Unsanctified Mercy (The LOVE Series)

This is the second post in a series based on LOVE.

Recently, I've been working on a series about LOVE. This post isn't as focused on love specifically, but is in keeping in the same vein. In this post however, we're going to talk a little bit about mercy, God's mercy, and unsanctified mercy.

First of all, it's necessary to understand exactly what mercy is. For the Christ follower, this is relatively simple. For us, the definition of biblical mercy, that is God's mercy is the sparing and/or rescue from judgment. In regards to our eternal salvation, this is easily understandable. In regards to the confrontation of sin however, many Christians struggle with the mercy issue.

From the New Testament we learn of God's amazing mercy toward us. In Matthew we read about the shepherd who leaves the 99 sheep to pursue the 1 who wandered away. In Titus we read that it is not by our own works of righteousness that we are saved, but only by His mercy. The modern day church has experienced an ABUNDANCE of mercy lacking - the stories would fill volumes and volumes of books. We as  humans can be an unmerciful lot to be sure. But the opposite end of this spectrum is the exceptional tolerance of a person's sin without regard to a complete understanding of mercy.

What do I mean? Well, lets look at a few more scriptures. Ezekiel 33:11 says this; "As surely as I live, says the Sovereign LORD, I take no pleasure in the death of wicked people. I only want them to turn from their wicked ways so they can live. Turn! Turn from your wickedness, O people of Israel! Why should you die?" While clear that the Lord is addressing Israel, are we not all Israel in our sin? Of all the scripture regarding mercy, these words exude power coupled with mercy. God is desiring that His children repent of their wickedness, their sin, and return to Him for mercy. Isaiah writes, "Let the people turn from their wicked deeds. Let them banish from their minds the very thought of doing wrong! Let them turn to the LORD that he may have mercy on them. Yes, turn to our God, for he will abundantly pardon." (Isaiah 55:7) Again, we read about God's longing for us to return to Him, seeking His mercy rather than judgment. He is yearning for a people who will rebuke the very thoughts of wrongdoing.

There is an absolute necessary act of sacrifice required for the mercy of God. In the Old Testament, people brought their sacrifices to the temple in order to obtain mercy for their sins. We know that Christ Himself became the sacrifice for our sin, but we have forgotten a vitally important element to receiving mercy. Mercy is not a one time deal, it's an ongoing relationship. It is not enough that we seek out the Savior for mercy from death and eternal damnation. We must regularly pursue mercy. . .mercy is applied to our sin, and we are rescued from judgment. But we must act upon our need for mercy in order to receive it.

The sacrifice then is our humbling of self to approach the throne with repentence in our hearts for our sin. I am absolutely astounded at the  number of Christians who do not understand that all sin is first and foremost perpetrated against God, and then only secondly toward man. I can't tell you  how many times I've heard, "God doesn't care about this. It's just a big deal to you." Our sin is what separates us from God - He very much does care. The Adamic nature of mankind is sinful, which is why we needed a Savior to begin with. But it doesn't release us from the expectation of accountability for our sin nature. The approach we make to God in our sin is what moves Him to mercy. The strolling in attitude of, "Well God you know I'm screw up so here I am again, let's get this done b/c I have things to do" is an abomination and grieves our Lord.  The absence of repentence can bring about a hardening of the heart when the Christian does not "feel" as though they are receiving mercy from God.

So now in understanding the need for repentence in the seeking out of mercy, let us address the danger of unsanctified mercy. To sanctify something means to set apart or declare holy. So putting together these two definitions, we can deduce that sanctified mercy is a holy sparing or rescue from judgment. Therefore, unsanctified mercy is an unholy sparing or rescue from judgment. This is a dangerous place from which to operate in our faith because it opens the Christian up to attacks from the enemy. Many Christians today have entered into a "total tolerance" for people. They embrace the misunderstood system of loving sinners. I have heard over and over, "love the sinner, hate the sin." While loving the sinner is visited throughout the Word of God, nowhere are we instructed to love the sinner but hate the sin. We are called to abhor all things sinful.  Did Jesus distinguish b/t the sin and the sinner in Matthew 23 when He addressed the Pharisees and called them a brood of vipers? Or how about Psalm 4:5 where David says, The foolish will not stand in Your sight; You hate all workers of iniquity." This seems that those who work in sin defile the very mercy of God. This does not mean that God does not love the repenetent sinner, not at all. These verses address the very real issue of those who are aware of their poor choices, and yet choose to remain in their sin. As I said, it's a very dangerous place to be if you're unrepentent, and more so for those who either cannot see this lack of repentence or simply do not care.

Only real love can express real mercy. This is how mercy ties in with love. Jesus was a living example of this in His seemingly upside down theology of the time. Embracing a tax collector but openly rebuking the religious leaders; embracing a whore and chastising His own friends; healing the soldier who aggressed Him and correcting His disciple who defended Him. These are all issues of mercy with very different finales. The differences b/t those upon whom He emoted mercy and those He judged was the issue of the heart. . .the genuine repentence rather than the justification of deeds.

So which camp are you in? Do you seek to simply "love everyone" and extend mercy to everyone? Are you being led by the Holy Spirit in this or is it possible that you're beliefs regarding these issues could use a little sharpening. I'm by no means saying begin to reject people b/c they are sinners - we're all sinners. But are you practicing sanctified mercy or are you enabling sin by allowing the belief system of unsanctified mercy to drive your faith.

All You Need is Love. . .(The LOVE series)

Disclaimer; This blog post is NOT about the love we have for our spouses, or our children, or our biological family. This is more about those who have entered our lives peripherally and our love relationship with them.

Recently, I've been on this journey of rediscovering what love really is. To quote my favorite southerner, "I am not a smart (wo)man, but I know what love is."

The thing is, I don't think most of us really understand what love truly is. I believe that I am loved, and I believe that I love others, but I genuinely believe when compared to what love is supposed to be, we have no idea what we're doing.

Love isn't something you "fall" into or out of. Nothing burns me up faster than hearing someone say, "We just fell out of love" or "the heart wants what the heart wants." Neither of these declarations are true. . .at least they shouldn't be true for Christians. Love is deliberate. . .love doesn't happen accidentally. . .love doesn't simply come and go. The heart should be taken captive, and lead. . .we aren't supposed to be captivated by our hearts leadings. And yet I encounter people time and time again who are broken and shattered because they've been betrayed by someone they love, or worse yet, by their own heart. And time and again the story is the same, "But I love them!" Love. . .ultimately. . .is a choice.

