Beyond Hope

1 Corinthians 15:19

If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable.

I can’t imagine life without hope.  I can’t imagine living in misery and not even knowing it, being unaware of my hopelessness.  Each time a challenge or trial comes, great or minute, I think and often say, “I don’t know how people live without God, without hope that Someone is in control.”  As much of a control freak as I am, I’m becoming more and more grateful that I am not in charge!  I don’t have to know, see, or understand it all; and I definitely don’t have to be the one worrying about it all! 

Perhaps the only thing worse than heartbreak is watching someone you love experiencing heartbreak – you can’t fix it, change it, or make it better.  And even if you could, would you?  Having been through tough times, growing and changing, learning of God’s faithfulness, would you go back and change them?  Would you prevent someone you love from experiencing heartaches if you knew they would be better because of them?  If you could see the past and future, if you knew every plan and thought, would you prevent hurts?  Would you keep everyone from everything bad ever, even if it made them better, stronger, more humble, more loving, more compassionate? 

Paul uses the word “hope” with such ease and yet, with a complexity that begs further inspection.  What is it about hope that makes it so great?  What is it that draws us to itself and pulls us through tough times?  Personally, I’m beginning to believe it is so much more than the hope itself.  Maybe there is something beyond hope.  What is beyond hope?  What could be deeper, stronger, more inspiring?  How about Almighty God?  Omnipotent, omnipresent, immutable, faithful, sovereign Creator of the universe, caring about you and me!  Seeing the past and the future, knowing each of our thoughts, wiping our tears before we cry them, giving us the ultimate in hope.

Whether you are in a valley or on a mountain; whether you love the holidays or wish they would end already and stop coming every year; whether you are continually surrounded by loved ones or have never known what it’s like to love and be loved – I have good news!  There is hope!  And if you know Jesus, there is beyond hope!

Four Years and One Saving Grace Group Later . . .

Four years ago, my world crumbled.  Every dream I had was shattered, and everything familiar became tainted.  I was devastated, blindsided, shocked, and angry.  I began a journey I never wanted to take.  These steps felt like miles of walking with no end in sight.  I was forced to make choices that no one should have to make, and I made feeble attempts at explaining to a 3-year-old child why her world was shaken and couldn’t be fixed.

I began to search, desperately, for a home.  I needed a place to go where I didn’t feel judged or outcast, a place to start over.  I decided to turn to the place where I’d attended the concert so many months prior; the place where I’d sought counseling alone, because I didn’t know what else to do.

This church had a Wednesday night Bible study for single parents.  Oh gosh!  That’s what I was now, doomed by the choice of someone else.  I felt as though Satan and every one of his demons laughed at what a mockery I’d become – pastor’s kid, granddaughter, niece, born and raised on church staff; virgin who saved herself, even her first kiss for marriage; woman whose ultimate dream was to stay home, raising her children and supporting her husband.  THIS was the life I knew and wanted, and for a time, had.  Suddenly, life had no meaning.  It was in tumultuous uproar, day in and day out.  I could not think about all the things that had to be done and decisions that had to be made.  But I knew one thing – I needed to go to church, or at least try.

Although for months, I existed only in a physical body as if I were detached from myself, I went.  I attended the services, Bible studies, activities.  And even when I fought to be cut off from the world and life and people because the pain was TOO DARN MUCH, they surrounded me: relentless in their pursuit driven by love, determined to reach out even when I pushed them away.

This was it – the kind of camaraderie I had heard and read about and seen in Christian-based movies – but had never truly experienced before now.  This was a place where I experienced Grace embodied in physical beings, a powerful supernatural experience.  This group and congregation welcomed me and my daughter with open arms, divorce and all.  They picked up our wounded bodies, carrying us from battlefield to battlefield, amidst grueling bloodshed and deafening screams.

And then, one day, we began to walk on our own.  I was able to stand, to take my daughter by the hand, to make another difficult decision and literal journey to a new “home.” 

The past four years have been more horribly devastating and hellish than I could’ve imagined; a reality as disgusting as any producer could concoct.  These years have also been some of the most fulfilling, rewarding days of my life, as I have become a better Christian, woman, and mom than I ever would’ve been without them.

This is to thank those at CRBC who loved and supported Mikaela and me through the last few years and to remind them that we will never be the same.

“Time passes like a moment.

Moments fleet away.

Scars left by time creep up as a shadow,

As dark as ever they were.

Hope shimmers in the distance,

But closer than before.” - LS

Shoes

I’ve recently been watching “TV Guide’s Countdown:  The Top 25 Oprah Show Moments.”  I love countdowns.  Even if it is a subject or genre in which I have no interest, I’m always curious to see what was chosen as #1.  I usually either love it or hate it.  I’m usually flabbergasted (THAT is what they thought was #1?!) or pleasantly surprised (Good choice!  Definitely a great #1!).

