"Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts." - Psalm 139:23
Listening to yesterday's sermon, I've pondered questions that began with Chad's words and ended with even more questions that linger in my heart. When life is full of struggles, do I still trust Him? When the way is dark and uncertain, do I trust Him? When life doesn't go MY way, do I still trust Him? Do I trust Him now? When I think about past events and periods in my life knowing God brought me through them, I think in Scripture...I can't remember when I started thinking that way but it seems that during the lowest points of my life, God whispered--or shouted--through His Word somehow. I can't say that I always went searching for Him--sometimes I was running as far away and as fast as I could. My faith isn't always so strong nor my will so compliant that I searched His Word instead of my own way but He spoke even when I least wanted to hear Him. Through it all, certain Scriptures somehow made themselves known to me, slapped me in the face, or settled in my heart. His words became very precious, speaking life and love to me when I needed it most.
I couldn't help but think of all the times God and I have fought that battle of wills: His vs. mine. Every single time, He wins (imagine that!)...yet I still tend to fight. I'm stubborn that way but I'm so glad that God knows me so well. He knows my heart and He has been so patient. Instead of losing patience and giving up on me, He used these times to teach me. He still does. He leads me "in the way everlasting." (Psalm 139, yes ALL of it--one of the most well-worn pages in my oldest Bible.)
I think of times when my heart was broken and I lost everything, He reminded me that I am His and He is mine. Even when life was turned upside down, He was still God. Even now, I hold His words so very close to my heart through every day and every circumstance. "You are Mine....I am the Lord, your God..." (Isaiah 43:1-3)
I think of times--even now--when life is so busy, chaotic, and unmanageable. When I'm doing and serving and filling everyone's needs except my own... and all my efforts seem to be in vain. He reminds to stop and focus on Him rather than circumstance. In this very moment, He fills my need as He whispers, "Be still and know..." (Psalm 46:10)
I think of times when I failed Him so miserably...those times when I willfully took the wrong path. He reminded me that He is always faithful even when I'm not and His love never gives up. Even today, I have hope because His mercy is "new every morning." (Lamentations 3:19-23)
I think of times when my way was dark and life seemed so uncertain. I didn't understand where God was leading me or how He could use me. He reminded me, "My ways are higher than your ways." When I doubted His purpose and I couldn't see the light at the end of the tunnel, He promised me, "So you'll go out in joy, you'll be led into a whole and complete life...No more thistles, but giant sequoias, no more thornbushes, but stately pines—Monuments to me, to God, living and lasting evidence of God." (MSG) I still look forward to the day that I'm a sequoia--a stately pine. (Isaiah 55 - There's so much in this chapter, I continuously realize something new as I learn and grow.)
So...do I still trust Him? Yeah, I think I do. Oh, not perfectly...not even close! But I do trust Him. He hasn't brought me this far to leave me now. And when push comes to shove, I inevitably hold on to His promise that He will never leave nor forsake me. Yet, in the middle of a moment, sometimes I'm still afraid, I still fall, I still doubt His grace is for me, I still try to escape Him...In those moments, though I KNOW His promises and His Word, I take my eyes off of Him and seek my own way--old coping mechanisms and escape routes--my "back-up plans" in case God doesn't come through like I think He should. So I guess the real question is do I trust Him ENOUGH? ...Enough to let go of my "safety net" (that really isn't so safe)? Enough to stop running from grace? Do I trust Him enough to fully surrender the outcome of every circumstance? Those questions, though so important, are for another time as God and I sort through them together...For now, I will keep Psalm 139 close to heart and be grateful that no matter where I go or how far I run, He is still there. I will trust that the smallest faith can overcome the biggest doubt. I hold on to another of His great promises that even faith as small as the tiniest mustard seed can move mountains (Matthew 17:20) and pray that my moments of doubt are few...
"Lord, I believe; help my unbelief." (Mark 9:24)
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
The Sound of Your Voice
O Lord,You have searched me and You know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; You perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; You are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue, You know it completely, O Lord. - Psalm 139:1-4"Hey, Mom..." Regardless what else is happening in the universe, the world just sits better on its axis at the sound of those words. I got a call from Elias, my Marine son who is stationed in Hawaii, yesterday. I haven't heard from him since Christmas so it was really good to hear his voice. For a few minutes, the sound of his voice takes me to a higher place somehow, bringing peace in chaos. He's my son and because of it, his voice reaches a place in me that no one but my kids can reach. Even so, it took a few minutes for us to get in a "groove" with each other again. Elias rarely just "chats" with mom as in letting conversation go wherever it leads. His conversations are usually short and intentional. But when he does just "chat," time stops for a few minutes and He gets my full attention.
When my kids were younger, I took the sound of their voices for granted too often, not recognizing how quickly they would grow up and move away as their lives go in their own directions. Sometimes I even wished I could get away from the persistent nag or whine of them calling my name, "Mom, can i? But Mo-o-m! Mom, will you..please? Hey, Mom... Mom...Mom...Mom!"...Little did I know then how precious it was. When I left their dad and moved out on my own, the "quietness" of my new home was the hardest struggle...the most hurtful. No casual chats, no arguments, no guitars and singing, no "extra" kids (We always had extra kids in the house--It's like people thought, "They already have 5--it's not like one more will be noticed but that one was more often 2...3....6), no cheering video games, no "Mo-o-o-M!" But especially no laughter--I missed that the most. And because I was unable to see them very often in the next couple of years, I missed so much of their lives. They're all grown up now several years since I left but there are still days when I miss the sound of their voices so deeply that it hurts. Turning on the tv or radio or making all kinds of noise can't cover up that kind of "quiet." It's so much deeper than decibels.
Elias didn't call for any particular reason yesterday (well, maybe in response to my facebook messages to see if he was still alive). Our conversation covered random topics: his upcoming deployment to Japan, training, Brittany and her boyfriend, his brothers, his dad...nothing life-changing or relevant to any particular purpose. But just the sound of his voice brought a brighter dimension to my day--He's my son and that matters. It's not the things we talked about so much but simply that he shared a piece of his life with me that made me feel at "home" again if even for only a few minutes--"home" at heart anyway. I didn't realize until he hung up how much I just needed to hear his voice--to hear him say, "I love ya, Mom."
I don't even know if he says "I love you" because HE needs to say it or because I need to hear it...or if he just thinks he's supposed to. But one thing I know for sure--I love him with all my heart. I love all my kids, I guess, in a way only a mom or parent can. And in hearing the sound of my sons' or daughters' voices, I get a mom-sense of whether they are really okay or not because I KNOW them that well...the kind of "knowing" that is beyond words or knowledge. Then for a moment after he hung up, I wondered what prompted his call in the first place. Obedience or obligation to Mom's prompting or maybe it was more than that. I wonder if he needed to hear my voice as much as I needed to hear his.
It kind of made me think about my conversations with my Abba Father--God. How often I forget to "check in" just to share a piece of my life with Him--to catch up. I pray daily but I usually wait to come to him when I have a need or a request--for a particular purpose or intent and usually has more to do with someone else than really knowing Him and letting Him know me. So often the center of my prayer has more to do with ministry and the burden of others rather than just catching up and sharing my heart with Him--the random chitchat that only a parent cares about. There are so many days when I'm lonely, out of place, or life just seems undone, and I "need" something I can't define. If I would stop and just share my heart, maybe He would enter the struggle with me..Maybe my burden wouldn't weigh so heavy. Sometimes weeks go by that I'm just too busy "doing" to stop and just chat with Him. I'm a little ashamed when I realize how long it's been.
How quickly I forget how well He KNOWS me...He knows the deepest part of my heart--that "parent" kind of knowing that doesn't require words or context. Maybe in sharing my everyday--the "chitchat" of life, my Abba Father can bring peace in my struggles. Jesus said, "My sheep listen to My voice, I KNOW THEM, and they follow Me." (John 10:27) Some days, I know without a doubt, He calls for my attention and I put Him off, "Well, God I gotta do this first...." But when I DO stop and talk with Him, I wonder if the sound of my voice touches His heart the way Elias touched mine. Maybe that is all that is needed--my willingness to let Him share in even the smallest details of my life. Maybe as I share my every day, He will share His heart knowing that I need to hear the sound of His voice too. When I'm so undone or disconnected, I tend to push Him away and I feel that same "quietness" as I feel when I miss my kids' voices and laughter. And in those times, circumstance and life overwhelms. Maybe in these moments I have to remember that it's not just about bringing my best, but also my worst and everything mundane in between to my Abba Father. Maybe these are the times I should understand that grace and hope isn't just caught up in my surrender to Him but also His surrender to me...when He speaks life to me. Maybe the sound of His voice will add that brighter dimension so that I hold on to life. I have to remember not just to surrender but to listen and let Him lift me up..."Listen to His voice and hold fast to Him for the Lord is my life." (Deuteronomy 30:20)
When I avoid Him or run from His presence, I wonder if that "quietness" breaks His heart like it broke mine when my kids and I were apart..I wonder if He misses me in the way I miss my kids. I wonder if the sound of my voice is as precious to Him as my children's voices are to me. Undoubtedly, He already knows when I'm not okay but maybe He knows there's healing and hope in heart to heart sharing. I want talk to HIm as a daughter to her Father. I long to hear the sound of His voice.
