Conniving Correction

Recently there was a threat of a gunman in my building. It was never confirmed, and it was fairly looked over in the news. However, at the moment… the fear was intense. A couple of hours later (after the police had swarmed the area) we were told to go back to normal activity. Needless to say, that was easier said than done. Without answers my fear festered and I turned to social media for anything to subside my curiosity. There I was bombarded by terrified facebook posts and tweets from my friends and neighbors. One had commented at the time of the lockdown about how she had seen the suspect. In her distress, she made a few grammatical errors. I didn’t notice them until I read the first reply. It was from a woman who took it on herself to correct this young lady’s grammar through mockery. I was shocked. Seriously?

 

But the more I though about it, the less surprised I became. We live in a world of people who police others minor mistakes. They have lost the bigger picture. No longer is it about empathy, gently leading someone into wisdom, but mocking the accused into submission. “You forgot an apostrophe! Therefore I consider myself greater than you and your opinion by scoffing at your mistake. Here in front of my hoard of followers I deem you a Moron.”

 

Where is the kindness? What happened to loving someone in the midst of human faults? The term correction has now become synonymous with “burn”. Which leads me to assume that it is easier to watch others burn in shame than truly care. Sadly, in a growing “me vs. the world” mentality, this doesn’t surprise me.

 

This stained version of correction has infiltrated the Christian realm. From the outside, Christianity only looks like uncomfortable correction and a finger pointing Christ at the helm. Being wrong isn’t a time to learn and experience the beautiful freedom of Grace, but instead a sinful soreness that will be picked at painfully by those who claim to be helping.

 

But this isn’t my Jesus. My Jesus didn’t participate in the jeers when the adulterous woman was brought to him. He didn’t belittle her or make her feel the full pain of her actions. No, he turned and questioned the people trying to make an example of her. He stared into the eyes of the judgmental and asked them to search their own hearts for wrongdoing. One by one, they shamefully backed away. Then he turned to her with deep compassion, recognizing that he would die for this woman’s sin and forgave her. He urged her to “Go and sin no more.” His correction was made out of love because he truly cared for her wellbeing, not because he wanted to be seen as “better”. Every time I read of this moment, my heart melts because I see the Grace of Jesus. But there is more to it than that. Only one person was forgiven at the time and it wasn’t the accusers, but the broken woman. So what’s the point of self-righteousness if there is no freedom of forgiveness?

 

If I truly take this into consideration, then when I stand in front of Christ I will not have the people that I judged my righteousness against to make me feel better standing between me and my Savior. No, I won’t be able to point fingers and state how great I am compared to this person or that person. I will be there alone, his eyes peering into my soul. And I will hear my heart begging him to not be as critical of me as I was with others. I will cry out for compassion, for him to look past my actions and show me empathy. I am grateful that my Jesus won’t take that moment to mock my wrong doings, or use my errors to point out to God how much better He is than me. But instead…grace. And I will feel the warmth of forgiveness just like the redeemed woman. After a moment in the presence of my God, I will walk away clean and blessed…not damned and ashamed.

Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus.

 

Graduate Studies: Love

This is no 101 class.

Conversation with Ben

Ben: I want to go mushroom hunting. Random thought.

Me: That’s not random. You speak of that often. Want to hear an actual random thought? I think I’m in love with a dairy farmer.

Ben: Lol. WHAAAAT? Like in love with the farmer or the products?

Me: The farmer. She is fascinating. Met her last weekend and she was all I spoke of on my date last night.

Ben: Nice. You like ladies now?

Me: Not in the way you are referring. But I’m attracted to her. Not in a physical way…just an abundance of admiration and respect. And to me love is more about that than romance or sex. Anyone can have sex, few are mutually honored.

Ben: To me love is a chemical reaction

Me: Well it is a good thing we’re not in love. I’m all about diplomacy and you’re into chemistry. Same campus. Different buildings.

Ben: Diplomacy and chemistry are mutually exclusive? Because I respect people, but I don’t really love them.

Me: Perhaps it isn’t, but what is the bridge? I just know that I don’t love the guy I went out with and he is already all in. I wish people didn’t fall so fast. I cannot keep up and I feel more isolated. But enough about me. How are you?

