To the Church: Where Was Jesus?

Paris. Syria. Beirut. Just a few places in our headlines as of late. Warnings went unheeded, prior pleas have gone unheard and we have the aftermath of what to do next.

And shockingly the crossfire now is between American Christian brothers and sisters. It pains my heart. We have to think of Jesus: where would He be right now in all this?

You know political termoil surrounded Jesus' time. When He arrived on scene his people were begging for another deliverer from their mistreatment, their hardship, their long-suffering. 

Some have taken up blasting the presidency and have made "I told you so" their battle cry. All the dirt gets drudged up on the failings and misdeeds of a man who doesn't know God. 

The politically minded zealots who wanted to make Jesus their speaker of the house missed it. They didn't know this was not the place of a Savior. We are Peter taking up arms. We need to put our swords down.

Some have taken up fighting Islam and it's many evils, revealing countless past atrocities. Stuck in reverse. Jesus was battling an ideology of his time and it was the religious hypocrites who pointed fingers and wanted to cast stones and judgement and consequence on everyone around them. They didn't get it--a Savior gets His hands dirty; He gets down in the muck to lift us up. They didn't know that religious preferences are no match for a loving relationship with the God of the universe. 

And issues have a tendency to bleed. Helping refugees would be helping the cause of Islam. It would be wasting our precious resources on people who are not our own. Doesn't that sound familiar of a Savior? We have our own issues--any issues--as long as it's not a refugee issue...said the American...who was once a refugee...days from Thanksgiving. We forget Jesus was also a refugee. Even now according to Matthew 25--He is the one naked, hungry, thirsty, lonely and imprisoned. We are not rejecting refugees, we are rejecting the Lord.

Our eyes are fixated on keeping what we've got with no regard to Who gave it or why. We have many lost sheep without a shepherd wanting to flock to our shores. They lived in countries that were closed to the Gospel and are facing toward this land of religious freedom. We have no idea what opportunities we have as a truth-filled set-free people. And America--"land of the free, home of the brave"--says "No, not here. Not us." The Lord of the Harvest is giving the nations to us and we spit on the silver platter He offers. Our harvest will be given to another more willing. And the gift of revival granted to a more generous nation than the Land of Opportunity. 

Lord forgive us, we know not what we do.

Wide Awake Wonder

Today was our first day visit with L. She got to see our ups and downs. She got to see my credit card not work at a restaurant because it's old, but I wonder if she had similar situations before where a card was declined because no money was in the account. I wonder if she had old memories rise up in that moment.

I wonder how she thought I handled the news that my new card was never ordered, that we had to make a long detour to the bank for funds, that I forgot I never opened a bank account for my youngest son when trying to deposit his birthday money. 

I wonder what she thought of my awful case of lyrangitis that made my voice sound harsh and scratchy and also made it hard for me to sing at worship practice. We were an hour late.

I wonder what she thought of our little home. 

Of our loud kids.

Of our weird movie.

I wonder if she felt comfortable and welcome. I wonder if the shawl wrapped around her was because she was cold or because she wanted to feel protected.

But we got her that shawl. The clothes she was wearing, the purse she had were my hand-me-downs. 

I wonder what she though when we took her to pick out an ornament and let her get two in the end, her own choices. It was National Adoption Day (I found this out today). How amazing is it that these gifts were given then.

I wonder if she had a Christmas tree before. I wonder what those holidays looked like. I wonder if I should ask or not.

I wonder what she thought seeing Martin wrestle with the boys. I wonder if her home before us was filled with laughter that sprang from joy. 

I wondered why she was so quiet and timid except when you asked her a question, was it anxiety or personality? Should I give her space or sit real close? I wonder if she noticed I was probably as nervous as she was.

I wonder what she thought of all the pictures. I wonder if she was trying to search the years for common denominators between us.

I wondered if my hope prayer I let her read touched any chords in her heart, if any of it was too much too soon. But she read it all. Twice. 

I wondered if she made a God connection, seeing Him at work before we ever met because this prayer was not originally written for her. Because she gave me a wreath this week with that same word "hope" on it which has driven my prayer life these past 4 months. Because before I knew her, God knew her.