Jesus defined this very deliberate choice when He was in the garden before His crucifixion. He asked the Father for another choice, but surrendered to God's will above all. In that, He made a choice to love an unlovable humanity; a humanity who did not deserve Him and who ultimately condemned Him to death. In His surrender to His Father, He chose to actively and deliberately love us. Can we say the same about our relationships? Do we love anyone enough that we would surrender our will to God's will? Even if it meant taking us far out of our comfort zone?  In this great family of God, we are called to love others, to enter into covenant relationship with those with whom we have no biological connections. Is our love for them as strong as our love for ourselves and the things that are important to us?

Everyone brought up in the church knows about the Love verse. . .Corinthians 13:13. . .but do we know why the greatest of these three is love? Aside from the fact that love was defined as the highest describing authority of God, there are a variety of reasons why love is so important. We were commanded to love others. . .John 13:25, "Everyone will know by this that you are my disciples – if you have love for one another.” and John 15:12, "My commandment is this – to love one another just as I have loved you." How many of us can honestly say that we love others as He loved us?  The argument ensues that there are those who are not deserving of our love, but Jesus addressed this in Luke chapter 6 by addressing how simple and easy it is for us to love those who love us, to lend to those from whom we can reasonably expect repayment. It's not a sacrifice to do something easy. Let me say that again; it's not a sacrifice to do something easy. The hard part comes when we realize that loving others as He loved us means we are to love the ones who don't seem to deserve it, who make it difficult, who do not love us in return. This is not a pearls and swine discussion as this isn't about teaching or salvation. Jesus never said for us to only those who are saved, or those who believe as we believe, but to love others as He loved us.

When the heart of a Christian finds itself captive and under the submission of Christ, it no longer wants what it wants, or loves without guidance. The captive heart learns to love what Jesus loves and how Jesus loves. As such, the responses change to more closely parallel the responses of Jesus. Our love is meant to be both a response to God from whom love derives, as well as the reflection of His love. Love is not blind, despite the commonly held belief. Love does indeed cover a multitude of sin. . .but it recognizes sin. Likewise, love recognizes good and evil. The love of God clings to those things which are good, and rejects that which is evil. It is not all accepting; rather it is scrutinizing and perceptive and discerning.

Love does not build up itself, rather it gives up the preservation of itself for the edification of others. John 13:34 says this, "I give you a new commandment – to love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another." Again, how often and how honestly do we love others in this manner? How often have you given up what you desired for your brother? Loving others means serving them instead of yourself. God's love within us is not only holy, but it is also righteous. This means that as Christians our love should be sacred and set apart from the love the world exhibits, and that we must understand that this love is to always be upright, justifiable, virtuous, and without guilt or sin. God calls for us to have holy love; a sacrificial love. And like God Himself, we are extolled to seek long term love, rather than short term. Long term love is enduring rather than emoting, it perseveres and challenges. Long term love is a form of love that requires the giver to take extreme risk and to practice surrendered discernment. It contributes to the building up and benefit of our brethren. This kind of love both responds to and reflects the love of God within us and toward us.

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Comeback time. . .

I just started shooting again this past Saturday, and this coming Saturday I have another Pictures in the Park shoot and a wedding on Sunday. Still not at a place where I can do maternity again, but I'm getting there. I'm planning to "gift" my services to Healthy Beginnings for the underprivledged mothers there.

I thought I'd share a few of my favorite shots here. . .

OHHH My gosh what a cutie pie this little fellow was!

Can you say JOY??

Again with the irrestible cuteness!

Makes you just want to go, "Squeeeeeee" doesn't it?

Such a beautiful young lady. . .

Worship and Bondage - take two

Last Monday, I was a very disobedient daughter. I woke to prayers spilling out of my lips, and my Father's voice very clearly calling me to worship. "Today, you worship me." Anger overtook me, and all I could think about was how the LAST thing I wanted to do with God, or for God was to worship Him. Wasn't it enough that we were finally on speaking terms after two weeks of grief? Apparently not. . .

I got up, got my day started. . .all the while, that call to join Him in the intimate place of worship was still hammering on my heart. And I was still doing my level best to ignore it. I took the kids to school and went on into my office. And THAT was when things got interesting. I had about an hour before my secretary got in, and I powered up my computer and started some correspondence that needed to be done. I got it all done. . .was just htiting the "send" button when she got there. I went out to the front office to speak to her, and the very moment I walked back into MY office, the power shut down. I turned around to say something to her, and realized the power was on in the rest of the building. . .just not my office. Huh. Weird. Must be a fuse or something. So down to the basement I went, only to find the panel was right as rain. No flipped switches, no nothing. I shut everything down, turned it all back on, and went back upstairs. Nothing. But, it was only on ONE side of the building, and in one space. MY OFFICE. So, I went to the other room, to use the spare computer. I couldn't pull up a single one of my files. . .everyone elses, no problem. But mine were inaccessable no matter what I did. Huh. Weird.

And then, that voice, "Come. . .worship me." Ahh. . .the disobedient daughter now realizes that her Father is making a point.

I told Amanda I was leaving for the day, and went home to get my iPod and let my husband know I'd be unreachable the rest of the day. I headed for my church; a place where I could be "alone" in a sea of people.
I managed to find a quiet corner in the chapel only to have God tell me "no" until I realized He wanted me right up front at the altar. Grrrrr. So there I went; turned on the iPod; and waited. Now, understand I'm a worshiper, it's what I do. Music hits my ears and my soul cries out to God. Usually. Most of the time. But not today. Today I must WORK for it. And that really pisses me off. So I find some music that is anything but the typical music I usually use for worship; a little Third Day anybody? A heavy, throbbing beat and Mac Powell's voice in my ears, "Can you hear Him calling? Lift up your face!" This seemed just right - certainly not "angry" music by any means, but definitely not Kim Walker either. Just right.

