Patience to Endure

Tag: Faith

Isn’t Your Father…

The first 12 years of my life were spent in the United States Air Force. My father had joined during the Vietnam war and remained in the service until he retired lieutenant colonel many years later. Growing up on an Air Force Base is a very unique experience and not for the faint of heart.

We moved every three three years but there were parts of living on a base that we could depend upon to be consistent no matter where we lived. Before every event including movies we stood for the National Anthem. At 5 o’clock no matter what we were doing we would stop and in reverence face the direction of the flag as it was lowered. It didn’t matter if we could see it from where we were. We always knew the direction in which to turn. I can remember jumping of swings, dismantling bikes, and getting out of swimming pools as if it were the most natural thing to do.

Another part of living on a military base was an expectation that we children would behave according to our father’s rank. My father was an officer and there were certain expectations to which the daughter of an officer should adhere. How I behaved said everything about my father’s ability to lead his men. If I were an unruly child and spotted by the Commanding Officer it could become an influential factor in my father receiving a promotion or being passed over. For an unruly child meant he was an ineffective leader. A well behaved child meant effective leadership. The fundamental question was if an officer can’t lead his own family, how could he lead his subordinates?

In 4th grade I got into a fight with Cheryl Whitlark who was at one time my best friend. I cannot begin to remember what the fight was about but I remember she pulled my hair and I kicked her in the shins.

Mrs. Johnson, our teacher who was a rather frightening woman, called us to the side. She had a natural hunch in her posture but hunched down even more to meet us eye to eye.

She looked at me and said “Isn’t your father an officer?”

With shame and downcast eyes I nodded yes.

Miss Johnson then said, and this stuck to my soul for all these years, “Then why aren’t you acting like it?”

As a child I knew plenty of kids whose dads used fear to get them to behave. My dad used love and he never pressured us out of professional concern. He didn’t need to because we at some point learned the rules without ever being told. I wanted to please my dad because of my love for him and because of the understanding at such an early age that I should.

The same is true as a follower of Christ. Isn’t my Father the King?

Never in my life has my heart been so burdened by the way we Christians are behaving. It keeps me up at night and has become my heart’s cry. We are not reflecting our Father well. We are failing at showing the world what the love of Christ looks like. We are not magnifying Him, we are diminishing Him.

On Facebook I see post after post of political nature but rather than trying to post about what the person believes, it is a post making fun of or name calling a person of the opposite party. I see posts from people I see in church on Sundays that attack “stupid liberals” or it demonizes immigrants or makes fun of transgender people. Sometimes, in insensitive humor, they belittle an entire people because they have accents. (My mother has an accent and learning English as a second language is an incredible accomplishment). Their very next post is about loving Jesus and they tell everyone on the internet they are a Christian. And I just want to scream.

What we put into cyberspace reflects who we are as children of the King. How we approach people who have been deemed “less than” or different says everything about the heart of Christ; the same heart that told us the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37).

Keep in mind during the time of Jesus and well before, Samaritans were despised by Jews. In the Parable a man is beaten, robbed, and left half dead. A priest and the Levite, both religious men, cross the road to avoid someone they deemed unworthy even though he clearly needed assistance. Think about that. Jesus, a Jew, was talking to Jews and the example He used of someone reflecting His Father’s heart was someone on the opposite side. It was the samaritan who showed his Father’s heart by having mercy.

He didn’t cross the road to kick him while he was down. He didn’t question whether or not the man was worthy of his help. How could he, after all, be the judge of that? How can any of us?

Imagine a modern day parable. Do you believe, as a Christian, Jesus would have changed His parable to include qualifiers? Would the good samaritan have been good if before helping the man he first established if the man was of the same political party… or had has his green card…or was heterosexual… or was pro life…or had no addictions…or believed in his God.

He didn’t put any qualifiers then and, I believe, He would not now. Neighbor. That’s all. Someone who needs help receives it. Period.

God’s heart is not always expressed because of one’s religious affiliation or perceived place in the world. The Parable of the Good Samaritan in fact shows us quite the exact opposite. The two men who told the world they were godly men really weren’t by their actions and their lack of compassion and mercy. They were Jesus’ example how not to be.

I am no Biblical scholar but I do love Jesus. As children of the King isn’t our first directive to reflect Our Father’s Heart? Should that not supersede our political affiliations? And is it possible calling our neighbors names or disregarding their plight or posting vicious memes and loving Jesus are not compatible with one another? Each time we do we are breaking that which He said was the greatest command and the way in which we inherit eternal life.

Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind. Love your neighbor as yourself.

It. Really. Is. That. Simple.

I desperately want to make my Father look good. The world looks at my behavior as a reflection on Him. What I say, do, and post matters. This is a pivotal time not just in our nation, but in our church. The world is watching. More than that, Our Father is watching. Am I making Him smile by loving my neighbors, regardless of what they do or don’t believe, or am I hurting His heart by showing the world the love of Jesus doesn’t make us more loving, it makes us hateful?

As I examine my heart I hear this question posed

“Isn’t your Father the king?”

I reply “Yes.”

Is the response I receive, “I can tell!” or “Why aren’t you acting like it?”

What is yours?

February 21, 2020
I trust You…

I was rearranging my seven year old’s room for what felt like the millionth time. He has a bunk bed that has a ladder on one side and a slide on the other. While he was sitting on the top bunk I took the slide down for a few moments. As I was trying to put the slide back on, his bed shook. I heard the sweetest voice say, “I’m scared, Mom…but I trust you.”

How different would life be if, when on shaky ground, we sweetly said “I’m scared, Father…but I trust you.”

