Project 52: From Where I Stand

I stand as messenger!

I’ll never forget those dark eyes, never. If I close my eyes now, 17 years later, I can still see them. I can still see the spacing of his lashes and prominent pupils due to the shadowy-dim light. His girth suffocated me as my face was pushed into the all-weather carpet, burning its roughness onto the left side of my face. Without a thought of possible repercussion, I mustered all I had within me and let out a blood-curdling scream for help, except my body betrayed me and no sound came from my lips. I felt my vocal cords constrict, and my mouth open, but no sound escaped. I tried again, telling myself that it was my fear choking me and that if I could just relax, then my voice would work. It didn’t. The silence was deafening; literally piercing my ears. Silence from him. Silence from me. And still, sometimes, the quiet can become too much for me. I remember thinking that this six-foot-four, 275-pound African-American man would give up after trying for what seemed an eternity to destroy me, but he didn’t. My thoughts quickly changed to wishing he would just hurry. I have no comprehension to this day how long the physical attack lasted. I only know I allowed the emotional portion to affect me a good share of the years since.

I felt like a rag doll; limp, lifeless and hopeless when I was finally left all alone in the dark. I didn’t cry---not right away. I picked myself up, cleaned up the best I could, and then I cried. And cried. And still to this day, I cry.

I cry for me. I cry for him. What has to happen in a person’s life to bring them to such a place to commit such violence without regard for another human being?

Weaving in and out of various parts of the story in an attempt to focus on where I am standing now, this week’s theme, I skip ahead nine months to share that with my husband of now 23 years by my side, I gave birth to a beautiful reminder of God’s Sovereignty, a bi-racial baby girl that resulted from that traumatic night; and a few years later found myself part of Pacific Northwest’s Speakers Bureau for Crisis Pregnancy Centers, focusing on both educating the public and fundraising. (I am incredibly, incredibly passionate about the issue of pro-life! Incredibly!).

At one such speaking engagement at Beasley Coliseum at WSU, I was teamed up with an African-American man. We had never met before and to be honest, I do not remember what he even spoke about. However, after the event was over, he approached me, pulling me aside, and with tears streaming down his cheeks, he said, “I want to ask you for forgiveness for my “brother”. Will you forgive him?” I was completely caught off guard and the strength that I had been mustering up all day betrayed me and I fell at his knees and sobbed like the little girl I so desperately had been trying to hide for a very long time.

I don’t remember my co-speaker’s name, but I have never, never forgotten his words. I have pondered them in every possible way; I’ve turned them over, upside down and back again. I’ve mulled them over, looked for a hidden agenda, trying to believe there was something there I wasn’t seeing. Friends, there wasn’t. His words, however, were not his own.  He was merely the messenger because they were the words of Christ, “Forgive them” (Luke 23:34).  

17 years later, I, too, stand too as a messenger. Over and over again, I find myself standing in the expanding space between injustice and forgiveness, loving the unlovable, forgiving those who have wronged; those who have crudely dismissed the beauty and value of one’s life and forever altering others in seemingly unforgivable ways. Standing in this place of Hope happened to me. I wish I could say I have this amazingly loving heart and I sought out ways to show love to the unlovable, but I didn’t.

Somehow in the midst of my seething hatred, wishing ill-will of my attacker so much so that I have literally made myself physically sick and praying for vengeance, God filled me with compassion, broke my heart for what breaks His and allowed me to surrender all those warranted thoughts to Him and rely on His strength and leading in my life. I trust---I absolutely have to—that God will deal with each injustice in a far better way than I ever could. Injustice is something I cannot comprehend no matter how hard I stretch my imagination or try to put myself in an offender’s shoes. It’s ugly and it robs us of our security, dignity, and innocence while often jostling our faith in both humanity and God. Turning a blind eye to injustice is an injustice in itself!