Let my cry come right into Your presence, God; provide me with the insight that comes only from Your Word. Give my request Your personal attention, rescue me on the terms of Your promise. Let praise cascade off my lips; after all, You've taught me the truth about life! And let Your promises ring from my tongue; every order You've given is right. Put Your hand out and steady me since I've chosen to live by Your counsel. I'm homesick, God, for Your salvation; I love it when You show Yourself! Invigorate my soul so I can praise You well, use Your decrees to put iron in my soul. And should I wander off like a lost sheep—seek me! I'll recognize the sound of Your voice." - Psalm 119:169-176 The Message
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Big Girls Don't Cry...
"You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book." - Psalm 56:8 NLT
Today the band sang one of Tom's songs, "Break Me." He shared how he believes that we have to come to that point of broken surrender to truly worship and praise God. As I sang along, I realized how shatter-resistant I am when I most need to be broken--especially when I'm most deeply wounded or I've so greatly failed. We usually think "shatter-resistant" is a good thing but then there are those moments of intense pain when it's SOooo hard to be strong--when being tough isn't all it's cracked up to be. Have you experienced those times when you wish you could just let the dam loose, fall to the floor and cry till there's no tears left? But nope! Big girls don't cry and if they do, they sure don't let other people see it. Besides, we're a little bit afraid that if we begin to cry, we won't stop. So we suck it up, take a deep breath, laugh it off, sing louder, make ourselves busy with something... anything! Whatever it takes! Whatever we do,we push through it at all costs--acknowledging and thereby "feeling" no pain. Denial. We refuse to let our hurts or our failures knock us down again, even for a moment so we overcompensate. But there's that small part of us that wonders if maybe there's something about this "fragility" of life. After all, the most precious works of art are the most fragile...But in my own inimitable way of arguing with a tree when I'm fighting most desperately to put up those proverbial "walls" and defenses, I reason, "How valuable are those priceless treasures when they're broken? They're just worthless broken shards of trash."
It's almost like the "stubborn" part of me defines my own brokenness by the measure of my tears and I don't want to be a crybaby so I refuse to be broken. As long as I'm whole and "together" (however fragile), I have something valuable to offer. But if I break, I have no worth--useless. When I cried as a kid, someone would laugh and hold up a cup to my face and tease, "Aw come here, you want me to catch your tears in a cup?" I didn't know what it meant then, just that the taunts made me feel like my tears didn't matter so much--my hurt didn't matter whatever the reason. Or if some were less patient, "You better dry it up or I'll dry it up for you!" And, not quite wanting to know how that would happen, I did just that--no more tears. It wasn't such a big deal I guess but it became "habit" as I got older and I was more determined not to let anyone see my tears. So maybe I quit "responding" to hurtful events "normally"--whatever that is. Oh, it's so easy for my heart to break for others but not to break for me. And I have shed many tears over the hurts and sorrows of others but not so much just for me...I just "dry it up." No tears--no pain. Right?
Then there are moments like this morning as we sang..."I will never really worship You until You break my heart...I will never really praise You until my will is gone..." And I wonder about brokenness. Sometimes I'm just tired of "being strong." I knew Tom was right and I longed for that brokenness--to let down my guard and trust that my tears matter to Him so much that He remembers and cherishes each one. Tears in a cup--in a bottle and it isn't a joke to Him. He isn't ridiculing my weakness. But in the very same moment, I braced myself almost without thinking against "feeling" what I've denied. I remind myself, "Big girls don't cry!" So I dried it up again and the coldness of it was a little too real. As if over time, I've become cold and numb at the threat of tears--big girls don't cry, big girls don't cry...And the bigger the hurt, the more determined not to cry. No tears for me, thank you! It's the effect of repeated hurts I guess. The best word picture I can thing of is a beating: When beaten, you feel blow after blow until some point you don't feel it anymore--you become numb. The abuse "speaks" and you hold on to every silent word, more firmly with each hit but but you don't dare respond. You "choose" not to feel it. If you don't feel it, it doesn't hurt...or does it?
The past couple of years, it seems like I found my life again--I live it, breathe it in, and FEEL life as it happens--like waking from a long sleep. God has accomplished amazing things in my life. So today, I guess I was a little shocked to realize that there's still a part of me that remains so dead--that instinctive nature to go cold and distant when overwhelming real and present circumstances take me back to those places in the past. It's easier to escape--to choose not to "feel" and pretend--to "decide" to be okay regardless of the cost. Even if it defeats all that God as accomplished in teaching me to be "real" with myself, with God, and with people--especially with those who taught me. I know it's an instinctive self-protection mechanism. The coldness as I realized it was so familiar and perversely comfortable in a way--like an old enemy you can count on when you can't count on anything else. I slipped back into that old pattern without a thought--just by habit. Here's where I find myself. Still can't cry...won't cry over certain things anyway. And I was disappointed that I wasn't as "free" as I thought--that some of the "old" still remained firm.
And now, I realize that even that disappointment was another way just to avoid "feeling" the circumstance that brought about the coldness in the first place--the trigger. Still numb. So I'm not sure which is my greatest failure--that I fell prey to circumstances or that I went on "automatic" and responded the same way I've always done. If my prayer truly is that God would break me and melt me, how will it happen? How do I get from here to there? How do I keep from letting those old hurts speak so loudly that they shut me down, even without words?
I wish I had some amazing wisdom here but I don't. I think of the words to Tom's song..."until my will is gone." Is that it? That my will is still so stubborn that it won't bend and I keep reinforcing the walls every time I get backed into a corner? I know without a doubt that brokenness is truly beautiful--I've experienced it. With some of the women I've reached out to, I've witnessed how their tears are a source of healing, cleansing, and renewal. Their tears are a part of the process. And a few times, I've let myself cry.. rarer moments when I am fractured, fallen, and so completely out of control. Those rare beautiful moments because the sun stood still for just a little while, time stopped, and I didn't have to put on such a brave front--even for a short while. Survival wasn't up to me for a few moments. But then the "rare" moments are over all too quickly so I dust myself off and get back to the business of life and ministry and survival. Big girls don't cry. Big girls don't cry...
But maybe the key is that WITH brokenness, there must be that surrender--that complete, constant, and conscious surrender of my will. I have this heart picture of the uninvited prostitute who entered the home of Simon the Pharisee to see Jesus. She was in tears as she fell at His feet, big drops falling on His dirty, travel-worn feet. She took off her headwrap and let down her long hair. She gathered her hair in her hands and used it to dry the tears on His feet. She carried a beautiful alabaster jar of expensive perfume--such as only harlots and the very wealthy would have. As she anointed His weary feet, she bowed down and kissed them out of love and surrender to His grace and mercy...Kissing feet was the humiliation of the most shameful.
She was not a proud woman--she wasn't there to do "business" or to prove anything. She was broken by the weight of her sinful past. She came to a house where she knew she would not be welcome simply because Jesus was there. She needed to show her gratefulness for His amazing grace and forgiveness--no humiliation was too great a price. Yet she arrive, considering herself no greater than the lowest servant whose task would be to wash the guests feet--yet none of Simon's servants had washed Jesus' feet--no one until this shameful prostitute. She didn't anoint His head as the "righteous" would. She fell at His feet--the lesser part--and wiped away her tears off His feet with her hair.
Simon was disgusted that this woman dared to show her face in his house at all--she should be ashamed. The entire event caused quite a stir around the table as Jesus sat so patiently as she exhibited such a display of wrought emotions. She wept openly and unashamedly. Women didn't let their hair down publicly--it was an act of intimacy. Yet here this woman came in a Pharisee's house and took her hair down in the midst of them to wash Jesus' feet...That was just a servant's task--it was an intimate gesture of love and devotion. Jesus had touched her life in a way no other man ever had and it had nothing to do with sex, money, position, or possession. He LOVED her with all of His heart just as she was. He loved her the moment He laid eyes on her the first time, the moment forgave her past sins, and even now as she demonstrated her love for Him...Her life had been shattered by sin, shame, and circumstance as she fell in tears at His feet. She could have stopped right there and it would still be a sweet story. But she finished it. In the next moment, she surrendered all of her life to Him--her entire past, the sin, shame, pain--all that she had been before and all that she would ever become. She anointed His feet with that costly perfume in honor of who He was, as if to say, "Not my will anymore--but Yours."
Broken and surrendered at the feet of Jesus. giving Him everything. Others in the room shamed her but Jesus lifted her up. As they looked down their noses at her, He looked on her with love and compassion. He made her beautiful to behold in that very moment, "Though her sins have been many, she has been forgiven much because she has loved so much..." Her knew her heart. He gave her not only redemption but also her own chazown for her future, "Your sins are forgiven...Your faith has saved you. Go in peace."