During the summer of 2010 Wesley, my middle son with special needs, fell down the stairs and landed on the marble floor. I heard my stepdaughter calling me and knew something tragic occurred.

I came flying down the stairs and saw him there. He was conscious but I noticed his hands and feet, contracted. I lived in the world of special needs long enough to know it meant brain injury.

After an ambulance ride to UVA we were taken directly back. I remember just beginning to realize exactly how serious it was because we didn’t even have to wait in the ER.

The nurse came in and I immediately recognized her. She had children at the same school as my oldest son. I was relieved to see her and know she would be praying as she cared for us.

They took Wesley in for a CT and I sat in a metal folding chair in the sterile hall. I saw the tech speak to our nurse and from the other room I could read his lips.

“There is a bleed.”

My husband was a physician and I knew the gravity of what that meant. My child was going to live or die and there was little, if anything, that could be done by medicine to make him live.

My prayer was simple.

Please, God, please just give me whatever it is I will need to endure whatever is coming.

That was the prayer of a mother who thought her child might die. The prayer of a mother who might never feel her child’s arms around her neck or see him smile again The prayer of a mother who wasn’t sure how she would live without her child. I had surrendered. I knew with all certainty Wesley’s life was in the hands of God everyday but it was never so obvious as at a moment like that. I knew that a loving, faithful God can still allow children to die.

I am scared, Father…but I trust you.

When the diagnosis comes…
When your spouse has an affair…
When the bank account can’t be stretched…
When you lose someone you loved dearly…
When divorce is impending…
When the indictment is handed down…
When your child is sick…
When the layoff comes…
When addiction is all you can see…
When depression is crushing you…
When anxiety steals your peace…
When your heart is crushed…

No matter when or what

I am scared, Father…but I trust you

August 4, 2019
When He shows up

I could tell by his voice I needed to be there.

“I’m getting in the car. I am coming,” I promised. “Can I talk to Calvin?”

He handed the phone to his roommate.

“This is Emerson’s mom. I am coming. Do you have class? Can you and the guys please make sure he isn’t left alone? I will be there as soon as I can.” I begged.

Calvin agreed and between him and the other three roommates they would tend to him.

I threw a few things in a bag, jumped in my truck, and began the 6 hour drive to New York City. In three days it would be the eighth year anniversary of his father’s death by suicide. February tenth was a day we detested.

In many ways it was as if his dad just died. He grieved him as an eleven year old boy years ago and was now grieving him all over, only this time as a man emerging.

I cried and prayed, prayed and cried. I needed wisdom. I needed strength. I needed to carry us both.

It had been a while since I prayed so earnestly.

Please God. Give me wisdom. Give me strength. Show me where you will meet him in the exact way he needs to find you. I can get him to church but You have to let me know where. Please, Lord, I can’t help him. All I can do is lead him back to You. You know it will have to be huge. Unmistakable. God, this has to drown out intellectualism and skepticism. I need you to show up big. Show me, sweet Jesus. Please just show me.

Though raised in a Christian home and having attended a Christian school kindergarten through graduation from high school, Em had only been to church once since leaving for college. I wasn’t sure if he was walking away from his faith or just angry at God. I had hoped it was the latter for that would mean he still believed.

Since this year February tenth landed on a Sunday I knew he would not protest coming with me to church. He needed a life line and it was the only one I knew to throw out to him because it was the only one that saved me, the only one that could have saved me. Our burden was too monstrous and the pain was too great. Only a Mighty God could save us from it. I couldn’t imagine how my son was going to manage without the life line to which I have clung.

I left my home with such determination to get to him it had not occurred to me I would be hitting the D.C. / Baltimore area right at rush hour. A six hour drive became an eight hour trip, negotiating 495 with tears in my eyes. I could not get there soon enough.

I finally made it to his dorm around 8 pm. He walked out into the cold February night and fell into my arms. My 6 foot 3 son collapsed and melted into me the same way he did when he was just a toddler. Only now I knew mommy hugs weren’t going to make this all better but I hoped with all I had that it could at least help.

We hopped in an Uber and went to the hotel. We ordered room service, a favorite of his since he was little.

As we ate and watched Netflix I flipped through my phone looking at churches.

Please, God, just show me which one.

I wanted to visit Pete Scazzero’s Church in Queens. I had helped teach a class at my church and Scazzero made the curriculum but my spirit just wasn’t settled that it was the place for us on this particular Sunday. Tim Keller, a well known pastor and author, had a few churches in Manhattan. That wasn’t the one either, I was sure.

What about this one, Lord? I asked as I clicked on CityLight Church. Their opening sentence read, “Most people genuinely want to know God…It’s church they want to stay away from!”

Please, God, let me know.

Saturday morning we went to Friend of a Farmer, a little restaurant in Gramercy. It became our tradition and every single time I am in New York we go. It might be my favorite breakfast anywhere on the planet.

The far off look in Emerson’s eyes worried me. He was not at all himself. He was in a dark, dark place. I hated he was there and that I could not pull him immediately out. I needed to, I had to wait for God. Nothing on this earth breaks my heart more than when my children are hurt. Emerson was beyond hurt. He was broken.

As we walked back down to the Village I asked him, “Would you like to stop at health services and check in with a counselor? Tomorrow is a big day.”

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it,” he replied.

A few minutes later he looked up from his phone.

“I guess we are going to health services. I just got an email from them. It said my community is worried about me and I need to go.”

My heart was relieved. At a university of over 51,000 students he had not fallen through the cracks.

Afterward we went to get waffles and ice cream. Things were normalizing. It was still awful and difficult, nearly impossible, but it always had been.