I let her read it centered on the wreath on the wall like that. I wonder if she saw the hand of the Lord there.

I wonder if she was quiet on the way back because she was tired or because she was sad to go. I wonder if she was overwhelmed at it all or if she was just taking it all in. 

I wonder what she'll say about her visit. I wonder if she is feeling more at rest. I wonder if she feels home yet.

Living This Out

So much can be said about living the Christian walk. But when it comes down to actually living it, what does that look like? How is that done?

I've pondered it way too much instead of actually letting go. I wrestled with thoughts about if it's my choice to choose to say yes to God, but how can I choose anything at all that's godly if I'm wholly wretched and bent on my own way? 

The answer is He's drawn me to Himself. He's placed His Holy Spirit in me full of holy desires and a want to please God instead of myself. The answer is Him.

So when it I'm living life I have choices to make each moment: life or death, His ways or my ways, right or wrong, Spirit or flesh. I have to choose whether or not I'm going to walk in the Spirit; do I want to act on what He desires or what I desire?

It's easy to tell the difference. I can always notice when I'm walking in my flesh. I stomp on the fruits of the Spirit. I lose self control and become reactive to my environment; I adapt and give way to the temperature or pleasures of the moment. I become anxious and self-focused, insecure and possessive. I want to blend in, fit in. I care too much about my own stuff and time. God is an afterthought and conviction is negotiable. My thoughts become fast paced and crowded, bombarded with everything I don't want and I feel buried under the onslaught. I want my own way. I want to win petty fights and create tension and argue over non-issues. I want others who aren't living in turmoil to join me. Anyone steadfast is seen as a threat; there must be something wrong with them. I turn to judgement as a defense tactic. I'm fighting a battle for the wrong side and I'm full of guilt, shame, and regret. I'm jealous and want credit. I want approval. I'm mean and full of excuses. I'm miserable and depressed. I'm distant and feel hopeless, useless. I feel overwhelmed by my sins and the consequences. 

When I'm walking in the Spirit, I'm hungry for His word, to meet Him in worship, to pray and to include others also. I'm slow to become angry. I search out divine opportunities and I'm quick to listen, to wait on the Holy Spirit's guidance. I don't care about looking weird--in fact I desire that so people will pay attention, to see Jesus. I am peace-filled and joyful--nothing shakes me. Chaos only reminds me of the Strong God I serve and the peace I feel in the midst of it. I desire to sneak away with God and be with Him. My eyes are fully open. I have revelation and insight. I am wise with my children because I heed the direction of the Lord. I'm humble and agreeable, letting others go first. I'm patient and understanding. I'm quick to pray. I'm eager to serve in lowly ways and love flows instead of being forced. I'm kind and generous. I'm thoughtful. I'm confident In Christ's work done on my behalf, that it's truly enough to cover me, and I'm loved beyond comprehension and it's evident. I don't regret walking in the Spirit ever, because I  can see clearly. 

How do I chose one over another consciously? 

Approaching the throne of grace, asking for the Lord to draw me into His presence and to renew my mind. Ask the Lord to change my desires and give me a heart of flesh instead of stone, softened and beating with His own lifeblood, clothed in His Son. Wash me and I will be clean. Say the word and I will be new. Put your hand upon me and strengthen my resolve to know you more and make you known, not in my own strength and capacity but in the power of your Holy Spirit. Continue to strip away the layers of dead religion and earning your salvation. Make me like you, make me Holy.

Farm Ponderings

I'm standing on a farm holding her hand and her arm, as she holds me; she has my heart. And over there walking up the path, he holds it too. And that one--the one who might be a little difficult and a lotta fun--and another who offers constant smiles and another who about knocks you over with her loudest greeting: they all hold a piece, a growing piece like the seeds they once planted at one time here in this God-blessed patch of earth they call the farm. Seeds that now produce bumper crops and bushel fulls, that fill baskets and sell-out in our quaint store. May we sell out, all those pieces of our heart--the seed swells, the good fruit. May our efforts multiply, our increase fill the mouths and bellies of others hungry for Heaven's fresh picks, it's choicest gifts. Here we are in sun-kissed fields sharing Son-kissed moments that brim with joy. His laughter is heard in the strong laughter of His friends. We breathe deep in this Holy ground, knowing He who goes before us continues to plow the fields prepping for more harvest. He is making a way in the earth for His children to sow for His glory.

