Where Was God?

 “Prayer doesn’t do anything. Where was God when you were getting the shit beat out of you?” she sneered.

My heart broke a little bit more. It is the one question I really don’t have a good answer for. I can’t point to some supernatural intervention. I can’t claim divine deliverance. I can’t even say that I saw a glimmer of light in the dark. I just took it hoping that it would all be over soon, and at her words I felt stripped naked as if my whole life had been a sham.

For days, that question haunted me. I knew he was there. I knew that I had not endured that for nothing, and that he had not missed my suffering, but I didn’t how to convey that truth. I didn’t even want to look for a way. That chapter of my life is closed and opening it up to sift through the pieces in hopes of finding anything concrete meant opening up a lot of old wounds. I didn’t think I had the stomach for all the gore.

Over the years, I have talked a lot about my previous marriage. I have shared my story in churches, schools, and in my book. I have been commended for being “brave in my transparency” and praised for “daring to be so open about such a painful topic.” I can give you a rundown of the abuse without batting an eye. I can recount the feel of his fingers around my neck without fighting down the need to flinch. I can even tell you why the physical violence was far less traumatic than the emotional and mental abuse he doled out as he worked up his nerve to finally strike with his fist.

God and I were good. We had worked through all the heartache of those years. I had yelled and screamed at him for abandoning me, for leaving me alone, and ignoring all my cries for help. I had even taken the radical, and some claim blasphemous, step of forgiving God for all that – not that he needed it, but rather I needed to let go of my bitterness. I had to be ok with his way of doing things, and I had to take responsibility for my foolish pride and rebellion that landed me in that marriage to begin with. I don’t resent those years anymore. There is a huge part of me that still grieves and always will grieve the effect it had on my children who witnessed those events, but for myself, it is a time that has been redeemed as I have witnessed my story help so many others.

Maybe the question stung because I had gotten used to be lauded for my ability to rise above the circumstances of being an abused woman and then a single mom. And I was stunned that this scar that I had wielded like weapon for so long had now been turned against me.

So I have been thinking about the answer demanded of me, and I have been trying to find the words to express the truth that has been hidden in my heart, to quantify it in some way that would make sense to someone who is not inside my skin.

The only time my ex would lay a hand on me was if I was holding one of our children. He never attacked unless my daughters were in my arms. The first time, I was holding my oldest daughter as he grabbed me from behind putting me in a choke hold and shaking me like a rag doll. She was only two weeks old. All I could think in that moment was, “Don’t drop the baby.” So I didn’t. I held her tighter against me with one arm and with the other I gripped his arm taking the pressure off my neck. The last time he lunged at me as I was putting nightgowns on the girls, and he sat on my chest screaming as he tried to strangle the life out of me.

He might have succeeded. I wasn’t scared, and I didn’t fight. As the waves of blackness washed over me, I was tempted to let them sweep me away, but then one of the girls made a sound that caused me to look over at them. They were small and scared of what was happening, and all I could think was how if he killed me, he was the only parent they had left. So I fought back. I got free, and I got him out of my home and my life.

Where was God in those moments? He was holding my arms around my baby so I didn’t drop her. He was showing me why I had to fight to get free. He gave the courage to do the scariest thing I ever did. He gave me the strength to endure the years of being alone and trying to keep it together for the ones who counted on me. I screwed up so many times, and I made more mistakes than I can even remember. There were days when I was certain that they would be better without me, but every time that those dark waves of oblivion seemed more enticing than returning to the battle, he was there reminding me that love does not give up, that love does not get to indulge in that depth of selfishness.

Were there any burning bushes? No. Clouds parting, voices from the sky? No. Just my kids. Just the ones who had been entrusted to me, and the ones who relied on me to keep fighting. This is probably not the answer that anyone is hoping for. We all want the presence of God to be some over the top display and then are angered when he doesn’t reveal himself that way. We think we deserve a fairy tale, for him to make everything perfect and easy when he is near, but that’s not how he works, that’s not how faith is built.

And what good is prayer? It changed me. It is still changing me. I am learning to be okay with how he doesn’t split the skies open because I think I deserve that type of affirmation. He is showing me how to see him small moments, and to how to feel is presence in the chaos. He is teaching me how to become more like him – love more like him both in the times I rage before him in my frustration and in those moments I quiet my heart to listen and to know him. Prayer is where I learn, where I see the connections, and find the answers to the hard questions of life, as I allow him to change me. For never in a million years would I have understood his the depths of his love if he had not connected the dots for me, and showed me that if I as a mere human can rise from edges of death motivated by nothing more than the love of my children, then how much more does the one who rose from the depths of the grave love me? Does he love you?

So What If You Were Not Called To Seminary?

