Author Archives: Karla Jo Wasion

I love Jesus and His Church. His Word is Truth, His heart is good, and His return is sure.

He Went

 The storm passed and the boat arrived safely on the other side of the lake. I imagine they would still be a bit shaky from the storm, looking forward to some rest on the beach perhaps.

As I looked at Matthew 8:28-34 in light of my question “how and where did Jesus lead His disciples”, my first thought was “He led them to the demon possessed”. While technically this is true, I believe God wants us to see what isn’t so obvious.

First, let’s back up to 8:18 – “…He gave orders to cross to the other side of the lake.”  Jesus went. That’s going to be my point today. On purpose, He went to the “other side”. Scripture only tells us of one thing He did when He reached the other side, so it’s safe to assume that Jesus went to the other side for just one reason.

He went to set someone free.

I like seeing what Jesus does by looking at what He didn’t do. It’s often how my mind processes. He didn’t wait for the bound man to come to Him (clearly, this bound man could not have “come to Jesus” even if he wanted to…note to the Church). He didn’t demand that the man acknowledge his need to be free, or that he had to tell the demons they had to leave. There was not a three week, 12 step, or otherwise long process for freeing the man.  Jesus came to a demon possessed man and demanded his freedom. I love what Jesus does, but I also love what He doesn’t do.

He went. Combine this scripture passage with Matthew 18:12, and you have my real point.

“What do you think? If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off?”

And He will still go to the other side after the one who needs to be free, and He will still go after the one who has wandered away from Him. This revelation forever changed my prayer life many years ago. I was frustrated in my prayer for a prodigal, because I kept praying for the prodigal to “do something”… to return, to wake up, come to her senses, etc.  After all, this is what the story of the prodigal in scripture is all about. What the prodigal did, and the fact that the father was waiting with open arms. So we box God in with His own story, assuming that it is the only way a prodigal comes home, and our prayer for them becomes frustratingly limited. Then Jesus led me to the two scriptures above, and everything changed. Instead of praying for the prodigal to do something, I prayed for God to do what He clearly says He will do. Go.

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That prodigal is now running after God, and I believe it is because He went after her. He went, because she needed Him to come after her, set her free, and bring her back from the other side. This is our God and this is what He does.

Jesus led His disciples to the other side, to a man who was demon possessed. But they had seen Him deliver people from demons before, so power over darkness was not what they were there to learn.

I wonder if they were meant to see the same thing I see when I follow Him to the other side in this story.

To Jesus, the one is always worth going after.

              We tend to complicate what Jesus made very simple.

                           Some people just can’t come to Jesus. That’s ok. He’ll come to them.

God came to us and God goes after us.

May we never lose the wonder of that.

led to the storm

I want to continue with Matthew 8:23-27

Jesus gave orders to get into the boat (Matthew 8:18). So they followed Him into the boat, and into a storm.  After the storm, they reached the “other side”. Matthew 8:28 tells us that on the “other side” were the demon-possessed men in the Gadarenes. We’re going to discuss that passage later.

Up to this point in time, the disciples had been following Jesus in fairly calm waters, so to speak. Some healings, some teachings, and a lot of crowds. Nothing too strenuous. But suddenly, they have been led into a storm. Not just any storm, but a fierce storm that came with no warning. We can go a couple of ways here. We can say that Jesus knew the storm was coming, so He took His followers into it in order to show them that He can calm the storm. We could say that Jesus caused the storm, for the same reason. We could also say that the enemy knew, or at least suspected, where Jesus was heading and what He would do there, so he caused the storm in an attempt to thwart the plan.

We could, in fact, spend copious amounts of time and energy trying to figure out where the storm came from, and why it came. We could even throw around the idea that the disciples caused the storm by their own lack of faith (a stretch, I admit).

In the end, two facts remain. Jesus led them into a storm, and the storm served a purpose. Everything else is really just fodder for argument that takes up time and energy, and gets us nowhere. And this, unfortunately, is where many storm dwellers live. Trying so hard to figure it out and find a way out. They become exhausted and angry, and they lose hope. They blame themselves, they blame others, and they blame God. And the storm rages on.

