I Will Never Forget -- part two

I know you’ve been waiting on tenterhooks for part two of my 9/11 recollections. At long last here it is. In case you missed part one, you can read it here.

It’s been nine years since that infamous day—September 11, 2001. Two weeks ago, my kids had off school and we decided to spend the day in New York. For a change from our usual Midtown excursion, we took the Staten Island Ferry which landed us a the bottom of Manhattan. My mom joined us and we started our day with a visit to Ground Zero and St. Paul’s cathedral.

While still a working church, St. Paul’s has become a place of remembrance visited by millions of people each year. The exhibits memorialize the amazing place of hope and healing St. Paul’s became for rescue workers, firemen, policemen, families and a city in mourning. During the eight month relief ministry, nearly every surface of the more than 200-year-old chapel was covered in well wishes, cards, and banners sent from around the country and the world. And over 5,000 volunteers from all over the country staffed St. Paul’s 24/7.

Emotions are still close to the surface and many who walked among the 9/11 displays in the chapel became teary-eyed and a few wept openly. I, too, was transported back to the emotions I experienced while working at St. Paul’s on that one January night. The shock. The disbelief. The devastation. But the overwhelming sense of goodness, love and God’s presence.


One exhibit highlighted the herculean task of coordinating the army of volunteers. Since our church had sent teams of volunteers I was especially interested. The enlarged volunteer planning calendar on display was from January 2002.

Wait, Dan and I were here that month.

I scanned the dates and saw my church, “Woodside Presbyterian” listed three times. I called over my mom and kids to share my findings.

“Look at the 6th. That’s when Dad and I came here to help. And Woodside’s listed two more times this month.”

I was proud for the reminder that I was there and that I’m part of a church that's actively Jesus' hands and feet. In a small way we made a difference. I know my efforts during my 12-hour shift were just a speck in the relief effort, but I saw what I saw, and it changed me.

A quote on the display says it better: “People went in there and worked for 12 hours, and then walked out and said, ‘This may be the most important 12 hours I’ve ever spent in my life.’”

September 11 was a tragedy of unfathomable proportions. We as a nation and as a people became a shining example of the Church in action. God’s people were in need and we, collectively, rose up to respond. If nothing else, 9/11 demonstrated our capacity for selfless love. For sacrificial kindness. And for generous compassion.

I saw with my own eyes our ability to do the incredible.

Yet, isn’t this what Jesus calls us to do EVERY day? Not just in response to catastrophes like 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, the earthquake in Haiti or the latest crisis du jour.

We are still those people who dropped everything and said, “Here am I. Send me.” But where are we? Where am I?

The world needs us. They need our kindness. Our compassion. Our generosity. And our love—in the name of Jesus. We don’t even have to leave our communities to find God’s people crying out—in poverty, homelessness, hunger, AIDS, addiction, illiteracy and sickness. How are we responding to these everyday tragedies that don’t garner headlines or media attention?

In the 16 hours (including travel time) I ent usiastically volunteered at Ground Zero couldn’t I:

• Bring a bag of groceries to a single mom
• Build at Habitat for Humanity
• Volunteer at a food pantry or soup kitchen
• Tutor children at a homeless shelter
• Visit a shut-in
• Write a letter to a prisoner.
• Send a card of encouragement to a friend with cancer.

What could you do?

Heroic responses to catastrophes make great storytelling. They inspire and excite. Yet aren't our small, seemingly unremarkable acts of love every bit as extraordinary to a Savior who calls us to love in His name?

In a parable He teaches His followers: “For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.”

“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’”

“The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’”(Matthew 25:35-40) 

Isn’t this the very thing we must never forget—and act upon?

I Will Never Forget -- part one

It was a spectacular early fall morning. The sun sparkled in a cloudless sky. Low humidity and a light breeze hinted at the cooler days to come. I’d just dropped my son off for his first day of preschool and headed off to meet friends for coffee. We gathered to catch up and celebrate our preschoolers’ first day of school—and the few hours of free time we’d now have three days a week.

We eased into comfortable conversation. Customers came and went, and the time passed pleasantly. Life was good in our comfortable suburban community.

Little did we know that as we chatted about our kids and play dates and how to get a fussy eater to eat anything green, 65 miles north of us, a tragedy of unfathomable proportions was happening. And we’d remember this morning for the rest of our lives.

