I Am Nothing: It's a Rich Man's World

... and yet…

“For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul?” (Matthew 16:26)

“For what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses or forfeits himself?” (Luke 9:25)

“For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and forfeit his soul?” (Mark 8:36)

I keep thinking how much easier life would be if I didn’t have to worry about money, if I didn’t have to wonder how in the world I was going to pay my bills each month or how I was going to afford to buy groceries. What happens when you no longer have any toilet paper, but you still have to “go”?

In my opinion, money is a trap. Whether it’s a lack of it or an overabundance, it doesn’t matter because, all too often, it becomes the recipient of my reliance. Maybe that is why God decided I shouldn’t have any. He wants me to trust Him, to rely upon Him to meet my needs… even if that means breaking my pride into pieces of humility.

For the past few months, I have been unable to make ends meet for myself. I have had to rely upon others in a way that feels extremely unnatural and, if I’m completely honest, a little embarrassing. I used to hate being “needy”. I didn’t want to sleep because that implied I needed rest. I even despised the fact that I had to breath because that meant I needed air, something outside my own ability to sustain. What a silly way to think! That, in and of myself, I could be sufficient?! If I had the means to gain “everything I ever wanted”, how much more would I lose?

If I had a million dollars, what would I do? Would I give it to those who need it more than I do? Would I pay off all my loans? Would I tithe? How much? In excess of 10%? The bare minimum? Or from the leftovers that remain after meeting my own wants and supposed needs?

I'll be honest, the last few months have been terribly scary for me. I resigned from a job without having another one in place. I knew God wanted me to step down from that position, so despite feeling as though I were preparing to jump without a parachute, I asked "How high?" and took the plunge. What I hated the most, however, had little do to do with falling and everything to do with not being in control.

Timing. It's everything. If I had control, I'd probably pull way too soon and miss the rush of taking a risk*, or perhaps I would pull too late and... well, you get the picture. *Please note that "taking a risk" does not provide an excuse for stupidity. Sure, God may call me to do something that seems bizarre; however, that doesn't necessarily mean I should jump off my roof to try and fly.*

Sometimes we cannot accomplish God’s will on our own. Scratch that! We can never accomplish God’s will on our own. First, we need Him. Secondly, we need community. We need to provide and rely. Sometimes we are in a place where we can give in abundance, and other times we are in a place where are the one to receive without the means to return the favor. Neither place is wrong. Over the past few months, I have been in the latter position… the receiver who is unable to give back, and although I am deeply appreciative, I have considered the entire time, how I would be able to repay those who have so generously given. I forgot the beauty of a gift and that, sometimes, it's even OK to ask.

My freshman year of college, a good friend of mine tried to give me his blue guitar. I told him “no”, that I couldn’t take his favorite guitar. A couple of years later he told me that I had “robbed him of the joy of giving”. Sure, the guitar was his favorite, but he had decided that he would experience greater joy in giving it to me… but I refused. I turned my back on his precious offering because of my pride.

I have given gifts to people who say, “How much did you spend?” or “You should not have!” Sometimes I want to punch those people in the face! Ok, not really, but I have been deeply saddened because I had been robbed of the privilege of sharing their delight. I finally understood what my dear friend Andy meant. I can also remember a few times when I have given a gift to someone I consider a “good receiver”. She jumped up and down and said, “Thank you!!!” with such refreshing enthusiasm. The joy I felt was inexplicable. I gave the gift without expectation of anything in return.

Consider how life might be if we all lived in such a way where we could give without expectation and receive with a mere, yet infinitely significant, "thank you", without the need to repay. Perhaps it might make asking for help a little easier... which would be nice, considering how hard I currently find it! Perhaps we might not feel as guilty when we admit we cannot do things on our own. Perhaps it doesn't even matter because, in the most beautiful way possible, I am nothing… resting in the sufficiency and abundance of One who has supplied, is supplying, and will supply all of my needs (Philippians 4:19).

"I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in Me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing. If anyone does not abide in Me, he is thrown away like a branch and withers; and the branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. If you abide in Me, and My words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you." - John 15:5-7

"But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as He chose. If all were a single member, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, yet one body... God has so composed the body, but that the members may have the same care for one another. If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together. Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it." - 1 Corinthians 12:18-20, 24b-27

"And the King will answer them, 'Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.'" - Matthew 25:40

I Know You Well

Chapter 1

I heard the shouts of all the people and wondered what the commotion was. I headed toward the main road in the middle of the small town. It was quite crowded, and I could hardly see past all the people. When I finally reached the road, I saw a strange man riding on a donkey. Who rides a donkey in 2007? The crowd was exuberant, screaming and calling out to this man. Suddenly he looked right at me. It was as if he could see right through me, and I could feel his eyes searching my heart. I wanted desperately to hide from his piercing look, but I couldn't move. Even as he continued down the road, my feet were rooted to the spot. When I could finally move and returned home, it was almost dark. I opened the door, and jumped. He was sitting on the couch in my living room.

"Hello, Becky."
He knew my name?
"I know you well."
I was scared. I ran for the bathroom and grabbed the phone on my way. I was going to call 911. I jumped again because he was in the bathroom too.
"How...?"
"I am everywhere and right here."
I didn't "get it", so I got angry. It's what I do when I am confused... or facing any other unwanted emotion. Besides, it was my house.
"GET OUT!!!!" I shouted.
"I will leave, but only for now."

Once he was gone, my house was quiet. I hated the silence, but even more, I hated the way I felt when he looked at me, when he was near me. It was as if I were naked, but this feeling went well-beyond the physical. He was inside of me, but not as anyone else ever had been. He knew me. He knew me, and I didn't like it.

The next morning, I got up for my daily walk/run. It was early, about 5:30, and I walked out the front door to see him sitting on the front steps.

