Sifted Like Wheat.

"Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to have all of you, to sift you like wheat. 

But I have pleaded for you in prayer, Simon, that your faith should not fail. 

So when you have repented and turned to me again, strengthen and build up your brothers."

Luke 22:31-32

I read through this text and listened to the pastor's words. I can identify so deeply, I feel like Peter, being sifted like wheat. Over the past few years, I have learned just what that feels like. Everything you hold dear and important, of worth and value goes upside down. The things you thought predictable about yourself, become very unpredictable. 

My heart has been for God since a very young age. Not because it was pressed on me, but because my heart was tender towards it. I did not come from a home where we rose early to do family devotions, where we were inundated with requirements of Christian music only, or where my parents were so perfectly tied to church that my mindset was overly trained on the things of God. My choice to follow God as young as I was, was my own. 

Much of my life has been filled with God's gracious favor. God has said yes to me on many of the things I have asked. So what transpired in my Colorado life was anything but expected. Even so, I have reflected many times on the verse I chose years ago when I felt God calling me into women's ministry: 

"preach the word; be ready in season and out of season; 

reprove, rebuke, exhort, with great patience and instruction."

2 Timothy 4:2

Before we arrived in Colorado I would look at the images on the internet of the church we planned to attend. I envisioned being involved, having new friends, connecting. I knew it might not be the same as what I previously had experienced, but I anticipated it would be similar. So I was beyond surprised, when connection after connection failed. When friendships took off and then lost all steam. Everything I had planned and hoped for seemed to be squelched. I was quickly falling out of season and I was anything but prepared.

In the process, of adjusting to our new life, we entered our adoption journey. For nine months, we worked to have our daughter placed with us. It was excruciating. I would pray and hope but anxiety, fear, worry would swell in me. What were these things that were now controlling every aspect of me? I was completely in a tailspin of confusion, things weren't happening. I'd pray hard and then harder. Nothing would happen. I have never exerted so much energy to accomplish something. Then our daughter arrived, and what was a long arduous process, became a painful, empty, and confusing experience. 

Who was this child I had hoped for? She didn't connect, she didn't answer or respond. When I visited her she was not like this. Now, she was home and hard to cuddle. She gave blank stares, had a stubborn temperament. What was happening? This isn't adoption. Adoption is love, forever families, second chances, stability. Adoption is beautiful, not ugly, messy, or confusing. Who am I? What is happening? Confusion as it does many times led to panic. My faith was being shaken at the very core, I was losing my peace. I looked around and thought, what am I believing in, why am I believing it. Is it all just a sick joke. Yes, the low point of faith. 

What did Peter feel when he denied Jesus? When that rooster crowed just as Jesus said it would? Did the very air get taken out of his body? Did he stare at his own skin and think who am I? What have I done? What am I doing? We know this, he was completely brokenhearted over it.

And Peter left the courtyard crying bitterly.

Luke 22:62

For us, a confusing situation became worse when our foster son came into our home at 3 months old and was returned his biological family at nearly ten months old. It was the final straw. I had bonded with this child. I was his mother and he was my son. It wasn't something you could just reason as God's will. Oh no. Now, I was mad. I remember driving down the road, tears that I usually work so hard to restrain streaming out. I was crying bitterly. I said out loud, into the air, into the emptiness of the car, my fiery words aimed at God, "How could you do this? I am so mad at you? Why would you just take him away?" It was so unfair. I imagined more times than not God staring from a distance, playing me like a chess piece on a board, everything was simply for his own amusement, and this was sick amusement. To give a woman a child, an only son, and the rip him away. The agony to find myself in this place, to look at my Bible on the table across from me and not have a desire to touch it, to sit in church worship and be filled with emptiness and hurt. But God did not forsake me in this place. 

But I have pleaded for you in prayer, Darci, that your faith should not fail. 

So with what little faith I had left, I pressed on. I prayed, I sought God. At moments, I began to stand so feebly, I could feel faith begin to take hold with the slightest amount of strength, but the next gust of wind always seemed to be just around the corner, and I'd be back on my face. My child was impossible to parent, my marriage was frustrated, my children were shaken as our home life became a shadow of its previous self, we had no family near, it was a lonely and abandoned feeling.