Ben: Overhwlemed. Sick. Single. Frustrated.

Me: Sending good thoughts and prayers your way.

Ben: Yes Jackie! Viiiiiibe me. It always works!

The idea of equating love to chemistry has always seemed so shallow to me. The two “lovers” give into an instant reaction, the flame burns bright, both elements are devoured, and it ends.

This quote is written on the bracelet I wear daily. A reminder that love is always giving.

But diplomacy, the ability of coming together with honest intentions and the hope of unity is something far different. The merger is full of give and take, but both are left better off than before. We are exposed to the needs of others, we define them, and then rise the challenge of finding a solution. It takes sacrifice, but maintaining the strength of the unity is far better than the two alone, so it is more than worth it. Both are vulnerable in their desires, but both are fulfilled and understood. Mutual respect is key. How on earth can one be in a romantic relationship with someone they do not respect or trust with the deepest parts of their heart? There is no honesty there. And as Ted Mosby said in HIMYM, “I think when we are truly honest about what we want, life has a way of giving us the chance to have it.” Yes, diplomacy takes more skill than a reaction-craving chemist with a lighter.

When I love someone, I want the chance to see and love all of them…not be blinded by the shimmering flame of instant infatuation.

 

Due Process Of Pain

I’m not sure how much time had passed. Seconds? Hours? Just time. I finally opened my eyes to see our feet intertwined. I looked longer to see the little splashes of tears dappled across the wooden floor. I tried to guess which were mine and which were hers. It really didn’t matter. Pain is pain. There was nothing I could do. There was nothing I could say. All I could do was let her lean on me as I held her. We had both lost a dear love, but I kept my heartache hidden so I keep strong for her.

This is how I deal with things. This is what I do when I lose control and feel utterly helpless to tragedy. I find someone to wrap my arms around and comfort. I do it because I hate seeing others in pain. I do it because I love deeply. I do it because I know of no other way.

However I am grieving. There is no way around that. I was struck with two accounts of horrible news yesterday. Two of my favorite people on earth are facing death. It all happened so suddenly. I’m trying so hard not to be terrified. I had to tell a family member today. I had to watch as her face drained of blood and fill with anguish. God show me what to do. Show me how to help ease this.

Why must I always face awful things alone?

***

That’s not entirely true. I have some around me who jump at the chance to see me vulnerable. They slink in at these moments and try to use it for personal gain. I can’t do this. They don’t see the point in investing in someone if they cannot gain something more. Why must so much of people’s “kindness” be twisted in selfishness?

People will always do the right thing… if it benefits them. However, true giving requires sacrifice. It means putting aside our needs and wants, so we can truly focus on the other person. We don’t do this to gain accolades when the person heals. You have never “fixed” anyone. That healing is because of God alone. We are just honored with the chance to see the person experience God.

I don’t see Your hand yet, God. But I know it’s here. Help me to encourage others in that fact. Thank you God for sacrificing, and loving broken creatures that could never match your investment. I trust you…always. All will be well.

UPDATE (a day later)

I wrote out of emotion last night…not faith. However the Lord graced me with faith and joy in abundance when I woke up this morning. Since I have rallied my entire family and poured out all that God had poured into me. There is prayer. There is praise.  God is ALWAYS enough.

 

Armor

This dream was commonplace. I was not Joan of Arc, Boudica, or Douglas Macarthur. I wasn’t fighting a battle and no one was trying to kill me. I was merely meandering about town. I came across a building with numerous cars in the parking lot. It caught my eye, so I made my way to the entrance. It was a clothing store aptly named “The Upright Citizen”. The inside was buzzing with foot traffic, and I was shocked that I had never heard of the store before. While wandering about the aisles, I looked at the clothes and stated:

“I own that.”

“I’m wearing that.”

“I’ve had that forever, that’s in style now?”

I was so confused because people were making a fuss over things I thought were customary. However the more I listened in, the more I noticed the frustration in the patrons’ voices:

“These clothes fit funny. It doesn’t suit me.”

“This pattern will make me look weird.”

“I don’t know how to wear this.”

“This feels uncomfortable.”