"May I go with you?" he asked. I considered for a few moments: Can I trust him? What if he is like all the others? I took a deep breath, "OK." Afterall, there would be others on the trail, not to mention that he already knew where I lived. We ran in silence, but when we got back, he spoke, "I'll just wait outside." And he did. All day. I wondered what he was waiting for, but chose not to ask. My day was pretty normal aside from a strange man sitting outside the front porch all day. When I finally went to bed, I assumed he'd be gone in the morning but kept the phone close just in case. I was surprised the next morning when I left at 5:30 again to see him sitting there waiting for me. I sighed. "OK... you can come."

The cycle continued until Wednesday when I broke the pattern and asked him if he'd like to have breakfast. "I'd love to."

His company was quite enjoyable, and he spent the entire day with me. He did on Thursday as well, but this day, he grew more personal, asking me things I didn't want to talk about and invading my heart. He went past the point of common decency, and I became angry all over again. "Leave!" He looked at me with sad eyes as if he knew I was going to say that, then smiled and left. I allowed my anger to swallow me. I couldn't handle anything else. Little did I know where that anger would take me. I fumed as I fought to fall asleep. Somewhere in the night, I eventually did fall asleep and began to dream.

I was on the same road I ran to several days ago, only it was many years earlier. The road was dirt, but I ran anyway. It was softer than the pavement I normally ran on, and felt especially good considering I was running in leather sandals. I heard shouting just like the last time, and I slowed to a walk as I approached the crowd. There were three men carrying what looked like to long pieces of heavy wood in the shape of crosses. He was one of them, and again, he looked right at me. It was like deja voux of the past/future. Which one, I wasn't sure. What I did seem to know was where they were taking him. I was drawn as if by a magnetic force to what I knew was coming, and I hardened my heart, clinging to the anger within. As they walked up the hill, I followed, pushing my way to the front of the crowd. At the top, I lost myself, grabbing one of the hammers on the ground. I was driven by something beyond my control, yet I knew exactly what I was doing. I screamed something unintelligible and raised the hammer. When I brought it down, I saw him looking at me.

What am I doing?
"I know you well." I brought the hammer up again.
Stop! CRASH!
"I know you well."

Despite the fact he never spoke aloud, I heard him clearly. Up and down went the hammer. I couldn't make myself stop. I wanted to, but I couldn't, and what haunted me most was that he seemed to know.

Be angry, just be angry, I thought.
"I know you well."
Maybe so, but I don't want you to. I am disgusting. I am a damaged whore and a murderer, not someone you should love. "Leave me alone!!!"
"I know you well."
I raised the hammer again.

©2007

What a feeling...

So, it has been a good while since I last wrote, but for the most part, it has been intentional. Remember my last post? I wrote it on a day when I had reached “that point”. You know, the point where you know there is nothing more you can do and you feel so drained you don’t know whether the correct response to your situation is to laugh or to cry.

Well, I have news! I wrote my last post on a Wednesday. I was down in the dumps. I was still searching for a job, and I was slowly making a dent at the whopping $18.14 in my bank account. I was angry, and I was scared. How was I going to “make it”? I was terrified of the ramifications of not having the financial resources to make ends meet, completely forgetting the fact that I had/have much for which to be thankful:

I am healthy. My family loves me and is willing to help me, even to the extent of sacrificing things for themselves, I have good friends. I have a roof over my head, I have food for every meal, and, albeit a beggar, the world’s most intuitive and loving dog. I am not completely jobless; I teach piano/voice part-time and have the means to make about half of my necessary income. It is a job that I absolutely love, not to mention the fact that I have 16 students whom I love and adore… and who never fail to make me smile, if not laugh to the point of tears. I have clothes, a car that runs (well to be precise). Based upon what I do have, despite feeling nervous about what I do not have, I am wealthier than 66% of the world’s population. Kind of puts things in perspective, huh?

And let’s not forget that I serve a God who provides every single one of these things and far more. You think I’d learn not to doubt... Please do not ask me how many times I have said that phrase because it is more than my fingers and toes combined, and once I reached 20 (just for today, that is), I stopped counting.
So, back to Wednesday, September 22, 2010. I went to bed that night after writing an extremely long journal entry. My closing statement was “Your will, not mine. I’ve tried it my way, and it didn’t work. Here I am.” I awakened the next morning to go a meeting with a group of my fellow therapists. The meeting progressed as it normally did with one small change. A therapist from the small counseling agency that had previously offered me a job last March suggested that I give him a call by the end of the week. My mind began to reel! Six months ago, I had been offered a position at this same agency; however, I did not take the position because I had been offered another job that provided, I believed to be, more “financial security”… despite the fact that, in combination with teaching piano/voice, I was working close to 70-80 hours per week. Needless to say, I called. I forced myself to wait a few hours, so as not to seem “too eager” (even though I was, in fact, very eager). I left a message and waited… not very patiently, I might add. I was quite giddy with anticipation.

On Friday, September 24, I went with my mom to help babysit my nephew. We left at 5:45am. It was dark, and my mom was exhausted. However, sleep deprivation never inhibited me from speech, and I sheepishly admit that I drove my mom crazy with my incessant chatter on the hour-long drive. My nephew did not mind, and we held a very intellectual conversation… so intellectual that no one but us will ever have the capacity to understand. Our conversation was interrupted mid-morning when I received a phone call. It was a phone call in response to the message I’d left the day before. Was I willing to come to the next staff meeting to discuss options with the rest of the staff? Was I willing??!! To make the story a little shorter, the next few weeks were filled with interviews, meetings, and phone calls…

That all resulted in a job offer! Yes, a job offer!!! I am thrilled, relieved, and somewhat embarrassed that I so readily doubt the abilities of my Heavenly father. Isn’t it “ironic” that the potential for a job opportunity, the first and only open door was revealed only after I completely surrendered?