I refuse to turn a blind eye to it---I run toward it now. I write to prisoners, through the Prisoners for Christ organization, study the Bible alongside them, write notes of encouragement, direction and prayers over them. When I mail my letters, it is only the beginning because I vow to continue to pray over each prisoner. I have no idea if the words I write are meaningful to them or are life-changing, but I do know I am showing them Jesus the best way I know how. I stand with my arms outstretched toward heaven in humble thanksgiving for the forgiveness that I have been graced with and desire with all my heart to share that freedom with those held captive (physically and emotionally) by their own unforgiveness and sin. I stand as messenger.

Acorn

The warm sunbeams danced relentlessly amongst the oak tree’s leaves overhead, fading the dark green leaves to chartreuse with the slightest of breeze as they caught the sun’s brilliant light. Wrestling leaves whispered overhead while a rainbow of colored art supplies sprinkled the table below, and whinnies of horses in the nearby pastures and the stable just off to my right sang harmony as I knelt on my knees at the art table facing an 11 year old boy whom I just met.

He looked like an average 11 year old boy, lanky with dark hair and eyes and a crooked smile that immediately endeared me to him. He wore a t-shirt and shorts, revealing the brace on his leg. I never learned exactly what his disability was, something to do with his muscles, but honestly, it doesn’t matter.  He had come to Raven Rock Ranch this day expecting to work; but instead was asked to do art with me. He was readily compliant and walked to the table and then just stood. His arms hung heavy at his sides as his eyes took in the array of colors. He didn’t say a word at first, but his lips would purse and then pull taught and his eyebrows furrowed and lifted as if he were in deep thought for several moments. And then suddenly, a sigh escaped and he picked up a green oil pastel.

I had come with a specific art project in mind for the kids, but upon seeing his anxiousness about art in general, I decided to skip it, follow his lead, and work more intentionally on building a relationship with him.  I picked up an orange oil pastel and started to draw. “I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to draw. I really don’t know how to do any art.”, he said in a single breath. I laughed, trying to break the tension, and said, “What a relief! Neither do I! Maybe together we can make something pretty cool”. We decided to make an alien, taking turns drawing each body part and article of clothing. It was a messy colorful creature that had one eye, a tongue sticking out the side of his head; one long arm and one short arm. He was also nearly circle in shape with two short legs. It was quite the sight, I assure you!  We talked as we drew and I learned that Samuel loved sports. I mean really loved sports. Soccer is his all time favorite. He could ramble off players, teams, trades, scores and the like. We decided to make our alien a soccer player.

Looking at this finished creation, I said, “If this is a soccer player, he needs someone to play against. We should make another alien”. Feeling more relaxed about the process of creating, he agreed. We took turns drawing each element of our creature again and talked more about sports and his dream to become a soccer player. My heart sank as I listened to his grand plans, knowing his disability would not allow him to play the way he dreamed.  Nearly complete with our drawing, I handed him the oil pastel to draw the legs. He drew one long leg and one short leg. It seemed to suit our crazy creature, but I couldn’t help but to see the personal connection he was making to this creature. In the end, this alien had a football shaped head, one eye, the neck of a giraffe, muscular arms with two uneven legs.

We named our players crazy made up names and laughed about how silly they looked. Samuel kept talking about sports and without thought, picked up an oil pastel and drew a goal and a soccer ball off to the side. I asked, “If the two were really playing, who do you think would win?” He pointed to the first, nearly circular alien. I looked at him, questioning his choice, while pointing to the other alien telling him I bet this one would win. Samuel quickly refuted my vote by pointing to his uneven legs and said in an almost in urgent tone, “He would not be a good player. He would probably lose the game for the whole team”. I pointed out his long neck and gigantic eye and told him that he would be able to see everything and be able to tell his teammates where to go, what to do, and such. “He would be the most valuable player for sure”! Samuel still disagreed, but then was silent. He set his pastel down, hung his arms to his sides and fixed his eyes on the player with uneven legs.  I could see that he was not going to leave that conversation under the oak tree that day, but take it with him, perhaps pondering his own value.

