Love Is Not Enough - A Response to Rage After the Orlando Shooting

Rage, hatred, venom, and bile – the contents of my Facebook feed this morning. As I sat there trying to skim past the vitriol spewing forth from news sources, churches, the LGBT community, friends, family, and strangers, I realized that it was unavoidable. Our country, our world, has been consumed by frenzied wrath orchestrated by hate-mongers who co-opted the shooting in Orlando as their own personal soap box for whatever cause they deem significant.

Everyone has an agenda. Everyone is supporting a cause that is greater than yours. Everyone has religious, political, moral, or social outrage that needs to be addressed, and it can only be satisfied by your total subservience and homage to their wrath.

And as much as I hate the destructive power of anger, I could feel it sweeping over me. The temptation to rise up, match their rage with my own, demand that they be silent before my more righteous cause, and in doing so merely add my voice to the ever rising din of fury.

Overwhelmed and sickened by it all, I shut off my phone and tried to pray, but all I felt was anger. So I prayed the only thing I could, “God, I need to see this from your perspective, because mine is too small.”

As I sat there trying to subdue my own churning feelings, thoughts began to form. Hurting people hurt people, cliché but true. Unhealed hearts cry out for vindication because they believe healing is impossible. Unredeemed scars fester with bitterness because they are seen as pointless pain. The powerless find power in their victimhood, and the scared lash out because they believe there is no one defend or save them from their terror. The tormented find their identity in their torment and allow their tormentors to define them. And the insecure justify their actions by the fear of those who challenge their stance and the affirmation of those who share in their insecurities.

What is the answer? Vision.

A vision of hope, a vision of healing, a vision of restoration, of deliverance, and purpose. A vision of who they are in the eyes of God, a vison of his love, protection, mercy, and grace. A vision of significance that exceeds personal agendas and political wrangling. A vision that allows us to know that we are more than who we have claimed to be and more than who the world wishes us to be. A vision that cuts across the boundaries of you and I. A vision that exceeds the confines that this world or even our own flesh places upon us. A vision that inspires and empowers us to dare to dream again, to fight again, and to simply be again.

We have lost that vision. We have polluted and degraded it until we are nothing more than creatures of our own making. We have defined ourselves according to titles and traits that are beneath us, and reveled in our right to do so.  We have cut ourselves and the cried because we bled, blaming another for actions, and refusing to take responsibility for the damage we have inflicted on ourselves. We surrendered our God given identities then scream because another dares to call us by the name of the beasts we have become. For while we hate truth, we are more than willing to use it as a knife upon another if it will make them look more like our disfigured selves.  Misery does love company, even if it is that of an enemy who shares in the pain we feel.

So we rage, we scream, we whip others into a frenzy to enjoy their company.  We justify our anger by pointing to the anger we have engendered in those around. We incite, and we riot with the incessant tapping of keys upon our keyboards. Hiding from reality even as we seek to define it for another with our words of hate.

The temptation that faces us all is to deny seeing this in ourselves, not the opposition, not those we have labeled as foe, and not those who dare to hold a view contrary to ours. For we can do nothing to alleviate or rescind their guilt, that is a task we must all face alone before our God. We must all find that place where we learn that our protests mean nothing before him, and our excuses are meaningless in light of his holiness. That place where we embrace the truth that we cannot vindicate or justify our fear and hate because another has allowed these things to rule in their hearts. Instead, we are to serve our King and Lord, refusing to let him be dethroned from hearts by the wrath of another.

And despite what we have been told, love is not enough. It never was. For love is an abstraction wit no real meaning apart from the one who embodies it, and our duty as believers is to embody that vision, the vision of the Father’s love for us and to the world. We cannot do that from a place of fear and rage. For if fear and rage is all we offer then how are they to see a Father who loves, a Father who forgives, who heals, and restores? For surely, they reason in their hearts, we have received none of these great gifts if that is all we have offer another. And I do not want to offer the world another lie upon which to cut themselves.

It's Love. It's What I Do

This year has been a doozie. If one thing isn’t falling apart, another thing is exploding. Things, plans, people, and ideas going up in great big giant flaming balls of stupidity and lack. Most of the time I can just roll with the punches, walk it off, and move on to the next minor emergency, but lately that hasn’t been so easy to do.