The Quiet Side: A Battlefront

Behind all the posts about celebrating a child with special needs, behind the cute pictures of smiles and words of inspiration is the quiet side of me where I endure in the dark. 

It's lonely here, but I'm independent and don't know how or when to ask for help. My pride stands in the way and tells me if I say "when," if I admit a struggle too big to bear alone, then I admit weakness and defeat. Pride tells me it will be complaining and that's ungratefulness; it's not godly or encouraging or pastor-like.

But is it when I snap? When I "lose-it" over spilled milk because it's been done deliberately out of frustration from my child who cannot speak? I cannot speak. I'm just as handicapped.

I shove it down and try to contain boiling water with naked hands, raw from the wringing. If anyone knew this struggle...

Not for pity's sake--pity doesn't help, it doesn't offer babysitting or call me for a break--I'm still waiting by the phone. Pity says "poor you, not me." I don't need pity. I need a real date night with my husband without the guilt or worry of leaving him with someone. I need to celebrate our 10th anniversary 2 years later with more than just dinner and a movie. 

I don't need words to tell me I'm great or the best or blessed. I need listeners without advice or judgment. It's hard to raise a child with special needs.

My son cannot form words so he acts out a lot of his communication, which can be loud and look like spoiled tantrums but I can imagine being frustrated when you can't speak your mind. The worst part is the scream--the jarring, high-pitched, give-me-your-attention-I'm-angry scream that breaks through any ounce of calm and tranquility near and far. I ignore the onlookers but it magnifies stress levels when you're wondering what they all must be thinking.  My reactionary self wants to scream back at times. I fight the nonsense of fight or flight and pick him up to soothe him instead. That must look like coddling to some. But they don't know this fight, these methods. They don't know my son.

He runs on a whim so I'm on high alert 100% when we are away from home--do you know what that's like, when family gatherings are a tense roulette of "where's Marty?" I'm constantly watching exits and counting heads and checking rooms. I don't socialize much at events, sit down for a long cup of coffee. I can't even make it to some events because we come up short figuring out loss prevention strategies or we've calculated the risks being too high in our minds. If only we had extra people sign up for Marty Duty.

My son has no friends. I'm not sure he wants friends or knows that it is good to have and to be a friend. No one asks him over for play dates. Maybe I should intentionally arrange those, like a package deal. My mom was smart, she always said about me and my sister: "One cannot go without the other." My sister is my best friend now. 

He gets red and yellows almost everyday at school because his aides don't get him. I know he's smart, just misunderstood. It takes time and energy to work with someone who doesn't speak your language. My biggest fear is that they'll suggest a lower functioning classroom and the walls will close in on me and I'll have a panic attack where I blackout. And then I'll gain my footings with steel hearted determination for inclusion. Because. It. Matters.

I worry about bullies because he can't even tell me about them. I see him picked as the villain all the time to run from when typical kids want to "play" with him. I step in and redirect and educate preschoolers who think it's just a game but I'm trying to unwind ancient evils that says "enemies are anyone different than you." And all the while stifling the twinge of pain that arises when you are trying to remove those sticky labels from your child.

He can obsess over small things and have a meltdown if not given the proper amount of time to transition. DVD loops are his favorite. But if given time and a warning that he's done he usually--usually--shuts it off...and then asks for the iPad. Or my iPhone. I've grown to really hate technology. It causes such a struggle to keep him in the real world with real social interactions. 

It's hard to share these burdens, but bearing them by myself doesn't work and getting weighed down by the load isn't fun. This place can suck at times and it's not all rainbows and unicorns. Advocacy and awareness need to happen for the parent as well as the child--we need your help. I've already mentioned some ways.

And don't take no for an answer. We are fiercely independent and are so busy taking on the battles of the world for our kid we forget about self care and community. We probably have hero complexes and think we are superhuman after a diagnosis, but grief comes in ages and stages; this is something we will never shake. And going it alone is like trying to breathe mud--suffocating.