That is, until the words begin to sink in. And then God started with the pictures. As soon as I realized the words were having an effect, I began to see the images He was laying on my heart. When it was over with, I was on my face, worship pouring out of not just my heart, but my lips as well. My Deliverer found me there, with a resistant spirit, an angry heart, and clenched lips. . .and He released me from the bondage that had held me for weeks. My grief began to slip; the strongest holds were broken, and for the first time in weeks I saw the Father who was grieving with me, not laughing at me. I saw the face of the one Whose own heart was aching when my son left this world and arrived in Eternity. This was the moment when God became Papa again - gone was the judge who'd deemed me unworthy of being a mother again, and here was the Father whose arms were my refuge.

Worship - it breaks serious bondage.

A Willing Slave

 I've recently rediscovered Laura Story after following her for years as a writer, and sole contributor to Siler's Bald. She is an amazing writer, composer, and singer, and her hauntingly sweet voice touches something deep inside of me. In a recent search on iTunes for her newest release, Blessings, I found an album full of beautiful classics. It's been some time since I held a hymnal in my hands, inhaling the scent of those brittle, old pages that are coated with generations of the anointing of worshipers. I love the newer music, especially love prophetic worship for which there is no PowerPoint to follow or words on a page for that matter. But there really is something about the music of those who broke away from the oppressive religious dogma and found freedom in their new lives.


  


Bondage and worship are funny things when you think about it. A lot of people don't worship because of bondage, and a lot of people are freed from bondage through their worship. The founders of our faith had an intimate understanding of this concept, and through their rebellion and persistance we are now FREE to worship in the manner that suits our spirits and speaks to God.


 
All of that to share a new revelation of an old song that Laura Story recorded. Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing. I'm sure most of us know the song and have probably sung it at some point in our lives. Standing in a row of pews, scanning the three lines of words that were broken by the musical notes we had to follow. ::: raises hand:::: I've been there. It's a classic opener and closer. Lot's of "thee's" and "thou's" sprinkled throughout as well. Recently, we sang this in our church; make that "mega church." The sound of three thousand voices rising to sing this song was quite beautiful, but there was ONE line that positively wrecked me, and I slipped out of the aisle and hit my knees with my face to the floor. Even before they sang the words, I remembed them, and it moved something deep inside of me. "Oh to grace how a debtor, daily I'm constrained to be. Let thy goodness like a fetter bind my wandering heart to Thee." Do you know what a fetter is? It's like a shackle. It was used to constrain slaves; it's a form of bondage.  And yet, the writer (Robert Robertson; likely freed from relgious bondage himself) is pleading to be fettered, to be enslaved.

What an amazingly beautiful picture of the desire we have for our Papa God.

How I long to be fettered to the One who puts His love song inside of me. If I can for one moment in time somehow breach the constraints of time and space to touch His ear with that song pouring out of me, then I'll have succeeded as a worshiper.

I Will Carry You

I Will Carry You

There were photographs I wanted to take
Things I wanted to show you
Sing sweet lullabies, wipe your teary eyes
Who could love you like this?

People say that I am brave but I'm not
Truth is I'm barely hanging on
But there's a greater story
Written long before me
Because He loves you like this

So I will carry you
While your heart beats here
Long beyond the empty cradle
Through the coming years
I will carry you
All my life
And I will praise the One Who's chosen me
To carry you

Such a short time
Such a long road
All this madness

But I know
That the silence
Has brought me to His voice
And He says,

"I've shown her photographs of time beginning
Walked her through the parted seas
Angel lullabies, no more teary eyes
Who could love her like this?"

I will carry you
While your heart beats here
Long beyond the empty cradle
Through the coming years
I will carry you
All your life
And I will praise the One Who's chosen Me
To carry you

Healing. . .

It doesn't come easy. Anyone who's suffered knows what I'm talking about. . .those moments when you just rage at a God you can't see, the Father you don't feel, and the questions that have no answers at all. It's a dark place, a void of sorts where reality is suspended and all you know is pain like you've never known before. THAT place is the place He takes you to just before healing begins. And if you aren't willing to go there, you'll never experience healing.

I'm there right now. It isn't fun, and it's pretty damn miserable. My heart breaks on a daily basis, sometimes by the hour. A song plays on the radio and tears start running down my face. I hear a baby cry in Walmart, knowing that sound won't ever be heard in my home again, and suddenly I can't breathe. I am in the doctor's office weekly at this point, cursing my wretched reproductive system and wishing I were a man. I am almost at the place where I think it would be better to be completely childless than to be a partial mother.

And yet, even in this place of misery and darkness, light peeks in. It comes in the way of that still, small voice urging, and whispering, "Come, worship Me today." It comes by way of the people who understand the grief I'm experiencing, and willingly walk alongside of me in the midst of it. It comes from "sisters" who have also travelled this road, who know what's behind the tears and the fake smiles. God shows me His hands when I become willing to see them.

Climbing out of the pit

This pit sucks. Fair warning, if you can't handle frank and possible offensive rants at God, then stop reading now. I'm a rock chuckin' sort of mood and guess who my target is?

This week, I had surgery to have our blessed little boy removed from my body. Since then, I've developed some infections that are driving me nuts, and am on enough drugs to start my own pharmacy. The only thing I'm missing at this point, God, are some boils. Bring 'em on.

Because here's the thing - as pissed off as I am right now, YOU'RE still God and I'm still Holli. Holli, you know the woman who has submitted her life wholly to Your will? The woman who left everything and everyone she knew and loved in Augusta GA and came to Cincinnati with $1000 in her pocket because you said, "Go." The girl who endured unbelievable amounts of trauma as a child, but still chose You. No offense Lord, but I get the feeling You don't even know who I am sometimes. And sometimes, that's ok. But when I need You, and it sure feels like You're not there, then no, we ain't ok. We are so far from ok that we're not even in the same stratosphere.

I'm sick and tired of being sick. I'm fed up with you knocking me up only to take my babies from me. I'm tired of having chronic infections that eat holes in my body. Seriously? I am sick of losing people I love to CANCER. Isn't it about time You did something about that shit? I am so done watching "men of GOD-uh" molest people into miracles and signs and wonders that aren't real. I'm pissed off that my husband and I strive to live a life that places us exactly in the middle of Your will, and no matter how obedient we are, big balls of poop keep rolling down the hill onto us. My husband is a good man, struggling to provide for his family, and he looses his job. You couldn't have done something about that?

Frankly God - it sure feels a lot safer right down here in the pit. I mean, short of a cave in, what else are You gonna drop on me that's going to somehow irrevocably change me?

Oh ha haa.  A rope. Gee thanks God. Just when I needed a laugh.