In that moment, Jesus took every shattered piece of her life and put her together again--a new work of art, more beautiful than ever. I want to BE her. I want to be that brave. I want to be that willing to be broken even when I'm most ashamed--to be able to surrender everything I've ever been, everything I am, and everything He will make of me.
The band led us in "Surrender" a couple of songs later this morning and one small phrase in it is so significant in the midst the rest of the song: "I LAY IT DOWN FOR THE SAKE OF YOU, MY KING." That's it!..That's what she did! She braved the ridicule and shame. She risked rejection. She humbly fell at His feet not for her sake but for His...That's where her strength and courage came from. I can't do this on my own--I can't surrender for my own sake or survival but rather for the sake of my Savior...To be broken, surrendered, put back together again, and used for His glory....
I'm giving up MY dreams...for Yours.
I'm laying down MY rights...in surrender to Your will.
I'm giving up MY pride...because without You, I am nothing.
I surrender ALL to You...only You.
" My enemies will retreat when I call to You for help. This I know: God is on my side! I praise God for what He has promised; Yes, I praise the Lord for what He has promised. I trust in God, so why should I be afraid? What can mere mortals do to me?
I will fulfill my vows to You, O God, and will offer a sacrifice of thanks for Your help. For You have rescued me from death; You have kept my feet from slipping. So now I can walk in Your presence, O God, in Your life-giving light." - Psalm 56:9-13 NLT
Today the band sang one of Tom's songs, "Break Me." He shared how he believes that we have to come to that point of broken surrender to truly worship and praise God. As I sang along, I realized how shatter-resistant I am when I most need to be broken--especially when I'm most deeply wounded or I've so greatly failed. We usually think "shatter-resistant" is a good thing but then there are those moments of intense pain when it's SOooo hard to be strong--when being tough isn't all it's cracked up to be. Have you experienced those times when you wish you could just let the dam loose, fall to the floor and cry till there's no tears left? But nope! Big girls don't cry and if they do, they sure don't let other people see it. Besides, we're a little bit afraid that if we begin to cry, we won't stop. So we suck it up, take a deep breath, laugh it off, sing louder, make ourselves busy with something... anything! Whatever it takes! Whatever we do,we push through it at all costs--acknowledging and thereby "feeling" no pain. Denial. We refuse to let our hurts or our failures knock us down again, even for a moment so we overcompensate. But there's that small part of us that wonders if maybe there's something about this "fragility" of life. After all, the most precious works of art are the most fragile...But in my own inimitable way of arguing with a tree when I'm fighting most desperately to put up those proverbial "walls" and defenses, I reason, "How valuable are those priceless treasures when they're broken? They're just worthless broken shards of trash."
It's almost like the "stubborn" part of me defines my own brokenness by the measure of my tears and I don't want to be a crybaby so I refuse to be broken. As long as I'm whole and "together" (however fragile), I have something valuable to offer. But if I break, I have no worth--useless. When I cried as a kid, someone would laugh and hold up a cup to my face and tease, "Aw come here, you want me to catch your tears in a cup?" I didn't know what it meant then, just that the taunts made me feel like my tears didn't matter so much--my hurt didn't matter whatever the reason. Or if some were less patient, "You better dry it up or I'll dry it up for you!" And, not quite wanting to know how that would happen, I did just that--no more tears. It wasn't such a big deal I guess but it became "habit" as I got older and I was more determined not to let anyone see my tears. So maybe I quit "responding" to hurtful events "normally"--whatever that is. Oh, it's so easy for my heart to break for others but not to break for me. And I have shed many tears over the hurts and sorrows of others but not so much just for me...I just "dry it up." No tears--no pain. Right?
Then there are moments like this morning as we sang..."I will never really worship You until You break my heart...I will never really praise You until my will is gone..." And I wonder about brokenness. Sometimes I'm just tired of "being strong." I knew Tom was right and I longed for that brokenness--to let down my guard and trust that my tears matter to Him so much that He remembers and cherishes each one. Tears in a cup--in a bottle and it isn't a joke to Him. He isn't ridiculing my weakness. But in the very same moment, I braced myself almost without thinking against "feeling" what I've denied. I remind myself, "Big girls don't cry!" So I dried it up again and the coldness of it was a little too real. As if over time, I've become cold and numb at the threat of tears--big girls don't cry, big girls don't cry...And the bigger the hurt, the more determined not to cry. No tears for me, thank you! It's the effect of repeated hurts I guess. The best word picture I can thing of is a beating: When beaten, you feel blow after blow until some point you don't feel it anymore--you become numb. The abuse "speaks" and you hold on to every silent word, more firmly with each hit but but you don't dare respond. You "choose" not to feel it. If you don't feel it, it doesn't hurt...or does it?
The past couple of years, it seems like I found my life again--I live it, breathe it in, and FEEL life as it happens--like waking from a long sleep. God has accomplished amazing things in my life. So today, I guess I was a little shocked to realize that there's still a part of me that remains so dead--that instinctive nature to go cold and distant when overwhelming real and present circumstances take me back to those places in the past. It's easier to escape--to choose not to "feel" and pretend--to "decide" to be okay regardless of the cost. Even if it defeats all that God as accomplished in teaching me to be "real" with myself, with God, and with people--especially with those who taught me. I know it's an instinctive self-protection mechanism. The coldness as I realized it was so familiar and perversely comfortable in a way--like an old enemy you can count on when you can't count on anything else. I slipped back into that old pattern without a thought--just by habit. Here's where I find myself. Still can't cry...won't cry over certain things anyway. And I was disappointed that I wasn't as "free" as I thought--that some of the "old" still remained firm.
And now, I realize that even that disappointment was another way just to avoid "feeling" the circumstance that brought about the coldness in the first place--the trigger. Still numb. So I'm not sure which is my greatest failure--that I fell prey to circumstances or that I went on "automatic" and responded the same way I've always done. If my prayer truly is that God would break me and melt me, how will it happen? How do I get from here to there? How do I keep from letting those old hurts speak so loudly that they shut me down, even without words?
I wish I had some amazing wisdom here but I don't. I think of the words to Tom's song..."until my will is gone." Is that it? That my will is still so stubborn that it won't bend and I keep reinforcing the walls every time I get backed into a corner? I know without a doubt that brokenness is truly beautiful--I've experienced it. With some of the women I've reached out to, I've witnessed how their tears are a source of healing, cleansing, and renewal. Their tears are a part of the process. And a few times, I've let myself cry.. rarer moments when I am fractured, fallen, and so completely out of control. Those rare beautiful moments because the sun stood still for just a little while, time stopped, and I didn't have to put on such a brave front--even for a short while. Survival wasn't up to me for a few moments. But then the "rare" moments are over all too quickly so I dust myself off and get back to the business of life and ministry and survival. Big girls don't cry. Big girls don't cry...
But maybe the key is that WITH brokenness, there must be that surrender--that complete, constant, and conscious surrender of my will. I have this heart picture of the uninvited prostitute who entered the home of Simon the Pharisee to see Jesus. She was in tears as she fell at His feet, big drops falling on His dirty, travel-worn feet. She took off her headwrap and let down her long hair. She gathered her hair in her hands and used it to dry the tears on His feet. She carried a beautiful alabaster jar of expensive perfume--such as only harlots and the very wealthy would have. As she anointed His weary feet, she bowed down and kissed them out of love and surrender to His grace and mercy...Kissing feet was the humiliation of the most shameful.
She was not a proud woman--she wasn't there to do "business" or to prove anything. She was broken by the weight of her sinful past. She came to a house where she knew she would not be welcome simply because Jesus was there. She needed to show her gratefulness for His amazing grace and forgiveness--no humiliation was too great a price. Yet she arrive, considering herself no greater than the lowest servant whose task would be to wash the guests feet--yet none of Simon's servants had washed Jesus' feet--no one until this shameful prostitute. She didn't anoint His head as the "righteous" would. She fell at His feet--the lesser part--and wiped away her tears off His feet with her hair.
Simon was disgusted that this woman dared to show her face in his house at all--she should be ashamed. The entire event caused quite a stir around the table as Jesus sat so patiently as she exhibited such a display of wrought emotions. She wept openly and unashamedly. Women didn't let their hair down publicly--it was an act of intimacy. Yet here this woman came in a Pharisee's house and took her hair down in the midst of them to wash Jesus' feet...That was just a servant's task--it was an intimate gesture of love and devotion. Jesus had touched her life in a way no other man ever had and it had nothing to do with sex, money, position, or possession. He LOVED her with all of His heart just as she was. He loved her the moment He laid eyes on her the first time, the moment forgave her past sins, and even now as she demonstrated her love for Him...Her life had been shattered by sin, shame, and circumstance as she fell in tears at His feet. She could have stopped right there and it would still be a sweet story. But she finished it. In the next moment, she surrendered all of her life to Him--her entire past, the sin, shame, pain--all that she had been before and all that she would ever become. She anointed His feet with that costly perfume in honor of who He was, as if to say, "Not my will anymore--but Yours."