Last week’s episode featured as one of the top moments an episode of the Oprah show when she and a Holocaust survivor visited Auschwitz concentration camp, considered the most deadly:  nearly 1.5 million people died there.  One of the short clips they showed was in a room at Auschwitz where millions of shoes are piled and encased behind glass.  I literally felt vomit rise up in me – this brief scene was sickening, unfathomable.  After a moment of silence, the survivor said, “Each of these shoes represents a life, a person who lived.  For some, it was their only pair of shoes.  See that red shoe there?  Probably a dancer.”

This touched me, especially because we often hear about walking or putting ourselves in someone else’s shoes.  Just as those shoes represented the lives lost, “walking in their shoes” represent a life lived, perhaps with great struggle, pain, trials.

I often feel with regard to my migraines that I wish people on the outside would walk in my shoes.  Not because I particularly wish them to have a migraine, but because I want them to consider what it might be like to be in so much pain you literally wish you could die.  Because I want someone to care that I would do anything for relief because it hurts so much and seems so hopeless.  I know many people think I’m a baby or a hypochondriac when it comes to the pain, and I’m learning to be okay with people thinking that.  I’ve also discovered that sometimes I am a baby when it comes to pain and that sometimes I can push myself farther than I care to or thought I could.

But do I give this same courtesy to others?  Do I consider what they might be thinking, feeling, seeing, hearing?  Have I ever thought that, as I know from personal experience, people on the outside don’t know what happens “behind closed doors?”  That perhaps, someone I know and love could be going through something I find unimaginable?

I have worked in customer service in many forms, and I love interacting with customers.  Although there are some who get angry or are unpleasant, there are so many more who make me laugh and smile and brighten my shift just with their pleasant attitude.  And in turn, can’t I do the same?  The other night, a beautiful and rather thin young woman impeccably dressed came through my line with just a few items and a tiny infant in the carrier in the buggy.  She seemed tired but smiled at me, so I began asking her about her daughter.  I then said, “Who looks like you do after having a baby just a few weeks ago?”  Her eyes welled up with tears:  “You just made my day.  Today was my first day back at work, and it was hard to leave her.”

As the exited the store, she turned back and said, “You really made my day.  Thank you.”  Man, how blessed did I feel?  In a somewhat joking, even envious moment, I had made a comment to a stranger that lifted her spirits.  Haven’t I been blessed countless times through a kind word or deed?  I don’t see how I can do anything less than slip on the shoes of another and be a blessing as they live in those shoes that I maybe couldn’t handle.

You're a big, fat, dirty, rotten sinner . . . Yes, YOU!

A couple weeks ago, I had an intense, awkward, frustrating confrontation with someone very important to me.  I was in a position where I could and needed to walk away, and I did.  The anger built up inside me, though, and I wanted so badly to spew out what I was thinking and feeling.  Honestly, I think I was right and probably would’ve been in the right for saying something, but not in the frame of mind I had.  I literally felt as though the Holy Spirit was supernaturally holding my mouth closed as I left that place.

As I fumed on the way home, I also felt proud that I walked out without saying anything.  Suddenly, I heard God speak to me:  You’re no better.  Yes, you did the right thing by keeping your mouth shut and walking away, but you’re a sinner, just the same.

This is just one of many things recently that God has used as He has been dealing with me heavily about compassion the past couple of months.  It really started to tug deeply at my heart after the shooting in Aurora, Colorado.  Several of my facebook friends made posts and comments regarding the alleged shooter that bothered me.  While the media spent hours of coverage interviewing, speculating, and discussing what made this man do what he did, many Christians spent those same hours criticizing him and saying what he deserved and where he could go.

It broke my heart because I couldn’t help thinking, “If not for God’s grace, I could’ve easily been a mass murderer.”  Going through some of the trials I have in the past few years has, unfortunately, brought out some of my poorer qualities.  One of these is my temper.  I’ve always been overly sensitive and quick to get offended or angry.  God is working with me on it and through it, but it isn’t easy.  When going through a divorce and custody battle, I had thoughts I couldn’t believe were happening in my own head.  When judges ruled things that didn’t make any sense to me, I understood why, humanly speaking, people go rogue and take matters into their own hands.  I realized how stress, anger, exhaustion, and rejection can make people perform acts that surprise everyone who knows them.

Over the last couple of months, God has been reminding me over and over again that in his eyes, I am the same as the alleged Colorado shooter.  I am a sinner who has broken God’s law and deserves hell.  I am not more deserving of blessings or less deserving of punishment.  And as a recipient of God’s grace and mercy in my life, I believe I am compelled to show compassion to others, especially those who may have never heard or may never hear anywhere else that Jesus loves them.

I do NOT think that compassion means letting people get away with wrongdoing or giving them a free pass.  I believe we all have to face the consequences of our choices, good and bad, big and small.  I DO think compassion can be offering a kind word, holding back a sarcastic comment, choosing to walk away rather than having an anger outburst.  Perhaps compassion is sacrificing your “fun money” to help a friend who’s having a hard time or whose child needs school clothes.  Maybe compassion is taking time out of your way-too-busy schedule to call, write, or email a friend whom you know is down or struggling.