An Open Letter to our Family and Friends

Today is Sunday, and it's been four days since the world just sort of stopped spinning for us. Thank you, to everyone who has called, sent text messages and emails. I'm not quite at a plcae where I can talk to you, but it brings me comfort when I can hear your messages or read your words of love and hope.

I awakened this morning with more peace than I've had the last four days, and realized I needed to write. I began writing what is going to remain private for this time, but also realized I needed to share some things publicly as well. Through all of the trials of my life, my anchor has always been God's gift to me to be able to put into words the depths of my heart. Even when I'm angry with Him, His gift remains, and it's through that gift that I have found, and hope to continue to find my healing.

Though the nitty gritty details aren't important, I want to share some things. Paul and I went on Wednesday for an ultrasound, to more accurately "date" the baby. I was looking forward to being with Paul as he got to hear for the first time the baby's heartbeat. We were both excited, talking about Michael and Abigail, and how this was a little different but still the same. We passed a "hospital baby shop" and both smiled at the fluffy, tiny blankets for sale there. I told Paul I couldn't find any "Big Brother" or "Big Sister" shirts that I liked for the kids, so I was going to make my own, and joked that I might make enough for our whole "Team" to wear while we were laboring.  We got called back, and nervously made our way into the room where in just a few minutes, all of those dreams were shattered.

I saw my baby there on the screen, unmoving. More upsetting than the still baby was the lack of a heartbeat. It only took a few moments for everyone in the room to realize something was wrong. Even when the doctor gave the "official" word, I was already numb. Not again. Not another baby.

More awful than discovering our child had died was this new information that I was still "pregnant." My body is still receiving hormones and did not know that the baby had died. And so, it wasn't letting go. I have spent the last four days not quite grieving, but experiencing something altogether different and unique because I am still pregnant, but not with a living child. I find myself waking up in the middle of the night cradeling a bump and my heart feels like it will explode. I awaken to morning sickness because my body doesn't know I shouldn't be pregnant.

They call this a "missed miscarriage" but I call it hell on earth. I can't imagine a hell that could be worse than being a mother being forced to carry her deceased child inside of her body. My doctor actually told me I could go back to work and carry on with life "as usual" until they were able to schedule my surgery. I have no pain, my body is not sick, and there is physically nothing wrong with me. And yet there is no way I can go to work, go on with life as usual.   I explained to someone that this experience is very similiar to watching my mother in law pass away. Even before she was physically gone, she was gone. We all knew death was imminent, but it didn't make it any easier. While I know that my childs spirit has returned to God, I cannot get my mind around the fact that his ltitle body remains.

Tomorrow morning I am having surgery. When it's over, his little body will no longer be inside of mine, and in some ways I feel as though I am somehow betraying him. I'm his mother, I should have protected him. But in another way, I will be glad to get the surgery behind me so that we can begin to grieve and move on. Many firends have offered advice, and as much as I love them, I don't think they realize it's impossible for me to grieve a child I'm still carrying.

Please, continue to call, even if we can't talk. Please email, even if our close friends are the ones responding to you. The day is coming when we'll be able to talk, when we'll be able say, "yes please, let's go to lunch b/c I need to talk."




"From your head down to your toes, you're not much goodness knows. But you're so precious to me, sweet as can be. Baby of mine."

The Value of Trust

Recently, I've had my trust in someone compromised. In a serious, big way. I'm trying to muddle through the reality of what it means, while continute to love, and look for opportunities to rebuild what's been damaged.

Someone who is close to me, who knows the dark secrets of my heart, who knows the trials I've experienced, and who knows the tawdy, unhappy details of my testimony is planning to share this information with others. They did at least tell me they were planning to do this, and in what manner, and with whom. . .but still. I feel as though the value of my trust has been reduced to nothing. As though the trust I put into this person means LESS to them than their own freedom to share what they want to share, for whatever their reasons are.

So let's talk a bit about the value, or the worth of a person's trust. For some people, trust is easy. They've had little reason to NOT trust people. For others of us, it's a very complex, complicated process. One that requires tests, and stepping out on lots of faith. For me to trust you means that I give up the right to protect certain areas of my heart, and I allow myself to be vulnerable with you. The VALUE of that trust is not something to be made light of.

Now. . .I again enter the place of trying to understand WHY it is that the Lord requires me to trust, to be vulnerable, to be "real" with people. The experiences certainly suggest that while there are benefits to this practice, when that trust is betrayed it's an indicator that people really are inherently untrustworthy.

And so I begin . . .one foot in front of the other. . .to walk down a new path, trusting that God will heal these wounds, while creating new opportunities, safe ones, in which I can again learn to trust.

Pregnant - whoa

Last week, I sat in my doctors office as he gave me the news about my test results. I was indeed "iron deficient" but it is apparently the "self resolving" sort. It takes about nine months to resolve. Ha!  I sat there on that table covered in crunchy paper and sort of looked past him as my mouth formed the words, "Whaaaat?"  To my credit, I did  not ask, "How did that happen?"

So here I am, 36 and pregnant. Paul is 40. My "baby" is 11, and my son will be out of high school and onto college or the military before this little one makes it to kindergarten. My life is about to RADICALLY change. . .but even in the midst of chaos, my spirit feels at peace.

That's no small thing in an of itself, peace that is. You see, we lost a baby two years ago in April. It happened suddenly, and was the precursor for six months of utter chaos and the sense that God had kind of turned His attention elsewhere. There was no peace - it was just grief and pain and loss. We survived the year, and were happy to finally put it behind us.

This time things are different and while I can't quite put my finger on WHY they're different, I simply know that they are. There is that peace - that sense that everything is ok even though really there's a lot of risk to be considered. I have medical issues that complicate a pregnancy and birth, and frankly, we're a lot older than we'd planned to be when it comes to doing diapers and middle of the night feedings. But the One who is the giver of life has all of this under control.

My doctor told me something profound as I was gathering myself last Wednesday. He said, "Life finds a way." That stuck with me - that two tiny cells, from two completely different people, could create "life" is absurd. That those same cells, in that same situation with a Creator of love could create life is wholly agreeable.

We are the people who choose life; in our spiritual beliefs, political stands, etc. We. Choose. Life.  Period. And so its in making that choice that we embrace this life, for however long God sees fit to make us the parents of this baby. We are hoping and believing that's a long time, but if it's only several weeks, we still choose life.  Because He chose us first. . .