The stuff breaking down is one thing. Fix the tractor, replace the air conditioner, and buy a new phone. It’s life. It’s what you do. Plans falling apart and dreams not coming true that hurts, but you get up and make a new plan, dream a new dream. It’s life. It’s what you do.

But the people, oh the people, that one is rough.

If you know me, you know that I am pretty good at separating you from me, my life from yours, and the things you chose from the things I want. It’s life. It’s what you do. But then there are people that you love, that you let in so deep that there is no separation. Their life is your life, and the things they chose are things that are now a part of your world, for better or worse. And when you watch the fuse to their life ignite, all you can do is duck and cover because you know this is going to hurt.

The temptation in these moments is to cut ties, to run away, and deny them the right to be a part of your world at such a deep level. God knows it would be easier. And I honestly find more than a morsel of comfort in the fact that even he felt this way.

If you don’t remember the story, it goes something like this –

God had just demonstrated his undivided love and devotion to the Children of Israel. He does amazing and wondrous things to secure their freedom when they turn into snot nosed little brats. Here he’s rained terror and destruction down on the Egyptian nation that had dared to abuse those he loved, and they are dying to go back to their abusers. And on the particularly rough days, I find his solution rather appealing:

“I have seen this people, and behold, it is a stiff necked people. Now therefore let me alone, that my wrath may burn hot against them and I may consume them, in order that I make a great nation of you.” Exodus 32: 9, 10

Obviously, God did not carry through with this threat, but the point is this is his emotional response the situation. It is him being so honest about the feeling he has that it is shocking!

I think that so often in the Christian community we are told that if we really love someone you will never feel anger over their actions. We are told to forgive and forget, deny those oh-so-human emotions, and recognize that you have not say in the lives of others. Anger, we are told, is selfish and shows our need to control, but I don’t think that’s always the case.

Maybe my interpretation of this event is skewed, but I don’t think that God was angry just because people dared to worship another god. (In fact, that wasn’t what was going on at all. Check this out to see the story behind the story.) He’s not that selfish. I think his anger was the result of watching these people do something that he knew would hurt them. He knew the consequences of their actions far better than they did, they had been warned, and given the tools to make wise decisions. And instead of heeding his words, they acted out of their own wisdom and based their actions on the fear in their hearts.

Okay, so we aren’t God. I get that. I know that he has rights and privileges that are way beyond our paygrade, but I think there is something to be learned here – actually, there are a lot of somethings to be learned here, but let’s just focus on one.

God was angry because he loved those snot nosed brats, they were his snot nosed brats, and he was not going to let anyone needlessly hurt them – including themselves. His anger was proof of a love that can only be kindled by those you are passionate for, a love that demands the best for those we call our own, and a love that refuses to allow anyone to be less than who he created them to be.

Yet, even in this, he did not act in anger. He acknowledged his pain and frustration. He had a conversation with someone who also had a vested interest in the wellbeing of these people. He allowed them to receive the consequences of their actions, he continued to speak truth over them, setting boundaries and refusing to be okay with their self-destructive ways, and then when they came to their senses, he renewed his promise to be there by their side through the battles that lay ahead.

I wonder how many of us need a friend who will not let anyone hurt us – including ourselves? How many of us can use a friend who will become enraged at our own self-destructive tendencies and will go toe-to-toe with us when we go full blown idiot in our lives?

And I wonder how many times the person who almost stepped up was told that they had no right to be angry? No right to have a say in the lives of those they love? How often have people been told that this type of passion for another is a sin? So they step back, cut ties, and remove themselves from a relationship that is too painful to bear in silence and believing that to speak up would be improper and unloving by the standards of so many.

I don’t want to be that friend. I want to be the one who makes you mad occasionally, who sets you off for calling it like it is, and hurts your feelings with honesty. I may yell. I may scream. I may call your mama, daddy, or the cops if that is what it takes to keep you safe, but I never want to be the friend who was more concerned with being polite than I was in protecting your heart. So if you were on the receiving end of my harsh words over the past few months, know that this – It’s is love. It’s what I do.

Cake, Field Surgeons, and Prophecy

I had to give a prophetic word last night. It wasn’t fun, and it wasn’t glamorous. In fact, it was rather painful, and I felt rather sick the whole time I was speaking.

