Grace under Pressure

I cannot go through a single day without the thought of grace lingering in the forefront of my mind. Moment by moment, I have a choice of whether or not I will choose to respond to an injustice/sin in grace or allow my human instinct of judgment and consequence to spill from my lips. Grace is somewhat abstract because it is the gift of favor or pardon in light of what we deserve; however there are conditions to receiving this grace, not just from others, but from Christ as well.

Grace does not turn a blind eye to sin. Grace does not release us from accountability or even from consequences. I’ll admit that I have thought of grace as being ultra compassionate toward someone’s circumstances without judgment or consequence for a long time, but as I have attempted to understand church discipline more, I have been challenged to seek meaning in the seemingly hazy line between grace as I have always defined it and discipline.

Grace chooses to see the heart of the person before their sin and acts in response.  I can think of no better example than the story found in John 8. (Paraphrasing) A woman brought before the court had been found guilty of adultery. In those days, anyone found guilty of adultery was to be stoned to death. However, as the teachers of the Law, Pharisees and onlookers waited breathlessly to hear the woman’s sentencing, the Judge solemnly declared, “He who is without sin may cast the first stone”.  Obviously, not one was without sin and all eventually left the court, leaving only the Judge and the woman. Picture this tender moment with me:  Jesus kneels before the young woman, looks her in the eye and whispers, “Is there no one to cast the first stone?” Tears streaming down her face, her lip quivering, as both her mind and eyes question what has just happened, as she whispers an unbelieving, “No”. Jesus then tenderly cups her cheek in his hand and says, “Then neither do I. Go off and commit this sin no more”.  This is grace. Jesus saw her repentant heart, forgave her and sent her on her way while man looked at her outward appearance (1 Sam. 16:7). This is not to say that the woman did not receive any consequences; most assuredly she did. However, she was not condemned.

As Christians, we experientially know that God is grace. Everything we read, study and experience of Him oozes unfathomable grace. We also know that as Christians, we are called to imitate Christ--- to be sacrificially, gracefully accepting of all people, to forgive those that wrong us, and love our neighbors (our enemies, those with alternative life styles, beliefs, etc.---there are no exceptions) as Christ loved the Church. Think about that for a moment: how did Christ love the church? He loved with His entire being, with everything He had to give, including humbling himself from His position in Heaven to becoming and living as a common man and sacrificing His very life for our sakes. He lived his life among the beggars, thieves, diseased, prostitutes---the unlovely, the unlikeable, and the unworthy. He was eager to wash the feet of the broken, the hurting, and the sinful and He justly and wisely admonished the wrong, the prideful, and the sinners.

Even though I have not questioned God’s grace, I have wrestled for decades with the church’s grace where discipline is concerned. Several examples of church discipline come to mind: a friend while in high school got pregnant and had to share her sin before the church, another friend who had admitted to having sex outside of marriage during premarital counseling was told she could not wear white and instead had to wear a pink wedding dress. Another friend was raped by a fellow member of the church and instead of discipline being brought upon the man, the young man was forgiven by the church and still allowed to attend (which forced the girl to leave the church, question God’s love for her, and her value). Three different circumstances; three different churches and yet, in all three situations, the line between discipline and grace is confusing at best. We want to believe that the church is doing the right and best thing and in accordance with scripture, but in instances like these it causes us to question not only the church’s grace, but God’s grace as well.

I struggle with the seeming injustice often found in church discipline. It is not that I don’t believe in church discipline. I do. It is Biblical.

“Stern discipline awaits anyone who leaves the path; the one who hates correction will die” (Proverbs 15:10).

“Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as His children. For what children are not disciplined by their father?” (Hebrews 12:7).

“No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained” (Hebrews 12:11).

However, I believe some churches see the sin and not the heart of the person. If the heart is repentant, then allow natural consequences be the only discipline one receives. If the sin keeps occurring without a repentant heart, then intercession and correction are necessary.  Not one of us is without sin, not one! (1 John 1:8). It’s interesting to me to think about what sins are often brought before the church. Usually sexual immorality; I’ve never heard anything but. However, God does not weigh our sins or assign varying degrees of sin. A lie is a sin. Adultery is a sin. And both look the same in God’s eyes.

So in light of discipline, how does grace fit into the picture? Although grace is a free gift, there are conditions for receiving it and remaining in it. Here are just a few:

God gives more grace to the humble (James 4:6). Therefore, if we are humbled in Him, we will receive more grace.

“The Lord your God is gracious and merciful and will not turn His face away from you, if you return to Him” (2 Chron. 30:9). He will look upon us if we return to Him. On the flip side, if we do not return to Him, we forfeit His merciful grace.

“He will surely be gracious to you at the sound of your cry. As soon as He hears it, He answers you” (Is. 30:19). We must cry out to Him so He can lavish His grace upon us.

“For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is His steadfast love towards those who fear Him” (Psalm 103:11). Fearing God is not the shaking in your boots in the middle of the night kind of fear. It is a reverent, sweet humility and submission to His authority and power.  When we live within this holy respect of the Almighty God, His steadfast love is boundless toward us.

The list goes on. And as I read countless scriptures where grace is clearly conditional, I see two things. First, I see that God desires nothing more than to lavish such love and grace on us. And second, He is just waiting for the moment when we relinquish our lives to Him, seek His face and will in all things.

John Piper, in his book, “Future Grace” (2012), points out 10 conditions to receive grace:

1. Love God
2. Delight in Him
3. Draw near to Him
4. Wait on Him
5. Take refuge in Him
6. Hope in Him
7. Trust in Him
8. Cry out to Him
9. Fear Him
10. Look to Him

Does this list look like a synopsis of what having faith looks like, or what?  Faith, in essence, looks to God and embraces Him and Him alone. And although faith has inner and outer components, this list speaks to the condition of a faithful heart, to a heart emptied of self and eyes firmly fixed on Him. Clearly, the condition to receive grace is that we must have faith.”By grace you have been saved, through faith…” (Romans 3:23).

From faith grows love for others. Love is the second component to faith. It is the outward expression of our love for Christ. Loving others is a necessary evidence of our faith. It’s so important, in fact, that Christ commanded it. “This is His commandment; that we believe in the name of His Son Jesus Christ and love one another” (1 John 3:23). Two actions: believe and love, one command. So to digest some of this information; grace is conditioned on our having faith, which is rooted in Christ’s love which then spills out onto others. So my question then becomes, what does grace look like practically when discipline is necessary?

I am reminded of a conversation I had with my teenage daughter just yesterday when I wrapped up her consequences with the words, “I am doing this because I love you. If I didn’t love you, I’d let you do whatever you wanted. Accountability is love”. I have faith in my daughter. I trust her, but she still needs guidance and every now and then discipline to keep her on the right track, especially when that track keeps veering off course.