Although the Lord was unwrapping something so profound for him to see, to accept about himself, I knew it hurt. Wanting to encourage him, I shared with him that my husband, Mr. Dennis, was once the star pitcher for his baseball team and had played for 13 years, never missing a game. He had such talent that he was awarded a scholarship to play in college. Though playing was Mr. Dennis’ first love, as he got older, he could not play like he used to, like he wanted to. Years later he helped coach a team for our church and as it turned out, Mr. Dennis made a terrific coach. His love for the sport equipped him to see all positions, read the body language of the opposing team and make wise calls. Coaching was just as important as play and incredibly fulfilling. Samuel looked solemn, nodded his head and said, “Yeah, if I can’t play, coaching or being an announcer might be kind of fun”.  I sat back on my knees, awestruck by the work the Lord was doing in that very moment in this boy’s life.  It is my hope that he sees his value and learns his true identity.  He is loved, He is accepted. He is valued. He is wanted. He is treasured. And it has nothing to do with his ability or disability.

Later that day, while driving home, my heart was burdened for Samuel and several other children I had the opportunity to do art with that day. I witnessed their hurt, their lack of self worth, their insecurity, anxiousness, and fears. My heart has always wept for these children, but today some of these children now have faces and names. My heart bids me to pray on their behalf constantly and that lump in my throat seems to be ever present. Driving home, my mind wrestled with the hurt and in my human mind, I searched for more ways to help when I heard (not audibly) “Just pray. Just keep praying”. God has a perfect plan for each of these children.  Jeremiah 29:11 tells us that it is not to harm them, but to prosper them and to give them a hope and a future. I love the verses that follow: “Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with your whole heart. I will be found by you, declares the Lord, and bring you back from captivity…”

It has only been a few days, but I can still see the brilliance of those oak leaves glimmering in the sun. And as I sit here, in front of my large picture window that looks out to a forest of trees, I am reminded that each of these majestic trees started out as a small seed. I cannot help but to see the children at RRR as little acorns. They are in the deep dark soil feeling as if they will always be there, perhaps feeling frightened, alone, not able to trust, perhaps paralyzed either by past experiences or the unknown future. But God’s plan is that they will one day grow into a great oak, strong, vibrant, and full of life; praising Him for giving them hope through Raven Rock Ranch and a future in Him.

Trust

I am certain the imagine of Meg gently laying her head on the nape of Rusty’s neck  as we were setting out to leave the Ranch today will forever be imbedded in my mind. I hope it is at least for it captured a tender moment between a hurting girl and a horse who knows pain all too well himself. Hugging Rusty after a gentle meandering through trails blazing with harvest colors and crisp leaves under foot this afternoon; I saw a connection between them that I did not see so readily last week. There was trust.

Trust usually takes time to build. Though it has only been two weeks, an unyielding bond has been made between girl and horse. Perhaps there is an unspoken language rooted in deep respect for what one another have been through. There is tenderness toward one another, a beautiful dance of love and respect, of safety and harmony. Nothing, nothing could be more beautiful to witness as the melody of grace fills the air.

In sharing our experience at Raven Rock Ranch, I have repeatedly said, “There is just something incredibly remarkable happening there”. The foundation itself was built upon Christ and without a doubt; His grace is touching hearts, kids and parents alike, on a monumental scale. This place is different. This is not a temporary fix, this is life-giving. This is Hope. And it is here that my Meg is learning to trust!

Until today, Meg has not known this kind of trust. She lives on the defensive, always, as a way to protect her heart from being hurt further. She lives from the place of doubt and discouragement. Her wounds are not only raw; they run deep, to the core of who she is. She has been in desperate need of our Great Physician for years, though she cannot see that. As her parents, we have tried countless things from extracurricular activities to help build her self esteem to counseling and medication; all which leave her with temporary results, temporary hopes.

Watching Rusty run to the fence to greet Meg is an image of how it is when we show up to spend time with God. He RUNS to us. It doesn’t matter where we have been, what we have done or what has been done to us. He is jubilant in our return! In our return, He see our hearts and the dark, searing pain and is not spooked or surprised by it, rather the melodious dance of grace continues as He so gently whispers in our ear, “…by my wounds you have been healed, my Beloved (Isaiah 53:5). Trust in me.