In our Christian culture, the gift of prophecy is highly coveted. It’s like the icing on the Christian cake for most people. After all, who wouldn’t want the prestige that comes with being the person in the know?

The answer is the person who is really in the know. The one who sees past the facades and understands the prophecy isn’t about giving people the warm fuzzies, making empty promises of health, wealth, and prosperity, or even the promise that all things work together for good in your life, so hang in there. Now, I know that somewhere along the way you were told that the gift of prophecy was given for encouragement and exhortation, that negative or judgmental words have no place in a New Testament church, and if it isn’t building you up then the prophetic word given is invalid.

The thing is, I read all through my Bible, and I can’t find that anywhere. And if I take Paul’s word about all Scripture being profitable for teaching, reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness (2 Timothy 3:16), and keep in mind that Paul had to be speaking of the Hebrew Scriptures because the Christian Bible did not yet exist, I am faced with the very real responsibility to measure the prophetic in accordance to the examples within what we call the Old Testament. I am also forced to take Paul’s own words into account – teaching, reproof, correction, and training in righteousness. Not uplifting, not positive, not motivational, and certainly nothing about warm fuzzies.

Is this carte blanche permission for people who operate in the prophetic be jerks? Of course not, but you have to admit that the majority of the prophetic words recorded – even the prophetic words of Jesus - aren’t all sunshine and glitter. They were designed to confront sin, and they were designed to jar us from our complacency and passive justification of sinful actions in our own lives. Is there hope and promise to be found within prophetic words? Yes, but only after repentance, only after obedience, and only after we bow our hearts to the Lordship and authority of our God.

And what happens when you confront sin in someone’s life? They go stupid on you. Well, most of the time anyways. They deny that you have a right to speak, they condemn you for judging, and they hate you for your lack of compassion. At this point, all sorts of wonderful and amazing things can transpire for the one operating in a prophetic role, they can lose friends, they can family, they can be physically or verbally attacked by the ones they love, and they can be ostracized from the community that once valued their presence. Don’t believe me, look it up. Read the story of Joseph whose brothers sold him to slavery because he dared speak the prophetic vision God gave him. Read the accounts of Jeremiah who feared for his life and was left to rot in a cistern. Read about Elijah who hid in fear from the rage of queen.

None of this happened because they were promising warm fuzzies and financial success to the ones that God commanded them to go to. It happened because they dared to speak an uncomfortable truth. Truth that struck at the core of the listeners’ sense of self and security. Truth that would no longer allow the listener to walk in ignorance and forced them to move forward either in brokenness for their sin or in willful rebellion against God. No one wants to face that, I don’t even like facing that, and I hold no illusion about how painful it is to have to stand before another stripped bare of your own hypocrisy. It hurts, and it is humiliating in the beginning. I know, I’ve been on the receiving end more than once and every bit of selfish pride rose up in protest at being called out on my own sin.

What is hard for us to understand is that when someone is operating in an authentic gifting of the prophetic, there is no sense of superiority in it. There is only brokenness and pain on behalf the one to whom we speak. We are moved forward not because we wish to wound. We do so because we feel the outright misery of the broken relationship they have with Father, and everything within us yearns for their restoration. We move with compassion that must sometimes be brutal in order to be heard and so that message is not watered down or compromised. In my mind, it something akin to being a field surgeon, knowing that the procedure needed to save the patient inflicts more pain than the original wound, but must be done if they are to survive. So you close your ears to the screams and you pack that bloody wound with truth until the flow is staunched. Because mercy that brings death to another, physically or spiritually, is not mercy to anyone but yourself.  

For me that is the hardest part, knowing that my words will hurt and knowing that once the truth has been revealed I have relinquished all perceived and delusional ideas of control in the situation. From there it is up to the one to whom I sent to respond, to reject or to receive, to act or to deny. For me that is often the darkest time, because I know that they are now responsible for a truth that can no longer be rejected out of ignorance. I have to fight my tendency to worry that my words were too harsh or too heavy, and it is why I often hesitate when I should have been quick to obedience. And why I can point to list of moments when I was the broken one or they were further injured because I allowed fear of consequence for myself and others to keep me silent.

