Marissa Henley

Encouraging weary women to hope in Christ alone

Nothing Can Separate You From God’s Love {No Matter What Monday}

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Nothing

I have planned my husband’s funeral countless times.

My husband is a perfectly healthy forty-something-year-old who has never been in a life-threatening situation that I’m aware of.

But sometimes he is late coming home from work.

When he’s late coming home from work, I start to think he’s dead on the side of the road.

And when I start to think he’s dead on the side of the road, I mentally plan his funeral. If he’s really late, I might even brainstorm some of the hymns we’ll sing.

Sometimes I try to make myself feel better by telling myself that surely he just got one more phone call on his way out of the office. But the reality is that I’m not guaranteed to grow old with my husband. Sometimes telling myself the worst won’t happen doesn’t quite calm my fears.

But one truth that can calm my fears is this: no matter what, nothing can separate me from the love of God in Christ Jesus. The matchless, unfathomable love of Christ is a guarantee I can cling to.

What are you facing this week? What are you afraid of? Can it separate you from the love of God in Christ Jesus?

Filter your challenges and fears through this test:

“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus.” Romans 8:38-39

We face many losses in this life, and they are heartbreaking. But we will never face the loss of His love.

No matter what you face this week, nothing can separate you from the love of God in Christ Jesus.

 

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Jean {Thoughts on the death of a friend}

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It’s strange how my mind still doesn’t know what to call her. In a way, she’ll always be Mrs. Pharr to me. I’ll remember her teaching us calculus, writing furiously on the overhead projector, pushing us all toward a greater understanding of higher-level mathematics and 5s on the AP exam. I’ll remember her as the fiercely competitive sponsor of our Quiz Bowl team who wouldn’t rest until we beat Bentonville.

 

I’ll remember her as the loving mom to her two young daughters who hung around our after-school Quiz Bowl practices. At the time, I was too self-absorbed to wonder how she did it all, how she balanced her home life with being an engaging teacher who poured into us day after day.

 

I’ll remember how she saw that I had a gift for math and encouraged me to develop it. Her spunky personality made being a math geek seem much more acceptable than it really was.

 

I’ll remember how she trusted me with the responsibility of helping teach my peers calculus. How she had confidence that I was capable of just about anything – with the exception of her beloved sport of waterskiing, that is. She never could coach me to success there, and I know it drove her crazy.

 

But sixteen years after I left her classroom, our lives intersected again – we were diagnosed with cancer on the same day, she with stage 4 breast cancer and I with angiosarcoma. We both had a slim chance of surviving five years. And as members of a tight-knit club that no one wants to be part of, she became my friend, Jean.

 

We visited a couple of times—once when I was battling cancer, and again after my battle ceased and hers continued. And then in April 2015, she retired from her job in education and her second job of receiving cancer treatment, and she entered hospice care. So I decided to pay her a visit. One visit turned into two, and eventually these visits became a regular part of my schedule.

 

The first couple of visits were spent mostly sharing memories and catching up. But as time went on, our visits were less about two people who shared a past and more about two people who were sharing the present. But looming over our friendship was the unavoidable fact that one of us faced a short future. We talked about family, faith, fear, cancer, and dying.

 

And now she’s gone, taken home to glory, finally healed. My routine is left with a gaping hole. My heart hurts. I don’t want to go to her funeral. I want to pick up lunch from Panera, drive out to her house on the lake, and chat with my friend.

 

In a way, my grief feels selfish. For months, I tried to make our visits less about me and more about what she needed. And now I’m focused on my own sadness. But she doesn’t need me anymore. She doesn’t need anything. She is complete in her Savior. The tears have been wiped from her eyes, and now it’s my turn to weep.

 

And as I do, I will cling to my Savior, who knows how it feels to weep at the grave of a friend. He knows the pain of death, because he endured it to bring me eternal life. He sees my tears and promises that this hurt won’t hurt forever, that this separation is only temporary. He alone is the anchor of hope for my grieving heart.