We went back to the hotel and once again I asked God where to go. I was at complete peace that God was directing us to CityLight, the little church in the East Village.

The next morning we were in the cab when I received a message from a dear friend, Robin. She is strong and soulful and loves the Lord. When she has a word of knowledge I pay extra attention.

She instructed me to not answer the phone. She was leaving a message for Emerson because while she was praying for him she received a vision.

“Hey Emerson, it’s Robin from Church on the Hill. I was praying for you this morning as I was driving to church and had a very vivid vision of you standing all alone…Actually, without very much clothes on. It was interesting, it was like this ragged clothes on and it was a close up picture of you. And then the lens of the camera took a wider view and it showed me that you’re surrounded by people. That you are actually not alone. And I was asking the Lord, “Why doesn’t he have very much clothes on. What is that?” And the Lord said it was shame. I was sensing that if you laid down the shame and rejection, and reminded the devil that it is not something for you to wear anymore. When the shame is gone then it will enable you to let the people in, that big circle of friends that you have – family, people who love you and want to support you – that they will be able to come in closer. I felt that was crazy because what it told me also is it was a camera and that a video was being taken. I thought about you as an actor and that told me that the Lord is saying, “I see you and I know what I made you for and I haven’t forgotten you.” I know this is a tough day but I hope that it will encourage you. Love you and your mom.”

Tears formed in my eyes as I played it for Emerson. I looked out the window rather than at him to give him the space to take in all she had said. We sat in silence until we found a coffee shop around the corner from the Church.

“Did Robin’s vision speak to you?” I asked.

“It did,” he said staring at his mocha. “I do live with shame. All day. Everyday. I don’t know why I feel it. It doesn’t make sense. I know I haven’t done anything. But I feel it all the time.” His voice was as downcast as his soul. “I want to lay it down, Mom, I just don’t know how. I am so brittle.”

My heart cracked.

I didn’t speak for a few moments.

Please, God give me the words. I don’t know what to say. Whatever it is, I need it to come from you.

“When those thoughts come you have to make a decision to replace them with truth. Put a different thought in your head – an affirmation or a gratitude. A pattern has been established and we have to break it. Once you can change your thought pattern, your emotions and actions will follow. You get to decide because though you can’t control what pops in your head you do control what stays there. “

He nodded in agreement but said little else.

As we walked toward the church he said, “I hope you know the story here doesn’t end with me going back to church.”

“I understand,” was all I could say. I couldn’t force him and I wouldn’t want him to go that way. My faith carrying him had ended when he left my home. The God of his mother had to become his God and I had to leave room for Him to move and make that possible.

We found the little church in the basement of a larger, historic church. There was one room with about 100 folding chairs. I was impressed by the ethnic and generational diversity of the group.

We were twenty minutes early so we sat as the worship band warmed up. I placed my hand on Emerson’s back and prayed with my whole heart.

Oh God, I need you to show up in an unmistakable way. I got him here, now it is up to you. We need a road to Damascus moment. I need you to break down the walls and go straight to the heart of this boy. I bind the spirits of shame, oppression, abandonment in Jesus Name. They may not have my son. Give him peace, Lord. Give him strength. Please God, just reach him right here where he is. It is going to take something huge. I know him and I know he is a little stubborn at times. This is my hail Mary shot at the buzzer. I got him here, meet us Lord. Please, please, please God…show up for him in a way he will see, feel, and hear You. Please God. You’ve done it for me so many times and I am thankful. Please, God, please do that for him.

The worship part of the service was amazing. People in the East Village know how to worship unrestrained. People were dancing and clapping and lifting arms. Some were jumping. It was a beautiful, beautiful celebration to witness.

The Pastor got up and said he would be finishing his sermon series on evangelizing. My heart sunk. Had I missed it? What could possibly be in the sermon for Emerson about evangelizing? He was angry and even closed off to God. He was certainly not going to be telling people about his love for Him. My heart cracked a little more to realize I might have gotten it wrong. Maybe this was not the church where we were supposed to be. Maybe I missed my shot.

About two-thirds into the sermon the Pastor said, “If you haven’t been paying attention to my sermon listen up. This is the important part. We are to be bold. Joshua 1:9 tells us ‘Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”

The day Gary died Emerson had Joshua 1:9 as his memory verse for school. To help him remember I would put little Post-its around the house with that verse written. After Gary died those posts became love notes from God to me, reminding to be bold and be courageous and that He was with me still. He had not abandoned me.

I leaned over and whispered to Emerson, “That was your memory verse the day your dad died.” He nodded his head in agreement but I couldn’t tell if he had received the significance.

Was that it, God? Because no offense but I am not sure that was big enough.

I began to doubt myself again. Perhaps I was searching and placing too much meaning into things.

God, even if I missed it, You can still show up here. Please…show up.

The Pastor went on to talk about a very famous psychotherapist, Albert Ellis who discovered Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy. He said Ellis believed and taught the only way to get over your fear is to vigorously attack it. He gave an example and explained a study showed the second biggest fear we have just after death is the fear of public speaking. It makes logical sense that the only way to get over the fear of public speaking is to put yourself in the exact situation that makes you fearful and speak in public.

He went on to explain to get through fear you have to replace the thoughts with truth. He said thoughts become patterns and once you change those your feelings and behavior can follow. He said the exact words I used just an hour before in the coffee shop.

I began sobbing. I looked over at Emerson and saw more than a reflection of acknowledgement. He was shaken. There was no explanation other than His Spirit was trying every which way to speak directly to the heart of the pain my son held for so long.

After the sermon a young man got up to give a short testimony.