No, operating in the prophetic is not sweet or pretty. It never was, and I don’t believe it ever will be. Certainly, there are moments when you are allowed to participate in breakthrough and revelation that will change a person’s life, but those are rare and easily forgotten. For one who truly walks in the prophetic perceives the effects of sin as few others do, and their hearts break for the world around them. Yes, we hear from God but when you have been confronted by the light of holiness, the darkness that surrounds us only deepens. And when you have tasted the perfection of his presence, the brokenness of the world is only more tragic.

Facing My Hypocrisy

There is nothing like getting slapped upside the head with your own hypocrisy. In the rankings of unpleasant things it is somewhere above having your leg rotting away with methicillin resistant Staphylococcus aureus (MRSA), and just slightly below being eaten alive by rats. However, while I strongly advise avoiding those two scenarios, honesty requires that I acknowledge not only the benefits but the necessity of having our hypocrisy exposed even when it hurts.

It is the temptation and joy of every believer to indulge in complacency about our faith. We like thinking that we have figured out. The rules are simple, the requirement light, and our lives fall into a pattern of convenient obedience. If you are like me, you build a world where blatant sin is hard to come by. Things like killing, stealing, adultery, even gossip, if you are good enough at the game, become more troublesome than being good. Outward obedience becomes easy, and in fact, outward obedience becomes so important that you recoil at the thought of doing anything that would threaten your image of being the good Christian.

But it’s a trap.

Over the past five years, I have spent a lot of time building a social network designed to give me a platform from which to speak. I have been careful with what I post, with what I say, and with what I reveal. People see my work and they say, “Oh, you are edgy!”, “You are so brave to say that!”, and “Wow, I cannot believe how honest you are about these issues!” I have got to be honest with you, I love hearing all that. I love being able to shake people up by talking about things that intimidate so many others. The affirmation is wildly addictive.

But I haven’t been completely honest in my work, at least not as honest as I should be. For a long time now, I have been resisting the prompting to go deeper. If anything resisting is too mild of a word, more like kicking and screaming my protests as I am trying to claw my way free of God’s grasp on my life, and I have been pretty good at justifying it to myself. So many of you know so much about my life already, about things I have experienced that most women keep covered up, and yet, I am the one who will stand in the middle of room full of strangers and tell you the story of how my life was destroyed by violence and deceit. I will tell you have the hard years of being the divorced woman in church, and I will admit to the times of destitution while trying to raise my daughters. I will recount those moments when I defied God, daring him to show himself to be real in the wreckage of my life, and how he met there.

I could do that because I locked down all the emotions. I cut them off and buried them deep so I could tell my tale without flinching. I “set my face as flint” because I did not want to feel the humiliating sting of pity. I would do lip service to my part in the story.  I could admit the pride – the sheer hubris that led me into those places. I could be so stinking spiritual about it all that I would even say that I was thankful for that time, and laugh about how it took something that severe to get through to someone as hard headed as I am. I could confess how I had been a fool and share with you what I had learned, but I never let the enormity impact me, not really, not deep down where counted. It was an intellectual assent to what I knew to be right and good, but there was no heart behind it.

You see, I knew all the answers. I knew which verses to quote and how to phrase things to that you would hear how dazzling my intellect was and never notice what was behind the curtain. After a while, I forgot that there even was a curtain, let alone that there was something behind it. I convinced myself that this was me, all there was to me, and no one needed to know that there was more, not even myself.

The thing is when you lock down your heart that tight, it can’t beat. There is no room left for it to function, and you slowly begin to die. I kept the pain at bay, and if you don’t feel any pain you don’t react. Emergencies and crises become your forte, because you they don’t rattle you at all. How could they? At that point you are nothing more than a robot who is carrying out the programming, a program I did and still do believe is right, but one I could never implement completely because the primary code is love. And acts of love can be performed, but if the emotion is not there then you are offering nothing but pretty lie.

The other problem is if you never feel the pain of a wound inflicted, you will never be able to forgive. You may be able to respond with the appropriate gesture or kind word, but the hurt is still there just lurking behind the curtain. The apathy that was once a shield will harden into bitterness, and the sense of satisfaction for your self-control becomes wall of pride and disdain for those who allow emotion to rule their hearts.