Grace shows incredible love and devotion to the person being disciplined. It says, “I love and care so much about you to let you remain in this unhealthy place”.

I believe there is a place for church discipline, when it has been marinated in love for the person---not as a way to expose their sin, but as a way to expose them to Christ’s grace and forgiveness for them. I have yet to see church discipline done well. I think it’s a tricky thing and often can be misunderstood by the congregation as well as the recipient. Some churches are legalistic in their approach (such as the ones I mentioned at the beginning), missing the purpose of discipline. One sin is not more substantial than another in Christ’s eyes. Not one of us is worthy of casting the first stone. Therefore, to discipline, we must, must act in grace---through love for one another and with the ultimate purpose of pointing our brother or sister back to the Lord.

Can you imagine what church discipline rooted in excessive love would look like? Discipline should be an overwhelming feeling of love and respect for the recipient---intimate and grace-filled and should cause the recipient to desire to change paths, knowing they are supported every step of the way.

“See to it that no one misses the grace of God and that no bitter root grows up to cause trouble and defile many” (Hebrews 12:15).
 
“Let all you do be done in love” (1 Cor. 16:14).

Chapter One

Growing up in a fire and brimstone Baptist church, it was imbedded in me from early on that everyone plays an important role in fulfilling the Great Commission (sharing Jesus with the world). And although I didn’t necessarily know what that meant for those of us who didn’t feel “called” to the mission field---places like Africa or China, I always knew that my story (testimony), as well as yours, is a part of God’s greater story and was meant to be shared in hopes to show Jesus to the world and connect with others.  

I’m a pretty average chick. Married, with two kids and a dog, live in the burbs, go to church, teach kids with special needs, garden, read, and sing terribly---like I said, average. I have wondered does an average person have a story worth sharing. Would it point you to Christ, reveal more of Him to you; cause you to hunger for a God that not only satisfies, but exceeds any preconceived notions? Simply, would my love for Him be infectious? Rather, would His love and acceptance for me, hopefully evident in my life, cause you to seek Him out?

I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, I’m talking decades.  I’ve not shared parts of my story, perhaps the most important chapter, because shame still accompanies aspects of it. And although I know in my heart that shame is not of God, my head gets the better of me and plays torrid games by inundating me with thoughts of rejection. I know better. I also know that Satan is the initiator of such paralyzing thoughts. I’ve been fighting this for a very long time.

Recently, I timidly shared “Chapter One” with one of the most inspiring women I’ve ever known. I not only had the privilege of growing up with her, but still have the honor of being precious friends in our middle age. Through tears, she said, “Sharing our story is freeing. It means Satan no longer has the power of shame to hold over us. Once it’s out there, he cannot use it against us. And God can use it for His glory.” (Everyone should have a friend like her---she speaks truth so eloquently)

Driving home that afternoon, it dawned on me that my story is part of God’s story and He will use it however He sees best and right. Stories have the ability to connect us on the deepest of levels. Often, allowing us to see ourselves in others where we can learn and be encouraged by them. That night laying in bed, thinking about our conversation, I came to the conclusion that if I am going to be bold in my faith, I need to share my story, even if it is uncomfortable, even if fear lingers in the shadows.  If I am worried about the outcome (what others think, do, or say), I am sharing for the wrong reason. Ultimately, sharing my story has more to do with God than it does with me.

I just started reading The Story Lives (2013) written by Henriet Schapelhouman and in it she reminds us:
We are created for God
He handcrafted every person with a specific character and for a specific purpose
He made us the way He intended
He placed us in a specific time and space
God designed us
In short, this means He wanted us for His pleasure and companionship and even if we consider ourselves an average Joe, God purposely created us as unique individuals and for a reason that He will reveal to us when the time is right. We are part of HIS story and He is the one who sets it into motion for His glory and purpose. My story is not my own. Your story is not your own. They are intertwined, making up God’s bigger story.

So, I share what I call Chapter One with you in the hopes that you will see my story as part of a bigger story, God’s. May it reveal more of Him and what He can and will do through your life, if you let Him.

Nineteen, unmarried, and pregnant I sat in a sterile waiting room, restlessly waiting for my name to be called. The doctor’s tardiness intensified my anxiousness and my already out of sync heartbeat seemed to thump with a greater intensity with each tick of the clock.

Finally, 45 minutes after my scheduled appointment, my name was called. You’d think relief would have set in, knowing I was taking a step toward what I believed was freedom, but instead I felt as if I was a prisoner with hands and feet shackled together by chains that clanked as I was lead into a dark room, lit only by a small lamp in the far corner.

I was instructed to disrobe and lay on the table. I did so without a word. Usually, a chatter bug, I didn’t want to be known. If the emperor had a new invisible suit, I would have eagerly paid him the moon for it.  The Doppler located my 7 week old baby quickly. I did not recognize the image, but upon the sound of the heartbeat and other swooshing sounds that filled the small dark room, my eyes lit up as if it was a sound I had always known, a sound that mimicked my own racing heart.  The nurse saw my reaction and quickly turned the volume knob so I could no longer hear my baby’s lifeline.

“Yep, you’re pregnant”, came the gruff response of the stout nurse as she tossed my robe onto the table and left the room. I dressed and waited for instructions. Though the ultrasound screen had grown dark, I could not help but to stare at it, trying to visualize my oddly formed baby that just moments before had lit up the room.  Another 30 minutes passed and I grew increasingly uneasy. I knew I shouldn’t be there. I just wanted to hurry up and get this over with. I reasoned that I would give the doctor five more minutes and if she didn’t show up, I’d leave. Where I’d go or how I’d get there didn’t cross my mind. Dennis had dropped me off at an out of town clinic and I had no way to get in touch with him (before cell phones).

As the clock clicked onto the five, the doctor came into the room joined by another nurse who looked like my grandmother. She took my hand in both of hers and gave me the sweetest smile, squeezing my hand in hers as she walked me into another room assuring me I would be OK and that she would be by my side the entire time. I smiled and was oddly comforted by this perfect stranger.

The room was beautifully decorated; brightly lit with lamps on coffee tables, walls covered with grass cloth and a wrought iron bed with a beautiful floral bedspread and decorative shams. It was not what I had expected and a part of me felt as if I had just entered the twilight zone.  Still in my robe, the grandma-nurse set a soft floral nightgown on the bed and gave me privacy to change.  Everything in me screamed to leave, but as I looked around, I felt betrayed by my surroundings.