Trusting in the promise that God will work all things together for those who love and have been called according to His purpose not only brings Him immense and holy pleasure (Romans 8:28), but also reminds me that it is for HIS good and perfect pleasure we seek, not ours, that though our hopes for healing may or may not take place, His glory is the ultimate goal. It has taken me a long time to see that even when my prayers, hopes, and dreams are not answered as I would like, that God is still God. He is still merciful, still trustworthy.

I know that I can do nothing on my own strength to bring God glory. I need Him. Honestly, I am in great need of Him. I have waited for His strength, His courage, knowing fully that He, in His perfect timing, would supply all that I need. And without a doubt, I see it so clearly at Raven Rock Ranch that I cannot keep my joy hidden (unfortunately my joy comes out in tears, which is embarrassing!). I have put my hope in Him. He is my Refuge, my Strength, and my Treasure.  “From Him and through Him and to Him are all things; to Him be glory forever and ever”(Romans 11:36).

Trust is the first step toward healing and today, Meg took it with Rusty.

Hope

The fragrance of Hope filled the air, smelling like a sweet bewilderment of musky sweat and dust; the smell of horses to be exact.  Thursday was a day I found myself unable to stop smiling, constantly biting the inside of my cheek to keep tears from spilling out, and silently praying prayers of immeasurable gratitude as I watched my dear Meg nuzzle noses with Rusty, a copper colored horse at Raven Rock Ranch, a place where God’s grace is extravagantly gifted to children who are struggling or are at risk.

Usually a horse that sits back to see what will be asked of him, this day Rusty, a rescue horse who was gravely neglected, RAN to see the new girl! It was love at first sight! Meg, a nearly thirteen year old girl, has been living in the dark pit of depression and anxiety for quite some time, rarely smiles or engages in conversation, smiled constantly this day! As her face beamed, my heart swelled with thanksgiving for the precious gift of Hope that lingered in the air. It was obvious that my sweet Meg was still in there somewhere.

As I watched Meg’s short and gentle brush strokes send dust from Rusty’s back into the filtered sunbeams in the barn, I was reminded of that morning’s reading, specifically Psalm 147:11 “The Lord takes pleasure in those who hope in His love”. Biting my quivering lip, I allowed my mind to bask in the Truth. I could practically see the smiling face of God as I breathed deeply His bountiful life-giving grace He was bestowing on my family at that very moment!

What pleases God is not our work for Him, but our need for Him.  For years, I have begged Him to rescue my daughter from the foothold that Satan clearly has in her life and for years I did not see Him working. I worked, on my own strength a good share of the time, exhausting my resources and shattering my ill-placed hope time and time again. Brokenhearted and completely humbled, I whispered aloud, “God, I know you love her more than I do. How it must grieve your heart to watch her like this. I know that You are bigger than this. I need You so desperately, she needs You so desperately”. Then, there on my knees, I opened my hands toward the sky as a way to say, I am not holding on to this anymore. I am handing it to you.  I trust in you alone. I will wait for you.

Trembling as I sat there in front of my large picture window, the place I love to sit and pray, the words of an old hymn from my childhood, “How Great Thou Art” came to mind and I once again found myself in tears as I praised His precious and holy name.  God is so good. He is so merciful. Regardless of what life brings, I am eternally devoted to Him and will magnifying Him, His mercy, grace, and love at all costs! Who God is does not change because of circumstances. He is the same yesterday, today and forever (Hebrews 13:8). He is unchanging.

Once home, I stripped off my barn clothes only to catch the fragrance of Hope once again. Instead of tossing my clothes into the wash, I held them to my nose and breathed deeply the scent of one of the most precious gifts my family has ever been given: God’s tender mercy. I cannot offer God anything but my humble praise and gratitude. I pray that in this and through this experience at Raven Rock Ranch that His glory will be magnified as His grace satisfies the hearts of all who ride there!

Hoping in Christ’s love is the fragrance of His grace and this week it smelled like horses!