Love for God and reliance upon him erodes, as your ability to cope becomes the new god to whom you have erected your altars. Relationship becomes ritual, not because you derive any enjoyment from his presence, but simply because it is the proper thing to do and your delight is in your ability to do the ritual well. Prayers become perfunctory and empty repetition, as you are left to wonder if he hears you at all, but since when was God ever servant to the decrees of the mind? And how is he to respond to the cries of a heart you have strangled in a futile attempt at self-preservation?

Then comes the day when he places the choice before you, the one you have worked so hard to avoid, do you love him or do you love the life you have created? Do you trust him to heal the wounds you have denied? Do you want him or the walls of protection you have built around yourself?

The answer should be easy. For my mind knows the correct response, but my heart is still clutching at the curtain afraid to step into the light. I was hurt the last time I let down my guard. I still have the scars to prove it. The select few I allowed to peek in used their privilege as the means to hurt me further. I still bleed from those cuts, but I caught breath of fresh air and felt the surge of blood coursing through my veins once more. I remembered what it felt like to be alive once again, and something within me is crying out that this is what I desire more than the false security I have relied upon. The next step is not safe, but even as I accept that peace floods over me because I know that only when my heart is revealed that he becomes its true defender and king.  

The Cost of Dreaming Big

There is an inherent risk in dreaming big, something no one ever talks about but is unavoidable and devastating, and that is the inevitable reality of disappointment. Now, I am old pro at dreaming big. I have constructed masterpieces whimsy in my mind that would shame Da Vinci. I have woven together grand and glorious schemes out of nothing more than a whisper of hope that make the Sistine Chapel look like a mere coloring book.

And it more than conjecture or what if’s. I can see myself there in the moment. I can feel the texture of the clothing I shall wear as it all comes to fruition. I can smell the air that crackles with the energy of realized potential, and if I am still enough, I can feel the weight of all the toils and heartaches endured to reach that moment roll off my back.

It is the fuel that keeps me going. It is why I do what I do and why I fight so hard to keep moving forward when everything around me tries to hold me back. I need to dream, like I need to breathe and even more than I need the nourishment of food for my dreams are far richer. In my mind it is not a question of if, but rather of when. For me, it has already happened and I am only waiting for that moment when you shall be able to enjoy the dream with me in this reality.

And then there are days like today.

Days when I realize I don’t have a play left. Facts, reality, the truth, whatever you wish to call it, are greater than my dreams and I have to admit that, at least for the moment, I have been defeated.

Days like this aren’t frequent. They are a strange and unfamiliar land, one that I have managed to dodge more times than any human has a right to – a fact I am grateful for, but it does not make it any less painful to be here. Maybe it is my lack of experience with this place that causes me to freeze, to set back and watch the sky fall bit by crumbling bit with nothing more than remorseful resignation.

Days like this make me doubt, not my faith, but my ability to trust God. And yes, there is a difference. For I have all the faith in the world that God is greater than my mind can comprehend. Questioning his power, his holiness, and his sovereignty never crosses my mind. I have faith that when I pray on your behalf that he will move mountains to care for you, to provide for you, and to demonstrate his love for you. Faith is not an issue. Faith is as real to me as gravity, an undeniable and powerful force not be ignored.

But trust? That is another matter.

Trust means that I am willing to believe no matter what the evidence or circumstance says that everything that is will be for my good. That is a harder thing to believe, particularly when the circumstances hurt. And they do hurt when you watch your dream evaporate.

This is where most Christian blog writers would give you some great spiritual insight. Sorry, but today, I have none. It just hurts. And my sadistic little brain keeps running through all the ways that life is unfair, making a tally of all the things that I have sacrificed and balancing against all that I think I have gained. I am involuntarily running down the list of people who have gained so much more and done so much less, and I am trying not to drown in self-pity or get puffed up with sanctimonious outrage that life isn’t fair – that God isn’t fair.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. I know all the right Christian answers and I can quote all the appropriate verses for you. And I have lots of people in my life who are willing to quote them back at me, but you know what? When it hurts this bad, all of that is nothing more than salt in a bloody wound, and while I know that everyone means well, it feels like I am being told that my emotions in all this do not matter, like my disappointment and pain should just be swept under the rug and ignored.

I know my dream was unrealistic and that there were too many obstacles standing in the way to ever think that it might be done in this life. I get it, but do you think for one second I would be feeling this way if I did not have faith enough to dream in the first place? If I did not think for one second that my God was strong enough and great enough to accomplish all that I believed could happen? Of course, I did or I would not be facing disappointed now. The question was never faith. It’s not the question now.