20 minutes later the soothing music that had been playing in the background and my grandma-nurse’s nurturing voice were drowned out by the sing song words of the doctor, “I’ll be back. I’ve got to go count the parts. We want to be sure we got all the parts.” What I was trying desperately not to think about had not just been blatantly thrown at me, but had been done so in the most heinous of ways.  Parts? My baby in parts? I am not sure what I thought was happening to her, but a visual had never accompanied what I was doing. Tears streamed down my face and the heaviness of shame and regret that I had been trying to keep at bay, now threatened to choke me. I couldn’t breathe. Gasping for breath and trying to sit up, my grandma-nurse shushed me and ran her fingers through my long hair, like my mother used to do when I was a little girl. I couldn’t speak. Literally, I could not speak.

I was moved to a recovery room with other women who had just had abortions. Beds lined up, filling a large room lit with harsh florescent lighting buzzing overhead, I listened to several women compare notes about their experiences. Some were crass, using abortion as a form of birth control, others complaining about how expensive it was. All of them had had multiple abortions. Laying there in aching pain, I felt like the lowest of scum. I knew better. I went against absolutely everything I had believed.

I was a girl raised in the church, had accepted Christ as my Savior at a young age, and was raised in a God-fearing home, now laying childless by my own hand. The guilt was astronomical. I was led here because I feared what my parents would say if they found out I was living outside both God and their desires for me by having sex outside of marriage and then that I was pregnant. Dennis, son of the pastor of one of the largest churches in our area, feared not only what his parents would think of us, but also feared possible repercussions for his dad at the church. In Dennis’ fear, he threatened not to marry me if I didn’t go through with the abortion. My wedding dress hung in my closet and invitations had already been ordered. I felt trapped. And even though I knew it was against God, I tried with all my might to put Him out of my head.

I went home and cried for months, living as a shell of what I had been. I was empty. Though I was in the throes of planning my wedding, I could have cared less. Everything felt meaningless. I went through the motions of daily life, including marrying Dennis just four months after the abortion, but I was not who I once had been.  To say I was broken is a grave understatement.

Nightly, I cried begging the Lord to forgive me. In my heart, I knew He had because He promises that He will forgive each of us if we ask and He will remember it no more, but I could not wrap my mind around the fact that God would forgive me for this. I could not forgive myself. I punished myself by working harder to be better at everything and anything. I strove for perfection, thinking illogically that if I worked hard enough, long enough, good enough that God would forgive me, that somehow He would see some value in me even though I had grieved Him. I knew it didn’t work like that, that God loves me where I am and for who I am, but somehow I lost sight of that fact.

Dennis had about enough of me by this point and told me to find help. I called Crisis Pregnancy Center, not even sure they could help me. Mary Ann answered the phone and after getting my story out between heavy sobs, she told me that she too had an abortion as a Christian and that the Lord had freed her from the shame that daily held her captive. I asked how that was possible and she invited me to attend a post abortion Bible Study.

I felt so distant from God. How could I face him by spending time in His Word and in prayer? I had pushed Him away and yet I desperately needed Him. I went to the class not knowing what to expect, but needing something that I could not provide or earn myself. Although several other women signed up for the class, not one of them showed up. It was just me and Mary Ann. For 12 weeks, she shared her experience and showed me the Jesus she had fallen in love with, the Jesus who had rescued her, redeemed her, and made her whole again. And through intense Bible Study, I learned more about God’s Character and who I am to Him and in Him.

I was slowly healing from the inside out. My eyes were firmly fixed on Jesus and Who He is, not on what I had done. Though I was still deeply hurting, I realized that God’s forgiveness has nothing to do with how I feel. The fact that I didn’t “feel” forgiven did not mean that God did not forgive me.  I discovered that in the backdrop of forgiveness stood the cross. And the cross represented acceptance, freedom, and unfathomable grace. Forgiveness does not burden, it does not rob us of joy, and it does not keep us from moving forward. God took my shame and forgave me. Period. If there was any lingering guilt and shame it was not a reflection of Christ. Those are Satan’s powerful tactics. I however needed to learn how to forgive myself. I’ll admit, I am still in process all these years later.

The biggest thing that impacted me and still to this day leaves me in a state of absolute awestruck humble gratitude is Isaiah, Chapter 53. It is an honest portrait of Christ’s sacrifice for us. I am not sure how I had never heard this passage before, having grown up in the church, but I hadn’t. Studying and meditating on the precious truths of Isaiah 53:5, where Christ says, “by my wounds you have been healed”, I found myself biting my quivering lip time and time again, because I got it. I really got it. And still to this day, twenty-one years later, I weep every time I read or hear those life-giving words.

I knew Jesus had died on the cross for me, paying the punishment for my sins, but I hadn’t considered that His wounds---His physical wounds--- stakes in His wrists and feet, the gash in His abdomen, the repeated beatings, the crown of thorns deeply imbedded into His scalp--- and the emotional wounds---hateful, vengeful, mocking words of onlookers, Pharisees, and even people who claimed to believe He was indeed the Son of God---how that must have grieved His already battered heart---but what’s more painful to imagine is when His Father turned his face away from Him---my heart breaks at the picture of it all. And then to know that chose to go through all this for me---for an average Joe--and that He accepted those wounds so that I might have life---not a life lived in shame or lived mediocre, but a life lived to the full…my heart gushes at the thought, swells with the realization that I don’t have to live in captivity, that the door to my invisible cage had been open all along. My wounds have been healed because He took them from me and made them His own. He made them His own! I am not defined by my wounds, I am defined by the One who took them from me and replaced them with Himself.

My life changed forever on May 3, 1993 when my unborn daughter, Alyshia, went to be with Jesus at my own hand. Satan intended to use that life-altering and devastating experience to derail me permanently from living firmly in Christ. God had greater plans and took what Satan intended for evil and instead called my name, wrote it in His book of Life, and loves me as I am---sins and all. I am not who I once was. And as the song goes, “I once was blind, but now I see” and what a glorious sight. It was because of this experience that I asked Jesus to be the Lord of my life, that my parents’ faith became my faith. I believe in Him not because my parents lived in such a way to share Him with me, but because He revealed Himself to me personally, spoke to me when I needed it most. To say I love Him is perhaps the biggest understatement I could ever make. I am entirely in love with Him.

It is my deepest prayer that my story, what I call my “chapter one” in a long series of growth lessons, points you to God. That you can see what He is able to do through the lost---even Christians who have lost their way, taken a wrong turn. God is so good to call us back to Him, to redeem us, and to keep on loving us as if we were already perfect. I know my life will have many, many more bumps and bruises, that my path may become cloudy at times or my pride and self-sufficiency may attempt to rear its ugly head, but in the end I know God still loves me and I will one day live with Him happily ever after.