At 8:46 a.m. a hijacked airplane crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center. Seventeen minutes later a second plane crashed into the South Tower. These never-before-experienced acts of terrorism altered our country forever.

I’m sure you, too, know where you were that day.

Seventeen people in our community were killed in 9/11 and my church family felt deeply connected to this tragedy. In the months following they sent teams of volunteers to St. Paul’s Chapel.

Front gate of St. Paul's Chapel. Photo: www.trinitywallstreet.org

Situated on the edge of Ground Zero, St. Paul’s became a pilgrimage site for the grieving and seeking. Weary construction workers, policemen and firefighters sought refuge inside as an army of volunteers provided meals, counseling, supplies, chiropractic/podiatry care, and sometimes just a hug and a smile. The chapel was transformed into a place of peace, rest and reconciliation.

In early January 2002, Dan and I went with a team from our church to work the overnight shift at St. Paul’s. For twelve hours we helped serve food, distribute supplies and control entry into the chapel. I remember little of what I did that night, but I will never, ever forget what I saw.

Ground Zero exuded raw emotion. Grief, shock and despair intermingled with hope, compassion and peace. The fence surrounding St. Paul’s had become a tribute to 9/11 victims. Loved ones, friends and strangers covered the iron fence surrounding the property with flowers, candles, cards, stuffed animals, pictures, flags and mementos. Inside the chapel, sympathy cards, pictures, posters and banners—made mostly school children—covered every bit of wall space and the backs of pews. Children even donated teddy bears to comfort workers.

The relief ministry of St. Paul’s testified to a remarkable and interwoven story of selfless giving, random acts of kindness and unending compassion. Thousands of people came to volunteer, and it seemed that every family and every school child in America had sent some expression of comfort in response to 9/11. It wasn’t a New York or an East Coast tragedy. It was a universal one, and the entire country shared a collective shock and grief.

It would have been so easy for Ground Zero to become a place of hate. Of bitterness. And revenge. Surprisingly, and incredibly quickly, it became the opposite. It became a place of grace. The unlikely reaction to acts of pure evil was an outpouring of pure love—love that set aside religious differences, racial prejudices, economic inequities and socio-economic divides. Love that came together to mourn, to console, to feed, to soothe, to cry and even to laugh. Love that showed the best of humanity in response to the worst of it. There was no question of where God was. He was there in that church. I have never experienced the totality of His perfect love in such a powerful way before or since.  

If I hadn’t witnessed it with my own eyes I might not believe it. But I did. And I do.

To be continued...

Love Lockdown

I wrote this over at Exemplify Online. I hope you'll follow me there.

Comfort.

I love it. I seek it. I strive to maintain it.

I want comfortable shoes. A comfy bed. Comfort-controlled climates. Comfort foods. Cups of comfort. Comfort zones. And comfortable relationships.

Stress? Conflict? Affliction? Suffering? No thanks.

In suburban America we place a high value on things that make us feel safe, secure and contented. We avoid, eliminate, alleviate and medicate that which causes us discomfort. And it’s not just that we want comfortable lives, we feel we’re entitled to them. When our comfort gets breached, we get protective, frustrated or angry.

The problem is that Jesus doesn’t promise circumstantial comfort for His followers—at all. In fact the Good News seems to promotes the opposite.  

“Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.” (Luke 6:20)
“In this world you will have trouble…” (John 16:33a)
“For it has been granted to you on behalf of Christ not only to believe on him, but also to suffer for him.” (Philippians 1:29)
“If a man shuts his ears to the cry of the poor, he too will cry out and not be answered.” (Proverbs 21:13)

Jesus didn’t spend his ministry in the comfy digs of his four-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bath suburban Jerusalem home and expect folks to come to Him. He didn’t pen volumes to educate His students. He didn’t form committees to debate social reform. He didn’t sit on His throne and order His subjects to serve Him.

Jesus was a man of action and compassion. He brought His anointed touch, loving spirit and words of truth to where the masses didn’t want to go. To the sick, the lame, the brokenhearted, the cast out, the prisoners, the small, the weak and the marginalized.

And to His disciples He said, “Follow me.”