But now I have a job. Yes, it will be a slow start, but I have a job! A job that had been offered to me six months ago, but I did not take. A job that, had I taken six months ago, may not have allowed me to refinance my house. A job that was my first choice. A job that I have no doubt I will love. A job where I will receive incredible supervision and be surrounded by other therapists who will help me grow, professionally and personally. A job about which I am thoroughly excited! How many people get to say, “I have two jobs that I love, and I am excited to go to work”?

Was it worth the wait? Absolutely!!

Although I admit that I most definitely will not mind waiting for the next time I have to wait.

These things take time...

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It’s been almost a year since I graduated with my MA in Professional Counseling. I got a job about three months out of school; however, after several months of working there, I was certain it was not where God wanted me. That being said, I am another couple months into being unemployed. Ok, maybe I should clarify. Because I am also a part-time piano/voice teacher, I am not completely unemployed; however, I am only making about half of the income I need to pay all of my bills. It’s incredibly scary and horribly frustrating.

Being in such a “tight” place has helped me learn a lot. I have learned more about community… about allowing others to help me. If you know anything about me, I like to “do it myself”, but it has been extremely humbling to learn that, in all honesty, I can’t. As much as I enjoy being self-sufficient and independent, sometimes a little extra help is necessary… for well-being and for humility. I spent some time with friends last Thursday night, and a friend that I just met reminded me that the purpose of the Body is to lift one another up and to encourage, to help in times of need. It was a reminder of my role as the giver but also the recipient.

Growing up, I very rarely thought about money. My family wasn’t rich, but we weren’t poor… at least to my knowledge. We had food on the table, clothes on our bodies, a roof over our heads, and we even got to take family vacations every now and then. We may not have gone out to eat for every meal or had designer clothes or taken trips to exotic sites, but I have some very precious memories revolving around spending just a little money…not to negate the fact that my parents worked hard, and my dad is probably the most financially savvy person I know.

One memory I have is of a camping trip my family took. We packed up the tent and headed to a campsite. Oh the fun we had… especially as it started to pour. No one slept that night, and we were all fairly miserable, but we were together, and I will never forget it. In the second grade, many of my friends’ families had money trees growing in their backyards, and I remember coming home in tears because someone had made a comment about my jeans not having a specific label. I don’t even know what the label was, but I do remember my mom’s efforts to find a label that she could sew onto my jeans. The funny thing is that once the label was attached, no one noticed they were the same old non-brand jeans. Other memories include late nights around a campfire while my dad read aloud my siblings and me. They are precious to me and mean far more than any material gift or trinket.

All that to say that I am convinced that authenticity and valuable moments do not require having or spending a lot of money. However, I have to admit that I am human; a little stability would be nice. I will be completely honest, I’m nervous. I don’t know how things will work next month. I can't see it, and I wonder why God gave me eyes when faith is how I'm supposed to see. God has blessed me this month and provided through His Body. He usually does that when I reach the end of my rope and say, “I can’t do it”. I can just see Jesus shaking His head with a half smile, saying, “It’s about time you let me take over”. You’d think that with all the times I’ve been to that place, I wouldn’t have any difficulty trusting! That I would never be tempted to worry again!

I know the Biblical command not to worry, but what is the practical aspect? How do I apply this to daily life? How do I “just not worry”? What does it mean to “cast my cares upon Him”? And how do I know if I really am? Will I see the results? Feel the results? Where is the balance of resting/trusting and yet not negating my responsibility to be a good steward with what I have and continuing to look for potential jobs. I really want to believe that God will provide. He is Jehovah Jirah, but alas, knowing and feeling are very different, and when knowledge and emotion are not in sync, confusion is usually the next visitor. becomes even more difficult when the only doors that seem to be moving are those that are very clearly closing. However, as a friend suggested, knowing where not to go is just as important as knowing where to go.

Sometimes the most precious of all moments takes place in the most difficult of times. As I listened to the song included in this post, I feel like singing and dancing and laughing... but I also feel like crying. Yes, it is possible to do all of the latter at the very same time. I'm in that place where peace, delight, confusion, expectancy, and frustration all meet... on the road that leads to complete reliance. It's the balance between finding joy in the experience, yet experiencing without stoicism/bitterness/guilt. Despite the fact that I have no idea what is coming next, this is where Iam... and it is the best possible place to be.

So, I trudge onward, knowing that "these things take time".

Drip, Drip, Drop Little April Showers; what can compare to your beautiful sound...

Well, the tears falling from my eyes are anything but little drips and drops, and I’m not exactly creating a beautiful sound with gasping breaths and sobs. For further contradiction, let’s remember that it is September… not April.

Nevertheless, this song was what popped into my head as I let the tears freely flow. The other thought was that I am not one of those people others might call a “pretty crier”. You know how there are some people who can cry until they convince everyone around them that no bodily fluids remain, yet they still manage to look stunning? Yeah, those people kind of annoy me. I am among those whose face clearly reflects a previous cry – quite intensely I might add. The puffy eyes and bright red nose are currently intimate companions of mine.

My heart is sad. I figured I would share that information just in case you couldn’t tell from the previous paragraph. I am sad for a lot of reasons. Part of me is sad for my own loss because twelve years ago today I made a decision to have an abortion. It is a decision that I regret, a decision that I mourn. I cry, and I grieve over my loss; however, I also rejoice over the freedom I now have because today also marks three years from the day that I was baptized and publically shared my story. It is a freedom that I long so desperately to share.

I remember as a teenager, trying so desperately to the exact opposite, to hide all my hurt and pain because I didn’t want anyone to think I was “bad”. Yet, I continuously told myself I did not care. It seems a bit ironic. I remember when I told my family. How hard they worked to protect my privacy because I was terrified of what the Church would think… even though I “didn’t care”. The effort I put into not caring was because it hurt too much to care, and I was humiliated. I was afraid that my church would shun me, afraid that my friends would disown me, afraid that my family would be humiliated or that they might think they had failed. In actually, I cared I a lot, but I could not, or rather, I would not because once I did, the pain would become real, and that was a risk I was not willing to take.