I wonder what your story is, if you have taken the time to reflect on the events that have lead you to the place you are now, see how your story plays a part in God’s greater story and how it intertwines with others around you. Some stories bring with them an element of shame, guilt, or sadness. Some bring with them exuberant joy and purpose. No matter which chapter you read or are currently “writing”, each and every one of them has brought you to where you are now and play an important role in God’s plan.

Losing my Religion

I love someone I have only seen through the fullness of fragrant peonies, the milky warmth of sunrises, fire blazing sunsets, and through brilliant sparkles precisely hung in the depths of darkness begging me to count beyond my ability. I’ve seen Him in the mighty tree laded mountains towering over variegated grasses slow dancing in the whispers of the afternoon breeze. I’ve seen Him in the silvery ripples playing hide and seek in clear babbling streams that yearn for my feet to share in its joy by kicking and splashing relentlessly. I see Him in the complexity of science as well as in the simple innocence of laugher. I’ve felt His presence and heard His voice throughout my entire life, through all seasons, as He graciously and continuously fulfills His promises of provision, protection, guidance, and unconditional, sacrificial love for me. My world oozes God. I cannot, cannot get enough of Him. The love I have for Him supersedes any other love I have ever known.  This love keeps me going back for more. It fulfills. It sustains me like nothing else in the entire world. It speaks to me, ministers to me, teaches me, guides me, and loves me as I am.  

In life, we know this is a rare and precious love.  Most people would say that it doesn’t exist; perhaps that we are living in a dream world. And if, by chance, people allow us to believe in such a love, they say, “It won’t last, that it’s only a matter of time before we slip up, fail, and lose this love.” The world is filled with skeptics, people who have been hurt and struggle to trust, people who are blinded to what is right before their eyes. Some are romantics however, and encourage, “It is better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all”; believing that to love is a risk.

Christians, we want to believe, are different; that once we discover this love, it becomes a part of us---our identity—and we never fear losing something so entirely precious based on our actions. But the truth is, many of us have the same fears. And more than a few of us live life knowing we’re entirely unworthy of such unconditional, sacrificial, authentic love that we try to earn it. We bend over backwards, living through a set of self-imposed rules and restrictions in hopes that we, through our own feeble actions/abilities, can refine ourselves into a state of near perfection which God will look our way and say, “Well now, here’s one worthy of my love.”

Attempting to control our spirituality, our refinement process in hopes to earn this kind of love, (it’s called Agape love btw) is crazy at best. Many Christians know this and yet easily fall into a works-driven “faith”; believing they can work for their salvation, which essentially is God’s gracious love for us. I believe the reason this performance or work driven cycle continues to sneak its way into our lives is because the world works this way. “If I do this, then blank happens.” We see time and time again that when we work for something, we are rewarded with appreciation, a paycheck, self pride, etc.  We’re conditioned to perform from young ages. Parents give praise for good grades, for placing well in a sports event, even being a good friend and we learn that if I do my part and do it well, I earn affection. (Side note: I absolutely believe parents should praise their children for their efforts and accomplishments, but not only in performance areas. Praising their character trumps performance any day and helps children understand they are loved and valued for who they are---as they are---not what they do).

Perhaps this works-driven faith, or what I have always referred to as “religion”, happens because we have not fully grasped or accepted that God’s love is free, that He is not of the world, so He doesn’t respond like the world. This popular ploy of Satan’s also causes us to focus on ourselves and performance rather than having our eyes fixed on Christ and what He has already done for us while we were still sinners.  Perhaps we missed the part where God promises that He will finish what He begins in us. Meaning, He is taking responsibility for us and our growth. When we try to control the outcome, we are in actuality showing how little faith we have in God and inadvertently elevate ourselves above God. Faith is not about works. It’s not about performance. It’s not about rules and restrictions. It’s not even about us.

Richard Rohr, author of Naked Now (2009), writes about faith as “being united with Christ”.  Although I know religious works keep us at arms’ length from a God we claim to love, I have to admit that I haven’t thought about what it means to be in union with Christ.  When the subject of faith comes up, my mind is quick to go to Hebrews 11:1, “Faith is being sure of what we hope for through things unseen”. Though true, this scripture personally leaves me clamoring for more answers, for a greater definition, for something deeper, meatier.  It always has, ever since I memorized it at the ripe age of nine. At that age, I dismissed it, thinking I just didn’t have the maturity to understand such complex matters. Here I am a whole lot older and I still struggle to understand. So I read on, trying to grasp a better understanding of this “unity in Christ” concept. I’ll confess, I have heard this terminology many times before, even sing about it on a regular basis. However, I have not really taken it to heart, thought more introspectively about it as a way to better understand my faith. Rather, I’ve always thought of God as being beyond me, not out of reach, but not so close that He literally dwells within me. It’s a bit too abstract even for this imaginative girl!

As I write this, I find I am consumed with a precious memory of when I was four years old and shyly and yet so intently asked my Daddy to help me ask Jesus into my heart. With my mom and dad in my bedroom, I prayed a simple prayer, admitting that I was a sinner, that I believed that God sent his Son Jesus to die on the cross for my sins and then rose from the dead three days later to prove He was indeed God. I remember hoping as I asked Jesus into my heart, that He would accept my invitation. My parents assured me that He did!  I wish at four, I realized that Jesus was literally taking up residence in my life, not just figuratively. Children don’t get so wrapped up in the complexity or abstract nature of faith. They simply believe. I know now that I was the one accepting God’s invitation, not the other way around!

First up, “God’s love has been (as in already) poured out onto us” Romans 5:5.

OK, so clearly God is all in. He’s invested. He’s given everything. Got it. From this scripture, it sounds like to be unified; I have to be the one to take the next step.

“Believe in the Lord and you will be saved” Acts 16:31.

That’s it? Simply believe? For many, I think this is where the rub lies. It is hard to believe in something we cannot see, don’t give credit to experiencing, etc.  (People who struggle with faith or God live by their own merit, for their own merit). OK, so I believe. Moving on.

“The Spirit is with you and in you” John 14:17.

(Though comforting to me, it may sound a litter poltergeist-ish to others).  He is with me always, to the end of time. He will never leave me, He will never forsake me, and He loves me as far as the east is from the west and forgives me just as much.  He is my all in all. He is my foundation. He is my hope.

Rohr reminds us that “hope and union are the same thing and that real hope has nothing to do with mental certitudes” (Rohr, 16). Meaning, that our union in Christ has nothing to do with the ways of this world, the mental games we play with ourselves in attempts to gain His acceptance, appreciation, and love. No, simply we are united because God chose us and we chose Him back. No strings attached. This union is a mutual choosing of one another. Simply, it’s relationship.

