I am the sinful woman...

 

My faith journey involves a lot of patience, mercy, grace and love...not just for others but for myself. I continue to ponder on the idea that faith and the manifestations of it can be offensive especially when living cross culturally but as I reflect and walk through my days, I am finding that this may be a fear man has spoken over humanity, over me. Why? Because when I remember the times I encountered Jesus, the time growing up when His truth and love manifested, I realize that offense was not included in those moments.

 

I have read the story in Luke 7 of the “sinful woman” many times but as I read it this week, I see something very familiar in it. Not the sin…but the risk, the love and the culturally “unacceptable”. I see Jesus, I see myself, I see Jesus serving through the outpouring of a “sinful woman”. And you know what? It can appear offensive.

 

“As she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them.”

 

Then Jesus is basically scolded by his host, a Pharisee…Jesus responds.

 

“Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—as her great love has shown. But whoever has been forgiven little loves little.”

 

Wow! This was not her home. This was not her guest. She was not invited. She was not the host.

 

I want to be more like her…

 

 

 

Does faith offend?

It has been a long time since I have bothered to type out my thoughts and feelings in a blog. Most days I feel my words fall on deaf ears, closed minds, and hardened hearts...then I realize that the small health community I serve in does not reflect the greater community. 

Or does it? 

But then other days I feel that my voice is just another addition to the noise around us adding to the chaos of the world. However, during my reflection this past week, I really believe that my silence comes from the reality that even in my quiet, daily care of the suffering and dying, there was a deep fear that my faith would offend. It was not a strong fear, but I discovered it way deep in the part of my heart that has been hurt, bandaged and hurt again. 

Who would it offend? 

Well...not the Brothers and Sisters of other faiths I care for but actually the Brothers and Sisters of my same "faith". So, I would like to thoughtfully, prayerfully take the risk and sling some stories and ideas out on paper (in this case a computer screen) for us to all process together, maybe learn from, and I pray it is not just more noise in the greater chaos of the world or another brick in the walls we have placed around ourselves in the process of self-protection. So, the stories I want to journey through will look at the core question and allow everyone reading to share as they journey with me.

Does faith offend?

We would not listen...

Over the years as my faith and relationship with Jesus has grown, I have noticed a change in myself. My worldview has grown, the color of the world has changed, and I would like to say I care and love deeper…I see beyond myself some days more than others. I also think a lot of the change has come because when I lost both my parents to cancer within two years of each other, it took me on a journey I had dreamed of but never imagined how it would really look and how painful it would be to live out in obedience. I have mentioned before some of my journey before we moved to Mozambique and one of the biggest lessons I learned was about forgiveness. I had to reflect on a painful childhood, sexual abuse and forgive the one that sinned against me and that bled out shame upon me. The part I have not mentioned publicly is that the one in prison is not actually the one that abused me…he is the stepfather of the one that abused me. My physical offender was never brought to physical justice in court for what he did to me, and possibly to others. The man in prison did abuse children, especially young boys, but in other cases he manipulated, threatened and preyed upon others to carry out his evil intentions, including his own stepson. Of course, I also had to forgive the young man that chose to place his hands on me and violate me; however, God was also showing me the depths of sin and how it is generational. The abuse done against me was not my fault; however, the circumstances surrounding my life put me in a situation where I was vulnerable to abuse. My parents divorced, there was adultery, lack of extended family support and my single mother had to go into the workforce; therefore, she had to leave me with a babysitter. I have worked through much over the years and am thankful to say I was very close with both of my parents before they died. I cared for them both as they took their last breath, I forgave them for what they could control and what they could not control, I asked for forgiveness for my acting out of grief and sometimes rebellion, I forgave them for being silent when I came forward with my abuse, and I chose to love them deeper still.

Over the years, I have read scripture, prayed and sought the Lord using this lesson of forgiveness as I live out what he has called me to do in the war torn country of Mozambique.

There was a few key words God spoke to me 5 years ago when we moved to Central Moz in Manica…He said, “self preservation”, “blood on their hands”, and “the blood from the land is crying out”.

Over the past 5 years, I have come to discover he was not just speaking to me about others, but about myself. It is a lot to unpack and discuss. Some of it had to do specifically with the generations of sin witnessed and carried out by locals and missionaries in this land of Mozambique. A lot of it was connected to covenants made over the land, civil war, colonialism, and child sacrifice. 

So, what does this mean for today’s situation? What does it have to do with Moz, with America? What does any of this have to do with race protest, riots, anarchy, leftist extremist, rightist extremist, sexual abuse against children during initiation ceremonies, political idolatry, corruption, etc, etc, etc?

What do we do as citizens of the Kingdom of God when the forces of darkness have claimed the land and are tormenting all that walk upon it? Today, I want to leave you with two scriptures. One of them I was rereading with my family as we are studying the life of Joseph…it literally took my breath away for a moment. I have recalled myself saying many different things over my teenage years and into my mid adult years about racism, war, and strongholds in the lands. My views and perspectives influenced by the loudest voices around me, usually men. I have prayed and weeped…I mean, look at me…I am not in denial. I am a white women in the middle of Africa trying to be a voice for the voiceless and I do not even speak the language well. I am not black let alone African. BUT, this is what God has placed in my heart since I was 4 years old. To come to Africa, to be a nurse, to be a voice for the voiceless as I knew what it was like to have no voice and when I spoke to not be listened to. And guess what? That does not end…people of all kinds do not care what I have to say, their minds are made up. So…why in the heck am I even blogging? 

Because, I love. I love Him. I love them. I love my neighbor. I love you. The victory is His, Love wins!

I want to reflect further on these verses but first I just want to give space for them to be, be what they are…the Living Word of God. Alive and active even now. Speaking to our very being, our souls, our spirits, our flesh. 

Listen…He is speaking.

They said to one another, “Surely we are being punished because of our brother. We saw how distressed he was when he pleaded with us for his life, but we would not listen; that’s why this distress has come on us.” 