“I was dating a girl who had the most amazing three year old daughter. She could light up a room. After we were dating for fifteen months, the little girl was killed in a car accident. I stuffed my feelings. I tried to make sure everyone else was alright just so I didn’t have to deal with my own grief. I became depressed. I began wondering what the point of life was. I lost hope. But then my friend sent me a clip of a pastor speaking. So I went to Youtube and binge watched this guy. By the time I finished something in my heart clicked. I knew I could not do this alone. I knew I needed the Lord.”

The congregation applauded.

The Pastor concluded the service and invited everyone to stay for one last song before the next service began.

“Who am I that the Highest King would welcome me…

I was lost but He brought me in with His love for me, Oh His love for me…

Who the son sets free, is free indeed. I’m a child of God. Yes I am.

In my Father’s House, there is a place for me, I’m a child of God. Yes I am…

I am chosen, not forsaken, I am who You say I am…”

I lifted my arms praising the One who would show up at a little church in the East Village because of a mother’s desperate cry. The One who loves my son immensely. The One who really does leave the 99 to find the lost single beloved. The One who would go to the any length to draw us back to Him. The One who knew this was coming and already lined everything up from Robin’s vision to the Pastor’s sermon to the testimony to the worship music. The most brilliant conductor, He perfectly orchestrated plans well in advance in order to play this masterpiece just for us on this Sunday, February tenth. I was overwhelmed by what I had witnessed, heard, and felt. There was no mistaking it. There was no rationalizing or intellectualizing it. God showed up.

And when He shows up, everything changes.

We walked out of the church with me sobbing uncontrollably and Emerson visibly moved. One can not come so close to the Creator of the Universe and remain unchanged. As we walked up 7th Street toward 1st Avenue Emerson quietly said “Mom, I’ll be back next week. I can’t do this alone.”

My tears were streaming, my heart exploding, my soul soaring, my spirit praising.

We found a little Filipino restaurant, Mama Fina’s, and went in to have the food of our ancestors.

“I just felt safe there. Before church began when we were sitting there I kept hearing I have not been abandoned and I’m not alone,” Emerson said gently.

“That was God. You are not who you think you are. You are who He says you are,” I wept.

Emerson looked at me and his eyes were familiar once again. He said “I stole something from church.”

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a pebble. I noticed the rocks inside the church because I spilled a little bit of coffee and had trouble wiping it up because of the rocks. He laid it on the table.

Picking up the rock he said “Mom when I’m holding this rock I can still do things but it is only with one hand. I can shake your hand but I might have to move it from one hand to the other. I cannot fully engage if I’m holding this rock. It is limiting me. I have to put it down. I have to put shame, abandonment, all these terrible thoughts down so I can be entirely engaged with the world and I’m not encumbered by anything. So I’m going to hold on to this rock to remind me to put it down,” He paused. “Mom, I feel so soft.”

“Soft is good. Earlier you said brittle. Brittle breaks,” I said weeping.

“I am not going to break,” he said as I sighed in relief with my entire being.

As I drove away from New York City I was exhausted. I was emotionally and physically spent but spiritually overflowing. I have carried many things to the Cross throughout my life. I have placed so many parts of me, relationships, situations, dreams, hopes, failures, and sins at the feet of Jesus countless times.

This was the first time I had ever left my son at the Cross.

And God was faithful.

As I approached Afton Mountain, very close to home, the signs were lit up warning of dense fog. It was particularly so and I could only see a few feet in front of me, nothing at all to the right or left. I put my flashers on so others would know where I was. I could only concentrate as far as I could see and would focus on that spot, allowing the lights that lined the highway to help guide me. When I reached that spot I would look to the next. I became overwhelmed and felt unsafe when I tried to look further than visibility would allow. I had to trust that I could make it to the next safe spot and take the mountain in increments.

It perfectly illustrated my trip to New York, perhaps my life – just make it to the next safe spot and then keep going. Put your flashers on and ask for prayer. It is powerful. Stay within the lights that line the path. God will purpose your journey. You will arrive safely.

God will show up. And everything will change.

I waited patiently for the Lord to help me,
    and he turned to me and heard my cry.
He lifted me out of the pit of despair,
    out of the mud and the mire.
He set my feet on solid ground
    and steadied me as I walked along.
He has given me a new song to sing,
    a hymn of praise to our God.
Many will see what he has done and be amazed.
    They will put their trust in the Lord. Psalm 40:1-3

Hallelujah

April 12, 2019
Hidden

When I was a child my father had a dark room in our basement. If I close my eyes I can almost smell the chemicals. I would spend time with him there as he would dip a seemingly blank sheet of paper into trays of chemicals. As a child I was not interested in the particulars of the chemicals or the mechanism by which it worked. I just knew my loving father was creating something from nothing in darkness.

I remember not being able to discern what the picture would be until the process was complete and the light was turned on. I had to be very obedient and not turn the light on or open the door until he told me it was safe. If light entered at the wrong time it would over or under develop the photo and the perfection would have been lost.

I believe my Father creates His most magnificent, beautiful and miraculous masterpieces in what appears to be darkness. Yet darkness is not dark to God.

“Indeed, the darkness shall not hide from You, but the night shines as the day; the darkness and light are both alike to you.” Psalm 139:12

In Genesis we see God’s first work as He creates something out of nothing.

“Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.” Genesis 1:2

Hovering is defined as attending to and caring for; to keep lingering about; wait near at hand. As a mother, I understand this word well. When my children were infants I hovered. I was never far away enough that I would not know if they were hungry or tired or in need of changing. I waited near at hand. My oldest son, Emerson, might argue that I hover still.