He says the same to us. When I read between the lines, I hear Jesus asking, “Will you follow Me even if it means leaving the confines of your comfort? Are you willing to step out of your self-made sanctuary and enter into uncomfortable circumstances, places or relationships in my name? Into the dirty, pungent, unknown, unfamiliar, strife-filled, potentially embarrassing and sometimes scary.

Am I? 

For a long while I replied, “Lord, I want to follow you, but can I stay close to the safety and familiarity of my own life?”

This past year God’s answer has been a resounding, “No!” As a result He’s led me off my map big time. He has taken me into a hospice, a prison, a chemotherapy suite, a slum, the mission field and most recently a Haitian refugee camp. Each situation was emotionally and physically far from my comfort, experience and qualifications; yet in each,  Jehovah Jirah ("The Lord will provide"), gave me the ability to do what He called me to do. Sometimes doing nothing more than loving in His name.

These experiences leave me awe-filled and thankful because in them I saw God—and His children—far more vividly and powerfully than I ever had in the comfort of my middle-class life.

Jesus says, “Freely you have received, freely give.” (Matthew 10:8) Unleash your fears and trust me.
Our Savior is in dark corners, in the messy, the broken and the ailing. When we follow Him there, He will break us. Fill us. Use us.

And we will never be the same again.

Are you willing to follow Jesus where He calls you—wherever that is? If not, what's holding you back?

Love. It's All You Need.

It was still our last day at Camp Hope. I’d just finished sewing a big hole in a tent and our work seemed to be done. Jude led me to one of the tent schools. The children were inside having their lessons for the day. He went into the tent and motioned for me to come inside and sit down. Since we’d visited the schools a few days prior I wasn’t exactly sure what Jude had in mind. I don’t think the teachers were sure either.

I sat on the tent floor looking at the thirty or so students and they sat looking at me. Jude worked to seal a tent seam with duct tape, but didn’t need my help. Hmm, now what? I thought.

“Will you sing a song?” I asked in French that probably came out more like, “Sing me.” Regardless they must have understood because, as if rehearsed for such an occasion, the kids started to sing. Led by their teachers their sweet voices lifted up Jesus Loves Me, He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands, Glwa Pou Bondye (a Haitian worship song our group had learned that week, and sung dozens of times) and a few others I’d heard lilting from the school tents while we’d worked in the camp. They sang and sang and sang. So loudly at times my ears hurt.

I sang along, clapped, laughed and soaked in the incredibly beautiful scene. The children looked so happy. Even though others stood outside the tent and looked in, the moment felt incredibly personal. Like God had chosen me alone to receive such a gift. It was a time of lightness and joy and love. When the children’s last notes floated up to and past the roof of the tent, I applauded and said through tear-soaked eyes, “Thank you.”

And then I did something so unlike me. Something so unusual for my reserved nature that measures oh, so much of what I express. I knelt before the children and opened my arms out wide in a symbolic embrace. “Je t’aime,” I said (I love you). To my surprise they all crushed forward to hug me. All of them. I remember their giggles and how I used all the strength I had so they wouldn’t flatten me.

God’s love is something I read about, I write about and I talk about. But it isn’t something I often feel applies to me directly. Others maybe, but not me. Yet in that tent, in the middle of a scrum of hugging, Haitian children, I sensed God telling me, “I love you—YOU!” And I believed Him.

I realize that experience confirmed a truth that overarches all of life: We were made to love and be loved by God. And we were made to love and be loved by others. When we live out this truth, it doesn’t matter our circumstances, geography, economics, race, gender or age because it is well with our souls.

In a refugee camp, in one of the poorest countries in the world, after one of the largest disasters ever, one of the most beautiful pieces of scripture took on flesh and became real:

“No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8: 37-39)

And this picture proves it. (Yes, that’s me):

God loves YOU this much, too. Do you believe Him?

Haiti and Me - Part 1

Haiti was not what I expected.

I expected to witness a medical crisis.

The Good Samaritan hospital complex on the border in the Dominican Republic where Foundation for Peace relief teams stay had become a major trauma centers for quake victims. In the weeks prior to our arrival thousands of patients crowded its hallways; flowed through its operating rooms for amputations, external fixators, wound care and skin graphs; and recovered in tents on its grounds. Too many took their last breath there.

