Caught in the crossfire...

So many times we take risks…actually every day when we get up and our feet hit the ground we take a risk. We risk taking a wrong step and twisting an ankle, we risk taking a sip of water and it going down the wrong pipe, we risk saying too much when asked how we feel, we risk not saying enough when fear sets in…we risk over and over. Then as we go sometimes the risk grows greater. We risk heartache engaging in another relationship, we risk losing a friend when we challenge truth, we risk our lives to give life…we get caught in the crossfire.

One of my cherished memories of time with my dad was a discussion we had about life and bringing life into this world. Ian and I lost our first pregnancy in a miscarriage and because of hemorrhaging Ian thought he was going to lose me. During my pregnancy with Tobiah, I became high risk and was hospitalized with complications including preterm labor with an incompetence cervix. At the time, we had four friends living with us that needed a place of respite and by the time I was able to work again, we managed to have $50 in the bank! God was our sufficiency and provider during that time. During Tobiah’s second year of life, we suffered another miscarriage. My mom had suffered with infertility and the same cervix issue. Many do not know but there was a beautiful little girl born before me, months too early into a world with little knowledge of how to care for such a delicate life…her name was Lana Marie Springhower.  Yep, I have a sister! She took her final earthly breath 3 days after she took her first. She was to be my parents’ last child…it was very stressful for my mom, and I would soon learn my dad.  Two years later I was born.

 

 

My dad was forever changed by the death of his daughter and also the birth of his second daughter (me), so much so that after our second miscarriage he chose to go to that uncomfortable place and be vulnerable with me…to talk about death, life and the risk of it all.  He had lost a child, gave up a marriage, he had survived Vietnam and such horrific loss of so many of his colleagues and friends…he spoke from a perspective of deep loss, grief, regret. During the war he had been asked to take a respite to see my mom while most of the others went on an assignment…there were many lives lost during that assignment and my dad’s respite actually saved his life. My dad was one of nine children…my grandpa was around long enough to get my grandma pregnant is how my dad worded it. When he spoke to me that day, he chose his words carefully and I could hear the sorrow, the fear, the wounding and the concern behind each word, each pause…his love was palpable…and I knew then I was caught in the crossfire.

I was caught between his loss of life and my hope for life as he asked the question…”Are you and Ian planning on getting pregnant again?” My heart sank for a minute, tears welled up…not out of fear but out awe for my dad’s concern. A dad that chose to leave me and our family when I was four, a dad that was now choosing to take a risk and speak into my life…he then began to speak out of the grief he still carried from losing my sister Lana, the risk it placed on my mom’s life. I was caught in the crossfire of his perspective of a safe, wise decision and my own journey of decision making with my husband and my Abba Father.  After many intimate words, reassurance of the risk, and respect for one another he understood and respected my choice, Ian’s choice to move forward with having more children. From that day forward he supported me and it was never discussed again. I was pregnant with Jaidan shortly after and survived another nauseating, exhausting, cervix stitched up bed rest pregnancy while caring for Ian as he recovered from an unexpected hip surgery…then Jaidan was born and I hemorrhaged, I recovered…we recovered. Then 23 months after Jaidan was born…we were pregnant with Gideon…the first months full of nausea, another stitched cervix and bedrest. By this time, my specialist trusted I knew my body well enough so I was allowed to gauge my own activity and bedrest which was a blessing as then life took a turn as life does…Ian had been experiencing ongoing back pain, debilitating back pain, after an automobile accident and the fact that one leg was shorter than the other along with the discomfort that the bone graft in his hip and metal plate brought. We had our own business at the time and he needed to drive to appointments to make ends meet…we had survived this during my pregnancy with Jaidan as he was on crutches for several months but on modified bed rest I could at least drive him. Ian called me one evening as he was out on appointments, he was short of breath from the pain he was in as he slowly said…”I just can’t do it anymore, I have to stop driving every few miles because the pain is so bad. I don’t know if I can make it home” I was into my third trimester of pregnancy, me and the baby were doing well. The stitch in my cervix was doing what it was meant to and supporting our pregnancy to term…only a couple more months and then the season of child bearing was over as Ian and I had clearly heard from the Lord that this would be our last pregnancy…we sometimes laugh as I think I heard clearly as I vomited daily into the toilet and then Ian agreed when only at 3 months into the pregnancy I asked if he could schedule a vasectomy! ;)

Ian made it safely home that night by the grace of God. However, we were about to be caught in another crossfire…one that could take life, even our marriage if not brought before the Lord each day.