And so I suffered… alone, and yet not really alone because my entire family was hurting with me. They just didn’t know exactly why, and they didn’t know how to help. What they did know was that when one part of the body suffers, “every part suffers with it” (1 Corinthians 12:26).

It is at this point where practicality and need meet. How do they suffer with it, and what exactly does “suffer with it” mean? The Greek word used in the latter passage is sumpascho and literally means to suffer or feel pain together and to suffer evils (troubles, persecutions) in the like manner with another (Vine, 1996, p. 608). My humble conclusion is that the “suffer with it” part likely means experiencing the hurt and pain of someone else. So, now the question is “how”? If you want my opinion… well, you are reading my blog, so I’m going to assume you are at least a little curious about what I think. By no means do I profess to have the answer. I have never studied Greek, so I could be far from accurate; however, I am going to explain what I have concluded.

I believe there are various forms of suffering with someone. The first occurs when we have suffered the same hurt in the same moment. For example, I cried with my family when we had to put our dog to sleep. We all mourned the same loss, and we could identify with the others. The second occurs when we are unable to identify with what someone else is experiencing yet we feel sad because they are sad. I experienced this type of suffering when a friend’s parents got divorced. Despite the fact that I had no idea what it was like to see my parents separate, I saw how much she suffered, and as a result, my heart broke too. A third form of suffering takes place when we encounter someone who is currently suffering in a manner that we have previously suffered and from which we have experienced healing. In 2 Corinthians 1:3-7, Paul states that we are able to comfort others with the comfort we have received from God; perhaps His presence did so through others who comforted us. It is for this reason I am convinced that God purposed me to feel all the pain and anguish that I experienced so that I could hurt with the ones who suffer after me - to offer comfort and hope through Jesus Christ, our Father of compassion and our God of all comfort.

One more form of suffering occurs in the hearts of Believers when we hurt for those who “don’t care” and who “don’t know” that they are hurting. It is the suffering for the souls of those who are unfamiliar with the privilege of knowing and experiencing Jesus. It is a burden that should strike a fire within the heart of every Believer and ignite a passion to share His healing and redemptive power with urgency and enthusiasm. As a result, we will likely suffer.

About a year ago, I remember asking my clinical supervisor, “When will it not hurt so much?” after discussing a client who had experienced extreme trauma. His response still resonates quite loudly in my mind, “Do you really want it not to?” After careful thought, I knew my answer was a firm “no”. I have embraced the passion God has given me, and despite the fact that I can sometimes be a little over-enthusiastic, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that He has forgiven me much, so that I can love much (Luke 7:36-50). I never want to lose the ability to hurt with others because doing so would mean I had lost the opportunity of healing and rejoicing with them as well. It is a duty, a privilege, and a joy that I am unwilling to relinquish, and I am thankful He has entrusted me with so much.

The zeal of God has consumed me
It burns within my soul
A flaming fire that keeps burning
A fire that cannot be quenched

May we burn without scorching and glow without dimming. May we be consumed.



References

Holy Bible (NIV). (1996). Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan Corporation.

Vine, W. E. (1996). Vine’s complete expository dictionary of old and new testament words. Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson, Inc.

The bittersweet flavor of disappointment…

I’ve never been a connoisseur when it comes to culinary skills. My family can vouch for me in that regard. Years ago, my sister and I decided to take on the task of making an anniversary cake for my parents. You’d better believe we worked HARD to make it as unforgettable as we possibly could, and I know for a fact that cake is well-remembered today. I will be honest and say that I cannot remember whether or not the cake tasted good or if we even ate it. If we did, I am surprised one of us is not missing a tooth due to the many sprinkles and decorative silver balls and other such ornamental toppings covering the thick layer of frosting. However, despite not remembering how the cake tasted, I do remember making it. I remember how I laughed with my sister and how we “just knew it would be delicious” and that “Mom and Dad would love this cake”… right down to the bright orange frosting. How we concocted such a florescent color, I may never know.

Another one of my favorite cooking stories occurred when I attempted, please take note of the word “attempted”, to make brownies. Now, I know there are many individuals who would say, “You can’t go wrong with a mix from a box”, but I have always been the kind of girl who enjoyed going against the grain. So, of course, I went wrong. My brother enjoys telling the story of how we had to throw away the pan.

I am reminiscing because, over the past weekend, I have had a lot of time to be still, which of course leads to much thinking. I was pondering the events of the past few weeks, and how, so often, my life is very much like the previously mentioned stories. All the ingredients are present; they’ve all been tossed into the bowl, and yet nothing turns out quite like I expect. I ask myself, “Why? Everything is in place, and it seems so ‘right’. What now?”

Alas, the answer arrives... ever so slowly… and I shudder.

Patience. To put it bluntly, this attribute is NOT an area of strength for me. In fact, just the word is a loathsome expression within my vocabulary. So is the word “wait”. I try to avoid them both, but I have learned, and usually the hard way, that sometimes waiting is an unavoidable necessity. For example, *WARNING do NOT try this at home*, I tried to grill chicken faster by turning up the heat twice as high and cooking it for half the time needed at the lower temperature. The end result was a burnt chicken with a very cold and very pink center. All the ingredients were there. I had done my part. I just had to wait.

So, over the last few weeks, certain events have taken place. Things have appeared to seem “right”; all the ingredients were in the bowl and in just the right place at just the right time and in such a way that would never allow me to take responsibility or question the contents of the recipe... supposedly. Have you ever tasted something and thought it was delicious only to discover that once the “secret ingredient” was added, it was absolutely divine?

I seriously believe that God looks upon us and has a good chuckle to Himself at the pettiness of His humans. I’m not one to follow recipes to the “T”. In fact, I love a secret ingredient, and I rarely measure things at all; that’s what the “eye” is for, right? BUT, if I’m completely honest with myself, I must admit there are some things in life that have to be done “just so”, and I guess if I really want a delicious chicken, I’m going to have to wait. Afterall, what good is rushing things if all I’m going to get is raw chicken with a burnt “shell”?