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Mighty Molly Mutz

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Something very sad happened this week to someone I love. Ashley Escue is one of my best friends from our husbands’ medical school days in Memphis. We encouraged each other while our husbands were working 100-hour weeks and studying for board exams. We cried together on Match Day and beamed with pride at graduation. She loved me even through the years when she had kids and I didn’t, and I thought I understood, but I didn’t. At all. She hauled her third son to Indiana after the birth of my first son and comforted me when I was so exhausted that I couldn’t do anything but cry. Ashley is the daughter of Dennis and Barbara Rainey (founders of Family Life), so she always has fabulous book recommendations and advice.

Ashley has a sister, Rebecca Mutz, whom I have heard so much about from Ashley. Because I am friends with Rebecca on Facebook, I knew that she was expecting her first child. I saw the announcement of her baby girl’s birth on Facebook, and then two days later became concerned when her Facebook status asked for prayer for her daughter. Molly was unexpectedly born with life-threatening medical conditions, and God took her Home on Thursday, just a week after she was born. I won’t share all the details of Molly’s life here, but another blogger posted email updates along the way from Dennis Rainey here and here . All I will say here is that Rebecca and her husband Jacob had a baby dedication service with family in the hospital. God asked them to unreservedly commit their child to Him in the fullest sense, and they obeyed. They are truly courageous parents who cling to their Savior and entrusted their daughter to Him.

Mighty Molly Mutz (as her Papa referred to her) has had a deep impact on me this week, and one that I know is lasting. I am unable to put the entire experience into words, but here are a few things I have learned from Molly:

1. Molly made me long for Heaven. If God would have allowed Rebecca and Jacob to take her home with them, she would have been raised by joyful, godly parents. She would have been spoiled by adoring grandparents and enjoyed Christmases overflowing with cousins. Molly would have been taught about God and His Word, and she surely would have impacted many people with the Gospel. (Although she has influenced many in her short time on earth!) But for an unfathomable reason, Heaven is a better place for Molly than the wonderful home she would have enjoyed here. And so that reminds me that Heaven must truly be some place I want to be.

2. Molly taught me to be thankful. My heart aches for Rebecca’s and Jacob’s empty arms. God has allowed me to have two sons at home with me, and (I’m embarrassed to admit) there are days that go by when I don’t acknowledge that every day He gives me with them is a precious gift. When there are sleepless nights and whining-filled days, it is tempting to view motherhood as an inconvenience. This week, I have been a little more grateful, a little more patient, and a more loving mom to my boys.

3. Molly taught me to pray. I have prayed more this week than I have in a long time. I pulled Ashley’s family photo off the fridge, and my sons prayed for her boys who would soon lose a cousin. I know others who have lost children, most of them prior to my knowing them. Molly has reminded me to add them to my list of people to pray for regularly.

4. Molly taught me to trust. When something like this happens to someone I know, I agonize, weep and pray for them. And, because I am a selfish being, then my thoughts turn to myself. What if this happened to me? How would I survive? I begin to feel anxious and fearful. This week I was reading a chapter from Linda Dillow’s “Calm My Anxious Heart,” and the chapter was titled “Trusting God with the What Ifs.” I was reminded of God’s character–His sovereignty, His faithfulness and His love for me–and encouraged to trust Him with all of my what ifs. “Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord and whose trust is in the Lord.” (Jeremiah 17:7)

To Rebecca and Jacob and all the Rainey and Mutz families . . . my prayers are with you during this excruciatingly difficult time. Thank you for opening your lives to us and allowing us to share in your struggles, grief and hope, allowing God to teach us through you.

One of my favorite hymns, especially in times of difficulty, is “It Is Well With My Soul.” It was written by Horatio Spafford as he sailed in the Atlantic Ocean, where his four daughters had recently died. It seems fitting to share the words here. The first verse tells us that he has peace even in his grief, and the following verses tell us why.

When peace like a river attendeth my way, When clouds like a sea billow roll,

Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, “It is well, it is well, with my soul.”

Tho’ Satan should buffet, tho’ trials should come, Let this blest assurance control,

That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate, And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

My sin- O, the bliss of this glorious thought -my sin, not in part, but the whole,

Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more, Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

And Lord, haste the day when the faith shall be sight, The clouds be rolled back as a scroll,

The trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend, “Even so”- it is well with my soul.

It is well with my soul, It is well, it is well with my soul.

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