To be continued…

 

 

What can I say...

Ian challenged me this week with the question, “If you could tell one story over and over to describe life here in Moz, what story would you tell?” I am one of those true introverts, also gifted in mercy and the prophetic, that usually needs time to process my answer as I pray, dialogue in my head with the Lord, myself…or there are days when you can catch me when the exact state of my heart, soul, spirit comes out in a quick, piercing word. These are the days when the injustice is just too much for one human to describe.

How do I move people to love, to acknowledge, to comprehend, to have mercy, to walk in justice, to stop for the one? The reality is there is nothing that I can say or do to move the world, a country, or you. There are days I choose not to move…I grow weary, I grow content, I choose self-preservation over faith. I choose to be busy, to look down and avoid eye contact…avoid heart contact…avoid a life changing and life giving interaction. How do I move a country that looks at an aborted baby and proclaims that it was never a life? Where rape is seen through the eyes of racism? Where war seems like the answer? That proclaims…”my land”, “my country”, “my border”, “my body”.

I can tell you story after story of death, abuse, neglect, starvation…I can also tell you story after story of life, protection, abundance, hope…will you move? Will I continue to move? Maybe.

“Administer true justice; show mercy and compassion to one another. Do not oppress the widow or the fatherless, the foreigner or the poor. Do not plot evil against each other.’’ Zechariah 7:9-10

If you read further you will see they refused to pay attention, stubbornly they turned their backs and covered their ears…they made their hearts as hard as flint and would not listen…they were scattered, they made the pleasant land desolate. God spoke but they chose not to listen, God sent messengers but they chose self-preservation, God moved and they chose to dig their heels in deeper.

“He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” Micah 6:8

Today, I am again reminded there is truly nothing I can say or do to move myself let alone you…BUT I, you, we can choose to move with Him, in Him…for He is not far from any one of us. The words resound again in me today… “For in Him we live and move and have our being.” Acts 17:28

Will you move? Will I continue to move? Today I choose to move. Tomorrow I may not. Today I choose to be still and hear His voice, to stop for the one, to look the least of these in the eyes, to sow life, to speak life and to exchange self-preservation for faith and freedom. Now that is what freedom of choice was truly given for…to be life, to give life and not to take life! I vulnerably ask you to walk along-side me, to co-labor with me and my family on this journey we know as life. Sometimes the road is broken, dry, caving in and there seems no way forward…BUT GOD! You may not even know this God I speak of but I know He carries you, He holds you, He is for you just as He is for the unborn with no voice, the young man so hungry he will fight in a war against his own people for a piece of bread and the one dying alone in the darkness of the night. This God I move with rains down His blessing on those that believe and yes even those that do not believe. He calls us not only to Himself but calls us to love mercy, act justly…we were made for Glory. He is calling us…calling us into a deeper place…He is calling out my name, your name. He has actually given you a new name, me a new name. A name only He knows, a name He will one day whisper to us. You have been chosen to walk humbly with this God, your God.

Will you move?

 

 

 

 

 

When culture and love collide…love wins!

 

 

We live in a world of culture, many cultures. We are taught to be culturally sensitive, respect culture and sadly many times we begin to bow to culture in idolatry. There continues to be a great shift in communities as we get farther and farther away from life in community as we see in the Book of Acts. Don’t get me wrong, I will be the first to tell you understanding one’s culture is very important, vital to establishing and living out life together; however, what I see more as years go by is culture becoming identity, culture causing isolation and culture becoming tradition. We live a certain way because that is what has always been done, we believe a certain theology because that is what our families have always believed and we eat/drink/dress certain ways because that is what is honoring…well I mean that is what I have been told. 