Upon further inspection, I noticed that although the store was busy, no one was buying anything. All the sizes of styles sat there untouched. Everyone wanted to look like an upright citizen, but felt too uncomfortable in the clothes. Others were worried it would make them look too different and therefore, more susceptible to criticism.

Moving onward, I overheard crying. There in the middle of one of the aisles was a former friend on the floor. It was obvious she was in pain. I cradled her head in my chest and stated that everything was going to be fine. Since my cart was not full of clothes, I had plenty of room to pick her up and place her in the basket. In the next scene I was taking her home to a sorority called “The Hen House”.

I looked for the other women of the house to see if they could help me care for my friend, but the house seemed deserted. Those who were there were zoned in front of the television. Kate looked up at me and said she would sleep better if she knew I was outside keeping guard. I told her I would take care of everything and there was no need to worry anymore.

~~~

 

It is not enough to look like loving Christians who are willing to put others first, we need to cultivate this in ourselves over time. Quickly throwing on “upright” attire will feel awkward and uncomfortable. Trying to dress the part will cause us to miss the real issues that are hidden. While others were criticizing how dowdy the clothes were, I was already dressed and adjusted to the material, free to find the need.

Like I stated in my last post, being someone who only criticizes the Kingdom of God in order to justify selfish actions, does not make a Christian.  Always trying to do the right thing looks weird to the world (that will mock you and belittle your efforts). Although the world may think you are odd for being passionate about a God who seems “outdated”, you are a viable person who is capable of being used to bless others and bring them home.

Great warriors know how to move in armor. Despite the limitations and weight, they train in it to prepare for battle. They know how to make the armor work best. They do not train without it for the sake of ease, because if they do it will feel cumbersome during the fight. They will not only fight enemies, but also their own uncomfortable armor if they are not used to the weight. This will leave them susceptible when the fight is most critical. Why should Christianity and the armor of God be any different?

“Not what one would think of when the idea of comfort comes to mind. But pajamas will not protect you from arrows.”

It is tempting to live an easy life where one can effortlessly throw on a virtuous looking jacket for a few hours to blend in… but honestly, what is the point? Why bother pretending at all? Disguising oneself to look moral does not benefit anyone else, but fills a selfish/pretentious need for a short time. It is the miniscule band-aid to a gapping wound. The easy road may mean you are more accepted, but the easy road has yet to create a great leader. No one of importance rose to that spot by avoiding the sacrifice of selflessness and responsibility. This is something I have to remind myself daily because slipping into an internal focus is far too simple, but I do know the sacrifice is worth it.

In the past two weeks, my sister is the third person the Lord has entrusted me with to encourage and nurture. I am honored and humbled that the Lord trusts me to love them on His behalf and lead them home.

 

Landlocked

I felt a tug on the rope tied around my wrist. I looked up and to find that I was tied to my co-worker Judy.  Rarely does Judy make an appearance in my dreams, but when she does she is the embodiment of hard work and sacrifice. I felt my other wrist move to see that I was also connected to the Pope. Confused, I assessed my surroundings and noticed a large hall with a sizeable wooden frame in the center. The walls were a heavy, block stone that seemed to rise infinitely upward. It was all enclosed and there was nowhere to go. There were crowds of people surrounding the edges of the building, watching every move. Fully aware of what was going to happen, I looked over at Judy and said, “They are going to hang us, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” said Judy. After a solemn pause she continued, “There are always consequences to doing the right thing.” I turned to my left and saw the Pope nod in agreement. With subdued movement he signed a scripture verse and I patted my chest in assurance.

I Peter 5:10 After you have suffered for a little while, the God of all grace, who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, will Himself perfect, confirm, strengthen and establish you.                                                                               

We walked over to a large collection of old books, carried them to the wooden structure, and threw them in a pile underneath. As the pile grew, I asked Judy of the purpose.

“In case the rope snaps when they hang us, the old book spines will break our spines when we fall,” she said without looking up from her assignment.