From the very beginning of time and the written account of God, His presence in the darkness is assured. Not only that, it is not a passive presence. It is active. It is caring. It is tender. It is waiting.

Each of our lives began in the dark as God stitched us together in our mothers’ wombs. The progress is not perceptible on the outside but inside cells are dividing and organs are growing. Energy is being expended and growth is rapidly occurring. Yet outside of the dark womb the only evidence of growth is a slowly expanding belly.

My entire faith hinges upon a single event that occurred in complete darkness. Jesus’ resurrection took place in a cold, dark tomb meant for finality and death. As the Disciples scattered and hid in panic and fear, Jesus opened His eyes once again and saw nothing but darkness.

He tells me His perfect gifts are hidden in darkness.

In the darkroom of my soul, God is developing my picture. I am entirely unsure of what that picture will ultimately be, but I know it will be good. It will be glorious because I know the Hands of Him who holds me. Just because I can not see the progression does not mean it is not occurring. In the womb the progression, especially to the pregnant mother, is ever so gradual. In the tomb it was, I imagine, a split second. His eyes were closed and then they were opened. The amount of time to develop my picture is entirely at the discretion of my Father.

Still, at times I get anxious for the light to turn back on. I am ready to see the final product. God gently reminds me that my need for swiftness will not alter the time it takes for the picture to fully develop. Like the blank piece of photo paper soaking in developer, I let my faith drown me. I remember dark is not dark to my God.

I love spending time with my Father in His darkroom. If I close my eyes I can feel His Spirit. I don’t the mechanism by which He works, I just know my loving Father is creating something from nothing in darkness. He holds me gently and tenderly as the picture develops. He hovers. He tends to and cares for me. In His timing the light will be turned on and the brilliance of His unfailing love will leave me in awe of the masterpiece that came victoriously and triumphantly out of the darkness.

March 21, 2019
Of the Most High

The morning began in church. My new friends, Ann and Jim, found me and thanked me profusely for the clothes. I asked them to sit with me and they happily took seats. At the end of the service Ann put her hand on my back and lowered her head. She was praying for me. She who had nothing was praying for me and though I didn’t hear what her words were, I am quite certain it was the most beautiful prayer ever offered on my behalf.

I met Ann and Jim on Monday when my small group served dinner to those experiencing homelessness who were staying in our church for the week. After all the guests had a plate, I found a seat at their table. They shared with me their story of the last few months and how Jim had a medical crisis that left him out of work for a few months. The loss of income led to the loss of their home and the loss of their children. Thankfully, their kids were taken in by family but for some reason Ann and Jim were not. They each worked factory jobs. Ann complained that her hands hurt terribly from deboning chicken all day. I promised to return with some Tiger balm pain ointment to help.

As I drove home it occurred to me that I had unopened Tiger balm in my cabinet. It was there “just in case” but I had no imminent need for it. I had taken much too much for granted. This ointment stored in my cabinet that I did not even use was something another person desperately needed.

That night as I went to bed, I prayed differently than I normally do. I thanked God for my bed, my sheets, the heat in my house, the gas in my car, the clothes in my closet, the pantry filled with food, the Tiger balm in my cabinet. I thanked Him that I had the ability to anticipate unmet needs and I prayed for my new friends who could not meet existing needs.

There a million little things I take for granted each day and I am ashamed that it took meeting a couple who had only the clothes on their backs to remind me. But now, I will make an effort to not take them for granted and to be thankful for those million things that actually aren’t so little.

On Sunday evening some wonderful men from the church helped bring in the our popcorn machine from home. It was Superbowl Sunday and I thought popcorn would be necessary to have a proper party with the guests staying in my Father’s House. They began to come over before I even started the machine. I could tell it had been a while since they ate fresh popcorn like the kind from the movie theatre. They stood around and watched as the machine began pouring popcorn out of the kettle. I noticed one man looking a bit forlorn, not taking his eyes off the machine.

He looked up at me briefly and said, “When I was a kid there was one of these in our neighborhood hardware store,” and went back to gazing at the popcorn.

I wondered if that was a good memory or a bad one. Was he missing a simpler time when he had shelter and parents to care for him? Or was this a painful memory of a time that began the process that led him to the homeless shelter?

I could not know without prying so I just stood there in silence with him until I could hand him a bag of popcorn. He smiled, thanked me, and walked over to the soda table. Yet another luxury I take for granted. Soda. At the shelter they typically only have water or lemonade. It was a special occasion indeed because they had soda.

Dinner began with plenty of time to be sure everyone was settled by the time the Superbowl began. My mother made beef stew because, being an older Asian woman, she believes wholeheartedly that everyone needs a nutritious meal and pizza and wings do not cut it. The local Dominos donated 25 pizzas and 300 chicken wings were donated by two different restaurants. It was a feast.

I also brought jalapeno poppers and was surprised how many of the guests asked what they were. Most of them seemed to have never had them. My mind paused again. I usually eat them as an appetizer in a restaurant, another thing taken for granted. When was the last time I felt the full gratitude of being able to go into a restaurant and order not only a meal but an appetizer as well? Had I ever?

Eyes began to follow me as I put out the ice cream bar with all the fixings. These grown adults were like children making their own sundaes. It was a beautiful sight to see the laughing and giggling and, hopefully, forgetting the world if only for a brief moment.

Our culture is completely merit driven. We begin with our children, having them earn money from their chores. In school we earn good grades if we put in the work. As adults we earn raises or promotions. Often, who we are is entirely wrapped up in our ability to contribute something society deems “worthy.”