The question is can I trust him? My mind started out screaming yes – decreeing it if we want to use the right church vernacular, but after the past few years that scream has become a whisper lost in the storm. For no matter how much I know what the right answer is, my heart is bleeding with the wounds that faith has dealt me, that daring to trust has cost me.

So I turn the pages, find the Psalm that reminds me that I am not alone. There was another who felt this way, another who dared to ask that dreadful question that only the truly brave can ask, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” Because sometimes, you don't need answers, you just need to know that you are not alone. 

The Most Awful Verse In The Bible

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.  Romans 8:28

Okay, can we just real here for a second?

This verse is awful, and I mean it. Now don’t go acting all spiritual and holy on me now, because you know it is true and I can prove it. Just think back to the time when your life was falling apart, when a loved one was dying, you had lost your job, you were in the middle of divorce, facing financial ruin, or life in general was just kicking you around. Some idiot walked up to you and quoted this verse, and while your brain said, “Oh, yes this is right,” your heart was saying, “Fat lot of good that does me right now.”

They acted like they were curing cancer by slapping on a bandaid, and you were supposed to be grateful when deep down you knew you were still dying. And to make matters worse, they were busy patting themselves on the back being spiritual enough to quote the appropriate verse and you were supposed to join in the party for this little spiritual trick.

Ok, so I guess my problem is less with the verse and more with those of us who act like it is the magic cure for what ails you. It is what we pull out when there is nothing else to say, and we are feeling pretty helpless. We use it like a spell or magic charm against our pain, our discomfort in face of another’s suffering. We have learned that if we say the right words we get bypass all that icky emotion. We can justify our reluctance to get involved in a situation that might cost us something or make something that we don’t want to feel. It is easier to act like a Christian when you aren’t bogged down by all the baggage of human suffering, but is that what being a Christian is all about? Avoiding the pain of another so that we can live an unaffected life?

I don’t believe that is.

When I look back that life Jesus I keep tripping over this phrase, “and he was moved by compassion.” It comes up twelve times in the New Testament and is used solely for describing Jesus response to those in need and in his parable of the Prodigal Son. (Now, stand back, I’m going to break out the Greek.) The word in the Greek text is splagchnizomai, and it is one of those times when we are confronted by the limitations of the English language because compassion is so pale compared to the depth of this word. Splagchnizomai is the gut level, stomach turning, heart ripping yearning for an end to another’s pain because you feel it in the core of who you are.

Splagchnizomai doesn’t leave room for platitudes or clichés. It demands action even if all you can do in the moment is weep with another in their suffering, but there is also something amazing and beautiful about this word. Something awe inspiring and powerful to be found in its usage that should shake us from any desire to live an unaffected life – it is the word of miracles.

Five of the twelve times we find splagchnizomai, it is used as the description of Jesus’ emotions before he heals, before he feeds the masses, and before he stops the power of evil dead in its tracks. Notice Jesus is not removed from the situation, he not above it, or beyond the pain, he steps into the reality of those who are hurting and it is in the moment of unity with humanity that divine love is manifest. He moves from observer to participant, from knowing to experiencing, and in doing so draws the hurting into the experience of the divine.

I am often asked why we don’t see more miracles today, and I think this is the reason. We stopped feeling, we stopped allowing the pain of another to rip at our guts, and we started handing out hallmark greeting cards instead of stepping into the midst of another’s heartache. We hide behind our definition of holiness instead of being conformed to the image of holiness found in our Lord. We tried to make this faith less costly and did so by perverting the Scripture into a message far more comfortable and gentle to our delicate sensibilities.

After all, how often have you heard the rest of that passage in Romans 8, other than in a debate about predestination?

“Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not to know what to pray as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. And he who searches hearts knows what is in the mind of the Spirit because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who called according to his purpose. For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be called the first born among many brothers. And for those he predestined he also called, and those he whom he called he also justified, and those whom he justified he also glorified.”