Reuben replied, “Didn’t I tell you not to sin against the boy? But you wouldn’t listen! Now we must give an accounting for his blood.” They did not realize that Joseph could understand them, since he was using an interpreter.

He turned away from them and began to weep, but then came back and spoke to them again. He had Simeon taken from them and bound before their eyes.

-Genesis 42:21-24

Now Cain said to his brother Abel, “Lets go out to the field.” While they were in the field, Cain attacked his brother Abel and killed him.

Then the Lord said to Cain, “Where is your brother Abel?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “Am I my brother’s keeper?”

The Lord said, “What have you done? Listen! Your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground. Now you are under a curse and driven from the ground, which opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand. When you work the ground, it will no longer yield it crops for you. You will be a restless wanderer on the earth.”

-Genesis 4:8-12

Artist: Zak Muller

The Lord Sees...

Just when you think the week looks a bit brighter amongst the grief and escalating uncertainty, the baton literally comes down on someones life…an African man in the African market not wearing a mask, an African American man in America robbed of his breath by a bent knee.

This morning...my dear friend in Africa is scared to go to the market alone to buy much needed resources for her family. My dear friend in America is afraid to walk the streets alone during the day. Are we really seeing into the depths of this injustice? Is anyone really seeing? Have we cast it all aside for the sake of politics? Will we ever acknowledge the strongholds in our lands from the bloodshed?

"For no one is cast off by the Lord forever. Though He brings grief, He will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love. For He does not willingly bring affliction or grief to anyone. To crush underfoot all prisoners in the land, to deny people their rights before the Most High, to reprove them of justice—would not the Lord see such things?" 

Lamentations 3:31-36

"My eyes will flow unceasingly, without relief, until the Lord looks down from heaven and sees. What I see brings grief to my soul because of all the women of my city.” 

Lamentations 3:49-51

I had to catch my own breath again this morning and was very aware of the breath in my lungs, the tears in my eyes, the fire in my heart...very thankful for life. I paused to meditate on what is true, fight the urge to demand justice from the Father as it is really not fair to demand from Him when humanity is making these choices. 

So…today I know again the Lord sees. My dear friends are not alone. I lean into His heartbeat, listen for His voice. His voice is the voice for the voiceless. What next, Lord?

Artist: Marvin Halleraker

Lies in fragile times...

These days, there are many voices you can choose to listen to, and there are many voices you may not realize you are listening to. I was sharing with a good friend in the States this past week and the question came up…

“What lies are we believing?” 

We may think that question has everything to do with a pandemic virus, government conspiracies, and the idea that you may be losing a freedom you never truly had. I challenge us to meditate on His Word and look deeper. As citizens of Heaven, people of the Kingdom…

What rights do we really have? What benefits are really irrevocable? Where does our security really come from? What does justice really look like? 

Reflect on the words in Psalm 103…

Praise the Lord, my soul; all my inmost being, praise His holy name. Praise the Lord, my soul, and forget not all His benefits- who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion, who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s. The Lord works righteousness and justice for all the oppressed. He made known His ways to Moses, His deeds to the people of Israel: The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love. He will not always accuse, nor will He harbor His anger forever; He does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is His love for those who fear Him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us. As a father has compassion on His children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear Him; for He knows how we are formed, He remembers that we are dust. The life of mortals is like grass, they flourish like a flower of the field; the wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more. But from everlasting to everlasting the Lord’s love is with those who fear Him, and His righteousness with their children’s children-with those who keep His covenant and remember to obey His precepts. The Lord has established His throne in heaven, and His kingdom rules over all. Praise the Lord, you His angels, you mighty ones who do his bidding, who obey His word. Praise the Lord, all His heavenly hosts, you His servants who do His will. Praise the Lord, all His works everywhere in His dominion. Praise the Lord, my soul.

I will not burn...

To the nations and peoples of every language...

The words of Nebuchadnezzar in the Book of Daniel as he prepares to share a dream but ironically after the chapter that explains how he became furious and commanded three men of God be thrown into a blazing furnace heated seven times hotter than usual because they would not worship the gods or worship the image of gold he set up. In fact, the three men declared they did not need to defend themselves in this matter...

"If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from Your Majesty's hand. But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your God's or worship the image of gold you have set up." The three men were firmly tied and fell into the blazing furnace, after the flames of the fire killed the soldiers. And then...

"Look! I see four men walking around in the fire, unbound and unharmed, and the fourth looks like a son of the gods", says the king. The governors and royal advisers crowded around them as they came out of the fire. What is truly amazing is how the king commanded them out as acknowledged the truth. He commands them for a second time but this time in recognition of the one true God.

"Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, servants of the Most High God, come out!"


What does this story say to me about God?

My exhaustion many days comes from the enemy's pressure, many times through man's idea to bow down and give in to the things not of the Most High God. I can feel bound and threatened. I see it daily in the political news in many countries. The pressure to bow down to the ways of a political party. The pictures showing those in power gathering around the top official as he dedicates the next great image or policy and then requests loudly that we all must fall down and worship it...and if we do not, we will burn! But God, the Most High God. What does He say the truth is?

What He is saying to me is that I have a choice...is it easy, no. But I have a choice. I can be intimidated by a corrupt system, witchcraft, my fellow American Believers or a desperately lost thief and become bound by fear or...I can choose to turn from the lies, speak light into the darkness, and not bow down to the ways of an unjust system and world. I can choose to trust that the Most High God's ways are higher and instead of demanding justice, bring it all to Him. All justice and righteousness flows from His throne. I can choose to gather around the throne as royalty, the daughter of the King, as He gives declarations...and the pure beauty is He will not demand I fall down and worship Him or His ways. I can choose to...because I love, I abide. I can choose to be thrown into the blazing furnace of the things of this world and walk around in the fire, unbound and unharmed because I love, I abide. I can walk in freedom as He is with me in it all, and I will not burn!