Chosen

What do you say to a nearly thirteen year old girl, who is the product of rape, as deep sobs spill out along with the words, “I was not planned, I am a mistake, not worthy of love and attention.  I am the product of a monster and now you are stuck raising me”? Though I have known she struggles with her identity, I never knew my own daughter believed she was loved out of obligation. I tenderly cradle her face in my hands and look deep into her eyes and say, “Though you were not my plan, you were God’s plan and His plans are far better than anything I could possibly imagine. He does not make mistakes. He does not make accidents. He is the author of all that is good. ‘What Satan intends for evil, God intends for good’ (Genesis 50:20) and without a doubt, Meg, “God works for the good of those who love Him and have been called according to His purpose” (Romans 8:28)

“You were chosen, Dear Meg. You were elected to be my daughter and more importantly, you were elected to be the daughter of the Most High, our Precious, precious Savior. God knew your ‘inmost being and knit you together in my womb’. I cannot help but to praise Him constantly, Meg, because you are ‘fully and wonderfully made’. Sure, you were made in sin, but that did not escape God’s ever watchful eye or what He was planning for you.  He saw your unformed body in my belly and He smiled as He thought to himself, ‘How wonderful it will be to watch my plan for this ever precious girl to unfold. Boy, do I have so much in store for her’. Meg, God thinks about you constantly. You can never escape His thoughts or the love He has for you, as they well outnumber the grains of sand on every beach. God made you on purpose and for a purpose. You were chosen by Him! (Psalm 139)

Her sobs slow and she is listening intently, not objecting to this truth. I shared more of her story, a story we rarely talk about. We have only given her enough information to answer her on-going questions about her conception, for fear of sharing something she is not ready to hear. However, we missed sharing the most important part of her story. I share with her that her story actually begins years before she was even born. Her Daddy and I tried for three years, approximately 36 times to have her. We wanted another baby more than anything. She was my all consuming thought and desire. I prayed for her constantly all those years, though I did not know her. It was only short time prior to the rape that we were told we would not be able to have any more children. I gave away my crib and resolved that this was God’s plan for us and our desire for another child would instead come through adoption. Heartbroken, I deeply mourned something I felt I lost.

“Meg, you have no idea how much I wanted you. You were not planned to come into our lives like you did. I didn’t know what to expect. Though I did know you were a blessing, for God says repeatedly that “All children are a blessing from the Lord.”(Psalm 127:3) You are my pearl, my treasure of great value formed from a very horrific situation. I loved you before you were born and I love you more with each passing day, not because I have to, but because I cannot help but to love who you are. I choose to love you. Both sobbing now, I kissed her face a million times saying over and over again, I love you, I love you, I love you.

This morning as I was reading, God brought me to a complete stand still as my mind was taken to a place I never anticipated. Reading about God in His sovereignty, choosing to set His free and merciful love upon us, I saw that time and time again throughout scripture that His love is not constrained by anything we do, by our virtue, or are anything we are born into or born as a result of. Christ choosing us has everything to do with His pleasure and nothing to do with our merit. What extravagant grace that He would choose to love us despite our human abilities or inabilities. “He [God] is free to choose whomever He pleases, even if He has to create a child by a miraculous birth” (John Piper). We see this clearly in the Old Testament story of Abraham and Sarah when God’s promise is fulfilled in a divine and miraculous way when he blesses them with their son, Isaac, though Sarah was decades past child-bearing age.

Upon reading these words, I let out the biggest gasp and held my heart for I felt so strongly that these words were meant for me to read this very day! These words are not a new concept to me by any means. I guess I just needed to see them in view of a different light, in view of something so close to my heart---something so very, very personal. Perhaps, like Meg, we wonder if we are loved out of obligation. Take heart and bask, Beloved, in the fact that if you know Jesus as your Savior, you have been chosen and He dances over you with singing and covers you with His wings. You are His! You were created on purpose and for a purpose.  He foreknew you and chose you to be conformed to the likeness of His Son.” (Romans 8:29)

Meg is a “Child of Promise”. God not only formed her, has plans to prosper her and not to harm her (Jeremiah 29:11), but has chosen her as His daughter.  He chose her! He chose her! He didn’t choose her out of obligation or by any merit of her own, but strictly for His own pleasure. He loves her because He chooses to love her.  He delights over her. And so do I! A millions times over, I would chose her.