As a faceless figure strung us up, a few seconds passed and I awoke. I am still unsure of the meaning of the books, only that people will use cultural pressure, majority in number, and intellect to tear down those that intimidate them.

Ever since I can remember, I have tried to do the right thing. At sixteen, I would wake up every morning and state, “It’s not about you. It’s about the unseen.” I understood that life decisions never just affect one person. We are humankind, forever linked together. Each day was the chance to bless my surroundings and acknowledge the greatness in others. I was adamantly against Aleister Crowley’s conceited mantra, “Do what thou wilt.” That vain idea gives into the selfish belief that human beings are autonomous islands that are ruled by divine right. In this mindset, we are god-like rulers who are accountable to no one. When people come into our lives, they must bow before the laws we set in place. It is not about them, but their acceptance of us. If they cannot accept our egocentric demands, then they are forever exiled as traitors. For anyone who challenges us and strives us to grow (including God) they are seen as a threat to our self-importance. If those in your life do not positively pressure you to continue moving forward, then their love is also selfish because it is used as a tool to keep you stagnant and the same. It’s not love, it’s ownership. Love is not worthwhile when there is no growth; it is merely tainted affection. True love means encouraging and blessing those in our lives in order to embrace eternal fulfillment.

Retreating into our own minds leads us to assume that every selfish action is justified. We refuse to see how our actions affect other people, and therefore, lose our apathy. Island living is a farce, because it is no more than an anesthetized existence.

Alone, we are worthless. Nothing about you is so extraordinary that you will somehow be able to escape mortality and live forever in legendary status. No, the world existed before you, and will continue to exist without you. However, when we allow Christ to live within us and we choose to embrace those around us by abandoning our islands, we form the church. I am aware that culture has stigmatized the word “church” into a useless collection of hypercritical hate mongers, but that is not the church of the Bible.

Is the church flawed? Of course, we live in a fallen world. Who isn’t flawed? Our society is so busy throwing rocks at other people’s problems that we refuse to see the entropy in ourselves. When we are accused of something, there is always someone to blame.

THERE IS NO HONOR IN FINGER POINTING! Shaking a judgmental finger at a problem does not make you a hero. If you want to see positivity in the church, then BE THAT POSITIVITY! Do not just stand there as a roadblock to those attempting to do good works.

Romans 12:3-5
For by the grace given me I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you. Just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others.

The church looks so messy because it dives into the problems. It knows that in order to reach people at their lowest point, it must go and find them. I am honored to be apart of the international church that withstands suffering in the Middle East, meets underground in China, sends missionaries across the world, and daily tries to forget oneself and instead love one’s neighbor.

I am no island, but humbly landlocked.

 

Je t’aime plus

J’adore aujourd’hui!

~Warning, this post get’s a bit gruesome.~

I have always found this day to be fascinating. While many focus on candy and Hallmark sentiments, there is something both tragic and beautiful at the heart of it. Although most that is known about St. Valentine is cloaked in mystery, a few things are known. He died on February 14 269 A.D. However even that fact is debatable from the date to the number of saints. There are many Saint Valentines in the Roman Catholic priesthood and two in particular at the time of death.  Most historians conclude that there was just one man, a saint who became bishop, that was beheaded for his faith.  Although there is little question of the martyrdom of a saint, the event may have been romanticized by Chaucer (author of the Canterbury Tales) in the poem “The Parliament of Fowls”. He actually used the term “Valentine’s Day” which obviously is still in use.

History aside, what I find most incredible is how we celebrate the death of this man. It is a day of love, affection, and declarations of the heart. What an honor to have one’s legacy be wrapped in the beauty of love. This man willingly faced punishment because the love in his heart for God was bigger than death itself. This inspires me beyond words. Although hardly comparable, I often dream of dying for my faith. One dream in particular still haunts me.

I was about to be hung. I looked down and all across my skin were tattoos of the sins of others mixed with inked hearts of love. I was dying so they wouldn’t have to. The enemy was incensed at such affection, so he cut out each tattoo from my body. My skin still crawls when I think about the deep incisions. Mutilated, I dropped to the floor from the loss of blood and remember looking up into the heavens and saying, “Thank you God.”