Cancer. . .

My friend has cancer.

My FRIEND has cancer. It fairly sucks and I'm incredibly pissed off about it. I am so sick of this disease and the horror it brings to the people I love. I watched my mother in law die from it, and wept with my sister b/c it stole her fertility. I don't care if you do end up "cancer free" you're never really "free" from the scars it leaves behind.

Tonight, I heard her say several times, "I knew it was going to come back." She'd had it before, the doctors operated, and she was apparently, "cancer free." I'm sorry. . .this probably isn't very "correct" but if this is a representation of "freedom" I'll pass. Thanks anyway.

Which leads me to a new vein of thought - God breathed freedom. TRUE freedom.

While she is suffering, while her body will indeed reject itself and she'll be sicker than she's ever been before, there is freedom within her spirit. She's a child of God who knows her Father's voice, and its the words He speaks to her that will give her HOPE.

I listened tonight as our Purple Sisters poured love onto her - it was spoken aloud, written in cards, drawn in pictures. It came by way of kleenex, blankets, crafted jewelry, and tears.

It will take time for the HOPE to reveal itself. In the meantime. . .we hold fast to the truth that the Giver of Hope will hold her hand, catch her tears, and bring her peace.

I am an OUTCAST!

I have discovered an up and coming artist who I'm falling in love with. Her name is Kerrie Roberts - I know right? Stirs images of some little cutsie, blond hair in a ponytail bopping cheerleader type, right?  WRONG This chick kicks butt. She jumps right out in your face, and Godsmacks you with the truth. I LOVE it.

That said, you best strap in cause I'm 'bout to get all up in your face with some serious truth. I am. . .an outcast. And I am rocking it as hard as I can. I discovered a long time ago that I am not the image of a good girl. I've never been good enough, I've never been what "they" want. I've rarely fit in, and I am definitely a weirdo. I'm an extreme Jesus Freak without a filter. If you get close, it's liable to spill on you, so if you don't want a dose of that anointing you might want to back off b/c I don't hold back, and I don't apologize.

This afternoon, I heard this marvelous song that I was certain was written about me. I just sort of sate there slack jawed, listening to the words, "I'm not good enough, I'm not what they want. But let me tell you what, I know who I am! So just throw me out, I'm not fitting in. I will stand my ground and be an outcast." As inappropriate as it may be (considering this is supposed to be a God glorifying blog) I can't help but stand up and yell, "Hell yeah baby!" I mean, seriously, its about time don't you think?

How many of us "outcasts" have struggled to confrom before finally giving up and accepting that we are exactly who He's made us to be? I was in Hot Topic the other day with my son, and when we came out I ran into someone I know through professional circles. She looked at me, didn't say hello, but said, "Holli! I thought you were a Christian? What are you doing in that place?" I turned around and looked to make sure Hot Topic hadn't turned into a den of inquity in the ten seconds since I'd walked out, and turned back and said, "What do you mean?" See, she had this idea of what a Christian, Godly woman is supposed to look. Translation; good girls don't shop at Hot Topic. Good girls don't buy their kids wrist cuffs with studs or shop the sales rack for colorful, sassy unmentionables. I told her I was pretty sure God didn't care as much about the outside of my vessel as He did about the cleanliness of the inside. (I didn't outright call her a Pharisee, but it was running through my mind.) She kind of did that self righteous, prissy, "humph" thing that good, Godly women do, and just walked off. I just shook my head.

I'm reminded constantly of the folks Jesus hung out with. Take Mary Magdalene for example. I mean, seriously. . .a woman of the night, a temptress, a harlot (let's call it what it is) a whore. And He let this dirty, outcast woman wash His feet, and then dry them with her hair. Can you say INTIMATE?? Think not? Stop and think about for a second; bent low, her face on the skin of His feet, submitted completely, weeping, and then drying Him with her hair. Wow. Later she anointed Him; again, a very intimate act. And yet the Savior of the world, God incarnate didn't shun her. He didn't tell her to go clean herself, to change anything about herself, but rather He openly embraced her, and allowed HER to minister to HIM.

Mary Magdalene - Outcast. Friend of Jesus.

Holli Stevenson - Outcast - desperate daughter of the King.

I've decided I really don't care anymore. Like me, love me,  hate me, kick me to the curb. Worse things have been done to better people and if that's the best you have to offer humanity as a Christian or a "minister" then you got lots bigger problems than I do by being an outcast. It's the worth the sacrifice of popularity or fitting into a certain group to know that I'm not doing something I don't beleive in.

Consider the outcast - I think there are three groups of people. Those who are outcast, those who judge the outcast, and those who love the outcast.

Which category do you fit into?

On Being Called

Oct, 29, 2009

Sometime back, I answered a call on my life. It was a difficult choice, let me be the first to assure you. One that required many hours on my knees, face pressed to the carpet, and ultimately claimed more tears than I could count. The choice to be obedient in the face of adversity was one of the most difficult I've made in this life. And yet, somewhere in the middle of the frustration and the anger and the disappointment, I heard that still small voice yet again. I nearly responded with, "What do You want now?" but checked myself. (Quit grinning Don.) I mean, who takes on G-O-D? So, I sat and began to listen. Less talking, less analyzing, much more listening. And God began to speak to me. . .through the people who love me, through common strangers on the street, and through beautiful signs painted across the sky that we mere humans call a sunrise.

The calling this time wasn't about something He wanted me to do, but something He wanted from me. He was requiring that next step that Peter found himself unable to take standing upon the water that night. He wanted me to close my eyes, take a chance, and take a plunge. The calling was that instead of doing FOR Him, I would simply be WITH Him.

Do you know how hard it is to be alone with yourself in the presence of God? You notice every blemish, every spot, every wrinkle. Everything that doesn't quite fit well, or is the wrong color. Those things stand up and scream, "See!!! You aren't good enough to be here! You don't belong here! Run now before you're seen!!" Your realize that you are woefully ill prepared, and yes, un-presentable. You can't begin to measure up. . .ever. You have presumed yourself something you are not. A fool in the very presence of Royalty.

How could I possibly answer this call? Give me a task, something to build, something to write, something to DO. But don't ask me to just sit and be!! And yet, that is exactly what He wanted.