See, the passage isn’t about someone else. It is about you. It is about me. It is about the Spirit groaning on our behalf for our weakness, and I believe one of our greatest weaknesses is the fear of feeling someone else’s suffering as if it were our own.  I believe that if we love God we will walk desire to rise above that fear and in that moment we get to experience and share in the goodness of God. And I believe that we are fulfilling our purpose when we respond, when we allow the pain of another to turn our guts with the power of love. When we trust God enough to go there, to allow ourselves to be conformed to the image of his Son in this way, we are becoming who are supposed to be, and maybe we are opening the door to the miraculous in the life of another.

You Are Not Alone

The Biggest lie we tell ourselves is we live in our own special type of hell, that no one else knows what it is like to feel the we do. We convince ourselves that our pain is a special pain, and there has never been another who has felt as alone, abandoned or betrayed the way we do. No understands us because no one else is like us.

Our greedy little minds start hoarding all the little details that sets us apart from everyone else. Our differences become our validation, our justification for misery and self-pity. Even as we wallow in our angst there is the smallest hint of pride, pride that my pain is not like your’s and your’s will never be like mine. Deep down inside we like it that way.

The truth is our pain isn’t special. It isn’t new and it isn’t unique. It is what we have all known or will know. We just don’t talk about it. We don’t share it because at first it is just too difficult, too scary, but then we use it as a shield, a way to keep others at a distance. It’s easier. It means we don’t have to put up with embarrassing and awkward questions. No one else gets to hurt us, and we can feel special in our misery.

Healing only happens in the Light, when we pull out all the ugly parts and expose them to the warmth. It is when we find that there are others holding the same deep ache wishing for someone to understand. We can do that for each other if we are willing to lay aside our pride, stop fearing that we will lose that one thing that makes us special and embrace our chance to pull others into the sun with us - and suddenly, you will find you are not alone.

Our Redemption Stories

Originally published on Exploring Life on the Pagus

There are times when we look up and find ourselves in the middle of a mine field. We have no idea how we got there, but circumstance and good intentions take us right back to a place we fought so hard to leave behind.

Yesterday, I was asked to help a friend. It seemed like an innocent enough request, and one I wanted to fulfill. After all, I know what it is like to be young mother taking care of small children on limited funds and not being able to pay the mountain of bills that keeps growing to epic peaks of destruction. So I got in my car and went, with no reservations, no compunction, and no hesitancy.

But soon after I got there I was in a scene all too familiar. One that I fled from over a decade ago, and one that I would like to forget ever played out in my life. It was a painful place, one where I almost lost myself and my children to a special type of hell that is reserved for women who think that they can save the world, or at least one “special” man.

As I sat and talked to the young woman who needed the assistance, I kept having flashbacks that were trying to break to the surface of my mind. Memories that I would quickly put down so that I could focus on the specifics of this situation, but as she talked I knew I really didn’t even need to hear what she said. The script was familiar enough, after all, I felt like I wrote it so many years ago, and frankly, my delivery was better.

I woke up this morning still troubled by what I had witnessed, and in the privacy and safety of my own home I let those suppressed memories play out in my head. The question that kept ringing across them all was why? Why did I need to be the one who went? Why did I need to be reminded in such a blunt way of all the pain I left behind? Worked so hard to be free of?

I know the answer, and it is simple enough. Those who went with me spoke it plainly, “I don’t have your perspective,” “I’ve never been in this situation,” “I can’t imagine what this is like,” “I don’t know what to do to help.” At the time, all I could think was “Thank God you don’t.”

If I believe anything it is this. One, God is sovereign. He is big enough, strong enough, and sometimes even ruthless enough to carry out his purposes. Two, there is redemption for all the things we carry to the throne. Nothing is wasted, nothing is without purpose, not even our pain.

As I walked through yesterday, I had eyes to see what others would have missed. I had the experience to hear between the words, and the hard won wisdom to know what can and can’t be done to help. I am not saying this out of any sort of arrogance. It simply is the result of what I have lived through, and that is the key – I LIVED through it.

I came out on the other side basically whole, with a few scars that still give me trouble when a front moves through. But I am still alive, and I am stronger for what I have endured. It deepened my appreciation for the beautiful things I have in my life now, and it gave me an intimate knowledge of God that so many people in church just do not understand.

The thing is, we all have at least one area of our lives like this. One wilderness that we have walked through that others don’t even have a map to explain. What we have known and what we have done is a mystery to them, and they need us to help them navigate through these unknown lands.