Hope is actively being fulfilled through an inconceivably precious union in and with Christ! Sitting with that statement, I find myself in awe of the realization that Christ has been within me and I in Him all along.  I never grasped that, never appreciated the significance of such sacrifice for the almighty God to inhabit this lowly soul. I am not my own. I am His beloved bride and His thoughts about me outnumber the grains of sand. The palms of His hands bare my name. At the risk of trivializing this beautiful union: we run life together as a three legged race, like two peas in a pod, like peanut butter and jelly.  He is not without me and I am not without Him. My heart quickens at the thought and I am humbly brought to my knees both in thanksgiving and in utter adoration for my God!

Faith is relishing in the truth that we are no longer separated from Him.

Sadly, and maybe like a lot of well-meaning Christ followers, I’ve made faith more of a religion than a relationship at times. I am giving up following the “shoulds”. I am giving up the self-imposed rules I’ve prided myself on. I’m giving up trying to appease others by morphing myself to fit what I perceive they want/expect of me as a Christian. I am giving up bending over backwards to earn a love I already have. Instead, I will rest confidently in Christ and allow Him to do the rest.

“So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal” 2 Cor. 4:18

Neighboring Up

Her deep set chocolate eyes rested just below her white, knitted stocking hat in an attempt to disguise a pain, a brokenness of spirit as well as body and mind. Her once merry eyes now lacked sparkle, warmth, and gravely defied her youthfulness.  Exhaustion clearly stole her ability to concentrate on a single task, let alone make eye contact or regularly form coherent sentences, causing her to come across as forgetful and disheveled. I could see that she was trying to be friendly, though her infrequent smiles seemed forced.  Understandably, she was outside her comfort zone and who wouldn’t be in this situation.

We spent an hour together in an open air bistro where coffees and mochas sprinkled our table for four while the hustle and bustle of Seattle laid backdrop to the tenderness of our time together. My husband, Dennis, sat by my side and J., the Safe Families Coordinator, sat by hers. No one in those moments, however, could have stolen my attention from her.  My eyes rarely left hers and my heart ached as I tried to comfort a mother who just escaped her husband’s latest rage against her, leaving her penniless, homeless, with a crushed hand in desperate need of surgery and a newborn baby. Perfect strangers:  one in position of great need, the other in a position to help. 

Our conversation began with business. It had been done, the legal ins and out of us caring for her son while she underwent surgery and recovery. In short, Dennis and I would follow a set of rules, laws, and guidelines as would she. She understood that she would retain custody of her son though he would be in our care for X-amount of time. She would also be responsible for any medical bills that may occur, promise not to sue us or Safe Families, etc. if anything unexpected should occur. I studied her face as J. carefully explained these crucial points--points that were meant to put her at ease, answer any questions she might have, etc., but I could see that she could have cared less about that part of it. She appeared to be calloused; yet, I understood her callousness to be a defense mechanism, a survival skill. However, in this moment, she was in a position where she had no choice but to trust.

 Several days ago when Dennis and I learned that we would be bringing this baby into our home all I could think about was him. My own daughters are now teenagers, so I do not have the opportunity to nuzzle cheeks and breathe in the sweetest of scents. I love babies. I am not sure anything on earth makes my heart beat as wildly as babies do. I pulled out crib sheets and blankets, arranged to borrow a crib and car seat, thought about what items we might need to purchase for his stay with us. Without a doubt, he consumed my thoughts and filled my prayers. However, as I sat across from this mom, I found myself more in a state of ceaseless prayer for HER. She wasn’t looking for charity, a free ride. Honestly, I believe, she wished she didn’t need us at all, though she did not say.

I desired to cut to the heart of the matter, to learn more about her, more about her son. In her aloofness, I wondered if she would really open up. Finally, I couldn’t hold back another moment and jumped right in to gush over her son’s grey eyes, his dainty fingers---how proud she must be of such an angel—a genuine smile spread across her face and I knew in that moment there was life just beneath this hard exterior. Twice in our conversation, she paused, fixed her eyes on her sleeping son and apologized for not being what he needed her to be. I bit my lower lip and smiled, understanding the desire to be more, to be better, for my children. Mother to mother, woman to woman, this broken child (and that is what she is) and me, began what I hope is a wonderful relationship of trust and support.

I smiled warmly, hoping to ease the certain inner turmoil, questions, and concerns she might have of us, and talked as if I understood her struggle, her situation, but I didn’t. She never opened up about her personal struggles, never shared more than what was asked of her. In fact, most of her responses were answered matter-of-factly, no inkling of emotion. She never asked questions of us, however, I found myself asking her over and over again, “Who is taking care of you? Do you have a support system? Do you have what you need?” She never answered. She never complained. She avoided these questions, squirming in her seat, adjusting her hat. I knew the answer and it caused a deep ache, burdening my heart severely.  I wanted her to know that though we would be caring for her son, she was important to us as well. Her son was here and safe because of her courage to leave a horrific situation

As Dennis and I drove toward home, I found myself biting the inside of my cheek in an attempt to keep the tears from falling. This woman---this woman had made an impact on my heart. Here, I was eager to care for a baby (my absolute delight) and although we will still have the honor to care for him, my heart now aches for his mother and all women like her.  Homeless, jobless and yet in a better place than they started. I admire her courage, applaud her, but ache desperately for her as I know the road ahead is littered with statistics that will beat her down, rather than lift her up.

A wise and precious friend reminded me of the parable of the Good Samaritan recently. Remember the story where a man of status and great knowledge of the law asked Jesus, “How do I inherit eternal life?” to which Jesus questions back, knowing that this Pharisee knew the laws by heart,  “What is the written law?” The man, I assume proudly shares, the law is to “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and, to love your neighbor as yourself”. I picture Jesus smiling as he assures the man that he his right in his response. The Pharisee, still restless in knowing the answer, but not truly understanding it’s meaning, asks, “Who is my neighbor?”

Jesus then tells of a man who had been walking alone along a dirt and dusty road when he was suddenly attacked by brutal robbers.  These robbers took his money, beat him mercilessly, stripped him of his clothes and left him---possibly to die. This man was most likely a Jew, not favorably looked at, not accepted in the Samaritan community. The road was one regularly traveled and soon a priest walked by, he sees the man and crosses the road so as not to bother with him. Soon, another man, a Levite, comes along and he, too, sees the man but takes no pity on him. Time passes, and soon a third man, a Samaritan, enemy of Jews, happens upon the wounded man and swoops down immediately to bandage the man’s wounds, giving him ointment to care for his open sores. Next, he puts the man onto one of his donkeys and walks with him into town to an Inn where he can find rest and recover. The Samaritan has to leave for whatever reason, but not before giving the innkeeper two silver coins and asks him to look after the wounded man. He promises that if extra expenses occur he would reimburse him when he returned.