It takes personal choices to change the world, the corrupt systems and not the laws of the kings. It takes the ways of the Most High King. Who will we gather around? Who will we bow to? Who will we dedicate our lives to? For no other god can save in the way we see Him save in the blazing furnace...they trusted in Him and defied the king's command and were willing to give up their lives rather than serve or worship another.

His promise to the nations and people of every language...He will be with us always to the very end of the age. Will you love? Will you abide?

Forgive them...

In the middle of the night, our neighbors showed up to our door with their 7 month old grandson. He was sick with fever, upset stomach, diarrhea...they did not want to go to the hospital as it was night and it was a Sunday so I gave them medicine for the fever to get through the night and they agreed to go to the hospital in the morning, as I was already scheduled to go there, I would drive them. The next morning the baby's mom showed up with him and we drove together. The doctor assessed the child on our arrival and agreed he needed to be admitted for hydration and intravenous malaria treatment. He received attentive, prompt care...he was sent home after he stabilized and responded well to treatment. He was given oral medicine and follow up instructions were given to his mom and grandmother. The family joked, laughed and felt relief as we drove home from the hospital. Even the child's father joined in on the playful celebration...many times it is difficult to locate young fathers, so this was a blessing.

During times of struggle here, things are not always as they seem so with that comes the need for great discernment, grace and in some cases mercy. We live amongst a culture of deep fear, but I am learning that Western culture is the same it just manifests differently. In our village, when people are sick, fear drives them to exhaust all options available to them while deciding if the illness is spiritual from a curse, an indwelling spirit, tormenting spirit in their home or if it is a true physical illness. It is difficult for many to have the courage and knowledge to access an actual medical doctor to help assess this so many seek other traditional methods or assistance from their elders. But in reflecting, how is the Western world any different? We go to the doctor to discuss our abnormal test results, then the surgeon, get a second opinion and then a third opinion...we go to the Naturopath...we start chemotherapy and change our diet, when it fails we try another type of chemotherapy, we go to church for prayer, to healing rooms for intercession, we use essential oils and apply to energy points on our bodies...and then the day sometimes comes where we have exhausted our resources and death is lingering within our next breath. Are we really any different then our Mozambican neighbors?

The risk you take when journeying with some during illness can be huge...it means opening yourself up to frustration, disappointment, judgement, pride, trust issues, spiritual realms and death. What added to our neighbors situation is the reality of the child's grandfather...a man with his own issues. Years of physical, spiritual struggles and mental instability. He actually met his wife during an appointment at a traditional healer's house where she was also seeking assistance for her physical ailments. A very different scenario then our Western match making sites such as church, the bar and the Internet! He is known to still talk to himself, to those unseen around him as he works in the field...he is a man gripped by many demons mentally and spiritually. We have sat with him and his wife several times discussing day to day life, hearing his stories and watching them struggle to make beneficial decisions.

So...the story, stories that followed the celebration of a young child's recovery drastically took a turn over a weekend. Last we heard from the grandfather was the child was still improving. We attended our prayer day in Malawi Saturday and returned filled and ready to rest for the weekend. Sunday was relaxing, uneventful and quiet. Monday morning we decided to visit another neighbor while the boys started their language lessons...our neighbor was not home but as we returned we walked by the house of the neighbor we had just helped and we noticed another friend visiting so we asked to come in to visit them all and we were received.

We took our seats as we were welcomed onto the mat and responded to each person as they greeted us...there was something heavy in the environment although all were calmly sitting, chatting and even smiling as our mutual friend had to leave. As she left, I asked the grandmother how the 7 month old was. She immediately looked frightened, and I was sensing something was wrong as the child's father was visiting and not at work in town. The grandmother got up, went into her home and brought out the child...she placed his shriveled, limp body into my arms. Ian sat next to me as I unwrapped the blanket from his body...the little child I saw just a few days ago was almost unrecognizable. Mouth dry with sores, chest retracting with very short, shallow breaths and eyes rolling back half open. We could sense instantly what had gone on and with a quick physical assessment it was confirmed. This precious boy had been taken to a traditional healer and medicine was given...and he was now only breaths away from death. He had a new, large string type necklace around his frail neck which is often coated with herbal medicine and chanted/prayed over by the traditional healer. I looked at Ian and he knew by my eyes what was going on...he calmly asked the father, the decision maker in the moment as he was the only male there and the grandfather was out in the field, if he would like the child taken to the hospital. Everything in me wanted this child to live and that is what we began praying, but everything in me knew he would take his last breaths this day. I knew it was important to manifest hope in any small way possible and not just watch him die. His father desperately wanted assistance for his son...we would find out later the next day that he was not around when the grandfather insisted his daughter take herself and the child to the traditional healer during the night.