It is one of the redemptive elements of our lives – the power of our story. It gives purpose and meaning to the events we have witnessed that is beyond ourselves. It brings hope to those who are still wandering in the land we managed to escape. Too often we try to avoid confronting our past hurts and wounding, we think that if we ignore it long enough we can forget that it existed, forget that we ever allowed ourselves to be that person.

Sometimes, I think that the world is crying out for those of us brave enough to show them our scars to give them this hope. They need to see that the God we serve is big enough to bring life, even where they are. They need to know that they are not forgotten, and He loves them even in the midst of their pain. And that only happens when we are strong enough to let another see into our past, show them how God saved us, and the power of his healing enacted in our lives.

Our stories of healing and redemption validate God’s power in this life, in their lives, and for many this is the only hope they have to cling to. If God did it for them, maybe he can and will do it for me – how can they have that hope unless we live it out before them? Maybe it is time we put an end to being the victims of our past and declare the victory of a Lord who specializes in redeeming all of history to his glory. Maybe it is time we stopped living in shame over our mistakes and we lived a life celebrating the redemptive power of His story.

And the Answer is . . .I think.

Originally published on Exploring the Pagus

I was recently asked why God lets us experience pain. It is a legitimate question, after all he says he loves us, and he claims to be all powerful, so if any of that is true shouldn’t he just zap us with pure bliss? Isn’t that what a loving all powerful God would do?

Maybe, if it was all about him, but that sort of negates the whole love thing, in my opinion. Because isn’t love selfless? I know a few of you just felt your heads explode, so after you reassemble the pieces let’s begin again, shall we?

The worst thing in my world is seeing the ones I love in pain. It drives me crazy.

If my kids are sick or Ty has a headache I find myself wishing that I could just be the one who was suffering. It is so much easier to deal with than watching them. It is an expression of my love for them, and I think God feels the same way. It would be so much easier on him if he took it all, so much less painful.

But I know that sometimes the experience of pain is what we need to grow up. We need to know that remaining in our present situation is going to cost us, and we need a chance to make an informed decision. So I find myself sitting back, letting my children make choices that will result in hopefully minor and temporary injury. I do it because I love them.

I do it because I am praying there will come a day when they are wise enough to make choices without having to consult me. That they will be able to look at situation and know what they need to do without being told, and let’s face it, we don’t learn these things if someone is always erasing the consequence of our choices. And I think if I can figure this one out, God was already aware.

Now, I don’t think this explains all pain. Some of it is the result of outside forces that we can’t control and our actions have no bearing on them, but so often pain is the way we learn.

When I read my Bible, I see a God who is all about us growing, maturing, and learning how to be more like his son. I see a God who is not content to let us remain as we are. Yes, he accepts me just as I am, but then he desires more for me and from me.

So often we equate pain with something evil, but strictly speaking it’s not. Pain tells us sitting on the hot stove is a bad idea, that our knees weren’t designed to bend at that particular angle, or that putting a staple through our thumb isn’t the smartest thing we could do. It tells us when we need to move in out of the cold, step into the shade, or find shelter from a storm. Pain keeps us safe if we are willing to listen to it, it minimizes the damages the harsh world would inflict on us when we are unaware.

Spiritually, pain warns of dangerous relationships, bad influences, and the hazards of complacency. It makes us move when we would be content to be still, it draws us closer to God, and awakens our senses to new possibilities. It hurts so that we have incentive to act, even when we don’t want to.

And the truth is the remedy for pain is often more pain. How many of us will endure an aching tooth if we don’t have to face the dentist? We know that a visit to him is going to mean needles and screeching tools. So we put it off, unwilling to face the pain needed for our healing. It is only after the side of our head swells up and Ambusol just doesn’t cut it anymore that we are willing to face the music.

Most of us just aren’t any better when it comes to our spiritual hygiene. We will endure a little ache as long as possible, if it means we can avoid facing God. So he lets the pain grow until we become disfigured with it and no amount of suppressants can touch it. And even then most of us would rather groan in our misery than take the proper steps to be whole. We cringe in fear of what it may cost us to find relief, until it simply becomes too unbearable.

So why do we experience pain? God loves us. I know it seems like the wrong answer, but ultimately it is the only answer to all our questions. God loves us and he will do anything, endure anything, to bring us closer to him including agonizing with us as we learn to listen to his voice.