When this storm hit my life, I did spend time trying to figure it out. Why did it come? Who sent it? Was it from God or the devil? Had I done something wrong? What would be the best way out of it? Precious time wasted on questions that really don’t matter, the answers to which will not make this storm one bit less than it is. I am not the commander of any storm, so knowing all these answers won’t help. I only need one answer, and His name is Jesus. The great commander of the winds and waves that buffet my life.

I will waste not one more minute trying to psychoanalyze this storm, or in trying to find my own way out of it. I won’t spend the breath it takes to feel bad about the boat I’m in. I will choose instead to be thankful that I followed Jesus onto this boat. I will rest in the knowledge that I sail with the Commander of all storms, that this storm has a particular purpose in my life, and that sooner or later, we will get to the “other side”.

Are you a storm dweller? Have you been chasing after answers to the wind and rain that is blowing your life apart? Your answer is Jesus. He is the only One who can bring calm to chaos and command the storm in your life. I want to encourage you that He is fully aware of your storm and fully capable of bringing it into submission to Him. Not to you, to Him.  It doesn’t matter why the storm came. All that matters is that there is only One that it must obey.  Call on Jesus, get behind Him, and He will calm your storm and get you to the other side.

are you watching?

They watched Him get into a boat, and they followed Him. They were fishermen, so they had been getting into boats their entire lives. Just another “boat” day for them, very familiar, very comfortable. They had no idea they would soon be fearing for their lives. Of course they didn’t know. If they had known, they may not have stepped onto that boat at all. They may have decided to stay on the shore, to watch Him from a distance, a safe distance.

“Without warning, a furious storm came up on the lake so that the waves swept over the boat.” (Matthew 8:24) I have been in a storm or two in my life, but I’ve never been in a furious storm that hit without warning. There were always signs that a storm was coming…darkening skies, the wind picks up, a little rainfall…signs that something is coming that you may want to watch from a safe distance. The disciples had no such warning. They followed Him into the boat, and then the suddenly of God hit. Suddenly they were in fear for their lives. Keep in mind that these men are fishermen, no doubt accustomed to being on a boat even in stormy weather. So this had to be a storm of some impressive proportions. Big enough to make these rugged, seafaring fishermen run to Jesus, the carpenter…the One taking a nap.

He calmed the storm, the men were amazed, end of story. But it’s in the end of the story that I find a revelation of truth for my life.

These men had been following Jesus, watching His miraculous power to heal (not just once, but many times), and watching the effect He had on literally crowds of people. But it was when He calmed their storm, when He personally touched their lives that they finally asked “Who is this man?”, and learned that He is the One who commands the storm.

Jesus is not content to allow us to stay at a distance. He doesn’t want watchers who have seen Him, He wants followers who know Him. If we are going to know Him as the One who calms the storm, then a storm must come to our lives. If we are to know Him as the One who heals, we will first need to be healed. If we are to know Him as our Provider, we will need to be without provision. Watching Him heal, provide, and calm the storms in other people’s lives isn’t the life of a follower, it is the life of a watcher.

 

the mourners

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The word mourning is primarily used for the loss of a loved one through death. I have mourned the death of my mother, my grandfather, and my brother. I watched my dad mourn the loss of my mother, and the look of absolute lostness in his eyes was heartbreaking.

But as I type this, I think of the people I know who have suffered the loss of a child. It is an unspeakable pain that I have witnessed, but not truly felt. I spent 2 days in the hospital with dear friends of mine as they endured their daughter’s death of a heroin overdose. She was the age of my own daughter, and I cannot tell you the thoughts and emotions that were so raw in me as I walked with my friends through such a grievous time, ending with turning off the respirator. Their fear, turned to desperation, turned to resignation, and then turned to realization, was almost more than my mother’s heart could handle. I am convinced that nothing but the grace and mercy of God can touch that kind of pain.

