, with its new, beautiful Acacia wood floors and soothing neutral-colored paint where there had been 18 kinds of wallpaper. I stand in the entryway and remember that this is how I wanted it to look, what I had planned to work towards, should we actually be able to buy it.

Somehow I expected to feel more delight when things would finally be complete. I thought the joy I felt when we began living our dream up here in the woods would magically reappear. And certainly, I am very grateful. But the redemption of Sanctuary has come at such a steep price. I will probably name it the Lost Year, because it was so unusual and utterly unexpected and held so many disruptions and troubles in addition to a housing disaster. It is as if a protective wrapping has been removed and we now live exposed to whatever trouble decides to land on our roof. 

But life, of course, comes without a warranty. Something akin to Pandora’s Box was opened when those old pipes froze and split in five places up in the ceiling of the second floor. I won’t bore you (again) with the lengthy list of troubles we have combatted during the past twelve months. Undoubtedly you have your own list. Jesus said we would have trouble, and we can surely all say ‘amen.’ But this year wears heavy on me, like a big winter coat with so many buttons that it is hard to take it off with my stiff, cold hands.

But Jesus had more to say: Be of good cheer, I have overcome the world. And just like the last little thing to fly free from Pandora’s mythical box, He offers hope.

Jesus didn’t come to redeem lost things. He came to redeem lost people. He came to redeem me. And thankfully, it doesn’t depend on the state of my spinning mind and whether I have processed or understood all the things 2013 has pelted us with. He has bought me back at an unimaginable cost, a price no one else would even consider paying for one such as me. I have been the blessed recipient of His redeeming love.

This redemption makes me see all the other things for what they really are – temporary. Houses and good health and financial security…you name it, they are all temporary. I wrestle through this in good company as I read the book of Job. In the middle of his extraordinarily troubled life he states unequivocally that  “I know that my Redeemer lives, and that in the end He will stand on the earth. And after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God, I myself will see Him with my own eyes – I, and not another. How my heart yearns within me!”[1]

So at the close of a year that I will not soon forget, a live coal still flames in this trouble-fatigued heart of mine, sparking hope for the future. My Redeemer lives.

This is my New Year’s wish for you –

the one who has endured a year of chronic physical pain;

who has buried a precious little one;

who has carried memories of a painful family history;

who has said goodbye to a faithful equine companion of many years;

who has struggled with depression and wonders if your life has any value;

who is forging a path through life without the support of those you love;

who has laid a beloved parent to rest;
who wonders if life really does hold any meaning and purpose;

who questions God's plan for your life regarding a spouse, children, or career;

who ponders what the future will bring;

-   

- that you will experience the sustaining comfort of knowing that our Redeemer lives, and will live this coming year in the hope of His unfailing love.[2]

Who taught the sun
Where to stand in the morning
Who taught the ocean
You can only come this far
And who showed the moon
Where to hide till evening
Whose words alone can
Catch a falling star

Well I know
My Redeemer lives
I know my Redeemer lives
All of creation testifies
 This life within me cries
I know my Redeemer lives
Yeah

The very same God
Who spins things in orbit
Runs to the weary
The worn and the weak
And the same gentle hands
That hold me when I'm broken
They conquer death to bring the victory

Well I know
My Redeemer lives
I know my Redeemer lives
All of creation testifies
This life within me cries
I know my Redeemer
He lives
To take away my shame
 He lives
Forever I'll proclaim
That the payment for my sin
Was the precious life He gave
But now He's alive and
There's an empty grave
And I know my Redeemer lives
I know my Redeemer lives
Let all creation testify
Let this life within me cry

I know my Redeemer
I know my Redeemer lives
I know my Redeemer lives
I know my Redeemer lives
He Lives.

Nicole C. Mullen

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[1] Job 19:25-27

[2] Psalm 33:18