Broken and surrendered at the feet of Jesus. giving Him everything. Others in the room shamed her but Jesus lifted her up. As they looked down their noses at her, He looked on her with love and compassion. He made her beautiful to behold in that very moment, "Though her sins have been many, she has been forgiven much because she has loved so much..." Her knew her heart. He gave her not only redemption but also her own chazown for her future, "Your sins are forgiven...Your faith has saved you. Go in peace."
In that moment, Jesus took every shattered piece of her life and put her together again--a new work of art, more beautiful than ever. I want to BE her. I want to be that brave. I want to be that willing to be broken even when I'm most ashamed--to be able to surrender everything I've ever been, everything I am, and everything He will make of me.
The band led us in "Surrender" a couple of songs later this morning and one small phrase in it is so significant in the midst the rest of the song: "I LAY IT DOWN FOR THE SAKE OF YOU, MY KING." That's it!..That's what she did! She braved the ridicule and shame. She risked rejection. She humbly fell at His feet not for her sake but for His...That's where her strength and courage came from. I can't do this on my own--I can't surrender for my own sake or survival but rather for the sake of my Savior...To be broken, surrendered, put back together again, and used for His glory....
I'm giving up MY dreams...for Yours.
I'm laying down MY rights...in surrender to Your will.
I'm giving up MY pride...because without You, I am nothing.
I surrender ALL to You...only You.
" My enemies will retreat when I call to You for help. This I know: God is on my side! I praise God for what He has promised; Yes, I praise the Lord for what He has promised. I trust in God, so why should I be afraid? What can mere mortals do to me?
I will fulfill my vows to You, O God, and will offer a sacrifice of thanks for Your help. For You have rescued me from death; You have kept my feet from slipping. So now I can walk in Your presence, O God, in Your life-giving light." - Psalm 56:9-13 NLT
Lord, I want to live my life so completely broken and surrendered to You--FOR You. Yet these remnants of coldness remain--You know what lies behind them. Break me, melt me, till I'm lost inside Your fire. You know where I need to break, what I have yet to surrender to You so I'm no longer a victim to people or circumstance...And if that brokenness includes those unshed tears, make me big enough to cry. And let those tears be a source of healing and courage and diamonds of grace not for me but for others. Use them for Your sake and Your glory.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
The Weight of It All
Dear friends, let us continue to love one another, for love comes from God. Anyone who loves is a child of God and knows God. But anyone who does not love does not know God, for God is love.
God showed how much He loved us by sending His one and only Son into the world so that we might have eternal life through Him. This is real love—not that we loved God, but that HE LOVED US and sent His Son as a sacrifice to take away our sins.
Dear friends, since God loved us that much, we surely ought to love each other. No one has ever seen God. But if we love each other, God lives in us, and His love is brought to full expression in us. And God has given us His Spirit as proof that we live in Him and He in us." - 1 John 4:7-13
Seems that life has been pretty serious lately--not necessarily because of my own circumstances so much as the struggles of people I love. There's no pain or anguish deeper than knowing one of your own children are hurting or suffering somehow, especially when we can't be the heroic parents that make their hurts or fears go away. It was so much easier for Mom to "fix" their hurts and settle their fears when they were younger. Others whom I love greatly have experienced such deep deep sorrow and grief. Some are facing unbelievable struggles and mountains which seem insurmountable. Some have experienced horrible injustices and abuse, and there is no easy or quick remedy to fix all that has been shattered in their lives. Still others are lost, confused, overwhelmed, or just plain angry at what life has dealt them. This past week or so, it seems so many are crying out to God at once and my heart grieves for them. So often, their hurt touches mine, resonating with some of the cries of my own heart and opening old wounds. And sometimes their hurt touches my heart--not just because I've been where they are and I know what they suffer--but because I love them so deeply and I desperately want them to hang on to hope. So often, I take their burdens as my own. I won't apologize for that or be convinced to stop because we are instructed to carry one another's burdens (Galatians 6). But today is one of those days when I'm broken by the weight of it all--when my burdens and their burdens seem too heavy to bear. My heart breaks when I feel their pain as if it were my own. There's so many hurts, so many fears, so many reasons to give up, but there's a greater reason to keep on-- to "continue to love." As we walk with each other through struggles and sorrows, we hold each other up so that none of us fall by the wayside. We cheer each other on so that no one is alone in their journey and each one knows that his or her life is precious. And as heavy as the burden seems sometimes, I know that I can't give up in what God has called me to simply because I love Him and I love these people with all of my heart. As hard as it is, I would never ask for a lesser task because I WANT to be with them through every circumstance so that they are not alone--I want them to know that their life matters. I am honored to share their burdens and humbled when they share mine.
As I fell on my face in my own weakness and poured out my heart to Him, I wondered how Jesus must have felt when He took our burdens on Himself so willingly that day on the cross. The weight of the world and its sin was on His shoulders. It must have seemed so unbearable as He cried, "Father, into Your hands I commit my spirit!" (Luke 23:46) I thought about the many times that He has taken and carried my own burdens however cumbersome, when He held me through dark nights and He grieved at my shed tears and even more at my unshed tears. I wondered at His brokenness when He became such a beautiful sacrifice for ME simply because of LOVE. Yet I know that He would do it all again if He had to because He loves that much--that completely. He WANTS to be with us through our joys, our sins, and our sorrows. Somehow knowing that He loves so deeply--to know that His heart breaks when we fall down and rejoices when we rise up--knowing it makes my burdens seem a little lighter and even strengthens me for whatever this next week holds. Whatever burdens I carry--whether they be mine or those carried for others--I don't carry them alone because He carries them with me. And when I think about the weight of it all, it's nothing compared to what He has carried for me in days past. He encourages me and gives me His faithful promise, "Don't give up! CONTINUE TO LOVE for I will never leave you or forsake you..."
I came across Daniel's vision unexpectedly. I don't think I've ever read it before. Though I'm not quite certain I understand the whole story or why God brought me to it, I found hope and strength as if I were in Daniel's place and I found personal understanding in the idea of the "messenger" whether that be a real person, a supernatural vision, a dream, or a word silently and privately spoken to the heart. I know how often God sends messengers to me to encourage and offer hope, even today so unexpectedly in an amazing woman named Latimer. (Thank you, dear sister!) And I know that sometimes I am so honored and blessed to be His messenger. But today, I needed to hear the words of Daniel's messenger...
So I was left there all alone to see this amazing vision. My strength left me, my face grew deathly pale, and I felt very weak. T hen I heard the man speak, and when I heard the sound of his voice, I fainted and lay there with my face to the ground.
Just then a hand touched me and lifted me, still trembling, to my hands and knees. And the man said to me, “Daniel, you are very precious to God, so listen carefully to what I have to say to you. Stand up, for I have been sent to you.” When he said this to me, I stood up, still trembling.
Then he said, “Don’t be afraid, Daniel. Since the first day you began to pray for understanding and to humble yourself before your God, your request has been heard in heaven...
While he was speaking to me, I looked down at the ground, unable to say a word. Then the one who looked like a man touched my lips, and I opened my mouth and began to speak. I said to the one standing in front of me, “I am filled with anguish because of the vision I have seen, my lord, and I am very weak. How can someone like me, your servant, talk to you, my lord? My strength is gone, and I can hardly breathe.”
Then the one who looked like a man touched me again, and I felt my strength returning. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, “for you are very precious to God. Peace! Be encouraged! Be strong! - Daniel 10:8-12, 15-19
As I read this and take His Word to heart today, my prayer becomes the same that Jesus cried when He bore the weight of the world, " My life is Yours, Father. Into Your hands I commit my spirit...' "
God showed how much He loved us by sending His one and only Son into the world so that we might have eternal life through Him. This is real love—not that we loved God, but that HE LOVED US and sent His Son as a sacrifice to take away our sins.