A few posts back, I shared with you that many of our seminaries are cutting their language requirements in many of their degree plans and why they have chosen to do so. I also briefly addressed why the knowledge of these languages is important to understanding our faith.

As I said at the end of that post, not everyone is called to spend their lives dissecting these languages. We all have different gifts, aptitudes, and callings that should be honored. For instance, I cannot begin to convey how grateful I am for those of you who staff church nurseries, because if it were left to me…well, let’s just say it isn’t my calling nor do I have the aptitude for it. We need everyone to play their part to have a functioning body, and a good elbow makes a horrible foot. (Trying to envision that, aren’t you?)

However, just because you haven’t been called to study dusty old texts doesn’t mean you can’t help keep them alive. Here is a practical list of things you can do to encourage and support those who have been called. Trust me, we need it!

1. The obvious – money. I hate to start out sounding crass, but this is just a reality. To learn this stuff you almost have to go to a private school, and private schools are expensive. Most students end up with tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of student loan debt, and to complicate things further, with the amount of time required for study even a part time job isn’t really an option. And if you have a family, forget it.

And I know what I am talking about on this one, I managed a semester and half of juggling work, school, and family before my body rebelled and I wound up in the ER. In the end, I lost my job because I was unavailable to work the required hours, and I was forced to take out more loans.

So consider sponsoring a seminary student, you have no idea what the price of a tank of gas could do for them. Or a roll of quarters, so they don’t have stare wistfully at the vending machine or they can experience the luxury of a turnpike! (For me, getting to take the turnpike meant thirty more minutes of sleep! Priceless!)

2. Speaking of sleep – if they have kids, babysitting so they can study or sleep is a blessing beyond compare. So often people think that if you aren’t in class then you must be lounging around at home, but the truth is you are *supposed* to study three hours for everyone hour in class. Of course, no one actually does this, but when you are wrestling with Greek verbs you are probably doing more so it evens out.

And if you have kids, when do you study? If you guessed when they are sleeping, you win. Prime study time for me was 9 pm to 3 am, and then it was up at 5 to be on the road by 5:30. God grants sleep to those he loves (Psalms 127:2), so share some of his love.

My mom says she deserves part of my degree as she watched my kids so often, but in reality if she hadn’t I would have never have made it through.

3. Food. Please notice I did not say ingredients. Things ready to eat, no prep, and preferably eaten with one hand so you can hold a book with the other. Carrot sticks, pre-cut broccoli and cauliflower, or prepackaged salads, and of course, chocolate!

Gift cards to restaurants close to their school are also a great choice, or stuff they can toss in a lunch bag and eat in the car like granola bars and trail mix.

4. And travel mugs? Yes, please! They may have a couple, but odds are they are in the car with yesterday’s cold coffee. They can always use another one.

5. Haircuts and manicures are another way you might be able to use your gift to help a seminary student. As I said money is tight, but everyone there is trying to make a good impression. Recruiters are constantly roaming the halls, and who knows which one of these people might wind up being your boss? But guess what the last thing a serious student is going to spend money on?

And work them in an appointment on Sunday afternoon, or 9 o’clock at night – they will love you forever.

6. Mow their yard. Seriously. I eventually just gave up on mine. My uncle wound up baling it.

7. A massage! I know this sounds decadent, but after hours slumped over a computer, the ache begins to wear at you. And a hand massage – dear, sweet, baby Jesus, I will still take one and I am not in seminary. Hands throb after hours of typing.

8. If you do any type of medical/dental/optical services, donating those to a student can make a huge difference in their lives. I don’t remember how many students I saw with throbbing teeth they didn’t have the money to fix, in need of new glasses, or walking around with sinus infections they couldn’t shake and with no money to get any of it taken care of.

9. If you want to be specific in meeting a financial need, commit to buying books for one or more of their classes. However, I should warn you a lot of these books can cost over $100 apiece and you may need three or more for a single class.

Don't have that much to give? A ream of paper, a pack of post-it notes, highlighters, notebooks, or their favorite pens says you care and is a major blessing! And we always need another printer cartridge.

Want to go big? A church collection for a laptop or printer can be the difference between staying in school or not.

10. Offer to type up papers for them. I always wrote mine long hand first and then typed them. A friend of mine typed up many of my papers for me during my years of college. I never would have graduated without her.

11. Good at English? A writer can always use another set of eyes, offer to proof read their work. You get a chance to learn something new, and you might save their grade.

12. Ask us to share what we are learning/have learned. Remind us of why we are doing this, and give us a taste of what it is like to share all this amazing stuff with someone new. It is easy to get discouraged, and a lot students drop out when faced with how hard it really is. There are days when you know that you are attempting the impossible, but then someone comes along, asks  about something you just learned, and you realize that you love it too much to give up. And that's how we get through it, because looking back, you will wonder how many miracles God did just so you could survive.