And so. . .I obeyed. I sat. I listened. I uncrossed my arms and let the spots and blemishes be seen. Every wrinkle, each torrid place and broken part of me He saw and He didn't look away. My spots and blemishes, the wrinkles and the brokenness. . .He loved them too.

I've learned something in this process about being called. God doesn't call perfect people. Ever. I see Him rising up a people who have experienced life, who have been hurt and broken, and even some who have done a little breaking of their own. He draws us to this place where we wonder whether we are still within His will, all the while He is demonstrating His grace that is capable of sustaining us, and in fact restoring our faith. Grace is found in the dirty places. . .all those ugly spots and the things we'd rather not have seen. That's where Grace is found. . .b/c it's only grace that makes those places worthy of a calling. It's only grace that makes the one who possesses such sin worthy of His calling. It's grace that covers it and grace that makes it part of the journey.

The calling comes when we least expect it and rarely comes when we're ready for it. It comes in the middle of what seems like the good life, and it comes in the middle of the night bringing sleeplessness and the inability to do anything except cry out to Him for explanation. It comes with a measure of grace however, and it's the grace that sustains us through the difficult part of the process. My grandfather told me once, "The will of God will never draw you where the Grace of God cannot keep you." Granddaddy was a smart man.


In the quiet, in this place
Where I hide from You
You find me
You meet me at the breaking
And You call my name

You call to me, You cry my name
And I hear Your voice
reaching through the pain, reaching through the dark, reaching through to me
Seeing what my eyes can't, hearing the words I can't say
You call me

Out of the dark and into the dawn
You've set me
And I am free - free from everything that ties me to this sin of mine
And you find me here. .. waiting to see what You see
Waiting to hear me sing Your song
And then You call my name

On Being the Church

October 5, 2009

This morning, I listened to an amazing message about destiny. Or maybe, it was about the density of destiny - either way, it was a very provocative sermon and one that got me to thinking about some things.

In recent months, I've heard a variety of sermons about serving others. These have come by way of my own church and pastors and pod casts I subscribe to. It seems as though the church in general has begun to dive head first into the "share with me" movement. I think this is a beautiful thing in general, but looking at it closer to home brings grievance to my soul.

No speaking specifically of my own church, but of churches I know and have known I have to say that I find the "be vulnerable with me, share your soul with me" movement somewhat of a flawed double standard. We as the church are reaching out - into our colleges, our communities, to the poor, the orphaned, the widows. We have programs for addicts, for alkies, for the homeless, for single mothers. We feed them, change their oil, distribute school supply and Christmas charity. We meet in coffeehouses and hold a hand when they speak to us, when they share their wounded hearts. We give them rides to church and carry a supply of tissue for those moments when God touches us both. We give - our eyes, our hearts, our ears. We share the intimacy of touch and the gift of our listening. We are changing lives.

And yet, within the doors of the church, there are members who are contriving silent suicides because their souls are so empty. While we ask God to give us His eyes for the community, for the hurting. . .we are so busy seeking the wounded we miss the ones right in front of us. When did we decide that we must build a living house OUTSIDE of the church? At what point did the lost become our most compelling mission? We are so busily seeking these sheep who've never had a shepherd that we are one by one losing the lambs in our own flocks.

The Vineyard church has an amazing outreach to the community where they demonstrate God in practical ways. A cold coke or bottle of water, cleaning a toilet, a pack of gum. These are amazing ways to show the love of God to people. I'll NEVER argue that point, and I think more churches need to take a clue. But I think that we are sacrificing our own people for the hope of winning souls, and I can't imagine that's what Christ had in mind when He sent the disciples out to win the world.

Why are we so afraid of the wounds of those we worship with? What is it about our own hurts that frighten us? I heard from a friend who is a pastor that people do not seek out healing in their own church - they go to another body. I have to wonder why this is. I don't think it's b/c of trust honestly, but I believe that we are so "lost focused" we don't have time for our own, or we don't feel as though there is time for our problems. Why is it so hard for us to seek out the listening ear. . .especially when we've been the ear. Why is it so hard to reach out and touch. . .especially when we've offered our own hands. Why do we look right past the hurt in the eyes of the woman behind us when we "meet and greet" during worship? What is it we are so afraid of?

Walking the walk is the fundamental principle of this faith of ours. But, we must walk within the church as well. What we give so freely to those who are "lost" must given as freely to those we stand next to, worship with, and break bread with.

I heard my pastor speak several weeks ago about a man who took the time to sit and listen to him when he was going through some rough times in his own life. I don't know the whole story, but I didn't hear that the friend had all the answers, or even life changing advice. What I did hear in my pastors words and resonating in his voice was life giving the time was to him. The fact that the friend sat, listened, and heard his brokenness had a powerful effect on him. So much so that years later he still speaks of it.

People aren't looking for the right answers - they're looking for someone who has the time to hear their questions, their fears, their thoughts. And some of those people, they're right here in our own church. They aren't always lost, they aren't always single parents, or addicts or drunks. Sometimes, they're students, businessmen, housewives. Sometimes they're just like me and you.

Mothers and Sons

Feb 3, 2009

A while back my Uncle Dave sent me this beautiful little vase that is about 50 years old. By visual standards, it isn’t much to look at really. Cheap, candied glass shaped into a fluted vase with a ruffled mouth. He won it as a child at a county fair for his mother, my grandmother. He sent it to me b/c I’ve joined a sorority of the most marvelous sort - mothers of sons.

I’m married to a son who has a mother. It’s crazy in some ways, b/c I’m so fiercely protective of this man of mine. I’ve been known to give the evil eye to women who give him more than a cursory once over. I’ve defended him to his sister, and other female relatives in both our families. But his mother - well, she’s a different story altogether. This is the woman who loves the man I love as much as I do. And that puts the two of us in a sisterhood different from any other.

When Paul and I were dating, Mary and I would size one another up on a regular basis. I would think of how things were going to be once we were married, without either of our parents meddling in our lives. I imagine she was thinking the same thing, but on a different level. I would watch her with Paul’s younger siblings and swear to myself I’d be nothing like here. . .and years later I find myself speaking the very words to my own children that I heard her say to hers. As a young woman I worried about the lack of a father in Paul’s life, and how he’d learn to be a dad to our own children. I see Mary’s touch all over him as a Daddy. Even without a man in their life, she coaxed manhood from him.