I made a phone call to my doctor friend as we rushed to our vehicle, I let him know we were bringing in a dying child that he had just discharged days before. After several attempts to start our car, it finally turned over. The child's grandmother carried the child into the emergency area and his parents were right behind us on a motorcycle. I recognize the nurse on duty as he whispered to me that the doctor had notified him to be expecting a dying child...he was kind, patient and after four attempts placed an IV in the child's neck, administered an antibiotic and started a fluid drip. Another nurse came in to assess with him, they both talked for a bit and looked at me dumbfounded as the child was so well a few days before, but they also confirmed from their experience with strong certainty that this was a consequence of medicines and actions given by a traditional healer. During this time, the child's crying father was yelled at and escorted out of the room as the rule is only one person at a time with the patient. I calmy but firmly said to the assistant that he knows how rare it was to see a father here in this situation and his child was dying. The assistant, usually a kind and playful man to this American missionary nurse, looked at me in surprise...the look of, you know rules are rules here no matter what...not even death can get in the way of these rules. I knew it was a privilege that I was given permission to stay in the room with his child and wife as the child's father cried at the curb of the hospital, but it was not my right. Ian had returned to the emergency entrance and quickly came along side this wrecked father. He spoke kindly to him, hugged him...he walked him slowly back into the room where his child was beginning to slowly gasp for breath. Ian directed him to speak into his son's ear as he could still hear him, he knew his father's voice. The father bent over his son and whispered in his ear, his sobbing increased as he left the room.  I stood at the doorway as the father stood outside and cried uncontrollably. Ian noticed the child taking his last breaths. I walked over and placed my hand on the child and my eyes met with the nurse attending the patient across from me...the emergency room is about half the size of a normal hospital room for one person in the States and it is crammed with three gurney type beds, a couple small tables for supplies and a sink. This was a good nurse...despite our different training, different countries of origin...he could read my eyes. He stepped over, assessed the child, did a few chest compressions and confirmed his death. His mother broke into tears and left the room to be replaced by his grandmother. I asked the nurse if there was anyway to have some privacy for a few minutes so he pulled over the portable "curtain" to block the bed from others' view, to give some sense of sacred space. I walked out to take a few deep breaths, to let my own tears out...just then my doctor friend walked in to meet up with us. In passing, I told him the child had just died. Ian and I went and spoke to the shocked parents as they grasped at what had just happened. As Ian comforted the father the best he knew how in the moment, we were asked if we could help by driving the baby's body back home with his grandmother and his parents would walk a bit together and take a motorbike. We agreed...no death certificate at this time, no investigation, no call to the social worker and no report to authorities.

Then the moment that will be etched in me forever...when humanity in all its brokenness united to create some kind of wholeness as a bit of light broke through each of us. I re-entered the room where the doctor looked at me heavy with desperation for answers and empathy, he placed his hand on my shoulder and said he was sorry several times. I assured him he had given the best care last week and there was nothing else he could have done. The nurse had attentively taken out the IV and remained in a quiet, humble posture. He lives this experience day in and day out and has every reason to be quick tempered and sharp with his judgementaI words, but he chose grace on this day. I approached the grandmother and she said in tears she was ready to go. A family member of the patient a few steps across from us joined us as the grandmother was afraid to touch the child's body, so he gently helped me swaddle the child and with kindness shared in the grandmother's grief...a complete stranger but he wanted to make sure this foreigner knew how to swaddle a dead baby to prepare to transport. I humbly let him join me in this simple act although I have swaddled many loved ones in death, even my own parents. He had done this many times as well before...

We drove the lifeless child home with his grandmother. When we arrived back to our village, our neighbor met us at the car along with the uncle of the child. He carried the body back to the house and our neighbor joined the grandmother as the outward grieving process began while she walked her home...loud cries, wailing of broken hearts and deep years of suffering suppressed came out in just minutes. I walked quietly behind them with silent tears. We were met immediately at their home by a group of women called to fetch water to start the burial process...we extended the use of our borehole to them which they gratefully used. I was also met by the grandfather...he softly greeted me and then went back to repairing his bicycle as the child's mom and grandmother cried in their home.

During the night hours, the assigned men dug the grave and by the guidance of a flashlight, the child's body was carried to the cemetery while then men quietly and beautifully sang together. The path through our front yard was used for ease...it was a sacred moment. The women stayed back at the house and grieved, mourned as is their custom.

The next day I had a visit at the cilindu. I looked out to see the child's grandfather waiting to talk with me. I took a few minutes, prayed, listened and walked out to meet him. The next few minutes were filled with different stories, some blame-shifting, a lot of shame, confusion, sadness, frustration...our eyes finally met as he looked up and there was a pause...I heard in my spirit, "Forgive them, for they know not what they do." Wow, I had never really stopped to think that was a "now" word that Jesus spoke over humanity as He took on our sin and shame but it was and is! I looked my broken neighbor in the eyes, "Baba, I am so sorry life is so difficult here in Mozambique, I am sorry your grandson had to suffer and die, I am sorry you think you are alone...we should pray." With obvious physical relief, he agreed. I prayed in the name of Jesus for him, for the family, for the brokenness of all involved, for justice of it all. He then thanked me for all our help and the friendship we have extended to him, to his family before he headed home.

I attended the sadaka forty days later to remember and celebrate the spirit of this child being released...I was honored to sit amongst the community, to be served the best food that had taken hours to prepare, and to talk with those I now call friends. The child's grandmother thanked me and walked me out as the day was ending. Sadly, the grandfather's father had died just a few days before so we helped him get farther North to attend the funeral along with his own mother so she could visit her children as the had been separated by divorce.

So much loss, so much grief, so much humanity but so much grace, so much mercy, so much love...this is what being a good neighbor truly means. Love wins even when we do not see it, feel it, acknowledge it...we will not be forsaken and Love will have the victory!

"Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."

What are we made of?

 

We talk about resilience a lot these days…especially when we take our eyes off of ourselves and look at the lives around us. I know I have talked of resilience before but as I live life, it becomes more than a cool topic for a TED talk or lecture…it becomes painfully obvious what resilience is really about. It is about compressive stress. One definition reads: “the capability of a strained body to recover its size and shape after deformation caused especially by compressive stress.” The ability to recover has to do with the property of the material that enables something to resume its original shape or position after the compression, the stress. It made me think of two aspects…

What are we made of?

Do we really want to go back to our original position after a stress that is so compressive it causes deformity?

I can’t help but to think of Jesus…no matter what your view of religion or spirituality--Jesus, His death and resurrection literally shine new light on the concept of resilience.
He was stripped, mocked, spit on, struck on the head over and over, a crown of thorns forced onto His head…He was stricken, pierced and crushed for our iniquities. His body took on a deformed state as it bore physical and spiritual anguish and suffering…the man Jesus became unidentifiable because of the torn flesh, the oppression, the judgement and the affliction of man…as death consumed Him, He bowed His head and gave up His spirit!

What happens then is miraculous as Jesus is raised again…He descends and raises and then ascends in glory, to Glory! He sits at the right hand of Glory Himself! Kind of makes you think of resilience. What was He made of and what position did He resume after such compression and crushing stress? How did He resurrect from deformity?
One thing…He was all man and all God. Reminds me of the importance of abiding in Him as He abides in us. The importance of Holy Spirit alive in us. He gave up His spirit and in exchange His resurrected and ascension was in and with Glory!