Jesus wraps up his story there and asks the Pharisee, “Which of these three men who passed by the wounded man was his neighbor?” The Pharisee replies, “The one who had mercy on him”.  Jesus smiles, and instructs, “Go and do likewise”.  Good at its best is when the law of the heart eclipses the law of the land.  Putting stereotypes, differences, status, etc. aside, and seeing one another as neighbors (as brothers and sisters) to show Christ’s bountiful love in a tangible way is what it means to be a Christ-follower.

My friend pointed out that we do not know what happens with these men. Do they become friends? Do they part ways? Does the wounded man attempt to pay him back? Honestly, it doesn’t matter. The point is we are to show mercy, to show love to those in need.  It is easy to care for our loved ones. Caring for our “neighbor” might get ugly, dirty even, and possibly leave us in a place of utter brokenness—a place of absolute dependence upon the Lord. Are we willing to do it anyway?

I can practically hear Jesus’ tender words as he tells us, “Truly, whatever you have done unto the least of these, you have also done unto me” (Matt. 25:40).  Will I walk by/turn a blind eye from the wounded, the hurting, the broken or those in need? Will I make excuses as to why I am not the “right” person for the job, due to time limitations, lack of resources, or if it doesn’t fit or utilize my talents/skills/giftedness?  I will not. I will not! Instead, I will embrace the struggle helping another person may be, the breaking of my heart, I will enter the dirt and grime and put aside everything for the sake of my Father and His glorious kingdom. I will honor Him and show His love to his children.

We do not have the baby boy in our care until tomorrow. It is my hope to show not just him love and acceptance, but his mom too. They are my neighbors after all.

Bragging Rights

Seemingly out of the blue, the story of the Israelites came to mind this week.  Remember, they were the Lord’s beloveds, His children, and though they had been in captivity for a great number of years, the Lord never turned His back on them, He remained with them as they endured trial after trial. He walked beside them even when they turned their back on Him, ultimately rescuing them by parting the Red Sea long enough for them to pass before enclosing it upon their enemies. Without a doubt, the Israelites were grateful. In their humble gratitude, they built a monument of great significance that would remind them of the work, the promise the Lord had fulfilled in their lives.

I imagine this monument was in the middle of town and would be passed regularly by the town’s people.  When their children would ask about the monument, their parents would stop, scoop their wee ones onto their laps and with tears in their eyes, begin to share in detail their testimony—the mighty work the Lord had done in their lives. The children’s eyes would widen and their mouths would drop with each turn of events--- enthralled by the story.  The children would beg to hear it each and every time they passed the monument. Can’t you hear it? “Momma, Momma, tell us about the time when…” The story never got old. Instead, it introduced them to their Heavenly father on a personal level and gave them a deep hunger to know Him personally. As they grew and had children of their own, they too, would share their story.

Testimony: the evidence we experience of Christ working in our lives as He works to reveal His glory as He tenderly transforms us into the likeness of His Son.  Our testimony does not begin and end with our story of discovering who God is and inviting Him to be the Lord of our lives (salvation), as often believed. Rather, our testimony, likened to transformation, is on-going, continuously being added to, never complete until we enter Heaven’s gates where we’ll find ourselves embraced, (engulfed, I like to imagine!) in the tender folds of our father’s wings.

Perhaps one of the best examples of transformation is that of a caterpillar to a butterfly.  Francis Chan, author of The Forgotten God, poses the question: “Ever wonder what goes through the caterpillar’s mind when it wakes up from its long nap to discover it can fly?” Seriously, how amazing is that? The caterpillar does not even resemble who it once was. He is a new creation.

We are a new creation in Christ Jesus. Think about that for a moment. We are in the midst of being transformed. Our minds have been renewed. The old has gone away and the new has come (2Cor. 5:17). I’ll admit that I take this for granted time and time again, that I forget that the same God who raised Jesus from the dead and parted the Red Sea dwells within me. I often brush past the countless times He has refined me—where He has allowed me to glimpse His glory. Perhaps, we all get distracted, lose our focus, get whisked away by the seemingly urgent or beautiful, sparkly things in this world, buying into outside experiences to furnish a personal sense of meaning. We forget that we are not what we do.  I have a feeling even if we were to build a monument like the Israelites did, even that would lose its splendor and eventually we would not even see it. 

So the question then, is how do we live intentionally for God, keeping Him in the forefront of every thought, every word we speak, and everything we do? We surrender daily to Him, submit to His leading daily, live like we have been transformed from a measly caterpillar to a new creation-- brilliant in color, pattern,  and can fly! As I reread these words, they sound so simple, they sound predicable even. We have heard them before, perhaps countless times, and yet we disregard such simplicity because we know it is anything but simple. It requires work on our part. It requires us to make a conscious choice daily, sometimes hourly, to live intentionally and fully surrendered to Christ. We are a generation of wanting our cake and eating it too… at no cost to us. We want intimacy with Christ and….

In writing these words, I am brought to tears and my heart is grieved that I take the work of the Lord (my testimony) for grated as times, brushing past who I once was, skimming over the mighty work the Lord has done in my life. I can fly for crying out loud. I can soar with eagles because my hope is in the Lord and it is Him who strengthens me (Is. 40:31).

Beloved, ponder these facts for a moment: we have been redeemed. We have been bought for a price that cost Jesus everything. We have been forgiven. We were created not because God needs us, but because He wants us. His thoughts are about us constantly and He desires to fill us with Himself. We are loved, treasured really.  Overwhelmed by His grace for us? Me too. And then when I reflect on the countless ways He has revealed Himself to me (revel in the specifics), transforming me more and more into the image of His Son, I am left speechless, my heart begins to beat wildly, and I am left in a place of utter worship. I cannot help but to fall to my knees in humble gratitude before the throne of my God.

Having an appropriate view of God dictates how we choose to respond to His magnitude and the work He has done in our lives. Honestly, when we live intentionally for Him, we cannot help but to boast of the work the Lord is doing in and around our lives. The choice is ours to make. Today, I will choose to live in a place of gratitude and relish in the work the Lord has and is doing in my life.  And Lord knows, I have incredible bragging rights because in my weakness, His power has been made perfect (2 Cor. 12:9). What about you?


“Gratitude awakens the soul to the sweetness of being tethered to God” (Margaret Ashmore).

Beloved?