Dear friends, since God loved us that much, we surely ought to love each other. No one has ever seen God. But if we love each other, God lives in us, and His love is brought to full expression in us. And God has given us His Spirit as proof that we live in Him and He in us." - 1 John 4:7-13
Seems that life has been pretty serious lately--not necessarily because of my own circumstances so much as the struggles of people I love. There's no pain or anguish deeper than knowing one of your own children are hurting or suffering somehow, especially when we can't be the heroic parents that make their hurts or fears go away. It was so much easier for Mom to "fix" their hurts and settle their fears when they were younger. Others whom I love greatly have experienced such deep deep sorrow and grief. Some are facing unbelievable struggles and mountains which seem insurmountable. Some have experienced horrible injustices and abuse, and there is no easy or quick remedy to fix all that has been shattered in their lives. Still others are lost, confused, overwhelmed, or just plain angry at what life has dealt them. This past week or so, it seems so many are crying out to God at once and my heart grieves for them. So often, their hurt touches mine, resonating with some of the cries of my own heart and opening old wounds. And sometimes their hurt touches my heart--not just because I've been where they are and I know what they suffer--but because I love them so deeply and I desperately want them to hang on to hope. So often, I take their burdens as my own. I won't apologize for that or be convinced to stop because we are instructed to carry one another's burdens (Galatians 6). But today is one of those days when I'm broken by the weight of it all--when my burdens and their burdens seem too heavy to bear. My heart breaks when I feel their pain as if it were my own. There's so many hurts, so many fears, so many reasons to give up, but there's a greater reason to keep on-- to "continue to love." As we walk with each other through struggles and sorrows, we hold each other up so that none of us fall by the wayside. We cheer each other on so that no one is alone in their journey and each one knows that his or her life is precious. And as heavy as the burden seems sometimes, I know that I can't give up in what God has called me to simply because I love Him and I love these people with all of my heart. As hard as it is, I would never ask for a lesser task because I WANT to be with them through every circumstance so that they are not alone--I want them to know that their life matters. I am honored to share their burdens and humbled when they share mine.
As I fell on my face in my own weakness and poured out my heart to Him, I wondered how Jesus must have felt when He took our burdens on Himself so willingly that day on the cross. The weight of the world and its sin was on His shoulders. It must have seemed so unbearable as He cried, "Father, into Your hands I commit my spirit!" (Luke 23:46) I thought about the many times that He has taken and carried my own burdens however cumbersome, when He held me through dark nights and He grieved at my shed tears and even more at my unshed tears. I wondered at His brokenness when He became such a beautiful sacrifice for ME simply because of LOVE. Yet I know that He would do it all again if He had to because He loves that much--that completely. He WANTS to be with us through our joys, our sins, and our sorrows. Somehow knowing that He loves so deeply--to know that His heart breaks when we fall down and rejoices when we rise up--knowing it makes my burdens seem a little lighter and even strengthens me for whatever this next week holds. Whatever burdens I carry--whether they be mine or those carried for others--I don't carry them alone because He carries them with me. And when I think about the weight of it all, it's nothing compared to what He has carried for me in days past. He encourages me and gives me His faithful promise, "Don't give up! CONTINUE TO LOVE for I will never leave you or forsake you..."
I came across Daniel's vision unexpectedly. I don't think I've ever read it before. Though I'm not quite certain I understand the whole story or why God brought me to it, I found hope and strength as if I were in Daniel's place and I found personal understanding in the idea of the "messenger" whether that be a real person, a supernatural vision, a dream, or a word silently and privately spoken to the heart. I know how often God sends messengers to me to encourage and offer hope, even today so unexpectedly in an amazing woman named Latimer. (Thank you, dear sister!) And I know that sometimes I am so honored and blessed to be His messenger. But today, I needed to hear the words of Daniel's messenger...
So I was left there all alone to see this amazing vision. My strength left me, my face grew deathly pale, and I felt very weak. T hen I heard the man speak, and when I heard the sound of his voice, I fainted and lay there with my face to the ground.
Just then a hand touched me and lifted me, still trembling, to my hands and knees. And the man said to me, “Daniel, you are very precious to God, so listen carefully to what I have to say to you. Stand up, for I have been sent to you.” When he said this to me, I stood up, still trembling.
Then he said, “Don’t be afraid, Daniel. Since the first day you began to pray for understanding and to humble yourself before your God, your request has been heard in heaven...
While he was speaking to me, I looked down at the ground, unable to say a word. Then the one who looked like a man touched my lips, and I opened my mouth and began to speak. I said to the one standing in front of me, “I am filled with anguish because of the vision I have seen, my lord, and I am very weak. How can someone like me, your servant, talk to you, my lord? My strength is gone, and I can hardly breathe.”
Then the one who looked like a man touched me again, and I felt my strength returning. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, “for you are very precious to God. Peace! Be encouraged! Be strong! - Daniel 10:8-12, 15-19
As I read this and take His Word to heart today, my prayer becomes the same that Jesus cried when He bore the weight of the world, " My life is Yours, Father. Into Your hands I commit my spirit...' "
Sunday, January 3, 2010
The Beautiful Chaos...
Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me from Your presence or take Your Holy Spirit from me.
Restore to me the joy of Your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me. - Psalm 51:10-12
There's so much to process over the last few weeks and so much I'd like to write about so I remember but I have another important pressing project and knowing how "way leads on to way," I probably won't get back to it. But tonight, tI need to put down what's on my heart to get through the sadness of goodbyes so I can hold on to the hope for hellos to come...
I saw Zachary off at the airport this evening--on his way back to his base in California. Elias left to go back to Hawaii the day after Christmas. Andy and Megan (his girlfriend) went home Monday. Brittany, Mikey, and Kaci have long since gone back to their work and normal lives, though not so far away... Zachary and I had dinner last night with some other friends but I just had to see him off today for some reason. I just needed to hug him once more I guess. He's my "baby"--my "almost 21 years old" baby. With three Marines, another son at Texas Tech, and a daughter whose heart pines for California, I've had to say goodbye to my kids far too often. It seems all so out of order that we raise our kids just so we can let them go...again and again and again.
This Christmas season, Zachary was the last goodbye--the last one to "go home." So tonight, I'm so very blessed but I'm also sad that my own "Christmas miracle" is over. It's not like they've been at my house or with me 24/7 for the last few weeks. Our time together has been limited because of the demands on their time and so many people to see. But the time we have had has been so especially precious to me this year and tonight, it suddenly seems so serenely but sadly quiet knowing it will be quite a while before my home is that alive again. Even in the bittersweetness of the stillness, I am overwhelmed with love for each one of my kids and with the way that each one of them uniquely loves me.
Over the past several weeks, I've met the boys at the airport, went to the Christmas Philharmonic concert with Mikey, enjoyed dinners and Hastings with Elias, Mikey, and entourage, went Christmas shopping with Brittany, random calls and conversations with all of them, literally drove through a blizzard with Elias, Zachary, and Brittany (an adventure in itself) on Christmas Eve to my brother's house in snowless Veribest, silently prayed that Andy would make it home from Lubbock safely that night after the snowstorm for Christmas, and got several chances to get to know girlfriends and boyfriends...Megan, Daniel, Tawny... (I like them all!) ...Oh, so much in so little time.
But on Christmas Day ALL my kids and their dad were together in one place at home with me along with some friends (honorary Christmas Bennetts--complete with filled stockings under the tree.) We were a family--the way a family should be. Just having them all together in one place is an amazing feat and a rare occasion since they've grown up. My house is so small so with all my kids, their dad, the "Honorary Bennetts," and me...It was loud..It was crowded, and with that many boys, it was definitely chaotic. They were cooking and eating, teasing and wrestling and punching, showing off new tattoos, watching movies, making weird noises and laughing--SO much laughing. There's always several conversations going on and it's almost impossible to keep up. Usually I'm so busy trying to get everything done and make everything perfect or getting ready for the next thing, I don't take the time to listen----to REALLY listen to the beauty of it all. But this year was different...
I didn't even try to do everything I always tried to do in the past--I haven't been feeling well for several weeks so there was no way I could even come close. And you know what? Once I accepted that, I found out that the sky didn't fall in and Christmas didn't explode just because I didn't get a bow on the package or all the garland up. It wasn't about my idea of Christmas perfection. It was a day just to be together--no running around to several houses trying to meet a hundred other family demands. Our special day started late because of the ice--they couldn't get out of Cross Plains. But when they finally arrived, we fixed a very late Christmas breakfast together...or rather the kids and their dad did while I wrapped presents. We opened stockings--one of our favorite family traditions--and later presents. Then we just hung out while they ate, shared stories, and talked about music, movies, old memories and a thousand other things. Lots of noise, teasing, harrassing, and a big mess of wrapping paper and empty plates and dirty dishes..and absolutely no room to walk. And you know what, I loved every minute.
We later went to see a movie--there were 10 of us by this time. As we waited for the movie to start, they all laughed as they watched their mom somehow manage to dump Kaci's whole BIG bucket of popcorn on the person in front of me! And I was concerned how all of them were going to embarrass me!!! I still don't know how I did it and a little shocked thinking back about how up close and personal I got while picking popcorn off a stranger and apologizing profusely. All the while, my kids and all their friends laughed and laughed! (Their dad was thankfully out getting a coke at the time.) We watched a great movie (have to admit I dozed just a little cuz I was SO exhausted) and then we all went out for Chinese for "Christmas dinner" about 8:30-9:00 that night.