“Let God grill your chicken. It’ll be the best you ever had.”

Oh yes, I know the comment was cheesy, but I am perfectly OK with “cheese” as long as it is intentional.

And preferably sharp-cheddar.


“The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, to the person who seeks Him.” –Lamentations 3:25

"Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord." -Psalm 27:14

PS- I have come quite far in my culinary skills, and if you should so desire, will most willingly cook a delicious chicken for you.

Radical

I’ve been reading the book Radical by David Platt (2010). In the briefest of synopses, Platt asks his readers to consider what Jesus is worth to them. I will not even attempt to claim “everything” because, in doing so, I would most definitely be lying. Oh, how desperately I would like to say he is “everything to me”, but the hard truth is that if Jesus commanded me to “follow him” at the cost of losing my home, my family, my friends and having “no place to lay my head” and being told to not even return home to bury my father, I honestly am not sure I would be jumping up and down with enthusiasm (Luke 9:57-62). How often have I said, “I’ll be obedient if...” or “I’ll follow you, but first…” or even “I know Jesus wants obedience, but I don’t think He meant _______”.

There has been some debate as to whom Jesus was speaking in Luke 9 (specifically whether these men were believers or not). As a believer, the words “leave it all behind for Me” are terrifying; I can’t imagine the impact such words would have on someone who was encountering Jesus for one of the first times. In my opinion, it seems we make excuses for not following Jesus whole-heartedly. One of these reasons being “love”. For example, “It would be ‘unloving’ to follow Jesus without saying goodbye to family” or “It would be ‘unloving’ not to attend a family member’s funeral”, etc., etc.

Don’t get me wrong here. I’m not encouraging you to skip town and to follow Jesus… unless He gives you that specific direction. Not everyone is called to go overseas, and it’s ok if some of us are blessed with “much”. What I take from this passage has less to do with specific behaviors/possessions and more to do with a willingness to follow Christ at the risk of losing everything we ‘value’. Let’s pretend you do not live in America, and you have to travel 50 miles by foot each time you wanted to meet with believers, taking a different route each time, so the authorities would be less likely to follow due to suspicions. Then you would meet in an underground room infested with roaches, spiders, snakes, rats, and other such creepy-crawlies; there is no band or flashing lights. No heat or air-conditioner, and the only place to sit is on the jagged gravel floor that penetrates your flesh. Would you go? Would you still be willing if you knew that getting caught would mean the torture and execution of your entire family?

It’s easy to love Jesus in America. We have comfortable seats in our churches, air conditioning, heat, electricity, nice houses, and exterminators, and despite the fact that we might get teased every now and then, persecution is, comparatively, at a minimum. In our pictures Jesus is a handsome man with a halo casting a soft glow upon blond hair, blue eyes, and tiny drops of blood dripping from small holes in his hands and feet. He is almost always smiling. I never really “got” these pictures because 1) “He had no beauty of majesty to attract us to Him; nothing in His appearance that we should desire Him” (Isaiah 53:2b) and 2) I have a really hard time imagining Jesus experiencing enough delight to put a smile on His face as His Father turned His face away from Him. Yes, the crucifixion was horrific; however, I believe the real horror was in the separation. This is the hell from which Jesus’ death and resurrection saved us… quite a radical way to say “I love you”… and yet I still have difficulty responding with as much abandonment.

In David Platt’s book, he mentions a woman from India who actually thanked her persecutors as they skinned her alive! She thanked them for “tearing off [her] garment, for [she would] soon put on Christ’s garment of righteousness.” Years ago, I heard the testimony of a woman who served overseas with her family. While in a secretly held Bible study, she and her family, among other believers, were attacked, and as shrapnel flew, she threw her body over her child. This woman shared that a piece of shrapnel lodged itself in her back and remains there today because it was too close to her spinal cord to remove without further damage. I will never forget what she said after that. She said the pain she felt was joy. She experienced joy in being able to protect her child and joy in being able to experience the sufferings of Christ. She loved Jesus that much, and to think, I shudder when I stub my pinky toe.

Could I do it? Could I let go of anything and everything for the sake of One who sacrificed His life for me?

“Leave it ALL… for Me.”

Crazy?

Maybe a little; however, “the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God” (1 Corinthians 1:18).

A Little Girl

There once was a little girl...

She sat looking out the window. She watched the sweethearts walk by and knew, even back then, that she would never have that... whatever it was. She knew she wasn't lovable.

Bobby said don't tell. It's our secret.

Daddy beat her.

Mommy forgot her.

Older sister laughed at her.

Her mirror mocked her.

Johnny said he loved her, but only after his fist blackened her eye. Tommy said the same thing, and so did Joey, James, and all the others.

The nurse said it was only tissue. The doctor didn't even look at her.

The dealer said it would make her feel better. All she had to do was sniff.

The bottle said it could solve her problems.

Pills on the floor screamed silence.

You're not pretty enough, good enough, thin enough, smart enough, funny enough, serious enough...

YOU'RE JUST NOT ENOUGH!!!!!!!!!!

She knew she was alone, and she was OK with that...

but no one told her she would cry. No one told her she could cry.

So, she didn't... not a tear.

And no one ever knew...

---
This is the story of the little girl who is on your daughter's cheer-leading squad and the little boy who is the star pitcher for your son's little league team. It is also the story of the quiet math-whiz, the honor-role valedictorian, and the most popular well-liked kid at school. They know how to smile and how to convince us that they are "fine", and those who don't, refuse to say anything at all. They are quiet so as not to draw attention to the pain. After-all, that would only make it real.