But what happens when you find yourself in a position to assist someone and you don’t know if they are able to receive it or are worthy as you imagine that to mean? As Christians, we do it anyway. Or we should do it anyway.

I have sat around tables with good Christian women who come up with a list of reasons they don’t give money or try to help those experiencing homelessness. “They just don’t want to work. They will just use it on drugs. They made poor decisions. They might be criminals. They have cell phones.”

And, honestly, I just want to scream. Jesus didn’t ask us to help those we deem worthy. He didn’t tell us to control what they do, only what we do. My ability to treat another with dignity, kindness, respect, and love has absolutely nothing to do with their ability to receive it.

During the week the shelter was at my church a hole was burned in my heart that there must more to being a disciple of Christ than just feeding the homeless for a week. Certainly, we are called to do more than put some food on their plate and send them to the next church. And the next. My belief system and my compassion demand more. If I am a child of the Most High I must do more.

I started small. I sat at dinner. I talked to them. I brought them clothes and gave them rides. Some became my friends. My youngest handed out “goodie bags” filled with candy and treats. We didn’t ask how or why they were homeless. We didn’t ask if they had a drug problem or owned a cell phone. We just showed them, I hope with all my heart, the love of Jesus. A love that is not based on who I am but who He is. A love I could never earn or deserve. A love despite my poor decisions, wanderings, and wickedness. A love that sees the lowest, nastiest parts of me and still does not cease. He pours out even more.

If I am a child of the Most High, how can I not endeavor to show the same?

February 4, 2019
My Father’s Voice

When I was a child and would ask my father the definition of a word he would never give me the answer. He would present me with another question.
“What do you think it means?” he would ask me.
I would reply “I don’t know. That is why I am asking.”
His next statement was always the same, everytime. “I will use it in a sentence.” After doing so he would pause and after a moment he would ask again “What do you think it means?”
I despised this routine. I just wanted him to tell me. I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want to have to figure it out. I just wanted the answers given to me. But I thought as a child. My father knew that I would learn the word better if I figured it out myself. He knew that he was training my brain to think. Though he could have given me the answer he gave me something even more valuable – the ability to find it myself.
When I became a mother and my oldest child first asked me a meaning of a word without even thinking I looked at him and said “What do you think it means?” I heard my father’s voice as I spoke his truth. The awful, wonderful, frustrating tradition continued.
When I find myself facing struggles and difficulties I will often ask God what does this mean? Just like my other father, He never just tells me the answer. He doesn’t say “My child, you are to learn to love well” or “I am training you to be strong for something else entirely that I know you will face” or “You need to show this person who drives you crazy who my Son is.”

God sits silent and in that silence I hear Him say, “What do you think it means?”
So often in life I am still very much like that child only now my father’s voice is my heavenly Father’s voice. I try to not ask him “why” something is happening. I learned long ago that the answer does not come and even if it did, how would that make any of it any better or the pain any less potent? Why was my child born with special needs? Why did my husband kill himself? Why must I raise my boys void of a father-figure?

Somethings must be born from the struggle. I am convinced struggle is a different soil. When watered with tears and sweat it will bear fruit that would, simply, not come to fruition any other way.

I zero in on the “What does this mean?” and “How will this define me?” and “How can this transform me?” questions.
I suspect that God wants me to truly, earnestly, and vehemently learn the lessons that He will bring out of horrible, difficult, impossible situations. Romans 8:28 is a Bible verse we who follow know well.
“And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose.”

But we often stop at that verse perhaps because it fits neatly on a coffee mug or book mark. However, it is the next verse that, to me, solves the mystery of what I am supposed to learn and exactly why and how God works all things for good…
²⁹For those whom He foreknew He also predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son, in order that he might be the firstborn among many brothers.

To be conformed to the image of His Son…

He doesn’t work all things for good so that we can have nicer cars or promotions or Facebook perfect lives. The answer to the “what does this mean” question is never something my flesh would crave but something my spirit desperately needs. It is so that I will be more like Jesus. The kicker is, I have to let Him. I have to be willing to zero in on things of eternal import.

Why was my child born with special needs? I do not know. What have I learned from it? Patience, resolve, kindness, perseverance, how to choose joy, unconditional love, and the list goes on. Why did the heartache of my husband’s death pass through God’s hands and why did He allow it to happen? I do not know that either. What have I learned from it? God is faithful. He is close to the broken hearted. He is the defender of the widow. His promises are true. He restores what was lost, perhaps not in the way we expect or desire, but we are blessed by the restoration. That list goes on as well.

I believe that God sits in silence sometimes even when I am the child demanding answers precisely because the answer must be attained so that I can learn it on a soul level. It must be ingrained into who I am so that it is natural for me to take what I have learned and utilize it with confidence because it is mine. I have ownership. I can use it to help others and I can allow God to use it to transform me ever so gradually into the image of His beloved Son. As Christians, that is the ultimate goal after all…to hear our Father’s voice and be transformed, glory to glory.

January 16, 2019
Waves

I was at Topsail Island, North Carolina last week. At the very last-minute, I came across a round, blue home that had not been booked the very week I needed it. The home was half price and right on the beach. It would be our last vacation before my oldest leaves for his freshman year in college and my youngest begins kindergarten. It will be an autumn of change and letting go, in varying degrees, for me.

Listening to the sound of the crashing waves and the ocean air puts my soul at rest like nothing else. I love being places where I can see with utmost clarity how small I really am. Standing at the shore gives me perspective, humility, and awe. It draws me closer to the One who created it.

On our first day here, my six-year-old Nathan was terrified of the waves. I’m sure to a little one they are overwhelmingly large and powerful. Indeed, when I crouched down to his size I could see how much larger the waves appeared. Fearful, he would not go in any further than his shins.