The word comforted in the passage above means “to call to ones’ self, to call near”. The picture I get is of a Father calling His child to come to Him, drawing that child into His arms and giving the comfort of His nearness to counter the loss. I can’t help but wonder if the comfort of a God they cannot see or touch would be enough in the waves of such a devastating loss, if the comfort of anyone or anything would be enough. But my friends would testify that the nearness of God, even though felt only through the presence of His servants, is indeed a great comfort, even in that kind of loss. They would say that while they could not see or touch God during those days in the hospital, they saw and touched those He had sent to be near to them, and they were comforted.

In the midst of the losses I have suffered, both of loved ones, and the loss of love, trust and affection in relationship, my initial tendency was to withdraw and be alone with my wounds. But I learned that as I allowed myself to be drawn near to God, through worship, through His Word, and through the love of His Body, I found the comfort I desperately needed.

Blessed are those that mourn, for they will be comforted. It is His promise to us. On one hand, I would have preferred the promise that we would never mourn. But on the other hand, we would then never truly know the comfort of the nearness of God.

If you are experiencing mourning, I pray that the God of all comfort will call you near to Him, and that His nearness will be a balm for your wounded heart.

i remember…

I just turned 50 in October. (I’ll pause while the clapping subsides.) My children have left my nest and gone to a far off land (Texas). For some reason, these two events have culminated in an urge to memorialize my journey of motherhood, in case I forget. Because I just turned 50. These memories will be in random order, as the majority of my memories are these days. Because I just turned 50.

I remember…that I didn’t want to leave the hospital after my daughter was born, because it meant I would be responsible for this very little person. Plants do not live long in my house, so I was skeptical about my daughter’s chances. Fortunately, very small people are much better than plants at survival.

I remember…the sensation of a child kicking in my stomach, and never feeling more like a woman, before or since.

I remember…the smell of my baby’s neck…possibly the sweetest smell on earth.

I remember…cuddling with my son, knowing how sad I would be when the day came when he would no longer need me that way. The day came and went. I was right.

I remember…somewhere along the way I developed my “calm voice”, because it was the only voice my highly emotional and dramatic daughter would respond to. It usually worked, but not always. I would then revert to yelling, which rarely worked, but usually resulted in a moment of satisfaction at the stunned, almost frightened look on her face. A brief moment, that I cherished.

I remember…singing both of my kids to sleep with “Puff the Magic Dragon”, of which I only knew one verse, and I’m not even sure I had the words right. I sang that one verse over and over. They didn’t care. Sometimes, to ease the ache, I find myself humming that familiar tune.

I remember…my daughter’s inability to go ask for more ketchup when we were at a fast food restaurant, so my son (3 years younger) did it for her. She’s much braver now.

matchbox-groupI remember…the sound of my son’s world from the moment he woke up until he fell asleep again. Never ending sounds of cars, trucks, trains and planes as he made his matchbox vehicles come to life, complete with crashing sounds (because what’s the point of a car that doesn’t crash?). The sounds are faint now, but still there.

I remember…longing for a quiet house, and now hating that quiet.

I remember…the sound of their friends…girls upstairs in my daughter’s room, giggling, squealing, whispering. Boys downstairs…yelling, laughing, eating (never whispering). Me, sitting at the computer, smiling at the sounds of life in my house.

I remember…the knot in my stomach (that has never quite gone away) that arrived at the same time as the first driver’s license.

I remember…a cold rag always made them feel better when they were sick or hurt. They didn’t know that it was all I knew to do for them.

I remember…getting up in the middle of the night, going into their room and watching them sleep. They were teenagers. The wonder of it never left.

I remember…the day each of them left home, waiting until they were gone to have my emotional breakdown because I needed them to leave without guilt.

I remember…my son’s sick-to-his-stomach excitement on Christmas Eve. Last year. He was 20.

I remember…the almost overwhelming excitement of my kids’ stepping into their future as adults, at the same time feeling just as overwhelmed with sadness that they were stepping out of their past, on their own, without me.

I remember…that my kids are healthy, strong, brave, and have hearts that are running hard after God. And then I remember that He was there through it all…loving them, protecting them, and making sure they didn’t go the way of so many houseplants.

There’s so much more. So many moments, sounds, smells that come upon me out of nowhere. Sometimes I smile, sometimes I cry, and sometimes I tell God I’m sorry.

But mostly, I thank Him for the memories.