Teams of medical professionals from all over the US and the world came to volunteer. Helicopters regularly landed on the grounds of Good Samaritan to airlift patients to and from area trauma “centers.”Healthy family members pitched in and helped as they could. Some acted as translators.

Tensions between Haiti and the Dominican Republic are deep and long lasting. The DR had played the good neighbor long enough and they wanted all the patients back in Haiti. By the time we arrived in Jimani the last patient was being transported from the hospital. The complex was eerily vacant with little clues for the traumatic scenes that transpired only weeks before.

 (Click here to see a newly-produced video of the hospital in action during the early weeks. It's awesome.)

I expected to see physical devastation.

But we worked far enough east of Port-au-Prince that the earthquake hadn’t affected that area directly. All the buildings I saw were intact. It seemed people went about their day-to-day business. Markets at the border bustled with people selling and buying all types of wares.


I expected despair and discouragement.

The refugee camp where we worked during the day—American Refugee Committee’s (ARC) Camp Hope in Fond Parisien—holds over 500 people who live in tents (many donated by Eddie Bauer!)—some with families, some all alone. Most are post medical and have healed, or are healing, from the injuries they sustained in the earthquake. The more serious cases and the amputees are still in a medical camp—Love a Child—down the road.

The people in Camp Hope are starting to reclaim a sense of normalcy. A community committee has been formed so that the Haitians are running the day-to-day of their camp. Workers from camp and from town are being paid to dig latrine trenches, dig wells, build, repair and teach. Newly-bored wells provide safe water to drink, cook with and wash with. Four tents serve as classrooms and the children go to school each day. One tent houses a a medical clinic where volunteer doctors and nurses attend to waiting patients. Nurses even travel through the camp to make sure those with more serious injuries are receiving proper follow-up care.

Plans are being made by outside agencies involved with Camp Hope to provide cooking areas and more permanent structures for the refugees to live in. I sense this camp will become a model for other tent communities scattered all over Haiti.

If Haiti wasn't what I expected, what was it to me? You’ll have to come back tomorrow for more of the story.


To be continued…

Scenes from Haiti - Part 1

Even though I stayed safely within the comfort of my home and community, the reality from Haiti was very much in my life yesterday.

I had the privilege of spending hours speaking with friends who have just returned from their mission trip (with the Foundation for Peace) to Haiti. Through their words and tears and our shared prayers I saw the immensity of the brokenness and loss. But I also saw the tremendous hope of the Haitians, not hope of a bright future, but hope in a God who loves and a Savior who saves.

Now my husband is in Haiti. Though the marvels of texting, I heard from him yesterday. It was his team's first day of real work. He was really looking forward to getting busy and being useful. The plan was to go into one of the refugee tent camps and dig latrines and build showers, just the thing he hoped to do. But not enough people volunteered to stay behind to do patient transport in the hospital (moving patients to and from OR, recovery, x-ray, tents). So Dan volunteered

My husband is a doer. If a problem needs fixing, he wants to help fix it. I knew the last place he wanted to be was in the hospital among the patients. In fact here's what Dan texted me the night before:

Change of plans. Not enough hands went up to do patient transport tomorrow so I took it. Was a little chapped at first cause u know how much I love the sweat and the dirt. Now I think it's God telling me to do what I fear and do not understand...patient care and empathy. When I came here I prayed to hear God's voice. I hope I heard right! I'll feel sad watching the bus pull away tomorrow. Won't dig latrines until Wednesday. It can wait. Got to learn something here I think.

Yesterday here at home we covered Dan and his team with prayer. On many occasions and with heartfelt passion. He texted me mid-day and all was going well in the hospital. He learned some Haitian Creole, watched a surgery and made a friend with his little Haitian buddy Peter. It seemed the day was fairly quiet and uneventful.

I'm beginning to sense that calm and normal are a fleeting commodity in Haiti.

At the end of the day I sat in my car outside my daughter's voice teacher as she took a lesson. (No, my daughter won't let me inside to listen!) Dan sent me a text:

Little baby was just rushed in--dehydrated and in shock. Was watching them treat him when they called it. Giving him morphine now so he's at least comfortable on his way to the Lord. Pray for him. 