As we sat around the table in the restaurant at the end of the day, I just listened to all of them talking at once as I had so many times throughout the day and I was so overwhelmed with the joy and the miracle of it. I couldn't help but think about that Christmas carol "Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus". Oh it wasn't the "traditional" way that most would expect Him to show up but no doubt, my Jesus had come and made His presence so sweetly known to me in that moment. I suddenly realized how long it's been since I truly loved Christmas...How long it's been since I sought the true meaning of Christmas...How long since I felt like I belonged. I don't think I ever knew how very much I needed to belong and to be accepted just as I am--a broken and flawed human being... I needed to know that He still has a place for me--not just with my family but in my everyday...and with Him. I needed to know that He has a purpose for me. And I needed to know that it's ok just to sit back and enjoy the moment and the miracle of it--the most truly beautiful Christmas I can remember.
Christmas this yar wasn't at all about gifts or "stuff", nor the impossible feat of making everyone happy at the same time, or working till everything appears so perfect. It was much less about stress and money and enduring events or occasions where somehow I always get hurt or angry and defensive. This Christmas was about recognizing the many different little ways that each of my kids uniquely make their love for me known...I've never seen it before quite so clearly. This Christmas was about how Christ Himself made His love for me known. This Christmas was so very different. This year, I was determined to be a part of the season, I was willing to fight for it. This year I focused on inviting Jesus into my every moment and seeing what He could make of those moments. And He did so much better than I ever did on my own! This past year has been a journey of seeing dreams come true, in facing hurts and fears and letting them go one by one--a journey that made me stronger with each step instead of growing weary. It's been a journey of restoration and self-acceptance in so many ways. As I sat around that rowdy dinner table listening and learning and loving, I realized how very far He has brought me. I silently thanked God for all that He has done. I knew what He had given me for Christmas this year--the joy of my salvation...Oh, how He loves us...
Jesus, I am so overwhelmed with the way that You love and still so amazed that You never give up on me. I am so thankful for all that You are and for all that You've done. You have returned to me the joy of my salvation--the simple joy of being in Your presence...of being Yours. You have returned to me the joy of knowing that I have a place to belong--not just as a mom but in Your house with You and among those You have brought into my life to show me the truth and lead me through some of my darkest days. And even now in the stillness of this quiet, there is no reason or room for despair. Even now, though my kids have gone their separate ways to seek what You have in store for them, help me to remember that our love for each other remains...Remind me Lord that no matter what lies ahead of me, Your love remains. YOU remain. You have kept me safe and I am NOT alone.
"One thing I ask of the Lord, this is what I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to seek Him in His temple...I am still confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord." - Psalm 27: 4, 13-14
Sunday, December 13, 2009
He Stood Alone...
I actually wrote this Friday, December 11 but I'm just now posting it. This was the day after William Gagnon's verdict was handed down for his murder of Albert Cadena. The impact of the trial and all that happened didn't hit me until I left the courtroom after he received a life sentence. Then I was overwhelmed...
“This High Priest of ours understands our weaknesses, for He faced all of the same testings we do, yet He did not sin. So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive His mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most.” – Hebrews 4:15-16
Yesterday a young man was found guilty and sentenced to life for a heinous murder. As I left the courtroom yesterday, all the emotions of the last few days really fell heavy on my shoulders. I've watched, not just this week but over the last year and a half, as Albert Cadena's family has struggled with the grief and anguish of their loss. As all the details of the murder were shown and expressed in court, their hurt and anger were so raw and exposed. The verdict was only a small sense of justice for the loss of their husband, father, son, brother, cousin, & friend. William Gagnon's verdict & punishment was just. He deserves to sit in a prison cell for the rest of his life. I give him no pity or sorrow for his pending years of imprisonment even at such a young age. He made a willful and cruel choice that paved the way for this consequence. Not once has he told the truth about that fateful day or exhibited an ounce of true remorse for the life that was taken.
I am continually amazed and so truly blessed by the Cadena family—by their strength, by their unbreakable bond, and by their limitless love for Albert and for each other. They truly stand together—an unstoppable and unwavering force. No matter what, they support each other, and love each other and stand for each other. They call each other into accountability and lift each other up thru their struggles, their mistakes, their grief, and their moments on “the mountain of God.” Throughout the last year, their hope in an eternal God has grown and their faith has impacted the lives of many….including mine.
I have been blessed as I have watched Chad deal with the loss of a true friend—not just a church member. His grief, his brokenness and his sorrow has been deep and very real. And I have seen God take all of his pain and turn it into a greater movement that will impact eternity—Stop the Violence, Stop the Love. He knew the very truth of Albert’s life—his past, his struggles before his death, and absolutely no doubt, Chad knows Albert’s eternity. And not once has his love for his friend and this family wavered. Not once has he stumbled or failed in his conviction to carry Albert’s legacy of grace so that his story will impact generations to come. I have seen Chad “stand in the gap” for so many others like Albert—continually striving for and praying for their salvation and grace in their need for a Savior. And even in deep distress and grief over the loss of a dear friend, I’ve seen him rejoice in the knowledge that Albert now sits at the feet of Jesus—no longer in pain, no longer in shame or regret of his past, no longer in struggle but at peace…everlasting peace in the presence of his Savior and God. I have absolutely no doubt that Chad will ensure that Albert’s legacy lives on.
Yesterday, as I witnessed William Gagnon’s guilty verdict pronounce in the courtroom and we all awaited the moment that his future was sealed with his sentence, I was profoundly impacted by his "aloneness." Not one family member was in the courtroom all week long on behalf of this young man or in support of him. Not one single witness stood up for his “character”—assuming there was any to stand up for. Don’t mistake my thoughts for compassion or pity—he gave no compassion for Albert or his family so he gets none. But I was impacted by the reality of it. To think that not one of his loved ones was there to stand in the gap for him at any point. I don’t know the reasons or the details except that Gagnon didn’t want anyone to speak on the stand in his behalf during the punishment phase. I asked one of the reporters if any one of his friends or family have stood up for him since Gagnon was arrested and could think of no one throughout the last year and a half. Not one person.
I just know that, as a mother, if that were my son, no matter how great his crime—and God forbid, realizing that my child could actually commit such a heinous and horrible act, my love for him would still draw me to be in that courtroom no matter what. Absolutely nothing—not even my son’s request—would keep me from loving my son and grieving his choices. I would be there, period. Now again, don’t mistake my heart for pity—I don’t pity this man or his consequences. He made an irreversible choice and he deserves his consequences. And we don’t know his relationship with his family—their testimonies may have been more damaging if he treated them with such disregard. I can’t judge their decision to stay away—I just know what I would do. My own kids know that I would never justify their wrong choices—that I would not take away the consequences of their actions, good or bad. Though I would grieve and though I would be totally heartbroken, I would love them through it simply because they are my son or daughter—my love for them is unconditional. In such a case, I would not be able to “defend” them but I would stand behind them in the courtroom and love them.
Yet Gagnon stood utterly alone before that judge as he heard his fate. Oh, his attorneys were there—they did their job as best they could. Unfortunately, there was not much they could defend. Even so, they were not there in LOVE for him. Even as the sentence was pronounced, I could not tell that the reality of the crime he committed or tragic loss of the life he has taken has yet to fall on his shoulders. His countenance remained unchanging and unremorseful—his only tears shed were in regret that (in his own words) he’s “going up for a long time.” And for whatever reason, not one family member—not a mother or father, brother or sister, cousin or friend stood in that courtroom in support of him, committing to walk with him of sorts without taking his punishment—to be there for him and to love him thru his life sentence…Not even to pray for him—to pray that he would finally realize the truth of all that he has done and grieve his own actions in repentance. He still has that opportunity—to repent. His earthly fate has been sealed yet his eternal fate has yet to be pronounced. In all that I witnessed yesterday and as I watched him, he stood so alone and I wonder if he understood the magnitude of it. Without remorse or repentance, Gagnon didn’t even have Christ by his side in that courtroom wearing the mantel of grace.
It made me wonder about the day each one of us stands before the greatest Judge—the one that will determine our eternal destiny—to pronounce freedom in heaven or eternal confinement in hell. And I have to wonder if at that moment, we will be so completely and utterly alone—no one able to stand in our behalf or to plead our cause. Our actions and our choices on earth—the “facts and evidence of our case” will determine our fate….a fate that on Judgment Day has already been sealed by our choices…except for grace. I have to wonder in consideration of all those who have loved me and impacted my life—that if all the worst of my life and choices were exposed and revealed for all to see, would any one of them—if given the opportunity—stand up for me no matter what. Would they stand in the gap and love me no matter what? Would they say, “Give her mercy, Lord.”
And at this moment, I am so humbly blessed that even now, I can reach for and accept grace—the grace that only Christ can give. Because of grace, I don’t have to stand alone now and that because of grace, He now speaks for me. He has already stood in the gap for me…on the Cross of Calvary. Because of grace, those sins I still grieve and regret have already been removed from me the moment I ask Him—as far as the east is from the west. Forgiven, forgotten and no longer on the court docket because the debt has already been paid at the cross. We may stand alone before the Judge but Christ has gone before us. Those who have received Him and accepted His grace will be able to stand without fear. He will be in the “courtroom” standing behind in love for us. He has already spoken on our behalf. Because of Him—because of His grace—we will be pronounced: “NOT guilty,” a verdict we do NOT deserve.