“It takes a profound conversion to accept that God is relentlessly tender and compassionate toward us just as we are—not in spite of our sins and faults, but with them. Though God does not condone or sanction evil, He does not withhold His love because there is evil in us” (Brennan Manning).

I believe that the distance we sometimes feel between God and ourselves is because we have projected our feelings about ourselves onto God—believing that He is judging us as harshly as we judge ourselves (or others) or that He holds too high of expectations for us that we cannot possibly meet. Perhaps we feel that we cannot possibly approach Him until we clean up our lives, or look more presentable. We know that we are unworthy. Perhaps we fear that because we are likened to filthy rags that Christ will not even look our way, that---He will reject us. We know the old adage: God is love, but we don’t believe that applies to us.  We don’t live this truth.

 I write a lot about my identity in Christ. Perhaps, I do so because I am still trying to grasp it myself, even though I have been a Christ follower for more than half my life. I find myself lamenting with Paul when he writes, “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do, I do not do, but what I hate to do, I do” (Romans 7:15) and resonating with the song writer who penned the words: "Prone to wander, Lord I feel it, prone to leave the God I love". Sin lives within us! We are human beings in the midst of a great battle, not a battle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers and authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms (Eph. 6:12). We forget this constantly.  Though we cannot see this battle, we certainly feel the effects. We often don’t realize these struggles, trials and strongholds are Satan’s poisonous darts as he works with all his might to stifle us-- and if he is really successful, his stifling leads to bondage. For the Christian, this looks like a prison cell in which the door is wide open. We fear stepping into the light. We fear being seen; our shame or guilt revealed. We fear rejection. We reason, perhaps unconsciously, that it is safer to live in bondage than to be seen, to be known, to be rejected. One of the basic human needs is the need to belong, to be accepted. And we fight for this at all costs.

We forget that the sacred voice of Christ calls us, “Beloved” and being the Beloved constitutes the existence of our being” (Brennan Manning). Think about that for a moment. What images does your mind conjure up when you think about the name Beloved? Do we conjure up images of an idealistic, perfect person whose morals are always on the up and up, who tirelessly serves others day and night, who smiles genuinely, lives authentically at all times, never grows tired, never stresses or worries and has great hair days every day? (Anyone else thinking of Mary Poppins?)This is not an accurate image of God’s Beloved.

God’s definition of Beloved defies our definition. Perhaps that’s why we struggle. We see ourselves more as a beggar in God’s kingdom than His son/daughter. We don’t see ourselves as Beloved and this distances us from the Lord. God’s Beloved has wounds, battle scares that sometimes still ache; still immobilizes us at times. Complete with struggles, sins, and unworthiness, God’s Beloved does not allow these to stifle us, but allows the light to shine on these wounds, these imperfections, so that in God’s love, graciousness, and mercy we can be healed and live fully in relationship with Christ: in freedom, in acceptance, in belonging. As a Christ follower with wounds of my own, I have learned that when I allow myself to feel inferior or inadequate because of these wounds, Satan has accomplished what he set out to do in my life: question my identity in God’s eyes. These negative, self-focused thoughts somehow replace the wonderful spiritual experiences I have encountered, defy the truths that I have memorized in God’s precious Word, and inevitably replaces my freedom for shackles.  God’s Beloved in shackles? I am sure nothing breaks the heart of our Father more.

Living as the Beloved, challenges us because it defies human nature. Everything in us begs us to conceal our wounds, hurts, pains, imperfections, struggles, and addictions out of fear, shame, and/or rejection.  When we do this our inner darkness cannot be illuminated with God’s healing power, “nor can it become light for others”. Our wounds allow others to see God’s merciful hand more clearly. It helps us to know that we, too, in our weakness, are loved tenderly, the receiver of boundless compassion, infinite patience, and excessive forgiveness. God’s love does not keep score of our wrongs.  I know this and yet I do not always live in this truth. God knows this about me. He knows this about you. It does not scare Him away. It does not disappoint Him. Instead, He continues to whisper our name through the wrestling of leaves, through the tenderness of a hug, through the ache of loss. He does not grow tired as He waits for us. 1 Corinthians 13:7-8 reminds us that, “Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails”. God is love.

“Our falling (our sin, our failings) does not hinder [Christ] from loving us” (Brennan Manning). Satan’s number one ploy: get us to believe that our sin keeps Christ from loving us. Nothing, Beloved, nothing could be further from the truth.  I read some time ago that our spiritual life, our relationship with Christ, begins when we can acknowledge our brokenness, our poverty, our utmost need for Him. Accepting our wounded self is to take the first step into the light.

 “Wounds of pain and sadness make us aware of our inner poverty and create an emptiness that becomes as free space into which Christ can pour His healing power”.  When we make the decision to live authentically, raw, vulnerable, we find ourselves standing in the Truth that sets us free and we have the privilege to “live out the Reality that makes us whole”.  

The decision, and it is a decision, is ours to make every day. Each morning, I encourage you to wake up and greet your Abba, Father and thank Him for loving you as His Beloved son/daughter. Embrace your identity in Christ and live it fully without reservation, without restriction. Live Christ boldly as the Beloved!

 

Masquerade

There is a fear of being known; fear of rejection if we live out loud, if we say what we think or share how we feel, bring to light our struggles, or even expose the dark secrets of our past. Sometimes, this fear subsides as we age and grow in both maturity and in peace with who we are, who we were created to be, accepting our lot in life, knowing whether pleasant or painful that God can and will use it to bring glory to Himself, that nothing falls void in life, and that our purpose primarily is to worship Him more than to be self-focus, self-serving. However, to reach this place, this acknowledgement, we must be willing to remove the masks that we wear, allowing ourselves to be vulnerable. Without a doubt it is risky business.

 For many, it is easier to hide, stifled by fear, not living fully or to our full potential or purpose. I have lived in this place and still, occasionally, Satan reminds me of my unworthiness and sinful nature and I fall into the trap of grabbing a mask that covers my true identity. I AM the daughter of the Most High King and continuously fall short of His glory! The Lord is gracious to remind me who I am in Him, however, and the mask is eventually thrown to the wayside. However, as the mother of a daughter who has wrestled over her identity for the majority of her life and falls prey to the lies that Satan constantly bombards her with, my heart weeps for her constantly as I pray that someone, somewhere, somehow can speak truth to her in a meaningful way. I know that God’s plan is not to harm, but to give hope and a future in Him. I know that He will not let Meg stay here because He promises that He will finish the good He began in us, and what Satan intends for evil, God intends for good.

