Remnant Writings: Part One—Build, Grow, Multiply.

“Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat their produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease.” – Jeremiah 29:5-6

One summer when I was in high school, our church youth group embarked on a cross-country choir trip all the way to Canada. This was my first interaction with people that were very different than me in everything from customs to cuisine. The distinction in our accents provided endless entertainment, and they were fascinated with our pronunciation of certain words. It went like this: Canadian Friends—“How do you say, r-o-o-f?” “Reeewwwf”, I’d reply, like any self-respecting southerner with a drawn-out drawl. To me it was just language, but to them it was lyrical. I will never forget the feeling of deep appreciation I had for my heritage. It’s true: you can take the girl out of Louisiana, but you just can’t take Louisiana out of the girl.

In 607 BC, King Nebuchadnezzar invaded Judah, destroyed Jerusalem and the temple, took many Jews captive, then deported his prisoners to Babylon. The exiled Israelites quickly found themselves interacting with people very different from themselves, but for them it was in much more than just customs and cuisine—the deities were as diverse as the dialogue in this country, and many gods meant many ways to lose themselves. But, good Father that He is, God sent a message of hope to His children in Jeremiah chapter 29 so that whether captive, prisoner or exile, they wouldn’t forget who they were. Even though the Jews were taken out of Jerusalem, He didn’t want Jerusalem taken out of the Jews.

Beautiful Remnant, this is straight truth from the Lord—no matter where you are, don’t lose who you are.

For the sake of this series, “Babylon” represents any place—past, present, or future—that we feel like a prisoner, a captive, or an exile. For the Israelites, everything was different in their Babylon.

I’m thinking it is in yours, too, Sweetest One.

·       To the one who’s suffering from sorrow brought on by disease, depression or death—my heart aches for you. You can pinpoint the precise moment, when you lost yourself. The instant one breath took you from wife to widow. Or one heartbeat meant motherhood and the next meant miscarriage. How the diagnosis measures time in an hourglass, and you see it running out. When you realized the divorce was the last thing you wanted, or the breakup the last thing you needed—even and especially if you’re the one who did the leaving. Or when you thought the sadness might consume you because you remain while the one you love was taken, wishing it were you instead of them. The pain still imprisons you, whether yesterday or years ago, and you think you’ll never be the same. And you don’t know how to be, or even who you are, without them.

·       My heart is also so tender toward the precious ones held captive in your current situation—and slowly losing hope. You’re pleading with God for things to be different, to be better—in your marriage, with your children, with yourself. The sleepless nights of a terrified mama waking up with a newborn or the one waiting up for a teenager. The ones grieving over conflict in your church, or friction in your family. The one desperate to be free from habitual sin or strongholds. You’ve been praying for progress and begging for breakthrough, but every day without it holds you hostage a little longer. You look over the landscape of your life but all you can see are the weeds, and you’re afraid to keep hoping for change. And if you’re honest, you’re growing tired of waiting. And you’re asking—is it worth it?

·       And to you—the one who’s distanced yourself from everyone else—I see you, sweet friend. The one living in exile because one person hurt you so much, you’re afraid to trust again. The quarantine meant isolation for everyone, but for you it meant insulation from everyone. Distance means protection—less opportunity to put yourself out there, and being alone means not getting hurt. But, you’re hiding—and you know it, because relationships require risk. It means opening yourself to pursue new friendships, or perhaps reacquainting yourself with the ones you have. It means evaluating who should have access to your beautiful heart, then fighting for some relationships, and letting others go. It’s scary to be that vulnerable, but know this–someone is praying and waiting for a friend like you. Are you willing to move forward and find them?

May I gently remind you of something, Sweetest One? No matter where you are, don’t lose who you are.

You’re not an exile, or a captive, or a prisoner—that’s a lie straight from the evil one. It’s not your identity.

You’re a remnant.

You’re chosen. Blessed. And a strong survivor of every single catastrophe that the enemy uses to try and convince you that you’ve lost your happiness, your hope, or your heart.

So no matter if your Babylon has you feeling imprisoned to the past, captive in your current situation, or an exile fearful of the future, the powerful message of hope in Jeremiah 29:5-6 that God gave His people then translates as a beautiful love letter to you, today.

Build houses—and live.

When your whole world crashes you need a firm foundation, so The Lord’s very first instruction to His children was to build—right where they were, and only with what they had. He was telling them they were going to continue to exist, even in their loss. Precious Remnant, you will, too. God wants to build a place of healing in your heart if you’ll only make room for Him there. The final conversation King David had with his son Solomon was about constructing a place for the presence of The Lord to be near to His people. I pray that the last words David used to encourage Solomon to carry on God’s work without him minister to you as well in your sorrow:

“Be strong and courageous, and do the work. Don’t be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord God is with you. He won’t leave you or abandon you until all the work for the service of The Lord is finished.” – 1 Chronicles 28:20

God tells His people to not just build, but to live. Oh, some precious someone today needs to have permission to live again. It may not be today, tomorrow, next week or next month, but in the presence of The Lord, you will find courage, strength, and comfort. He will come to you, right where you are, and pick up every broken piece you’re holding and use them to make you whole and healed.

Plant gardens.

Now that a home was established, God’s people had to resign themselves to be still. To plant a garden is a commitment to stay, to nurture, to put the work in, and wait for the return. This was clearly not an overnight process.

But then again, nothing worthwhile is.

One of my favorite Scriptures is Job 14:7-9. It speaks of a tree that’s been cut down and left for dead, yet still has hope:

 
“There is hope for a tree, if it is cut down, it will sprout again and grow new branches. Though its roots have grown old in the earth and its stump decays, at the scent of water it will bud and sprout again like a new seedling.”

Tucked within the word hope is the Hebrew word tiqvah. It means to wait, to look for, to expect. Hope is about looking over the landscape of your life—weeds and all—and knowing underneath them is a garden. If we’ll surrender our marriage, our children, our churches, and our strongholds to Jesus, He will cut away the things that hold us back and then breathe life over the places left for dead. One version of verse 9 says the tree will flourish. Not survive—thrive. Sweet Remnant, there is hope for your marriage. For your family. For you. Hold on to this while you wait for change—God does His best work in gardens. Miracles happen there. Be expectant for yours.

Make families.

Psalm 68:6 says, “God places the lonely in families; He sets the prisoners free and gives them joy.” Beautiful Remnant—your heart is much too valuable to entrust to just anyone, and 1 John 3:20 tells us that God is greater than our hearts and He knows everything. He literally knows you from the inside out, so He alone is trustworthy to guard and protect the place most sacred—where He resides. It’s holy ground. The blood of Jesus makes us family, and within the Body of Christ are people right now that will honor your precious heart and keep it safe. We need one another, and we’re better together. Ask the Holy Spirit to bring those people into your life that He’s chosen for you, and also to remind you of the ones He’s already sent. Your sweet heart is His dwelling place, so you don’t have to hide any longer—He who made you knows who’s made for you.

Father God wants to build happiness from the pain of the past, grow hope in our current season of waiting, and multiply sweet friendships for the future of His people.

So then, who are you, Precious Remnant?

Healed. Hopeful. Holy. His.