The mother just asked the doctors to work for 10 more minutes then it would be in God's hands. She wanted to hold him until he died. The doctors just finished. While they worked I was in the hallway watching while parents were singing praise songs across the hall. I'd heard about the Haitians faith and now I've seen it. I'm humbled. I think I have faith. I don't.

After reading I sat in my car and sobbed. For the baby. For the mother. For all the parents losing children. For my husband who was there. For all the sadness and suffering. And most of all for the goodness of God, visible even in the darkness.

Last night was a prison night. After the day I'd had I knew I had to go no matter what! Lately my visits to the prison have been disappointing because the spirit of disruption and disrespect have overshadowed the worship. But last night, from the first inmates who walked in I knew the Spirit of God was in control. The inmates came to praise and praise we did!

During the service I had a chance to share with them about the experiences of my friends and husband in Haiti. As I spoke about the situation there, the complete loss and utter brokenness, the room was still and all eyes focused on me. I shared about Dan and the little baby. And the unwavering faith of the Haitians who despite having absolutely nothing still proclaim victory in Jesus. He is their portion. It's hard to describe, but it was a holy moment. Not because of my words, but because the Spirit of Truth testified to God's goodness and faithfulness.

To be continued tomorrow...

Who, Me?

I'm posting at Exemplify Online today where you can read this entire devotional. 
 

“No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.” (1 John 4:12)

Missionaries. For most of my life I pictured them toiling away in the deepest, darkest jungles of the Amazon basin converting savages. They’d spend their days in hostile environments, eat bugs and monkey brains, sleep in huts, dodge piranhas and risk their lives to spread God’s word. Honestly, I wondered why anyone would say “yes” to such a job.

Then I became a Christian and started looking at life differently. Phrases like “finding your purpose” and “following God’s will” suddenly crept into my reality. I wanted to live a life that pleased God and wondered how I might serve Him. Then one day a shiver of dread put the brakes on my enthusiasm as my greatest fear sprang to mind, “What if God calls me to be a missionary?!”

For a while I packed my schedule so full that I made sure if God called, I’d be too busy to answer. Yet, the more my faith grew, the more missionary experiences intrigued me. For one thing, I found out they don’t just work in the jungles; but serve all over the globe (even in the United States!). And the ones I’ve met fascinate and impress me. Their stories speak to my wanderlust and passion for the gospel.

Each summer our church sends a group of missionaries to the Dominican Republic. For years I sat in the pews on Mission Sunday and heard their testimonies. Each time I said, “Some day I’m going to do that.” Yet, although my husband joined the past two trips, the time never seemed right for me. Until this year.

This past January when organizers asked for commitments to the 2009 trip, it seemed God cleared the way not only for me, but for my husband and children to go as well. The fact that I might go on a mission trip was a hope—that we will go as a family is a dream come true.
For months we’ve hurdled passport, immunization, planning and most of all, fundraising obstacles. And now, in two days we’ll be in “the DR” working alongside our fellow missionaries.

During our time there we’ll start construction on a church, hold VBS, run a medical clinic, and worship with our Dominican brothers and sisters in a community very different from our own.
Our days will be long and our work tiring. Am I nervous? Yes. But I trust God has a plan to grow, stretch and take each of us deeper into his love. Because that’s how God works. He doesn’t need us to do any of the things we’re setting out to do (He is all powerful after all), but instead wants us to be part of the process. He gives us the glorious opportunity to build His kingdom, one brick and one soul at a time—dispensers and recipients of His amazing grace.

Turns out, as followers of Christ we’re ALL missionaries called to “love one another” (John 13:34) and “go to the people of all nations and make them [Jesus’] disciples.” (Matthew 28:19) God’s call may indeed take us to remote locations, but more likely our mission field is no further than our own backyards—the playground, our workplace, the bus stop, our book club, a homeless shelter, a tutoring center or even the Internet.

It’s not where we travel, but that we do. And that when God nudges, prompts and plants thoughts that just won’t go away, we say “OK, Lord. I’ll go.” And don’t be surprised if what you end up doing is the very thing to which you once said, “Who, me? Never!”

God’s funny like that.

To what mission field is He leading you?