As a young bride, I felt like there was a competetion b/t Mary and I. There are but two great love affairs in a man’s life. The first is that with his mother, and the second is with his wife. In my youth I imagined I would liberate Paul from being “Mama’s boy” and it took many, many years before I realized I was the one being liberated from my own foolishness. The day I held our son in my arms, I immediately understood the power of a mothers love for her son. The competition ended that day, and I took on a newfound respect for this woman who loved the boy I was perpetually in love with. I saw this amazing, cosmic and primal connection b/t Mary and Paul and he put his son in her arms.

This year we are struggling to find our way as a young couple dealing with a parents terminal illness. I have watched this man I love go from stalewart Marine who can handle anything, to a six foot tall little boy who just found out his mother is sick and he can do nothing to protect her from the enemy that is devouring her. I saw again that powerful connection b/t Mother and Son, except this time it was in a reversal of sorts.

There is a beautiful relationship b/t mothers and their sons. As the mother of an 11 year old boy, I am now fully convinced of this. As the wife of a 38 year old boy, I am even more fully convinced.

The End of the Rope

July 23, 2009

This note was inspired by the Lifehouse video, Everything.

We've all heard the expression, "I'm coming to the end of my rope!" I know I've felt that way at times, and it isn't always a good feeling. Lately though, I've had my perception about this challenged a bit.

Paul and I have certainly had our trials this year. There are days when I know that I just can't handle ONE more thing - and it's those days when God draws near to me and reminds me I'm His. And then there are the days when He gently nudges me back to the broken palces, and together we walk through the disappointments and hurt until they're made perfect in His grace yet again.

In January, we found out my mother in law was sick. It was like a sucker punch to the gut really. Her grace and her incredible faith bears the fruit of His presence within her however, and the last several months have drawn our family closer than ever. We also found out in January that we were expecting again. What was quite the surprise turned into a deep pain when we lost our little one the week before Easter. I'll never understand these things - and I've given up trying. The week after we lost our baby, we were kicked out of our church. Yes, you read that right - kicked out. Like some dark ages ridiculous theological Scarlet Letter. I kid you not. It compounded our loss, and made grieving nearly impossible for many weeks. It seemed just as we were beginning to catch our breath I got whacked with emergency surgery. It just seemed like it wasn't ending at all.

And yet. . .in the midst of all of the loss and the suffering and pain, LOVE perservered. Not the first time I've experienced this, mind you. God reached down, parted the clouds, and sent angels He knew I could recognize and receive from. They took the form of friends with gentle words, lunches with women who knew my pain, knew the words to say, and knew when to just listen. They appeared as neighbors who brought meals and a tender touch, as co workers who simply said, "I'm so sorry."

In those moments when the enemy was stacked so strongly against us, and when the rope seemed to be racing through my hands, I knew still that we weren't alone. And then, throwing down the rope, He stepped in and took upon Himself all of the accusations, all of the pain, the confusion and frustration. And He held it off of me, giving Himself for what I deserved.

I came to the end of my rope, and found there, the One who knows me so completely and yet accepts me so perfectly. The end of the rope isn't a bad thing - getting there, surrendering, reaching out CRYING OUT and grabbing hold and then letting go. . .

Bring on the end of the rope. Any day. I'll take it.

He Is

August 12, 2009

Recently, while driving through south Georgia on my way to Florida, I stumbled across a pretty bad gospel radio station. Considering the alternative - country - I stuck with the twangy gospel. And was soon treated to one of the most wonderful blessings I've had in a while. The deeply drawled host introduced a segment in which Mark Shultz was talking about his new "Come Alive" album, and the process by which a new song emerged. Since I'm a music junkie, and since I LOVE Mark Shultz, I listened closely - to the point that when the station began to fade, I turned the van around and drove back until I got a better signal.

This new song - well, I think this is my new lifesong. It's the cry of my heart. . ."Father let the world just fade away, let me feel Your presence in this place. Lord I've never been so weary, how I need to know You're near me. Father just let the world fade away, till I'm on my knees, till my heart can sing. . ." How many times have we found ourselves in that place? We know we need to be on our knees, our faces, seeking Him, letting Him be our comfortor, and yet we fight it. We try to fix our problems, find solutions to the messes we got ourselves into, and all the while He's just waiting there.

And see, He's waiting there b/c . . ."He is, He was, He always will be." He's the same God we were busy praising and worshiping at the conference we attended when our spirits were high and we were feeling the blessing of being His child. The following week though, when the world comes crumbling down around us. . .He's still God. And that's the part a lot of us forget.

Last year, I moved to Cincinnati b/c God spoke to me and my family. Oh how God was speaking then, and how we were eager to follow His leading. But the perfect answer to prayer was short lived, b/c human beings got involved, and I soon found myself on the wrong side of unemployment. But in the midst, God was still the same. Earlier this year we found ourselves expecting a child and after the shock wore off, we CELEBRATED! Life. . .unexpected and amazing. . .what joy can compare to this? Oh how good how God was. And then, our lives changed in an instant when we found out our little one was no longer present with us, but with the Creator God. And still. . .God was God. He was the same God who'd taken delight in our joy, but now He grieved with us. Shortly thereafter, we lost many deep friendships, our church. We were accused, cast out, and found ourselves wondering, "Why?" Man had no answers for us, but through pain and suffering, when friends turned their backs, God remained ever present, ever loving, and still God. I praised Him when I needed His comfort; I praised Him when I was angry. I praised Him b/c He was my God, and it was for this purpose that I was created. No matter what happened, no matter how people molested the cause of Christ, God was still God.

"Father let Your Holy Spirit sing, let it calm the storm inside of me. As I stand amazed, lift my hands and say, He is, He was, He always will be. He lives, He loves, He's ALWAYS with me!"

I want this to be my song - always. No matter what happens to me, no matter where I am, no matter if His Glory is being revealed through me or whether I'm being stubborn. Let me always celebrate that God is. . .

Katrina's Hope

August 26, 2009

This time four years ago, I was sitting comfortably in my home watching the news regarding Hurricane Katrina. I knew my heart hurt for these people, but I had no idea how drastically my own life would be impacted by one of the nations most devastating acts of nature, and subsequently, devastating neglect of our Homeland Security.

Don't get me wrong - this girl is a red blooded, combat wearing, troop defending American. But I saw things that I NEVER want to see perpetrated again in this country, by my fellow country men.