By the second day he went in further but had to be holding on to me the entire time. He wrapped his little arms around my neck as if his life depended on it. It was a balancing act that challenged these old bones but I managed to keep our heads above the water.

On the third day he became a little more brave. We went in where it was above his head and he let go of me but insisted I hold on to him. He began laughing and giggling as the waves crashed over us. Every once in a while he would check to be sure I was holding his life jacket. He felt safe because he knew I was there.

By the fourth day there my little guy found his courage. He began to swim away from me and tackle the waves on his own. For quite a while I stood behind him to be sure he would not get swept away. I watched with wonder as he figured out when to jump and when to dive. As we both gained confidence I could stop worrying that he would not be able to handle the waves. I even began jumping in with him. We laughed and played together. He would make sure I was alright when the waves overtook me. He even began to help me back up.

But the day will come all too soon when he, like his oldest brother Emerson who is in this picture, will face the waves without me. He will use what he has learned to, with daring, go in on his own.

Seemingly just yesterday this man would not let go of me. In 10 days I will take him to New York City to begin his freshman year at New York University. He will face unknown seas. He will push through anxiety and fear. He will learn and adjust. He will find his balance. He will stumble. He will excel. He will live life in a way, up until this point, he has not known.

He is a strong swimmer. He will never give up. I just pray he has the wisdom to know when to jump over, into, under and with the waves. He faces them now with me on the shore, still watching and cheering him on but no longer right at his side. I am close enough to help if he needs but far enough for him to find his own rhythm. He will likely experiment in finding his own way but I know the foundation of what has been taught. I know his muscle memory will carry him even if he doesn’t know it.

As he ventures in, some of the waves will catch him and pull him under but he will stand back up. Life taught him well. He has the strength and endurance because at such a tender age the waves of suicide and grief came crashing in and could have overtaken him but God would not allow it. Though at times we fought what felt like tsunamis, his arms were around me as mine were around our Father’s neck.

So go forth with boldness, my sweet son. Dive deep. Float on your back. Soak in the sun and dance in the rain. Know how and when to conquer your waves. If you are going to be tossed in them, you might as well smile. Choose joy. Choose love. Choose well.

Breathe deeply. Let your heart be soft. Fall madly in love but always come home for Thanksgiving. Be careful with other people’s hearts. Hold them tenderly. Look for those who might need help as they are caught in waves. Take their hands and swim with them. Help them stand. Let them see the hope that they too can be unconquerable.

Be brave. Find your own stride. Make mistakes but learn from them. Everything is redeemable and nothing is wasted. I could never love you less. Come home and rest. Run home for refuge. You are not alone. You are my heart and the bond that was forged before you even knew air shall never ever waver.

To use your own words:

“The life we anticipated wasn’t the one we got, and for a while we were at sea, enduring tempests of abandonment and loss. It is easy to look at us – a widow, a divorced grandmother, three fatherless sons and say we don’t have a home. But we do. We have the same scars, same fears, and the same hopes because we’ve been battered by the same storms, and we all sail on the same tattered but triumphant ship… Home is imperfect people challenging each other’s imperfections because beyond the scars and gnarls and twists, they see something true and beautiful in each other, something beyond what the world has done to them, something that can never be taken away. Home is the shelter of the human soul. We all want to go home.”

You will find other homes. My prayer is that you find your description of home many times in many people. But know, dear son, that my heart is a steadfast home for you. It is tattered but triumphant. It is worn but soft. It is strong. It is your always home until I draw my last breath.

If anyone was ever ready to swim alone, it is you. The world awaits. The world needs you so desperately. Swim, my son. Swim with all your heart and as if you have nothing to prove and nothing to lose.

For even the wind and waves know His Name. And He knows yours. He knows it well.

August 17, 2018
Embracing Our Brokenness

I recently had the honor of sharing my testimony with the Ministry for Women at my church. The audio is below.

I’m sharing mostly because friends had asked to hear but, honestly, I can’t figure out how to share it with anyone who does not have gmail.

At any rate, this is part of my story. I hope it blesses His heart

August 16, 2018
The Maintenance Man

I pulled up to the massive school. The outside was pristine and beautiful but I could not tell where the entrance was to the theater. As I drove around the building for the second time I noticed a maintenance man wrestling with a ladder so I rolled down my window.

“Excuse me, I’m trying to find the main entrance,” I said.

He looked confused.

“My son is performing today. Where is the theatre in this school?”

He looked at me and then glanced around the school.

“Ya know, I’ve been here ten years and I have no idea. I always work on the outside. We never go inside,” he said almost apologetically.

I drove away and around the building another time when I finally noticed the camp counselors trying to direct parents but the man’s words stayed with me.

For ten years he only worked on the outside of the building. He never went inside.

I arrived early and those who know me will attest that is not unusual. I found the restroom and was surprised to see the state of the inside of the school. The pipes were rusty and paint was peeling. It did not at all match the near perfect outside.

When the outside is glorious an expectation that the inside is equally marvelous is created. Inevitably, disappointment creeps in as you begin to see that the inside does not match the outside, not even close.

I believe there is a pervasive notion in the Christian world that our outside needs to appear perfect. For, if we love Jesus we must have it “all together.” We can spend an entire decade caring for the outside without ever stepping inside. We aren’t sure what rooms are even in our hearts. We never peer in ourselves, let alone allow others the opportunity to see the messiest of our rooms.

In a complete moment of honesty, I would say most of us have mismatched exteriors and interiors. I know I do. Like the maintenance man I met, so much attention and detail is given to what others can see and I push things under the bed and into dusty corners. Eventually, though, someone will either be invited in or, perhaps, wander.