Lord, give me the courage to share the Good News boldly and passionately through my words, but especially through my actions. Give me ears to hear your call, feet to follow and a voice to say, “Yes.” Amen.


P.S. Thanks for your warm response to my very first post. It was such a blessing to see old friends and meet new ones. I look forward to traveling this journey with you.

Lightning Strikes Close to Home

Last Wednesday a violent thunderstorm had rolled through, causing anyone caught outside to run for cover as torrential rain, heavy winds, hail and lightning pummeled our region. By the time the storm ended over 13,000 lightning bolts hit the Philadelphia area. One of them, struck close to home.

As a babysitter ran for safety with her young charge in her arms, a bolt of lightning hit the tall evergreen they were passing. It traveled through the wet ground and into her, through her arms and into the toddler she was carrying. They both were thrown to the ground.

This happened at a local pool—the one my family belongs to.

I received the news shortly after it occurred and was devastated to learn tragedy had pierced the blissful bubble of our family pool. Our swim club is a special place where time’s stood still. Families gather throughout the summer to barbecue on the weekends, socialize on Friday nights, find respite from the heat and cheer for our kids during swim meets. There is a sense of home and belonging you don’t often find.

My heart ached for the parents who received the phone call, “Come right away. There’s been an accident.” For the young lifeguards who witnessed the horror and responded with a professionalism beyond their years. And for the parents who pitched in to help, knowing it could have been one of their own children.

Immediately I sent an email to the ladies in my Bible study asking them to pray. I learned later dozens and soon hundreds of others were doing the same thing. The gates of heaven were stormed with prayers.

It seems those prayers were answered. Miraculously, the little boy seems to be fine and the babysitter was released from the hospital after a few days.

The after-effects of this freak accident have inspired many. Instead of the typical finger pointing and naming blame that often arise after a tragedy, prayer and praise have enveloped the incident. Everyone involved has pulled together to support one another. And our already close-knit pool is even closer.

At last night’s swim team banquet, the lifeguards were publicly praised and recognized for their exceptional response. The parents of the toddler thanked their pool family for the blanket of prayers in which they were wrapped. By the end, there was hardly a dry eye in the house. Afterward I spoke to the toddler’s mom. She said she was overwhelmed by outpouring of God’s love and the miracle she witnessed.

Sometimes bad things happen. They just do. But in the midst of this horror, God turned it all for His glory. Each display of love, each act of kindness and each prayer were like stones tossed in a pond causing His goodness to radiate in waves. Because of these living examples, even those far from the epi-center witnessed God in a real and personal way. And what remains is love.

There is so much bad news around us, but “we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him.” (Romans 8:28)

And no matter what news the papers report, we can rest in confidence that the Good News is the best news of all.

Factory-New

Thanks for indulging me to cry about my computer woes. After spending a long couple of days of reloading and rebuilding, I’m happy to report I’m up and walking. (Running will take a bit longer).

I have one word of advice for you today: backup. Stop what you’re doing right now and backup your hard drive to an external storage device (CD, DVD, external hard drive). The ten minutes you spend to save your data can mean the difference between facing a major inconvenience if your hard drive crashes and experiencing major heartbreak when you lose all of your photos, music and financial data.

Even though I heeded my own advice, there was one area I didn’t backup--my emails. Thousands of emails sent and received, as well as my address book are gone forever. Certainly, my cluttered inbox needed a good housecleaning, but with the clean sweep went some important communications. Only time will tell how substantial the loss really is.

Last night I sadly recalled one casualty. Ever since I started writing my blog, I’ve received many emailed notes of encouragement, support, thanks and understanding. Those words, your precious words, were priceless payment for the writing journey I’m on. I'd read them and re-read them. They encouraged me when I wanted to quit. They showed me I’m not alone in my struggles. And they were my real life proof God really is using me through the words that flow through my fingertips. Now they’re gone.

Just writing about it makes me sad all over again.

I know God uses everything for His purpose and this morning it struck me, I think there might be a message here with my name on it. Maybe God wants me to see I rely too much on the positive praise of others to validate myself as a person, and especially as a writer. Maybe He wants HIS words and not the words of others to resonate in my heart. Maybe He wants me to see I don’t need to look to others to determine my worth because He tells me, “See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.” (Is. 49:16)

We’re designed to belong. But we forget who we belong to. We look to others determine our place in the world. We let others say who we are and if the package we offer is valuable. Or not.