I’m not stating that true love for God requires martyrdom, but I’m expressing how this love is greater than the worst of the world. It is greater than fame, money, and pleasure. It is eternal. When one is blessed enough to taste the divine nature of God, so many other things fade in comparison. I still remember the look in my boyfriend’s eyes as he looked past death and saw the face of Jesus. Skin was falling off his body from the burns, but he raised up his hands and attempted to spend his last moments of life praising God. Throughout the agony, he saw something I didn’t. He witnessed the fulness of Glory here on earth moments before his body gave up and unleashed his spirit.

This love is more than chocolate or being romanced, because when it is based in God it is the substance worth living (and dying) for.

**CATHOLIC VALENTINES PRAYER

Praise to the One whose love stirs the ancient embers
sparks the breath of prayer

Praise to the One whose love entices the wandering
beckons the confused

Praise to the One whose love grows wings on the weary
dreams hope in the discouraged

Praise to the One whose love soothes with the ointment of mercy
transforms with the touch of compassion

Praise to the One whose love threads the energy of friendship
stitches the strength of fidelity

Praise to the One whose love tickles the soul with laughter
urges the heart toward joy

Praise to the One whose love embraces the untamed
dances with the passionate

All praise to this Gracious One
All gratitude to this Beloved
All love to this Mentor of Friendship
All devotion to this Shaper of Hearts.

 

Your Friendship is Tireless

It was a moment when all within me came to sudden halt. What I was doing didn’t matter. My eyes closed and I whispered, “Jesus.” My heart quickened. It was time to pray.

For a while all I could say was the name of Lord. My spirit was beckoning for something deeper. Although I do not go a day without praying, I had let myself grow accustomed to more general blessings.

I lifted up my friendships. I prayed out the Ephesians prayer over each one.

Ephesians 3:16-20

I pray that out of His glorious riches He may strengthen you with power through His Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.

I then did something I rarely do. I prayed this over myself. It struck a nerve because I found myself crying while trying to get through it.  Suddenly I realized how much I had allowed the feelings of abandonment by God to seep into my heart. I have always been aware of the generosity, love, and grace of God but always in a greater measure for those around me. God is so intense in His love for humanity; I have been blessed to feel a fraction of this love for others. Sometimes all I have to do is look a person in the eyes and I can feel my knees buckle as my heart is washed over by His deep love for them. I know God loves me too, but I don’t feel it. I don’t feel a thing. But even with this absence of feeling, I am certain of God’s love.

It is difficult to feel God’s love when all I crave is to serve Him, only to be hindered at every turn. I recently moved across the country to serve in a ministry. After much prayer, fasting, and sacrifice, I took the leap. I was only there a few days when I had unknowingly offended someone. I was soon asked to leave. I had no idea what I done wrong. However, there was no second chance. There was no grace. There was no forgiveness.

If this were the only instance, than it would be so much easier to grow from. But time and again I notice that my former “Christian friends” only give me one shot. If I mess up, it’s over. I try my best to correct things, but it’s never the same. It is easier to cut me out of their life than forgive me. Even when the tables are turned and it is a friend that hurts me, everything still dissolves. My favorite professor in college was in charge of my study abroad trip. Even though he neglected many red flags, I did not blame him for what went wrong. He didn’t know what would happen. I was not angry with him. When I returned to school, all I wanted was for things to go back to normal. But he couldn’t look me in the eyes, as if I were the embodiment of his failure. After a few days into the school year he went into early retirement and never returned to campus. He never spoke to me again.

With this constant treatment form Christians, it is difficult not to think that God is same way. I will misinterpret. I will misstep. I will fail. I’m human. So my brain, accustomed to the past, reasoned that God was growing distant. Yes, He would listen when I prayed for others, but it stopped there.

But God is not human. God does not hold petty offences or cast off those He doesn’t want to forgive. No, His goodness is immeasurable, and all reaching! God placed an intense love for people within me. Not even a human would put their most worthwhile possession into second-rate vessel. No people put what they cherish into something they can trust, like a safe or bank.

Because of my obedience and willingness to sacrifice, the Lord trusts me. No matter what, I will love and serve God. Because of this trust, I am evermore confident in His love for me.