“And I realize just how beautiful You are, and how great Your affections are for me. And oh, how He loves us so, oh how He loves us…”
Lord, though I don’t understand why You would give Your life for mine and though so often I fail to walk in Your grace, I am so eternally grateful that You love me enough to pay my highest debt even before I committed any sin. Your love is so wide and so deep, I can’t even fathom the greatness of it.”
“This High Priest of ours understands our weaknesses, for He faced all of the same testings we do, yet He did not sin. So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive His mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most.” – Hebrews 4:15-16
Yesterday a young man was found guilty and sentenced to life for a heinous murder. As I left the courtroom yesterday, all the emotions of the last few days really fell heavy on my shoulders. I've watched, not just this week but over the last year and a half, as Albert Cadena's family has struggled with the grief and anguish of their loss. As all the details of the murder were shown and expressed in court, their hurt and anger were so raw and exposed. The verdict was only a small sense of justice for the loss of their husband, father, son, brother, cousin, & friend. William Gagnon's verdict & punishment was just. He deserves to sit in a prison cell for the rest of his life. I give him no pity or sorrow for his pending years of imprisonment even at such a young age. He made a willful and cruel choice that paved the way for this consequence. Not once has he told the truth about that fateful day or exhibited an ounce of true remorse for the life that was taken.
I am continually amazed and so truly blessed by the Cadena family—by their strength, by their unbreakable bond, and by their limitless love for Albert and for each other. They truly stand together—an unstoppable and unwavering force. No matter what, they support each other, and love each other and stand for each other. They call each other into accountability and lift each other up thru their struggles, their mistakes, their grief, and their moments on “the mountain of God.” Throughout the last year, their hope in an eternal God has grown and their faith has impacted the lives of many….including mine.
I have been blessed as I have watched Chad deal with the loss of a true friend—not just a church member. His grief, his brokenness and his sorrow has been deep and very real. And I have seen God take all of his pain and turn it into a greater movement that will impact eternity—Stop the Violence, Stop the Love. He knew the very truth of Albert’s life—his past, his struggles before his death, and absolutely no doubt, Chad knows Albert’s eternity. And not once has his love for his friend and this family wavered. Not once has he stumbled or failed in his conviction to carry Albert’s legacy of grace so that his story will impact generations to come. I have seen Chad “stand in the gap” for so many others like Albert—continually striving for and praying for their salvation and grace in their need for a Savior. And even in deep distress and grief over the loss of a dear friend, I’ve seen him rejoice in the knowledge that Albert now sits at the feet of Jesus—no longer in pain, no longer in shame or regret of his past, no longer in struggle but at peace…everlasting peace in the presence of his Savior and God. I have absolutely no doubt that Chad will ensure that Albert’s legacy lives on.
Yesterday, as I witnessed William Gagnon’s guilty verdict pronounce in the courtroom and we all awaited the moment that his future was sealed with his sentence, I was profoundly impacted by his "aloneness." Not one family member was in the courtroom all week long on behalf of this young man or in support of him. Not one single witness stood up for his “character”—assuming there was any to stand up for. Don’t mistake my thoughts for compassion or pity—he gave no compassion for Albert or his family so he gets none. But I was impacted by the reality of it. To think that not one of his loved ones was there to stand in the gap for him at any point. I don’t know the reasons or the details except that Gagnon didn’t want anyone to speak on the stand in his behalf during the punishment phase. I asked one of the reporters if any one of his friends or family have stood up for him since Gagnon was arrested and could think of no one throughout the last year and a half. Not one person.
I just know that, as a mother, if that were my son, no matter how great his crime—and God forbid, realizing that my child could actually commit such a heinous and horrible act, my love for him would still draw me to be in that courtroom no matter what. Absolutely nothing—not even my son’s request—would keep me from loving my son and grieving his choices. I would be there, period. Now again, don’t mistake my heart for pity—I don’t pity this man or his consequences. He made an irreversible choice and he deserves his consequences. And we don’t know his relationship with his family—their testimonies may have been more damaging if he treated them with such disregard. I can’t judge their decision to stay away—I just know what I would do. My own kids know that I would never justify their wrong choices—that I would not take away the consequences of their actions, good or bad. Though I would grieve and though I would be totally heartbroken, I would love them through it simply because they are my son or daughter—my love for them is unconditional. In such a case, I would not be able to “defend” them but I would stand behind them in the courtroom and love them.
Yet Gagnon stood utterly alone before that judge as he heard his fate. Oh, his attorneys were there—they did their job as best they could. Unfortunately, there was not much they could defend. Even so, they were not there in LOVE for him. Even as the sentence was pronounced, I could not tell that the reality of the crime he committed or tragic loss of the life he has taken has yet to fall on his shoulders. His countenance remained unchanging and unremorseful—his only tears shed were in regret that (in his own words) he’s “going up for a long time.” And for whatever reason, not one family member—not a mother or father, brother or sister, cousin or friend stood in that courtroom in support of him, committing to walk with him of sorts without taking his punishment—to be there for him and to love him thru his life sentence…Not even to pray for him—to pray that he would finally realize the truth of all that he has done and grieve his own actions in repentance. He still has that opportunity—to repent. His earthly fate has been sealed yet his eternal fate has yet to be pronounced. In all that I witnessed yesterday and as I watched him, he stood so alone and I wonder if he understood the magnitude of it. Without remorse or repentance, Gagnon didn’t even have Christ by his side in that courtroom wearing the mantel of grace.
It made me wonder about the day each one of us stands before the greatest Judge—the one that will determine our eternal destiny—to pronounce freedom in heaven or eternal confinement in hell. And I have to wonder if at that moment, we will be so completely and utterly alone—no one able to stand in our behalf or to plead our cause. Our actions and our choices on earth—the “facts and evidence of our case” will determine our fate….a fate that on Judgment Day has already been sealed by our choices…except for grace. I have to wonder in consideration of all those who have loved me and impacted my life—that if all the worst of my life and choices were exposed and revealed for all to see, would any one of them—if given the opportunity—stand up for me no matter what. Would they stand in the gap and love me no matter what? Would they say, “Give her mercy, Lord.”
And at this moment, I am so humbly blessed that even now, I can reach for and accept grace—the grace that only Christ can give. Because of grace, I don’t have to stand alone now and that because of grace, He now speaks for me. He has already stood in the gap for me…on the Cross of Calvary. Because of grace, those sins I still grieve and regret have already been removed from me the moment I ask Him—as far as the east is from the west. Forgiven, forgotten and no longer on the court docket because the debt has already been paid at the cross. We may stand alone before the Judge but Christ has gone before us. Those who have received Him and accepted His grace will be able to stand without fear. He will be in the “courtroom” standing behind in love for us. He has already spoken on our behalf. Because of Him—because of His grace—we will be pronounced: “NOT guilty,” a verdict we do NOT deserve.
“And I realize just how beautiful You are, and how great Your affections are for me. And oh, how He loves us so, oh how He loves us…”
(song sung by David Crowder, written by John Mark MacMillan)
Lord, though I don’t understand why You would give Your life for mine and though so often I fail to walk in Your grace, I am so eternally grateful that You love me enough to pay my highest debt even before I committed any sin. Your love is so wide and so deep, I can’t even fathom the greatness of it.”
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Let It Begin With Me....
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."
And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, "Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us."
And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.
--Luke 2:11-16
Tonight I heard four gunshots in rapid succession near my home. My first reaction was to wonder if anyone was hurt or killed and then to listen for squealing tires. Why? Because my first thought is that it was another driveby shooting. Strange enough, my first impulse was NOT to “act” on it—to do the only thing I could do to help. Chad asked me later if I called the police. In truth, I hesitated. Instead of calling 911 instinctively, I contemplated whether to call the police at all because I didn’t know if it was necessary—a sign that gunshots and violence have become the “norm” rather than the unthinkable. When the sound of violence should cause our hearts to skip a beat, we sometimes remain strangely calm simply because those sounds have become commonplace. We wonder about it and then return to our own routines. We aren’t “alarmed” anymore.
A few days ago while getting a soda and waiting in line at a local convenience store, the clerks were openly and none too quietly having a conversation with each other about family members and friends who were involved in recent violent altercations and gang activity. They were sharing details and even names that one can almost bet hadn’t been shared with police without fear or concern that anyone else in the store were hearing all of it—in a sense that it almost seemed they were unwisely boasting of their closeness with violent people. The conversation was disturbing though because they were talking about shootings and stabbings and death threats as if it were everyday routine. One of them even laughed because the cops hadn’t figured it out because the witnessing neighbors were threatened if they “narked.” The “cops” were the enemy not the criminals. So victims were left to deal with their tragedy while the attackers got away scot free. And in some twisted sense, these clerks seemed to think that was justice because, in their minds, the victims “deserved it” for whatever reason.