What are we made of? Have we exchanged our spirit for His? Have we allowed alignment of our mind, will, and emotions to Holy Spirit within us…is that what we are made of? His spirit and the fruit of His spirit? Love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control… Do we really want to go back to our original shape, our original position? When I think on this question, I say NO!

When we look at Jesus, He went from a position of brokenness to glory. He was literally transformed. The scripture talks of glory to glory, mountain top to valleys to new heights. His life, His death, His resurrection has changed my perception of resiliency. When compressive stress deforms me, I never want to return to my prior state or position…I desire to move forward with a more refined body, heart, and mind. I desire to mature in my responses to others, in my emotions. I do not want to be one that in my immaturity compresses people and then leaves their deformed bodies, souls, and crushed spirits for God to redeem. I desire to be a vessel that comes alongside deformity in Love, in His spirit and leave room for His glory and redemption.

Let’s ask ourselves again…what are we made of? Then ask, what do we need to exchange to bring glory to compression, to bring redemption to deformity? We say beauty for ashes, but are we creating more beauty or more ashes with our lives? Are we bringing deformity or the fruit of His spirit?

 

…to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of His splendor.

                                                                              Isaiah 61:3

Captivated!

Who has captivated you?

Ian and I were reading a book this past month by Francis Chan and he challenged us with a few intimate questions..."What makes Jesus so compelling, beautiful? What characteristics are you drawn to? What actions did He perform that grab your attention?"
I immediately had Ian stop reading and repeat the questions to me as I journaled them..."What makes Jesus so compelling, beautiful?" My heart leaped...suddenly I was captivated all over again thinking about the intimacy of Jesus, His life, His death and His love for us. His love for all of us.

Upon our return to our home in Africa, there has been a rhythm of family devotions together...we feel it is important to practice what we preach so we sit together, worship, open the Bible to scripture and discover Abba, Jesus through the Word as Holy Spirit guides and speaks. We have started to visit our neighbors, sit with them, speak their language, listen to them as we enjoy their presence, meet practical needs, we pray for some as we walk down the paths all while listening for our Father's voice. We keep it simple as we feel Jesus asks us to. It is really what life should always look like. It can be a vulnerable life as you sit with those you barely know, wrestling with a new language and enter in...it can bring rejection, manipulation, pain. But it can also bring joy beyond our grasp!

We enjoy reading (hence why Francis Chan triggered my thoughts), enjoy others thoughts on scripture and revelation they receive from the Lord. There are some that make a living off of sharing their encounters, their ideas, their ongoing stories of God in their lives or their ongoing battle against religion. Some how for us here on earth, His word, the Word is never enough for us so there are times we lean into these writers, pastors, religious/spiritual experts. We cannot explain it all...the flood, the death, the loss, the great exchange, the glory, the love, the magnitude of who He is...so we look to others to explain it for us, to be His voice. Do not get me wrong, we are called to fellowship, to learn and submit at times to one another, to be vessels God uses, to co-labor not be co-dependent on one another. However, when we begin to rely on others for our faith at the cost of truth, sooner or later it draws us away from our one true Love. All the ideas, opinions and the men themselves captivate us...doubt creeps in, then rebellion and then one day you find yourself on a platform above your fellow believers and your non-believing neighbors instead of at the feet of Jesus, in His presence, listening...

Thankfully, in the past few days I have been convicted as I see the enormity of the distractions around us all, sometimes my own voice is the distraction.

Today as a family we read and discussed Luke 10:38-42, a passage I have read many times but today Holy Spirit guided me to a different posture and I found myself captivated in a fullness that I have missed...at the feet of Jesus.

"As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparation that had to be made. She came to him and asked, "Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!" "Martha, Martha," the Lord answered, "you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed-or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her."
It will not be taken away from me, from you...His presence, His voice. Both will remain as we choose to sit at His feet, to listen and to choose not to be caught up in our agenda, man's agenda, and the noise of this world. He is enough, the Word is enough. God has plans, but He is also sovereign. And in that sovereignty, we have choice. And in those choices, He has promises we can choose to lean into. He never commanded Mary to sit and listen...she was captivated, she chose. There is such a freedom beyond comprehension when you recognize the difference.

As you read this please accept my apologies for the times my voice has been a distraction or my actions have not aligned with His promises. My hope, my prayer is that we will be a people that not only sits at the feet of Jesus and listens to His voice but that we will live that out with each other. That our voices do not need to be the loudest but our actions, our love because of His love should be the loudest. That our homes will be open for those to enter, those that are broken, those that have a voice needing to be heard...that we will choose to sit at their feet and listen, be present in their brokenness without solutions or quick words, that we will not be a distraction. That we will then choose to sit beside them as Jesus is invited into the conversation and we will sit at His feet together...be captivated by His presence, His love and the intimacy that comes with that choice.

I want to invite you into my home, my life. To be present and to listen as I ask again...

Who has captivated you?

 

 

 

The Light of His Face...

"It was not by their sword that they won the land, nor did their arm bring them victory; it was your right hand, your arm, and the light of your face, for you loved them."

Psalm 44:3...This is the verse Holy Spirit brought to my attention a couple months ago. I love my country and my heart breaks for my country, for the world. I love the men and women that have fought and even died for my freedoms so I can share my thoughts in writing. This verse continues to bring me assurance during such a difficult time in America.

Hearing of so much hate, so many accusations, so many power trips, so many ego trips...a battle for a "kingship" to repair and restore a "kingdom" that has been broken, breached. A kingdom that in reality has been broken since the great deception in the Garden of Eden. Then there are the destructive talks of big armies, big money, big promises and big promotions. Faith leaders fueled the discussions and sometimes the destruction. Relationships continue to be strained, broken. The un-friending on social media continues. The mom with the homosexual son continues to be afraid for his life, his future. The single, pregnant mom that makes just enough to send her first child to daycare so she can work for minimum wage still makes an appointment for an abortion. The homeless, mentally ill veteran is still sleeping in the back alley in Downtown Phoenix. The orphan still aches to know his father. Radical groups continue to destroy life every moment as we mount up to make America great again.