Do you have "eyes to see" the un-shed tears of the invisible broken? Do you have "ears to hear" the silent cries of the "least of these"? Maybe, just maybe, if we took a little time to look and listen just a little bit closer, we might not be the ones who "[n]ever knew".

Ravaged

She had been ravaged... destroyed, invaded, broken, forgotten.

She used to think that there were things too sacred, too personal to be discussed. The "off-limits" subjects... the ones that make her think, or even worse, feel.

It was one thing to read about epidemic proportions in other countries, states, cities. It was another when the "devastating unfortunates" were within her arm's reach- the druggies, the prostitutes, the poor, the abused, etc... worse yet, when she realized she was one of "them."

One minute she was watching TV, listening to the "breaking news" about the latest world disaster. The next minute, she discovered contamination within her own flesh. She was no longer the observer, but rather a victim herself.

At first, she fought. With everything inside of her, and she hated anyone who wouldn't join that fight. But the drive to fight lessened, and she quit.

Her hopes are pinned upon the stories of other survivors. One year, two years, ten years of freedom. She faces a disease that can sometimes be "managed," but cannot be "cured."

In a general sense, the disease is sin. It manifests itself using drugs, alcohol, self-mutilation, denial, AIDS, eating disorders, cutting, cancer, and numerous other addictions and illnesses.

She would learn to savor moments... and reserve her hate for those who thought she should scream "unclean unclean" for the sake of those who viewed her as a leper.

Friends stopped dropping by. Others whispered when they thought she wasn't listening: "This 'disease' is a judgment upon the immoral. Damn them!!!!!"

She found new friends... who really weren't friends at all.

They say you can judge the soul by how it treats the unfortunate, the victims of the deadliest disease. At best, she'd been ignored. At worst, she'd been mocked, ridiculed, damned.

She found it difficult to remember how she used to be... playful, full of life, strong. She can only remember the relentless advance of such a ravaging disease, the melancholy warrior, the sunken eyes, the flesh hanging from bones. The helplessness. And ultimately the despair. The desire to die... She was broken, yet she did her best to smile, to try and convince everyone else she was "fine".

Worry...

It's funny how worrying never changes anything, and yet I am so prone to it. I worry about a lot of things:

where I will work, how I look, how much money I make, if the bills will be paid next month... or this month, how clean my house/clothes are, whether things are in their place, whether I turned off the oven or let my dog outside one more time, etc, etc.

The list goes on. It is seemingly endless including anything and everything that is so apparently important...

Only one thing seems to lack. It is the most important of all, and I find myself forgetting, maybe even choosing to forget, how much it really does matter.

Whether or not I can pay my taxes, rent, medical expenses, electricity isn't as important as I make it out to be. Don't get me wrong. I do pay my bills and realize the importance of working to be able to do so, but I think I put way too much emphasis on the worrying part: "Where am I going to get this much money?" as opposed to trusting the One who got me to a point where I would even have bills to pay. I hope that made sense...

So, what do I really need? I am not sure I have any concept. "Oh the differences that often are between everything [I] want and what [I] really need." I really do believe that God provides. Why I am so willing to cling to the "maybe He won't?"

I think sometimes I associate grace with daily provisions... in a very literal sense... if I, in my small, puny, human mindset, don't receive what I think I need, then I am also not receiving grace. Thus, bringing me to the conclusion of: "I am horrible and don't (or do) deserve ____." Of course, I know this isn't true, but, unfortunately it is, quite often, how my mind works. Wouldn't it be great if knowing and feeling were the same thing?

Anyways, I fear... not my Lord and Savior as I should... and often claim to do. I fear not having enough. I fear not being good enough. I fear not loving enough. I fear loving too much... sometimes I fear love itself. I fear needing... in fact, I despise needing anything, including grace. I fear being who I am intended to be, and I fear not being her too. I fear death, but sometimes I still long for it. I fear pain, but that doesn't stop me from self-infliction, not physically, but rather with thoughts of "what if" and "if only". I fear reality and all that comes with it... because all too often it hurts. Then, when it doesn't, I am even more afraid because it is new territory. I fear the unknown, and as a result, I fear my thoughts, my tears, my desires... I fear me... because "the gap grows wider between who I am and all I aspire to be."

So, how do I stop the worrying? I mean, I don't want to worry... It's not like I enjoy it. Sometimes it feels like all the praying and "giving it to the Lord" hasn't made a difference. Have I really given it to Him then? How can I be sure? Why am I so desperate to take it back? And is it a one-time deal or an every-second-of-every-day kind of thing?

Despite knowing what is true, I just want to feel safe... like I am being taken care of by Someone who is good.

Seasoned

Journal excerpt from 10/1/2009

“I can hardly believe it is October! I was walking my dog this evening, and just between London Plain and Mint Court, I breathed in the unmistakable scent of autumn: crushed leaves, dirt, and the stinkbug who so fondly reminded me of my favorite seasoning. It was a delightful moment.

The morning dawned gloriously brilliant with sunshine forcing me squint through into the light. I suppose that is because I refused to wear sunglasses today out of sheer determination to allow as much radiance to penetrate my soul.

After a full morning of meetings and counseling, a surprise cancellation allowed me to meet some very dear friends for lunch. What a privilege it was! To engage in fellowship with those who are united in heart and mind is sweeter than crystallized honey, and I relished every moment... including the extra dash of sarcasm here and there. As we sat and talked, I was challenged to consider what path I would take if money were not an issue in life, following the Lord’s leading and trusting that all things are possible with Him.

For years, I have been certain that I has called me to be a part of starting a home for troubled girls. For years, I have questioned the reality and likelihood of this calling because money has always been an issue. A few hours ago, however, when I was challenged to consider how I would start a home if the financial aspect did not need to be accounted for, I had to pause. I am so passionate about God's calling, and as my day progressed, I felt the intensity increase... considering the fact that my God is not limited to my savings account.