How did we get here? How did society get to the point that abuse, driveby shootings, murder, and knife assaults have become so commonplace and familiar that we aren’t shocked or appalled anymore? It’s almost as if we accept that violence has a rightful place in society…that revenge is justified for whatever reason and we, as citizens, don’t have a responsibility to speak up. Whether it be fear or lack of concern, we stay silent even when we’ve witnessed or have knowledge of crimes.
Over time, we have grown numb to the sights and sounds and stories—not just because we hear so much in the news about violence in larger cities and far-off places but because even right here at home, murder, revenge, and abuse has become all too familiar.
As citizens, we “say” something needs to be done and we lay all the responsibility on the police department and the legal system and then complain when it doesn’t work as it should. As Christians, we pray about it asking God to intervene…to bring about justice…We pray for victims and we even pray that criminals will be brought to justice and we leave it all in His hands to work miracles. We forget that sometimes answers to prayer require action and obedience on our part. The shepherds didn't just think about what the angels said. Little did they even know what lay ahead for this child 33 years hence. They acted on the angel's proclamation and took part in the unfolding story. Yet when tragic stories unfold today, more often than not, we don’t actively take a stand, we don’t use our voice as witnesses or victim advocates. Too often, we don’t even get alarmed or get outraged when it happens in our neighborhoods. We don’t WANT to get involved if it doesn’t directly involve us. We tolerate crime and in our complacency—in our silence--we fail to defend victims. Instead, we defend violence.
Oh, we look for places to lay the blame for the rising crime rate. We blame the legal system, poverty, bad upbringing…We sometimes even blame the victims or justify violence against them somehow. Yet we never look inward at ourselves. It’s disturbing that I hesitated even a second whether I should call 911 when I hear not just one questionable gunshot, but FOUR very distinct and unmistakable gunshots. And I am not alone. Each one of us is to blame every time we remain silent. Every time we look the other way, every time we fail to call police or report what we may know, every time we are not appalled or offended that victims are maliciously and vengefully harmed or killed, we become part of the problem.
Honestly, I don’t know if anyone was harmed tonight. I know that I was not the only one who heard the shots…There were several citizens who didn’t hesitate as long as I did to report them. I do know that police patrolled the neighborhood in search of the source. I haven't lain awake tonight in fear of those gunshots but rather in deep disappointment at the realization that too often in the past, I have been a part of the problem because of my silence... Times when I am certain that others were harmed as a consequence simply because I didn’t have the courage to speak up even when violence directly touched my life. How often I have grieved their harm even more than my own—if only... Do I know for certain, the violence would have stopped? That my testimony would have made a difference? No, but because I did nothing, there wasn’t even a chance to stop one person from hurting again. It would be more comforting if I was the only one who had to live with my choice but sadly, at least one other very young victim (most assuredly more) has to live with the consequences of my silence for the rest of her life too--victim at the same hand. Peace was stolen from both of us.
In this season, we often sing songs of “peace and good will toward men.” Do we mean it? Are we willing to be a part of the solution to violence rather than part of the problem? God has called us to genuinely love one another…to bear one another’s burdens and heartaches. If I truly love others, wouldn't I do everything within my power to keep them from harm, to comfort, to bring healing, to bring justice where needed? We should take the words of one Christmas carol to heart and put that truth to work in our lives. I can’t stop all of violence but I can do my part. "Let there be peace on earth AND at home and Lord, please let it begin with me…."
“Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.
Let there be peace on earth--the peace that was meant to be.
With God as our Father, brothers all are we.
Let me walk with my brother in perfect harmony.
Let peace begin with me; let this be the moment now.
With every step I take, let this be my solemn vow.
To take each moment and live each moment with peace eternally.
Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.”
And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, "Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us."
And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.
--Luke 2:11-16
Tonight I heard four gunshots in rapid succession near my home. My first reaction was to wonder if anyone was hurt or killed and then to listen for squealing tires. Why? Because my first thought is that it was another driveby shooting. Strange enough, my first impulse was NOT to “act” on it—to do the only thing I could do to help. Chad asked me later if I called the police. In truth, I hesitated. Instead of calling 911 instinctively, I contemplated whether to call the police at all because I didn’t know if it was necessary—a sign that gunshots and violence have become the “norm” rather than the unthinkable. When the sound of violence should cause our hearts to skip a beat, we sometimes remain strangely calm simply because those sounds have become commonplace. We wonder about it and then return to our own routines. We aren’t “alarmed” anymore.
A few days ago while getting a soda and waiting in line at a local convenience store, the clerks were openly and none too quietly having a conversation with each other about family members and friends who were involved in recent violent altercations and gang activity. They were sharing details and even names that one can almost bet hadn’t been shared with police without fear or concern that anyone else in the store were hearing all of it—in a sense that it almost seemed they were unwisely boasting of their closeness with violent people. The conversation was disturbing though because they were talking about shootings and stabbings and death threats as if it were everyday routine. One of them even laughed because the cops hadn’t figured it out because the witnessing neighbors were threatened if they “narked.” The “cops” were the enemy not the criminals. So victims were left to deal with their tragedy while the attackers got away scot free. And in some twisted sense, these clerks seemed to think that was justice because, in their minds, the victims “deserved it” for whatever reason.
How did we get here? How did society get to the point that abuse, driveby shootings, murder, and knife assaults have become so commonplace and familiar that we aren’t shocked or appalled anymore? It’s almost as if we accept that violence has a rightful place in society…that revenge is justified for whatever reason and we, as citizens, don’t have a responsibility to speak up. Whether it be fear or lack of concern, we stay silent even when we’ve witnessed or have knowledge of crimes.
Over time, we have grown numb to the sights and sounds and stories—not just because we hear so much in the news about violence in larger cities and far-off places but because even right here at home, murder, revenge, and abuse has become all too familiar.
As citizens, we “say” something needs to be done and we lay all the responsibility on the police department and the legal system and then complain when it doesn’t work as it should. As Christians, we pray about it asking God to intervene…to bring about justice…We pray for victims and we even pray that criminals will be brought to justice and we leave it all in His hands to work miracles. We forget that sometimes answers to prayer require action and obedience on our part. The shepherds didn't just think about what the angels said. Little did they even know what lay ahead for this child 33 years hence. They acted on the angel's proclamation and took part in the unfolding story. Yet when tragic stories unfold today, more often than not, we don’t actively take a stand, we don’t use our voice as witnesses or victim advocates. Too often, we don’t even get alarmed or get outraged when it happens in our neighborhoods. We don’t WANT to get involved if it doesn’t directly involve us. We tolerate crime and in our complacency—in our silence--we fail to defend victims. Instead, we defend violence.
Oh, we look for places to lay the blame for the rising crime rate. We blame the legal system, poverty, bad upbringing…We sometimes even blame the victims or justify violence against them somehow. Yet we never look inward at ourselves. It’s disturbing that I hesitated even a second whether I should call 911 when I hear not just one questionable gunshot, but FOUR very distinct and unmistakable gunshots. And I am not alone. Each one of us is to blame every time we remain silent. Every time we look the other way, every time we fail to call police or report what we may know, every time we are not appalled or offended that victims are maliciously and vengefully harmed or killed, we become part of the problem.
Honestly, I don’t know if anyone was harmed tonight. I know that I was not the only one who heard the shots…There were several citizens who didn’t hesitate as long as I did to report them. I do know that police patrolled the neighborhood in search of the source. I haven't lain awake tonight in fear of those gunshots but rather in deep disappointment at the realization that too often in the past, I have been a part of the problem because of my silence... Times when I am certain that others were harmed as a consequence simply because I didn’t have the courage to speak up even when violence directly touched my life. How often I have grieved their harm even more than my own—if only... Do I know for certain, the violence would have stopped? That my testimony would have made a difference? No, but because I did nothing, there wasn’t even a chance to stop one person from hurting again. It would be more comforting if I was the only one who had to live with my choice but sadly, at least one other very young victim (most assuredly more) has to live with the consequences of my silence for the rest of her life too--victim at the same hand. Peace was stolen from both of us.
In this season, we often sing songs of “peace and good will toward men.” Do we mean it? Are we willing to be a part of the solution to violence rather than part of the problem? God has called us to genuinely love one another…to bear one another’s burdens and heartaches. If I truly love others, wouldn't I do everything within my power to keep them from harm, to comfort, to bring healing, to bring justice where needed? We should take the words of one Christmas carol to heart and put that truth to work in our lives. I can’t stop all of violence but I can do my part. "Let there be peace on earth AND at home and Lord, please let it begin with me…."
“Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.
Let there be peace on earth--the peace that was meant to be.
With God as our Father, brothers all are we.
Let me walk with my brother in perfect harmony.
Let peace begin with me; let this be the moment now.
With every step I take, let this be my solemn vow.
To take each moment and live each moment with peace eternally.
Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.”
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