What does compassion look like in your life?  Remember, you’re just as undeserving, but God has shown compassion to you!  Pass it on!

The Lost Girl

She longs for a love she’s never felt, yet misses.  The child inside hopes to be held, comforted.  The woman inside needs to be loved, desired.  Surrounded by darkness, she cries; but it seems her pleas for help are in vain.  Her eyes, burning from hours of unrest, are nearly adjusted to the pitch black.  She blinks and squints, hoping to catch a sliver of light, but finds none.

“Surely there is a way out,” she says aloud.  She speaks as though someone hears, yet she knows she is alone.  Then, a noise:  rescue, perhaps?  A savior, here to deliver her from captivity?  Alas, no.  It is just the sound of yet another facet of her life crumbling around her.

She screams, full of anger and desperation.  Why can’t she see an end?  There is no one to give her answers or solace.  She fears she is becoming increasingly comfortable in this abyss, though she doesn’t want to be.  She feels no relief, and it is becoming easier to stay.

She senses a faint whisper, seemingly coming from within:  “You are not lost.  You are not alone.”  Is she talking to herself again?  No.  She is far from having the strength for these words.  A stirring deep in her soul reminds her of a pure, white light; a beacon so bright it brings healing and dispels shadows.  Grace pours over her being, and a smile crosses her face.  But then, a wind, cold and harsh, sweeps over her, bringing her back into the moment.  She grunts with frustration as tears pour involuntarily down her face.  She is soaked with the pain.

The voice again, louder than before, “You are not lost.  You are not alone.”  “Lord,” she yells, “Is that You?!  If it is, please lift me from this pit!  End it, and get me out of here, now!”  Silence, stillness like death.  She scoffs, “I don’t know why I thought it would be any different than last time.”  Wait, “last time” . . . yes, she has been in darkness before, often.  And she has come out of it:  some way, at some time.  And it seems nothing has changed, including the voice.  She heard it in the previous darkness, and in the one before that.  Yet her chest is heavy with a sigh. She finds little consolation in the voice, for she is overwhelmed. 

Without warning, another wind sweeps over her, boisterous and almost blinding in its power. A drop of light appears to pierce the darkness, though from afar.  In echoing, thunderous tones, the voice speaks again: “YOU ARE NOT LOST!  YOU ARE NOT ALONE!”

Someone to come home to

It has been well over a year since I’ve posted anything here, but I’m hoping for that to change.  It is my current goal to write once a week and see how well I can keep up with it.  Thanks for reading, and enjoy!

Someone to Come Home to

Before I even knew what the term “hopeless romantic” meant, I was one.  I loved love stories, beautiful dresses, and bridal magazines.  I wanted to get married and be a stay-at-home mom.  For the most part, that dream never changed.  I never wanted to be a “career woman” or always working and missing my family’s life.

Fast forward to August 2012, where I am a single (divorced) mom working 2 jobs while my daughter stays with my parents.  What the heck happened?  This was NOT the plan!  Life happened.  Someone made a choice that changed my whole life and caused me to make a series of difficult but necessary choices.

I come home every day to my daughter, sister, 2 dogs, and my mom, who acts as my mentor, babysitter, and spouse until further notice.  We laugh, eat, talk, and cry; it’s wonderful, and I love it.  But at some point, the evening must end.  MK and I must go to our house.  Some days, I am so tired and hot and wanting to get home that I don’t think about it anymore.  Other days, I put off going home because I so hate being alone, especially after MK goes to bed.  The other day, though, I had a thought I’d never had before.  As we turned at the light (yes, the only one!) to go down Main Street to our house, my heart ached with the knowledge that no one was there.  I knew that I’d open the door, unload the car, get MK to bed, and settle in for the evening.  I knew that I’d watch some TV, read, get ready for bed, and get in bed.  Alone.  By myself.  Without a spouse.  “God!” I cried silently, “I want someone to come home to!”  He whispered, quietly in my spirit, “Are you a person that someone else wants to come home to?”

I suddenly realized that, in waiting to see if I will ever again have someone to share my life with in the spousal role, I’ve never thought whether someone wanted to come home to me.  Although I am unmarried, I share my life with several people on a daily basis:  my parents, sister, daughter, boss, coworkers.  Am I reflecting Jesus’ love to those around me?  Am I testifying of His unfailing favor to those who don’t know Him?  Am I trying to say, do, and be the best I can?

I don’t know whether God will allow me the privilege of being married again.  But I do know that I have a beautiful daughter looking to me for protection, provision, and example.  She is watching me to see how I react and whether I have answers for the questions of life.  My hope is that while I wait to see what God has for my future, I can, with His help, be someone that anyone would want to come home to.