My last client of the day was probably the hardest session I have ever had, a teenage girl whose horror stories left me sick to my stomach. I left my office in tears wishing there was a place for this young lady to go and feel safe. Safe from the individuals whose only desire was to beat her to a bloody pulp and delight in her pain. Safe from the streets she had known for years. Safe in the arms of people who were passionate about loving her to Grace and Mercy. She has never known safety. She has never heard the words ‘I love you’ with the expectation to perform. ‘Love is a joke,’ she said, ‘and I laugh to get through a day. If I don’t, I won’t make it.’ She fought desperately for apathy throughout the entire session, a bit of an oxymoron, but by the end of our time together, she was in tears to the point of hyperventilating. My heart was crying with her. When she walked out the door, all previously successful attempts to ‘hold it together’ immediately failed, and Angel Falls began a new course over my previously ‘composed’ face. I find it interesting that the world's largest waterfall, where flowing water rapidly drops, includes Angel in its name… as if were the tears of the angels themselves rushing over the cliffs of Heaven to the depths of the earth.

I have wrestled in my head and heart for many hours this evening, unable to fall asleep. Sitting here, I am realizing that not only am I deeply upset from this session, I have also been upset that I can’t just ‘leave it at work’. It's the first time this has happened, but I keep thinking that as someone intent on being a licensed professional therapist, I shouldn’t be so deeply affected, so hurt with her clients, and so intensely angry towards those who inflicted pain. At the same time though, I have to ask myself, do I really want these stories not to hurt? Am I willing to sacrifice my breaking heart for a more developed one that has the potential for rigidity and callousness? I hope not.

As I think back on my own life, the dark places I have been, my heart aches for the many girls who are still there. I’m crying even now because I desire to see them experience LIFE and FREEDOM. I have no doubt that both are found in Christ’s TRUTH, and I desperately long to be a part of helping them be reconciled to that Truth. The Greek word ‘katallasso’ literally means ‘to change from enmity to friendship, to reconcile’. ‘Apokatallasso’ means ‘to reconcile completely’ by ‘changing from one condition to another’. Beautiful.

For years, I wondered why I went through so much pain. I was angry with God for letting me be so broken and beaten down, but I know now that despite the enemy’s purpose to use evil for evil, God meant it and purposed it for His glory and my good. My past is not an accident that God had to ‘fix’. I delight in remembering it for the purpose of celebrating my freedom and offering hope to those who are as lost, scared, and alone as I was. I love sharing my story… not for the purpose of glorifying my sin, but rather glorifying my God who is infinitely bigger. I get so excited about His Grace and Mercy that I just want to dance and sing. Sometimes I do… in the middle of the night with tears dripping down my cheeks because I am overwhelmed by the Passion of a God who would delight in pursuing, rescuing, and fellowshipping with me. I love Him, and I cannot quench the desire to glorify Him by offering Mercy and Grace to young girls desperately in need of His love.

So, if money were not an issue and Lord opened the door, the planning would start now - safe places to express the hurt and pain without fear of rejection or punishment, bedrooms filled with Light and Love, music, art, nature, laughter, tears, hope, love, and joy. There will be Passion… seasoned and ripe for the Harvest.

Bring on the rain.”

January 22, 1973
A decision was made today. A decision that changed the lives of countless individuals. A decision that impacted parents, grandparents, children, friends, siblings. For some it changed the lives of those who continued to live; for others it changed the course of life by withholding the experience altogether. It is a decision that, although deemed to be for good, preys upon the vulnerability of a wide-eyed and terrified soul. Terror derived from a variety of sources:

the 40-year old woman afraid of complications from a later pregnancy
the excited you mother recently told her child has a "defect" of some sort
the teenage girl barely old enough to drive
the college student who will lose her scholarship
the married young couple struggling to make ends meet

You name the terror, but it's there just the same.

I have felt it.

In case you haven't figured it out by now, January 22, 1973 marks the day abortion was made legal. Thirty-seven years ago a decision was made that changed my life. Not a day goes by where I don't think, "I wonder" or "What if." When my heart doesn't hurt and the tears don't threaten to fall. Of course it has gotten easier over the past almost ten years. It's hard to believe it has been that long. I am nearly 29 years old, and though age 17 seems like a life-time ago, it feels as though it were only yesterday.

How many countless other women are there? 45% of American women have had an abortion by the age of 40. 25% can be found within the American church. That means that one out of every four women you know in your church has probably had an abortion. That means that practically half of the women you know outside of church have had an abortion. Too many if you ask me.

Abortion hurts... too much for me to stay silent. Fear and shame breed in my secrecy, so I share my story. I am overwhelmed at the prospect of my sin being so exposed to so many people yet, my fear that others will never experience the freedom I have is greater. By no means do I wish to glorify my sin, but rather, I pray that somehow, by sharing, God will be glorified. So, on Monday, January 22, 2007, I shared my story publicly at the North Carolina State Capital. I was afraid, but I remembered what fear had done in the past, how terror had previously reigned. And how I succumbed. I could not let that happen again, so I had the precious opportunity to perform a song I had written about the pain experienced by those who are post-abortive, and although afraid, my story was shared...



One of my favorite Greek words is Katallasso. It means:
1. to change or exchange
2. to reconcile (those who are at a variance)
3. return to favour with, be reconciled to one
4. to receive one into favour
That basically means that all enmity is removed and no impediment to unity with GOD or purity in CHRIST remains!

One of my favorite quotes paints a beautiful picture of such reconciliation. This passage is a perfect example of the life of freedom I hope and pray we can all embrace and a challenge to love as Christ loves:
"He swung her up and lifted her above him joyously. She threw back her head and spread her arms wide to embrace the sky, tears of celebration streaming down her cheeks. He'd read to her once how God had cast a man and a woman out of Paradise. Yet, for all their human faults and failures, God had shown them the way back in. Love the Lord your God, and love one another. Love one another as He loves. Love with strength and purpose and passion, no matter what comes against you. Don't weaken. Stand against the darkness, and love. It's the way back into Eden. It's the way back to Life."