...The warmth of praise. The sting of rejection.
...The glow of the spotlight. The darkness of the corners.
...The assurance of popularity. The heartache of loneliness.

Messages from the world, both good and bad, overwrite the message God wrote on our hearts at creation: “Listen to me. I made you. You are mine.”

Oh, how I want that message to sink in deeply to clean out the clutter of my heart. I want its truth to resonate and stop the voices that say otherwise. I want to look solely to my heavenly Father and boldly proclaim, “YOU ARE ENOUGH!”

We live so far from the perfect union Adam and Eve enjoyed with the Creator in the Garden. So far, that we don’t know where our home is. Or how to get there. But there is a way—and His name is Jesus.

And it's only by falling deeply in love with Him that we begin to discover the keys that restore our hearts to their factory-original condition.

"As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. (Jn 15:9) If you belonged to the world, it would love you as its own. As it is, you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world." (Jn 15:19)

A Mother's Pain. A Father's Love.

I had planned to write about something else today, but I just got back from running errands and it’s on my heart to share this.

As I walked into Target this afternoon, a woman ahead of me caught my attention. She was dressed for tennis and looked like a good player (she was actually built kind of like me—tall, strong and athletic ;-) Since I play tennis often, I thought I might know her, but at a distance I couldn’t tell.

Luckily, she had paused inside the store and I was able to get a good look at her. Nope, I had never seen her before. Oh, well. I treated myself to a Starbucks and went about my shopping.

As I shopped for hair care products, I heard someone talking on their phone in the aisle next to me. Because the caller was speaking rather loudly and emphatically the conversation caught my attention. But, this wasn’t one of those rude cell phone users who blabs on and on because they think their life is too important to deal with in private.

This was a woman in anguish.

She told whoever she was talking to that she lived in a constant state of fear, not knowing when she’d get a call to confirm the worst. It became apparent that the person she was talking to was the cause of this fear.

It was her 18-year old daughter (as I later found out), in the midst of an addiction, living somewhere far away and making very bad choices. The woman was patiently, but desperately, trying to communicate with her daughter and get her to recognize the devastating consequences of her behavior. And to show her she loved her. My heart broke for this mother and I silently said a prayer for both of them.

Because it felt like I was trespassing on something so private I tried to quickly finish and move on. As I passed the aisle where the caller stood, I was surprised to see the tennis woman I had spotted earlier. The last thing I heard her say as I walked away was, “No. I’m not mad at you.”

The pain in that woman’s voice is still with me. Any of us could be in her place. Drug and alcohol addiction is such a powerful, evil force. And it’s all around us. Brothers, sisters, spouses, parents, sons, daughters. Addiction does not discriminate by age, gender or economic background. It welcomes all.

For so many of you, this woman’s world is your reality. You are consumed with fear as you helplessly watch your loved one struggle with addiction. You try to help them find a way out, but the fierce grip of addiction pulls them back again and again.

I pray for each of you. I pray for the addicts in your lives. I pray for this woman and her daughter. I pray that in the midst of this darkness, God’s love will shine bringing hope and peace and healing.

I pray for those struggling with recovery.

And I pray that God’s protection surrounds our children, whether they are still young and innocent or at an age where drugs and alcohol are common choices.

As it turns out, I stood right behind this woman in the check-out line. It seemed too coincidental and I felt compelled to speak to her. To break the ice, I chatted about tennis (which she does play). But there was more I needed to say. After confessing that I had heard her on the phone, I told her that I would pray for her. It didn’t seem like much, but it was the best I could offer. I wanted her to know there is hope and love in the midst of it all.

Because, really that is the best we have to offer—hope. Hope in the One who is stronger than any evil, even addiction—Jesus. How do we know? Because Jesus tells us, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)

“In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8:37-39)

Thank you, Jesus. Amen.

What God Wants Most

I sat in a small group discussion a while back and someone declared, “I think the Old Testament is a fairy tale, a myth like Greek or Roman literature.” While this cast a pall on the conversation, I think this proclamation struck at the heart of what we at times felt about the Old Testament, but didn’t want to confess.