BUT! What I have witnessed in many years living amongst my Hispanic friends, the homeless and the least of these and now in Mozambique, Africa is this…when culture and love collide…love wins! I cannot tell you how many times I have sat on a thatch mat incorrectly, asked the direct question about someone’s sexual relations with their two husbands, explained how condoms do not cause HIV, asked a father to take his adult daughter and her three children in after he had sold her off to her abusive husband as it was after all his actions in the first place that brought her to this moment of pain and suffering, forgot to clap twice or three times when food was offered before taking the lid off, asked the witch doctor why she would actually think her chant would heal, wore the wrong dress, wore pants when I should be wearing a wrap like a dress, forgot to offer a basin and pitcher of water to wash my company’s hands before we ate, held a dying man’s hand as he was shamed by his community, sat at the feet of the drunken grieved widow, stopped to talk to the town drunk, gave money to the city beggar, asked to pray over a government official in the middle of the community, taught that when you commit suicide and you believe in Jesus of course you do not go to hell and especially to purgatory, forgot to say Mano before greeting one of our guards Alberto, watched a Madea movie with my Mozambican friend, payed way too much for the pig I ran over and did not even take the pig home to eat…Day after day I look physically, spiritually, emotionally, and mentally broken Mozambican men, women, and children directly in the eyes as I hold their hands and tell them that they are loved, cherished, valuable, and loved. I live my life out of love while making what some would call huge cultural mistakes some purposely and some by accident. I choose to be vulnerable, I choose to be intimate, I choose to be rejected, I choose to be uncomfortable, I choose to make them uncomfortable knowing that the Comforter is present…the atmosphere and environment is His and He is our audience, our advocate and He will be our culture, He is our new identity…and amazingly each time there is no offense, no rejection, no broken relationships. There is grace, tears, relief to be acknowledged, understanding without speaking the same language, laughter, joy, friendship and most of all love wins!

The Lord brought me back to an amazing testimony in His Word this week as I was meditating on my life, how He has always given me the grace to enter in and alongside people’s lives no matter what their belief or culture. He took me back to the story of Jesus being anointed by the sinful woman as told in Luke 7:36-50.

This woman lived a sinful life…some assume prostitution but as we learn from culture it could be many things from a child out of wedlock, multiple affairs or she was a victim of sexual abuse as a child.

Jesus enters a Pharisee’s house as he accepted an invite to dine there. In those days he should have had his feet washed upon arrival from his travels on a dirt road, his head/hair would have been anointed with olive oil and he would have been greeted with a kiss on the face. His host did not seem to have followed these customs, but Jesus still graciously lies back to dine with him. As he is reclining at the table, the sinful lady enters, approaches him…she carries with her an alabaster jar of perfume that is worth more than she may make in a lifetime and tears fall from her cheeks as she weeps. She weeps…she approaches as a rejected, shamed woman…she approaches knowing she may be rejected and shamed again. She begins to wet his feet with her tears…then she does something that in her culture is only done when you live out a life of prostitution…she lets her hair down…hair that is meant to be kept up, clean, a sign of self-worth in her day and never to be let down in public. She begins to wipe his feet with her hair as the dirt of His journey mixes with her tears…mixes with her rejection, her shame. Then she kisses them and pours the perfume over them. The journey of a broken, sinful woman collides with the journey of a healed, sinless man. What a risk!

The audience around her is horrified but her Audience of One is seeing her as His Father sees her…He reminds them of how they did not follow culture by providing water for His feet, kissing Him, anointing Him. Then He speaks these words…”Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—as her great love has shown”…Jesus also then says…”Your faith has saved you; go in peace.” No offense, no rejection, no shame! In fact, rejection and shame is gone and He is her defense! Culture collides and LOVE WINS! Why you ask? Risk…she risked it all for healing, to be whole, to be seen as she really is.

This same Jesus resides in me, in us if we choose…I choose to take risk in Love. I believe when He asks me to step out and forward to do something or speak something or to kneel and weep at someone’s feet that in that obedience the result is not offense, rejection, shame but the result is Love…Love is our identity and our culture. His tears become our tears, His perspective becomes our perspective, His life becomes our life, and His heart becomes our heart…Risk in exchange for healing, for life. LOVE WINS!