It is painful, it is dark...

We as a family gathered this Sunday morning to praise, worship and reflect. What a life we have...the good and the bad...we are thankful! Then Ian had us ask this question.

Father God, what would you like to share with us, the church, today?

Just before he asked the question, Holy Spirit brought me to Psalm 44:3 again. I wrote it in my journal as I figured He must have more to reveal...and like a faithful Father knowing the heart of his daughter, He began to reveal as I invited Him to speak.

He immediately gave me a picture...a purple heart.

My initial thought was, why not red? But I quickly pressed in to the more He had. He said..."He is King, invitations into His Kingdom will abound this year." I turned a page back from Psalm 44 and read Psalm 43:3 as a reminder of how a king reigns. "Send me your light and your faithful care, let them lead me; let them bring me to your holy mountain, to the place where you dwell."

While sharing with my family, as I spoke the word purple heart...the revelation came to me in such fullness. Purple Heart...which is awarded for "being wounded or killed in any action against an enemy of the United States or as a result of an act of any such enemy or opposing armed forces".

He is our Hero, our Advocate...Jesus sent by the Father, His Father. Sent to war here on earth and in the heavens on our behalf, for His victory, for our victory! He suffered, was wounded, was killed and was resurrected to conquer the enemy and all opposing forces. Not just for America, but for the world. For God so loved the world...

It will not be by our swords that we will retake "our" land, it will not be by our own strength that we will have victory. But it will be by His right hand, His strength, and THE LIGHT OF HIS FACE, FOR HE LOVES US!

The victory is His and will always be His...will we choose to step into that truth, that reality? Will we dwell in and choose to share the light that is within us or will we allow the voice and power of men to keep others in the dark? Will we stop at nothing less than what He paid for? What did He pay for?

Did He pay for safe borders? Clean water? Land ownership? Gun rights? Civil rights? Air conditioned mansions? Freedom of speech?

NO...He paid for YOU! Your life, your heart, your future. The only rights He promises is the rights we have as sons and daughters in His Kingdom.

So I would challenge you to ask...Father God, what would you like to share with us, the church, today? Let the light of His face shine on you, in you, out of you...for He loves you, He loves us.

For God so loved the world...

The best in life...

We have been in Mozambique a bit over 3 weeks now...celebrating Christmas. A time where family gathers, there is a refocusing as we head into the new year and we indulge in the best life has to offer...

The best life has to offer...hmmm...have you ever really stopped to think what "the best" really is? When I was a little girl the best for me during Christmas was the evening before when my dad would come over and we would open gifts with him. My parents had divorced when I was four and life was confusing for many years after that but goodness Christmas Eve was the best when we would gather as a "family" for a couple hours and exchange gifts. Then the best continued the next day as we woke up to stockings stuffed with Life Saver candy books and coloring books from Santa with the price tag still on it...Mama said Santa had to make a last minute stop at Kmart! ;) Then the day continued with family, food and something good on television.

Now lying in bed...over 30 years later, I weep.

The worst life has to offer...as moments flash in my mind of those last moments with my dad...he suffered, he struggled. I remember the invitation he gave to me just two weeks before he died in March..."Sis, you should join us for Christmas." He knew there would be no more Christmas times together here on Earth but the invitation was an extension of his love, his repentance, his forgiveness as he knew he was heading into eternity.
                       
                                                   
                                                             

I took a few minutes to refocus, process the grief, feel the emotion and listen for His voice...

The best life has to offer...He met me in my grief as I wept...Holy Spirit brought me comfort and Abba extended His invitation as He always does..."Daughter, you should join Us for Christmas." I am quickly reminded that there will always be Christ and times together into eternity...I remember His suffering, His struggle. An extension of His love which lead to my repentance and His forgiveness. I indulged in His grace, His mercy and His wonder. He was born to show us how to live, then He died to give us opportunity to live forever! Death for Life! An exchange occurred through my tears...the worst life has to offer in a memory for the best life has to offer in the reality of my Savior.

A great exchange...His best for our worst!

To be heard...

I want to rewind a bit in my story…the world’s recent events here in Mozambique and America have brought to remembrance wounds in my own life and as I struggle some days to parent my boys well I realize more and more the importance of being heard, having a voice. I think that is why I have always had a deep desire to write and have found blogging to be therapeutic at times because I can tell my story and have a voice in some way.

In the last few months I have really struggled with knowing how to come along side Tobiah as he is going through so many physical, emotional, mental and spiritual changes at 12 years old. I am also seeing it in Jaidan at 9 and Gideon at 7. They were not born in Moz and they have only lived here a bit over a year. We live in a community with mostly singles, we live an area where most families have raised their children in Africa, but the reality that I struggled with the most this past week was that my sons are being raised in a country with no voice.  They are being raised around the vulnerable that want to have a voice but when they speak they are not heard. Children will sit at our fence for hours yelling Tobiah’s name until someone hears them. Some days they will continue to yell until someone actually acknowledges them, has a short conversation with them…hears them.

The ongoing lesson for me this past couple months as a parent is that when you are around a dinner table, in a community, after 5pm, after hours of work and ministry and many days death, when fatigue begins to set into not only your body but your mind, your emotions, your heart…the reality still is my own 12 year old boy needs to be heard. He has had his own struggle lately with what is appropriate to discuss at the table with others, what tone to use, what volume to use and when to just sit in silence. I, out of what I think is protection, try to silence him too often. I give him the look only a frustrated mom can give, have a tone that cuts like a knife, and project my own insecurity and fear of…oh my they will never want us to eat dinner with them again! After many tears, prayers and discussions with Ian this week, I realized I had failed at truly protecting Tobiah and even my other two boys. I decided I needed to own my own junk, let the Lord burn it off as the dross it was and ask Tobiah a simple question…why are you having such a hard time? A question many failed to ask me in my own childhood, a question I failed to ask many even in recent years, a question many fail to ask each other day after day because it requires vulnerability.