 Looking at the unfinished collage art project left strewn all over the kitchen table from the night before, I was taken aback by both the simplicity of the piece as well as the depth and growth it held for its creator, Meg, my 13 year old daughter. The project idea was taken from one of my art therapy books. The instructions were basic: list things that represent who you are, what you look like, how you feel, and/or who you want to be. Meg had asked to do this project and I readily complied (I never say no to art!). She made her list and I made mine. We then cut and tore magazines apart in silence as we scoured image after image looking for something recognizable, for representations of who we are and hope to be (I never use fashion type magazine for this project). Flipping through page after page, forced constant evaluation, causing us to asking of each image, “Is this me, is this who I want to be? Why? How? It allowed our mind to wander into Truth, to embrace who we are, even if it wasn’t pretty.

 Unfinished at the end of the night, Meg asked if she could leave everything out so she could resume working in the morning. Again, I never say no to art, so a substantial “mess” covered my entire table! I awoke early the next morning while the house was still quiet. Sipping my coffee, snuggled in my robe and fuzzy socks, I sat at the table. Meg’s collage and list before me, curiosity set in, and I could not help but to skim her list. Her list was lengthy and consisted of physical characteristics and her dreams for her future. I smiled as I read the list, but my smile quickly faded and a dull ache replaced the joy I had felt in my heart.  I could scarcely take my eyes off the last words written on her list, “I am broken”.

 I am broken” the words both haunted me and caused me to glorify the Lord as my daughter takes this first step in facing her fears. For years she has been wrestling with her identity as a product of rape as well as being half African American being raised in a predominately white home and culture. She has struggled with knowing where she fits and feeling accepted and/or worthy of any acceptance she does receive. She obsesses over her identity and every couple of years attempts to reinvent herself (pretty typical for teenagers), wearing a new mask which she hopes people will like better than the real her as well as one that makes it easier to look and accept herself. She lives in an invisible cage that she has made for herself. Held captive by what she believes she is supposed to be, but cannot live up to, no matter her efforts. She wears a mask, fearful to discover and embrace who she is.

Setting her list back on the table, I took a closer look at her art work. Flowers of every variety, color, size, and shape filled the upper half of her paper. Amongst the flowers were small words of all colors and thickness, posing the question, “Did you know that you are…” and then in large bold font, filling two thirds of the page, “WANTED”?”  I bit my lower lip as I felt the hot sting of tears slide down my cheek. This was the break we had been praying for. For years, literally years, we have been sharing with her, her value, purpose, and her identity in Christ in hopes that she could accept it, own it, and live it boldly. She has not been able to open this gift. Fear of embracing something so incredibly freeing and powerful, and going against all the messages the world bombards her (and us) is scary. Looking once again at title she had created for her art piece, I knew that she was processing this very message, that though she was still in that invisible cage, the door was now open. All she has to do is walk out.

Humility requires trust. Without trust, we cannot fully know love. Love is the first gift of grace, the ultimate gift that cost the Lord everything to give to us. Attached to this gift is a note that reads, “Take it, apply it, and trust me to make it real. I love you. Jesus” (TrueFaced). The Lord’s desire is to mature us into who He says we are (not the world) and release us into the dreams He designed for us before the world even began. It is a process to accept and trust God’s assessment of who He says we are. I cannot help but to put this into perspective by pointing out that we are able to love because He first loved us. We do not need to do anything to receive such love, such grace. It was given to us as we are, not who we could be or hope to be.

I said nothing to Meg about her art project.  I did not want to influence her creation in anyway. It sat unfinished the whole next day. She never did add more to it. Perhaps, when she went back to it, there was fear in moving forward or perhaps she was content with it as it stood. At any rate, we put the supplies away and I relished in complete and utter gratitude for the journey she is on and where I see she is heading. My hope, though not waning, was strengthened in that single moment.

Several days later, she went to camp for the first time. We have encouraged camp for years, always receiving a negative, fearful response. This year, however she approached us, asking if she could go to camp. I didn’t even look to see how much it cost, where it was, etc. It did not matter! My daughter was taking a step of great courage in asking to go to camp where she would not know anyone. I signed her up immediately, cautioning her that once I pressed the submit button, she had to go. She said, “Then hit the button already!”

In the preceding weeks leading to camp, I expected her to change her mind, to become fearful of the unknown, to attempt to get out of going. She did not. Instead, her excitement grew. It helped that her older sister, Abigail was also going as a camp counselor. Although the two would not be together, there was a comfort in knowing if she needed something, her sister, whom she had great respect and admiration for could be found quickly.

The camp theme was Masquerade, though I did not know that when she left. Abigail checked in each morning via text just saying, “Hi” and that she was having a blast. On Sunday morning, the phone rang. It was Abigail. My heart skipped a beat and immediately, I thought, “Oh no, she shouldn’t be calling me. Something must have happened”. I answered quickly to hear her cheerful greeting. I sighed a sigh of relief and told her how much I missed her and loved her. She interrupted my gushing to tell me about the happenings of the night before. Their lesson had been about wearing masks, what masks look like, why people wear them, etc. Abigail shared that the girls in her group, once back in their tent, started opening up, sharing deep, painful stories. Abigail, just 18, said, “Mom there is so much pain. The only thing I can do for these girls is to pray for them”.  I sought out to encourage her, telling her that though it felt overwhelming to hear such pain and not knowing what to do, what to say, or necessarily how to pray, that God had equipped her to be there in that moment and that in her weakness, His power is made perfect. She interrupted me again to say, “Yeah, but mom, that’s not why I am calling”.

“I’m calling because Meg’s group leader whisked me away from breakfast this morning to tell me Meg had shared her whole story with the girls in her group last night. Mom, did you hear me…the whole story”. I could not speak, I could not hardly utter more than an “uh huh”. The lump in my throat threatened to choke me as I attempted to breathe deeply through my nose at the complete understanding of what this meant.

Meg took another step in the healing process, taking off her mask. Such courage she had to have to share her story, a story she has not shared---ever. She must have felt safe. She must have trusted the girls she was with to be so transparent and so quickly---only two days into camp. I immediately prayed for the leaders, for the girls, for Meg that camp would be a place of grace. Meg is still at camp, returning tomorrow. I will let her unfold the story in her own timing, but I cannot tell you how eager I am to hear how the Lord worked in her life this week and what tools and truths were given to her for the journey ahead!

Once we remove these mask, seeing ourselves as God sees us, the son/daughter of the Most High, highly favored, loved beyond measure, not only completely and unfathomly accepted, but wanted, we can begin to see our Heavenly Father through eyes of gratitude, worship and live for Him with every fiber of our being, rather than striving to meet the world’s or even our own unrealistic expectations.

Today, I choose gratitude. I choose to see God’s sovereignty. I choose to dwell on the Truth!