He will ask about a room in my heart and I’ve spent so much time neglecting it, I’m not even sure where it is or how to get there. Unlike other guests, He knows exactly where the rooms are and what is in them.

“It is this way,” He says, “let’s clean it up.”

He opens the door and I can’t see anything but clutter. I see broken pieces everywhere.

“It is too messy,” I tell Him.

He picks up a piece.

“We can do this, one piece at a time,” He reassures me.

Gradually because of His patience and my perseverance, the room is livable.

He leads me to the next room and opens the door.

“I don’t want to clean this one,” I tell Him trying to shut the door. “This is where I keep my secrets.”

“We must. Do you not see how much they have grown? They only gain in power in this darkness. They will bust out the windows and the doors. They will overtake the entire house. We must make room for what I want to put here but it is a big job. You will need help for this one, someone to come along side you. Someone who will check on the progress and help keep you on task. Let’s bring in a friend who will stay with you,” He tells me lovingly as He throws open the shades.

We have been working so much on the inside that the outside is starting to look worn. I ask Him if we can work on the outside, the part people see.

“It is all right,” He tells me. “We are making them match.”

It is a long, painstaking process. Room by room He opens the doors and shows me what needs to be done. Sometimes I am obedient. Other times I fight Him. Eventually, I surrender.

Some rooms stay neat and orderly. Others require constant dusting and arranging. He shows me each time what needs to be done.

The outside becomes more worn as the inside becomes more inviting. My exterior begins to match my interior. I open the doors, unashamed of the outer appearance and the interior’s condition. It is ready for guests to enter. It is ready for others to see. I am ready to share how, by the Grace of God and love of Christ, my house is restored. I share with them what it looked like before so they can know how it came to look as it does. I tell them I might need assistance keeping the rooms tidy. I ask for help. I offer to help with theirs.

Like every house, though, constant maintenance is required. Now, however, I don’t leave the maintenance man outside. I invite Him in. Each and every day.

July 2, 2018
Two Crosses

As Easter approaches I have been thinking about the Cross. To the Romans, at that time, it was a means to inflict the most shame and send a resounding message of defeat. They had several methods of capital punishment but reserved crucifixion to leave a lingering message to their enemies. It was the most painful and disgraceful punishment in an arsenal that included strangulation, stoning, and burning.

Yet the lingering message the crucifixion of Jesus was not what the Romans intended. As Christians we do not see shame, defeat, or disgrace when we look at a Cross, the symbol of our faith. We see redemption and resurrection. We see victory. We see love so great that even death could not consume it.

Growing up in the Christian world I have heard, “we all have our cross to bear” countless times. In Luke 9:23 Jesus says “And He said to all, If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.”

However, “we all have our cross to bear” was almost always said to me with a negative connotation. We use it when discussing hardship or challenge. The image it would immediately bring to my mind is Jesus carrying His cross up that hill to die.

But what if that is the wrong image of the cross I bear? Am I thinking of the Roman cross or Jesus’ Cross? Upon the Roman cross is nailed a punishment but upon my Jesus’ cross there is an invitation, the sweetest of proposals. What man meant for torture and shame only by the power of God was transformed to give life and promises both for now and eternity. What was meant to kill a movement changed the entire world and every heart for those who truly believe.

My thoughts about the cross of Jesus turn to my own personal cross. What is that one thing that was meant to, or could have, destroyed me but by the power and Grace of a loving God became my triumph?

I live in a complicated, beautiful world of special needs and autism. I can’t recall the specific moment I went from being a timid, frightened mother to a banner waving, “wohoo special needs is awesome” kind of mom. It was a natural progression and at some indescribable moment the cross I carried was transformed from a death sentence to a life promise. I discovered that the cross I bear doesn’t have to be the one society gave me but must be the one God intended for me.

My mind and my heart made the decision that my cross would represent life and love and power. My faith allowed God the opportunity to give me the ability to accomplish this. Special needs could have destroyed who I was instead of transforming me into who I was meant to be.

Make no mistake, it is a difficult world in which we who love someone with special needs live. We often feel isolated and different because we are. Other mother’s of teenagers are busy going to basketball games or track meets. I am going to every sensory friendly event offered and doctor appointments with every specialist. I am often exhausted. Everything others take for granted can be and often is an overwhelming challenge to my family.

It is not easy. It is impossible to not be changed by living in the world of special needs. It is possible to decide what sort of change will take place.

The world in which we live is colorful. It is filled with hugs and joy. It isn’t about the fact that my son cannot speak, it is about the fact that he speaks with no words. Everything others take for granted can be and often is an overwhelming victory for my family. It is life amplified. The lows are heartbreaking but the highs are found in heights I could only appreciate by having a child like mine.

I do not choose whether or not I will bear a cross, I choose what my cross looks like and how I carry it. I decide whether or not it will represent shame and disgrace or the glorious promise that God works all things for good. I alone can cast my eyes down in despair or raise my chin and hold my head high.

What is the cross you must bear? Is it abandonment? Your addiction? The death of a loved one? A medical diagnosis? Mental health struggles? Guilt? Will it be a cross of shame that you hang upon despondent and alone? Or will it be a cross of promise for all to see and perhaps extract hope for themselves?

The important part to remember is the cross you bear doesn’t have to be a cross of disgrace just because society deems it so. It can become the cross of redemption, resurrection, and victory because God deems it so. He deemed it on Calvery and He deems it in your situation.

It is entirely up to you to choose which cross you will carry. The rest is up to God and He never fails.

March 21, 2018