Tobiah was not slow to communicate his feelings, his frustrations…he now had a voice and it was my choice to let him be heard. He said…”Mama, it is difficult to say what I am feeling or say it the right way and with the right tone. I am trying but sometimes I do not know how to say what I am thinking when others bring up things…they bring it up and I am just trying to say what I feel about it. I don’t mean to be rude or sound bad.”  Wow…that was it, pretty simple, huh?! Days, weeks, months of not being able to communicate in your own language with your own friends and then add not being able to communicate well to parents and adults that many times expect “more of you”.  I really heard him thankfully to Holy Spirit for giving me the deeper understanding in his emotions and words. When children are not heard they will act in a way that will get attention even if it is negative and yes they will become overwhelmingly annoying, loud and eventually defiant. Sad thing is that will carry into their adulthood if parents, caregivers or others do not take the time to stop and hear them…to let them have a voice.

What I have seen many times with parenting is when there is an issue that your child is struggling with that makes you more frustrated, angry, helpless, defensive, and some days just plain irritated…it is because there is something in what your child is struggling with that is penetrating a wound in your own soul as a parent. You feel irritated and defensive as that “something” begins to rub against a scar and irritate the unhealed tissue under it. You become defensive as you go into self-protection thinking you are protecting your own child when really you are harming him and empowering those around you to harm your child as well. The enemy wants you to feel it is easier to continue to ignore the real issue and be a peace keeper instead of being a peace maker by exposing the deep root of your own wound as it may be uncomfortable for more than just you, it may be uncomfortable for those around you. I often wonder if many people just cannot believe what Jesus did for them because after all it was just too uncomfortable…the isolation, the anguish, the names he was called and ultimately the torture and crucifixion. But the truth is if we were always going to be comfortable why did He send Holy Spirit, the Great Comforter?

 

I am choosing to be vulnerable and have peace that this is the right time to share…I believe healing comes in many different ways, different times, whether spoken out loud or quietly to our Heavenly Father. I want to go back to the time when I was 9 years old. A time when I was struggling in my childhood. Struggling in many ways…was not the most beautiful little girl (so I thought), had a horrible gap between my teeth (which if I still had would be a sign of amazing beauty here in Africa), and my foundation in life was broken. My parents were divorced, my mom entered the work force when I was 4 years old and from that day on I was under the care of a babysitter…whether with my older brother or someone my mom thought she could trust with me and my other brother. It was difficult to have a voice during this time as most days there was no one around that really cared to hear me. My mom was working, my dad was living his life elsewhere, my brother got to an age where he did not need a babysitter, and my friends were home safe with their own families after school. I found it difficult to communicate what I was feeling, experiencing. I remember at one time after my dad left we tried family counseling and we were sent home with a punching bag to take out our aggressions on as my brother and I would fight constantly and violently. Of course, that bag broke in the first couple weeks as it was hit so hard and often! We yelled to try to be heard and at the end of the day there was lots of tears, bruises, broken hearts and unresolved issues as not one of us could put words to anything that was going on. My mom was at a loss as her own childhood was engulfed with alcoholic parents sleeping in separate rooms, hurtful words from a mom that could not express love well and a loving dad that was broken in many ways himself. We were a hurting, broken family wanting to be heard, to be loved and to love each other but did not know how to begin all of that in a healthy way. The way we see, experience and engage in communication as children carries over into our adulthood and that is not always a healthy aspect of our relationships. My wounded heart was only beaten more as the unspeakable happened at my babysitter’s house which was only two doors down from my home…I became a victim of sexual abuse. My babysitter was an amazing, loving lady but her husband was not and what he had his son do to me was a manifestation and manipulation of his own sin and evil. After what seemed like years…although it was only months I was told by a friend a block away that the same thing happened to her. I was sad for her but in some way relieved as the trauma made me feel like I was in a bad dream and some days I just wished it was and I would just wake up! But the dream was real… I am an introvert so even at that age it took me a long time to figure out how I would talk to my mom, what would I say, would she believe me, did she even have the time to listen? One day I had the courage and I wrote it in a note…even today I communicate better in writing. J My mom called my dad and they talked…there were phone calls and discussions even with others. At the end of all the talks my mom told me I was no longer going to the babysitter and there would be another plan. From what I could see through my 9 year old perspective…there was no justice and it was not discussed ever again. I spent years struggling in relationships with guys, struggling in communication in relationships with friends and even struggling in communication with my aging parents.

I moved forward and in later years I chose to forgive my parents for whatever had happened…my abuse as a result of their own sin and divorce. Also, I forgave them as I felt I had not really been heard…that I spoke out but not much was done. Some days I struggled to speak up when I saw injustice as I felt I would not be heard. God continued to speak to me throughout the years…He reminded me that He heard me, my cries and that I had a voice. After immense healing I was able to interact with my parents at a much deeper level, able to discuss the deep things of life, of death and because of this vulnerability and healing was able to journey with them both as they took their last breaths…the exchange was life changing.