*Song I’m listening to: “Nearness” by Lovelite

 

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Deep Breath, Heavy Sigh

Although a few days had passed, the memory haunted my mind all day long.

“Maybe it was all just an elaborate dream,” I tell myself, unable to contain the emotion of reality.

But it was no dream. I entered that hospital. I walked the halls. I made nervous chatter with the nurse in the elevator. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

Wandering around a bit lost, I check the smeared numbers on my hand again and looked for the matching room. Upon seeing the door, my heart sank. This is not where I wanted to be. This is not where he should be. I heard laughter inside and my anxiety momentarily subsided. After a deep breath, I walked in. The first few people I made eye contact with were strangers. Everyone stopped talking. I wanted to walk out; this was already too much.

“Jackie girl! You’re here,” said a voice from behind another tall stranger. I looked over to see my friend, sitting on the bed clenching a pillow. He looked so different from the accident (although I hardly knew him to begin with). Everyone else was close friends and family… I really didn’t belong.

Suddenly the weight of the gift in my hand alerted my conscience.

“Oh, I uh… I have this for you,” I said resting it on the bed and then quickly stepping back. Before I was out of reach he grabbed my hand and squeezed. Even in his weakened state, he was so much stronger than me.

“Thank you.” His eyes were deep with feeling and I could tell he had been crying. My heart ached, rendering me speechless. I made my way to a nearby seat and the evening continued.

Laughter, tears, and intense silence cycled continuously. It was terribly overwhelming. People came and went while the emotions repeated. Time seemed to stop, but soon it was time for me to leave. Visiting hours were over.

I nodded and waved as I wished him well then made my way to the door.

“Jackie, wait.” I stopped. “Come here.” I approached slowly, burdened by anxiousness.

He grabbed me and pulled me into his chest for a hug. I don’t think anyone has ever held me so close. I froze. He kissed my cheek and buried his face into my neck. There we stood for what felt like an eternity.  Perhaps it meant nothing to him and this was a typical hug, but my personal space was destroyed. I felt defenseless and vulnerable. He moved his lips to my ear and whispered,

“I love you.”

In nervous reaction, my body clenched. I didn’t say anything. He held me tighter and pressed the words out of me, “ I love you too.”

I never say that. I was worried that I didn’t mean it… I hardly know him. How could I possibly love him?

But this moment wasn’t about me and my overanalyzed thoughts. It was about bestowing the man in front of me all the support and care I could muster.

I am learning that there are numerous facets of love; and this was one I had not yet encountered. Deep feeling for a practical stranger. I love him in the way that I crave only good things for him: healing, restoration, and beautiful blessings.

So many thoughts racing through my head… I hope I can sleep tonight.

 

What Lingers Still…

Honestly, everything in me wants to go home. However that tiny speck of determination to make this move worth it, keeps winning out. That speck has kept me in horrible situations over and over again. I hate giving up.

But this wasn’t what I expected. The safety net of all I had planned on has disappeared. Now I am freefalling into the unpleasant unknown.

The peace of rest has always been a form of refuge in the past, but not here. Every night each dream is a nightmare. I die daily, only to wake up to the same purgatory. Sure it’s not hell. I am safe. I am healthy. But it’s not heaven either.

I went to church last night to try and mend my fractured faith. All was well, until the end. The pastor had called for communion and motioned to the band to play their last song. The first few notes did nothing to stir me, but the lyrics cut my heart like a knife. In my entire life, I had only ever heard one person sing that song. He sang it with such passion and earnestness. But the man on stage wasn’t him and the song felt like a sorry imitation. My heart beat faster and faster, while my eyes began to water. I wanted to scream. Of all the songs, why this one?

Why a song that reminded me of broken plans, unfulfilled promises, and deep grief?

Suddenly my memories whisked me back to a specific evening. There I stood over his grave, my heart aching with sadness and confusion. A mutual friend walked up and stood next to me. We looked at the unturned soil before us in silence. Finally after some time he spoke in a choked whisper:

“That should have been you.”

I knew exactly what he meant, because I felt it too. The man in the ground had saved my life only days before the end of his. I tried my hardest to return the favor, but I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t save him.

Trying to hold back the mournfulness, I realized how much baggage I still posses. I typically consider myself a strong and temperate person, but at this point I just felt like a broken mess.

I’m still hopelessly in love with him.