I have a friend who loves the mountains, as much as I love the beach. At a low point she offered to drive the kids and I up there. I went since the other option was to stay home and sulk in self-pity. Even though I was grateful, I can't say I was excited. I wasn't a fan of the mountains by any means. In fact, I saw those mountains more as a trap than anything beautiful. You see, the mountains are to the west of me. Do you know what else lies west? California, my family, my old life. The mountains were really serving as nothing more than a massive barrier between a life I loved and the new life that made no sense. I have many times meditated on this scripture:

"You don't have enough faith," Jesus told them. "I tell you the truth, if you had faith even as small as a mustard seed, you could say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it would move. Nothing would be impossible."

Matthew 17:20

I would imagine those mountains moving out of my way, and yet every morning to much of my disappointment they remained. Those mountains wouldn't budge, I couldn't move them. Instead, I would approach each morning making much of the same mistakes. I would give into depression, I would withdraw from my children, I would cry and cry and cry. I was so disappointed in myself. 

Peter was set in three scenarios, and he did it every time. He denied Christ. He believed himself to be one thing, a believer, a disciple, a devout follower of Christ - and in a moment of crisis did not resemble that person at all. It's kind of easy to be a little condescending toward Peter. After all, he talks a big game and then turns around and denies Christ. Why couldn't he hold it together? Stand his ground, be what others expected him to be? Why couldn't I?

Our son, Colin, was placed with us at 3 days old, and the emotional roller coaster became more dramatic. Visitations, court dates, love that had the potential to wreck me laid in my arms. Hope took root in my heart but I would have rather silenced it, perhaps it would lessen the pain if I were to lose him. So why take a baby in the midst of such madness? I don't know. It doesn't make sense to me either. . . . well not until much, much later.

When I was a kid my brother and I would wrestle, as we got older it never ended well for me. He would have me pinned, dribbling a loogie over me and I'd be screaming for mercy. I was screaming for mercy in my daily life while at the same time I was making one small, unreasonable, mustard seed step of faith after another. Clinging to the little faith I had left. Adoption day came, I stood before a judge and promised to adore my son forever, come what may. I was grateful to God, one small step at a time, my anger lessening, the road was starting to smooth out and go a little straight again. The wounds began to heal. We received help for our daughter and ourselves. The mountains still stood like blockades to the place I'd rather be, but God's abundant faithfulness held so much credibility that the mountains were at least tolerable. 

Doors opened. My heart sang praises again. My Bible found its place in my hands. I leaned into God with more strength than I had ever previously had. 

Each time he said, "My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness." So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me.

2 Corinthians 12:9

Peter too experienced restoration. We know that after the denial he turned to God again and repented. It's the difference between Peter and Judas really. Both betrayed Jesus. One with an unrepentant kiss, that ended in suicide and destruction. One with flat on his face humility that drew him to repentance. After the betrayal, Peter and Jesus were together and the following conversation occurred:

After breakfast Jesus asked Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?”

“Yes, Lord,” Peter replied, “you know I love you.”

 “Then feed my lambs,” Jesus told him.

 Jesus repeated the question: “Simon son of John, do you love me?”

 “Yes, Lord,” Peter said, “you know I love you.”

 “Then take care of my sheep,” Jesus said.

 A third time he asked him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”

 Peter was hurt that Jesus asked the question a third time. He said, “Lord, you know everything. You know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Then feed my sheep."

John 21:15-17

I think it no coincidence that Jesus asked Peter three times, "Do you love me?" Jesus is restoring him. For every time Peter denied Jesus, Jesus is giving him opportunity to answer again. I imagine Jesus asking me in much the same way, "Darci, do you love me? Are you still angry with me?" My eyes light up, my head tilts down with slight embarrassment that I failed to trust His goodness. "You know I love you Lord." He asks again and again, and it hurts how could I have doubted Him. I see God wins over and over and over again. The climb to victory doesn't always feel much like what we envision, but when you stand on the mountain top and you can see west over the mountains you know, that you know, that you know God is faithful!

So Colorado, my years of being sifted like wheat were spent with you. I did not like them very much, they were painful. They were not your fault, they were apart of God's plan. I do not regret my time here. Perhaps, the most valuable lessons in all my life were learned here, with you, and your snow-capped peak. The mountains are moving now, I'm going home, restored. I am not leaving as I came, but the life I leave with speaks volumes to His faithfulness.

So when you have repented and turned to me again, strengthen and build up your brothers.

Luke 22:32


So we don't look at the troubles we can see right now; rather, we look forward to what we have not yet seen. For the troubles we see will soon be over, but the joys to come will last forever. 
2 Cor. 4:18 (NLT)