When I was 39…yes, just two years ago, the Lord woke me in the middle of the night and brought to remembrance the abusers in my childhood.  He said there was no way I would go into the mission field overseas until I really understood forgiveness and what being heard was really about.  I questioned why as I felt I had forgiven…He pointed out a few things and I realized there was more to it all. I went to my computer and looked up the name of my old babysitter’s now ex-husband…I lost my breath and began to weep as I read the news story from years before…man arrested and convicted of sexual abuse…the worst child predator in Arizona history. During police interviews he could not even count the number of victims her had abused, prostituted. His forever home on earth would be a prison cell separated from others. Remind you, this man was not my abuser but his son was; however, I was able to look with a compassion only the Lord can give to realize this son was a victim of abuse in a much more twisted way then I could ever imagine. That did not excuse what his son chose to do under such pressure but I chose to forgive him and pray for his healing that he would someday realize he needed. I struggled instantly with the feelings of I could have done more, my parents could have done more…why wasn’t I really heard?! If I was really heard then why did all of these other children have to suffer and most at an even higher cost then myself!? I prayed, I listened, I leaned into my Father’s chest. I knew He was with me…yes, He was even with me during those times. I knew He was for me, He has always been for me. Sometimes healing comes in part and in later years in full. Sometimes it comes slowly and sometimes in an instant. The Lord showed me again that Jesus died for not only my sins…but He died for the shame I carried because of others sin against me. In that instant I realized I was carrying shame for the sin that was done to me and in the moment the shame was immense for what the enemy wanted me to embrace…he wanted me to embrace the idea that all those children were abused because my voice was not enough…my story was not enough. That lasted for all but a moment as the presence of God just consumed me, my heart, my soul, my spirit.

Yes, I have a voice and I was heard. Yes, I have a story. What is the point of all this? Parents, slow down and listen to your children, hear their stories, their frustrations. Respectfully quit worrying about what others think and please stop projecting the expectations of others on your children. Everyone, slow down and listen to your friends, listen to the man you stop for on the street. I am living in a third world country where injustice and abuse are daily events. Where children are sold for sex and body parts. Where you are forced into the military at a young age. I am living in a country that once looked like America did before it “developed”. If people live years and years without being heard, without having a voice, without being able to share their story without offense or fear of rejection and shame…those people will soon self-implode…that nation will soon self-destruct.

 

“The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles. The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:17-18

 

“Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter--when you see the naked, to clothe them,  and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood? Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard. Then you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I. If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with the pointing finger and malicious talk, and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry, and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday. The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail. Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins and will raise up the age-old foundations; you will be called a Repairer of Broken Walls, Restorer of Streets with Dwellings. 

We must cry out when others cannot, will not or do not even know what I mean by cry out! We must not only speak justice but live it out each day. There is action that comes with faith and prayer. If we as individuals do not seek righteousness, justice, mercy, love and forgiveness while allowing each other to be heard…well, we can see the results today on the news. We have a foundation to repair and restore for a new generation that is on a journey to their future, to live out their story. Will you let them have a voice, will you let them be heard?

 

 

Continued...Faith in the darkness.

Then we went into the mode many people go into…how do we survive? How do we make ends meet? How do we self-preserve because sometimes God just does not feel like enough?

This began countless nights of Ian up, not sleeping, in pain…many nights of me getting up to see him lying on the ground…on his stomach, on his back…whatever position to relieve the pain but the one constant was the sound of worship and praise playing over him as he was battling to hold on to the promises of the Lord.  To this day when these nights are brought to remembrance, my faith is strengthened by the unwavering faith my husband sowed in tears over our household, over our family, over our future. Ian was a young dad, a young husband, a young business owner that could no longer provide consistent income for his family...he could not run around with his little boys and toss them over his shoulder. When we finally got him into one of the best spinal surgeons in the state he was told…you need to rest, do not lift anything. Yea, you can imagine how we walked out of that appointment full of hope!? NOT! How does a father of two and soon three rest and not lift his own children as his wife struggles to lift her own shoe off the ground with her big belly in the way! We knew God’s ways would have to be greater than man’s ways at this point…ONLY JESUS!

We prayed, we cried, we were silent in the struggle of decision making…but then it was decided…I would return to work at the hospital, to one of the toughest medical floors known to a nurse, 12 hour shifts…in my third trimester with only God as my security at this point. I continued my weekly OB appointments, my weekly ultrasounds but my self-directed bedrest was now a thing of the past and yes, Ian had to lift our boys up each day to help bath them, dress them and care for them. And...God provided…He provided abundance of energy, health, rest, compassion, grace, assurance and assistance through all the amazing people I worked with, through our friends that loved us. His Spirit rested upon me and in me…He reminded me of His promises as I was caught between the crossfire of fear of man and the revelation and wisdom of my Abba that sometimes a mama can only understand. There is risk in many decisions we make, but I have learned that the risk of disobedience and not following the peace of God is greater. We followed the peace although it looked like insanity and yes even stupidity and neglect to others…and yes I know some of you reading this now will think and feel again those same emotions and judge me so I am thankful for grace and identity.

During this time Ian began to seek some relief through medical intervention and pain specialists as we discovered Ian had two herniated disks. We decided to try steroid injections as surgery was not an option and any type of pain medication would put Ian into a partial coma! We had learned this lesson during his hip surgery when the nurse came out to the recovery room and explained to me about his lack of breathing during surgery as he was so naïve to sedation and then again when his blood pressure dropped to almost nothing when given morphine and nausea medication at two separate times. Yea, you could say the Lord has watched over Ian better than any doctor! Scary times, but God was good, is good!

I worked until the last few days of my pregnancy…had some complications getting the stitch removed from my cervix. Crazy…all that concern over the stitch not holding up, preterm labor and so much more and now it took another hospitalization to get it removed! Then still no labor…so I was induced and Gideon was born…healthy, full of fight and joy! Gideon, our mighty warrior!

 

 

We moved forward, although most days felt as if we were crawling forward…I worked some part-time, Ian managed to get through appointments on his good days. We were able to always have one of us home with the boys which was always important to us, to me...as I was a survivor of sexual abuse during the years of my childhood at a babysitter’s home. God was faithful…He knew our hearts’ desires but we still struggled knowing that there was even more He had for us…there was a fullness in Him we were not living in. There was healing, tangible healing we knew we needed, our marriage needed, our hearts needed…but most days we were feeling around in the dark trying to get our balance just to take the next step.

Then in His grace, when we asked...He again lit our path.
 

But to my surprise, there was no longer a path but a cliff, and my tired, bloody feet were at the edge of it…