I cannot keep what HE has done a secret. May my life and story be a testimony to such grace.

In the meantime, friends, spread your arms wide and embrace!

©January 2010



little girl alone
waiting for the words,
"it'll be alright"
to come true
a thousand tears
falling from her eyes tonight
they tell a tale of what will never be
her silent pain screams louder than
the words, "i'm fine," and she breaks
still masquerading all she feels
and all she needs
"don't worry; it's ok;
be patient; you'll move on"
but all the platitudes of this world
will never be enough
so, who will dry the tears of that little girl
who cries again tonight?
for the phantom-child her arms still long to hold?
and who will hold that little girl
when she finally falls apart
and just lets go?
who will love?
little boy alone
waiting for the words
"it'll be alright"
to come true
his throat was slit
with burning lies of passion
his heart was pierced
with daggers of deceit
his silent pain tears him limb from limb
inside and he breaks
still masquerading all he feels
and all he needs
"don't worry; it's ok;
be patient; you'll move on"
but all the platitudes of this world
will never be enough
so, who will dry the tears of that little boy
who cries again tonight?
for the phantom-child his arms still long to hold?
and who will hold that little boy
when he finally falls apart
and just lets go?
who will love?

i long to hear
the words, "i love you"
from you
as much as you long
to hear them
from me too
but just so you know
i do

©2005

What a Girl Wants

“Patience is a virtue so You tell, but I can’t wait for You to take my breath away.”

Do I mean “can’t wait” in the sense that I am impatient, or do I mean it in a sense of healthy anticipation? Can I mean both? Please?

“Hayakushite!”

Hurry up!

“Choto-mate-kudasai.”

Wait a minute, please.

I lived in Japan for two years. These are two of the phrases I knew the best, aside from “where’s the bathroom” of course, which, even then, I still probably used the first phrase in conjunction with it because I firmly believe that God created my bladder with a capacity significantly smaller than the average human bladder’s capacity of 17 fluid ounces.

My patience, or lack thereof, is born out of my pride. Me first and get out of my way.

It is also born out of my discomfort. I am miserable; make me happy.

Me first.

Speed dial.

Speed dating.

Speed channel.

Get rich quick.

Lose weight fast.

Now, now, now. Me, me, me.

We live in expedia.com.

So, I act. I act because I refuse to be still and wait. All because I doubt that God is truly for me.

Awhile ago, I went to the beach early one Saturday. I started the almost two-hour drive to Wilmington at 4:45AM because I wanted to see the sunrise. I made it, and it was well-worth it. Buster went with me. For the most part, the day was overcast and cool, but it made the beach a solitary place, which was my whole reason for going. It was a sweet opportunity to sit with the Lord and be still. I stayed for almost 7 hours. No one was there… except for a very occasional wanderer. I got to read, pray, cry, laugh out loud, run around with Buster and play in the waves, sing loudly, and dance like nobody was watching. Yeah, I did all that alone with an audience of One. OK, two if you count Buster.

I also remember writing a lot. It's always interesting to go back in time and see growth and change. Remember the Dr. Seuss book "Oh the Places You'll Go"? There ought to be one entitled "Oh the Places You've Been, But Look at You Now". It was bittersweet to re-experience that moment:

“I am sitting at the beach. It is overcast and cool, but I have gotten away… even if it is only for a few hours. The waves are HUGE, a reminder of the majesty of the One who created them. His words tickle my ears even now, whispered above the roar of the waves and sending ribbons of Truth swirling to the depths of my soul. As I think about my past, I am convicted, not with guilt over what has been, but convicted because I realize that I have had an abortion every single day of my life… not in the sense of lying on a surgical table with legs spread-eagle, but definitely in the sense of determining whether or not a life is invaluable. I have sinned. I got angry and lashed out at someone who did not deserve it. I spent more time watching a movie than communicating with my Father. I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw. I spent more time worrying about my success in school/work/etc. than cultivating the friendships I so fervently cherish. I have given in to destruction on a daily basis. Sadly, I fail so often to recognize the need to value Life… not just breath, although that is infinitely precious. Rather, I am speaking of an abundance in Life, a partaking of a new Nature that denies the destruction of souls through its very existence… if only I were a bit more disciplined in practicing its fullness. Oh, how free I desperately long to be. I want to scream, cry, laugh, and be still all at once. I want to run with abandonment, dance without shame, and rest without guilt overpowering the sweet sensation of stillness. My heart yearns to be known, to be known and cherished, and to be cherished both despite and because of who I am. I am excited about this journey that I am on, but I am afraid, too, like a strange form of anticipation where peace somehow mingles with a little taste of impatience. I cannot really describe the sensation. I just know that I’m ready. For what, I don’t know. But I am ready. God rest my soul; here I come.”

With all my heart, I believe God’s Grace is real. I believe that It is big, but the majority of my efforts to embrace It are only half-hearted. Partly because I want to be strong enough and good enough on my own and partly because I don’t want to let go of what is comfortable. I SAY I want to change, but do I really? If I do, why don’t I act upon it? Or how about if I THINK I am acting upon it, but in reality am not? What is it about repentance that scares me so much? What is it about the sin that destroys me that is so appealing I’d do almost anything to cling to its darkness? Why am I so afraid of Light? Because it will reveal what really is? Because someone might not like me? Because hiding will no longer be possible? Because I will be vulnerable?

I smell of fear. In fact, I REEK of it, and the only remedy for such a stench is to bathe in the LIGHT of Grace and Truth. Though, I think I would actually prefer to drown… to be out of breath because Truth has stolen it away. But the water is always cold at first, and wading in takes time. I mean seriously, why don’t I just jump? It's not like the waves aren't big enough to catch me. I mean, isn't that what every girl wants?

…to be “swept off her feet”.

© September 2008