How about you? Does the Old Testament seem like a fable? Do some of the stories (people living for 800 years, great fish, arks, tumbling walls, etc.) seem a bit far-fetched? Does it seem ancient and irrelevant? Do you wonder why the God of the Old Testament seems so angry and wrathful, little resembling the loving, forgiving God we know through Jesus?

I admit I do…or at least I did.

But an amazing thing has happened in the last year or so. I started to read the Old Testament and have discovered insights into God—and Jesus—that have been like unearthing buried treasure. It’s been fascinating.

Recently, our pastor challenged us to read through the first chapter of each book of the Bible, starting at Genesis and going all the way to Revelation. Now, my Bible is pretty well worn, but there were many books in the Bible I had never read. My knowledge of Old Testament stories, history and its important characters was extremely limited.

Well, I accepted the challenge and started reading. (And I know many of you did as well.) During this journey, I discovered a history that while ancient, is incredibly relevant. I met men and women who have so much to teach us today. I found missing pieces to the puzzle of God I’m trying to put together. And most of all I saw that the entire Old Testament, from the first lines in Genesis to the last in Malachi, is a prelude that points directly to Jesus.

I still have lots of questions, but God and His nature are much clearer now. For one thing I see that, God is a jealous god. Much of God’s anger in the Old Testament is a direct result of his children turning away from Him (which they did an awful lot!). Through Moses, God said, “They made me jealous by what is no god and angered me with their worthless idols.” (Deut. 32:17)

Throughout the Old Testament all the way through today, what God wants most from us is not our time, our money, our talents, our prayers or our good works. He wants our hearts. He wants us to forsake the idols and false gods around us and choose Him. Throughout Jesus’ ministry, he repeated again and again, “Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is near.” (Matthew 3:2)

Repentance means that we consciously turn from our sins (and idols and false gods) toward God. It is an act of our will.

God is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow. Open God’s word. Hear His voice. Choose Him.

“You Complete Me.”

L-O-V-E.
Such a simple word. Such a complex experience.

Contrary to the creators of Valentine’s Day, a dozen roses, a candlelit dinner or even diamond jewelry is not what love is about.

Human love is complex. And it means different things at different times with different people. We love our children in a different way than our spouse. And our spouse differently than our parents. And our parents differently than our friends.

Our society bombards us with simplistic, distorted images of love—romantic, parental and platonic. With no better model, we set these examples in our minds and compare our reality to them. But, something doesn’t add up. Instead of feeling “complete” we feel let down.

Our loved ones disappoint us. They hurt us. They reject us. They leave us. They forget our birthdays. They don’t respond the way we want them to. Our feelings get in the way. We think, “If he loved me, he would know better.” or “She wouldn’t do that if she loved me.”

Love can bring out the best in us, but it can also bring out the worst—our insecurities, jealousy, ego, need for control, past hurts, addictions and on and on. We unfairly expect the people who love us to make us whole, to validate us and to expertly navigate the complex inner workings of “us.” When they fail we feel betrayed. And often a dissonant duet of self-pity and self-righteousness crescendos in the background.

But, guess what? Our significant others, family and friends don’t do this because they don’t love us; they do it because they’re broken and imperfect too.

One of the most life-changing sentences I’ve ever read was the first line of Rick Warren’s Purpose Driven Life—“It’s not about you.” (Really?! I kind of thought it was.)

This is so true when it comes to love. For contrary to what Hollywood (and society) tells us, there isn’t a man or woman on Earth who can “complete us.”

But there is One who can—Jesus.

He is our model of perfect love. When others let him down or treated him badly (and did they ever!), he didn’t get his feelings hurt, base his self-esteem on their behavior or harbor bitterness. He actually loved the offenders more. Even as He hung on the cross in anguish and betrayal, He said of his crucifiers, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” Luke 23:34

How could He do this? Because He knew who loved Him. “As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love.” (John 15:10)

When we accept Jesus, God’s gift of love, an amazing thing happens—we’re set free to love others selflessly and sacrificially. It becomes less about us and more about Him. We find that true love begins where our feelings end. And we can let our loved ones off the hook for making us “better.”

For as we cherish the embrace of our Heavenly Father we whisper, “Abba, Father, you complete me.” And pretty soon, every day is Valentine’s Day.