Something Else

I wrote in my journal recently, “Lord, I’m not okay.”

And He said to me, that’s okay, you don’t have to be.

“If love endured that ancient cross, how precious is my savior’s blood? The beauty of heaven wrapped in my shame. The image of love upon death’s frame. If having my heart was worth the pain what joy could you see beyond the grave? If love saw my soul worth dying for, how wonderful? How glorious? My savior's scars victorious. My chains are gone, our debt is paid. From death to life and grace to grace" (Hillsong Worship, Grace To Grace).

Hi! I’m writing to you from the sky! Seat 14E to be exact. A middle seat, but I was just doing good to make the flight. Beggars cannot be choosers I reckon.

There’s something about not being on the ground. I always tell my husband if something happens to me up here to make sure everyone speaks in a British accent at my funeral and no one sheds a tear!

But as of right now, there’s still breath in my lungs, and if you’re reading this that means there is breath in your lungs too and if there is breath in your lungs, God is not done with you.

I saw the following on a license plate: “As I breathe, I hope.” 

I know I hear you—of course, a license plate spoke to Lauren. The Lord had already been stirring this word in my heart for weeks, I just hadn’t been totally sure how in the world to actually put it on paper because there was literally no way other than by it absolutely being downloaded from heaven.

So, here’s the deal, once upon a time, Louie Giglio was my home church pastor. A few years back he was preaching through a series titled “There Is Good News.” He was teaching from Luke 7 where Jesus brings a woman’s son back to life and He literally stops the funeral procession and tells this man to get up out of his casket. As if my brain had fully digested that, Louie said something that took me to church.

He said, “Jesus wants to interrupt your funeral too.” Excuse me what? I nearly stood up in my seat and started waiving my jacket around, but I thought that might be a little much for the Baptists in the room.

Jesus wants to interrupt your funeral. Right there in my seat, He began to bring to my mind stories in Scripture of healing and restoration. From Genesis to Revelation the Bible is a series of events that the world would deem over, hopeless, irreversible, and this is the word the Lord whispered to my heart: where the world would put a period, I put a comma.

And something always comes after a comma.

He is the Author of every story, the Healer of every broken heart, and the Binder of every wound. It’s not over until He says that it is finished. I am here to tell you that Jesus gets the last word. Where there is death He breathes life into the lungs of your story.

As I sat in that seat, pages of my Bible that I had touched a thousand times, stories I had heard since Sunday school began to come to life and speak to my heart in a brand-new way. In particular, in John 9, when Jesus heals a man who had been blind since birth. The man said, “He put mud on my eyes, I washed them and I can see!”

I felt a nudge from the Holy Spirit.

Mud, Lauren. I used mud. Something messy, something dirty, something that people spend their whole lives trying to get rid of to bring the miracle. 

Where the world had put a period, Jesus stepped in and put a comma in the life story of this blind man.

Flipping over to chapter 11, Lazarus, a dear friend of Jesus died even though his sisters called Jesus to come and heal him. Here’s the thing—commas don’t always feel good—but they signify that something else is about to take place.

I want to highlight this because even knowing the outcome, the Savior of the World felt the weight and the gravity of this tragedy so deeply that He wept. He knew the pain before it ever happened, but the miracle couldn’t happen without it. Where the world had put a period Jesus brought a dead man out of his tomb.

And then just a few pages to the right, the ultimate comma. The cross. 

Perfection. Fully God, fully man. Hung there to be gawked at, humiliated on my account. It was my sin, my shame that held him there. Jesus was dead. The news echoed around the world. Death had won. Darkness began to claim its territory. The Devil rehearsed his acceptance speech.

But three days later, I would like to think with a grin on His face and victory in His eyes Jesus began to breathe again. Jesus is alive! Where the world had put a period, the resurrected King took His rightful place.

This is what the world sees: The doctor said you can’t have children. Your marriage is over. The cancer has spread.

This is what Jesus says:The doctor said you can’t have children, your marriage feels over, the cancer has spread, but I get the last word.

What death are you standing up against today? What miracle are you waiting for? What is it in your story that feels so messy, so far beyond repair that you’ve begun to believe it must be outside of the reach of God? I am here to tell you that it is not.

When Jesus steps in, stories of fear become stories of faith, stories of pain become stories of purpose, stories of hurt become stories of healing, and stories of death become stories of life. You don’t have to be okay right this minute, but if it feels like a period trust that it is only a pause.

Jesus wants to interrupt your funeral. God is not done with you. Something else is on its way.