I will never get over the shock of seeing media footage of people who were caught in trees, trapped in 100+ degree attics, and children crying out for water. If the media was able to get in, why couldn't help get in? Photo's of ARC vehicles and water trucks and food source transportation can be seen. . .lined up along I 10 for miles and miles, nearly 70 miles outside of New Orleans. It broke my heart.

I began to work with the ARC in Augusta in the days following Katrina. My job specifically was to match known deaths to service members who were stationed elsewhere, and begin the contact process. We were not allowed to notify in the event of "missing." I must have fielded 1000 calls the first week from soldiers, sailors, and Marines who were looking for "Mama." One young Marine stationed in Japan broke down telling me, "You don't understand! She lived in the lower 9th and she was alone. There's no one else I can call." I hadn't the heart to tell him there wasn't much of the lower 9th left, and we weren't getting any "body" confirmations with those addresses.

About a year later I found myself in New Orleans with Mercy Response (Vineyard) and other people from all over the country. Driving into the city, we passed through several parishes. I couldn't begin to keep track of the FEMA cans (trailers) we saw, or the homes so obviously abandoned. Driving into the city, you could the valiant attempt made by some to "get on with life." We, the volunteers, heroes still in our minds, slept in a giant, patched together tent and showered in retro fitted trailers. We ate our meals in an air conditioned church, and made plans to "see the city" on our "day off." I'll never the humbling process God brought me through in those five days, or how He had imminent plans to return me to that place within a year.

The following year I was again in New Orleans - this time with a different group of people. I met a young man from NY who'd come out the year prior, and was so touched and so moved by his experiences he sold his business and lived permanently in a damp tent, out of a suitcase, and swung a hammer day in and day out. Then there was Lori, from Cincinnati, with whom I connected immediately. We toured the lower 9th one morning - silence often creeping in between us as we looked at destruction over a year away from the event itself. Standing in the parking lot of a Taco Bell, and looking up at the twisted and bent sign, we could both see clearly the wall of water that had ripped through the town center. There simply were no words to express what we were both seeing, and the little horror we could imagine was surely NOTHING compared to what the residents of this area must have experienced.

And yet, there was hope. I saw it on the face of the mailman we spent a half hour talking with and hearing his story of survival. It came across in the words of the old man who tended to the pinched arm and bruise I received when opening a table at the Dinner Mercy Response hosted every week. Turns out he was a doctor in St. Bernard parish - that is, until his entire practice along with his home was destroyed. Today, he lives in a FEMA-can and has a hot meal once a week at said dinner. I experienced it with the Sheiksnieders whose house we demo'ed the year prior, and who were now using the empty house to feed their neighbors daily. They too lived in a can, but had acquired long tables and would gather their community DAILY to break bread together, regardless of how meager or how unsubstansial. HOPE was substansial, and that's what mattered.

A young man I knew a long time ago is an amazing musician, and he wrote a song called, "There You Are" and it just encompasses my personal New Orleans experience.

There You are - holding my hand.
There You are - helping me stand.
When the night was closing in; thought I wouldn't see the light again
There You are

I went to New Orleans to be a hero - hahahahahahaaa. What I found was NOT a people who needed saving, but a people who offered their own version of salvation to those of us so presumptuous to think we were "somebody." What I learned was that I in myself am NO ONE. . .absolutely nobody. My ability to demo, to pray, to somehow "reach" these people was not so gently pushed away as God got real with me, the message coming across so clearly, "You cannot save these people darlin. I've already done that. Now if you want to help, then LISTEN and follow and be My hands, be My feet, be My ears."

Let us never forget the tragedy that was Hurricane Katrina, or the travesty of our failed response as a country.

Let's see. . .Minnesota, Cincinnati, Atlanta, Augusta, Wisconsin, and New York represented in this pic

Mike

ONE room down. . .six to go

Reclaiming the kitchen!

Hope

Laughter. . .

Noah's Ark. . .revisited

Home Sweet Home

Neither rain nor snow nor dead of night. . .nor apparently Hurricane Katrina. ..

Worship is. . .

Recently, I attended a conference down in Columbia SC. This particular group ALWAYS gets me thinking, and usually gets me moving. Moving, that is, out of my comfort zone and into a broader scope of what it is God is calling me to. The last night we were there, I had a very unusual experience, that later I couldn't quite find the words to articulate. A friend of mine later described it perfectly, and that's been banging away in my head and my spirit ever since.

WHY is it that we worship to begin with? Some people say it's an "offering." We're giving our praise to God; seeking to please Him. I've also heard it described as an "invitation." That we use our worship to create an atmosphere that Holy Spirit is welcome in. There's different kinds of songs too - songs we sing about God, and songs we sing to God.

This all ties in with that Saturday night of worship, b/c there was a deep shift in the atmosphere around us. It was tanglible. . .literally touchable. It was the kind of worship experience a lot of Christians would be uncomfortable in. . .b/c there was a loosing of religious control. People were experiencing freedom, they were pressing in hard, and touching something that wasn't seen by the naked eye, but rather felt by the spirit.

I could feel myself moving from "singing a song" to pouring something out of the depths of my spirit man - it was more than a song, it was a love language. It was ALL I had to give to the One I'd come to worship, and there was nothing being held back. I could literally feel a presence near me (maybe within me) and it was marvelous.

The night ended, the conference over, and everyone went home. But I still struggled with what I'd experienced. Visiting a new church the following Sunday, I was grieved. The worship leaders were hardly leading - it seemed almost a suffering for them to get on the stage and bring the sacrifice of worship. Later that day, my friend shared an interesting perspective with me. He said that he'd been to churches where people sing FOR Jesus, or they sing TO Jesus, but that the MOW conference was the only place he'd ever been where the people sang WITH Jesus. I realized, he'd hit the nail on the head.

I wonder why it is that we seem to exclude Jesus from our worship? Yes, He is GOD, but He is also Jesus. I can easily see Him celebrating the festivals and worshiping His Father, and I can't help but think that He longs to join in with us as we do the same. Are we creating a welcome place for that experience? Or are we so trapped in our religious boxes that we can't concieve a Savior who yearns to worship alongside of us?

Are we ready for the joy of worship with Jesus?

My Broken Hallelujah

For some time now, I've been in the process of a healing. Many of you know that last year I was cast out of my church. I was not given an opportunity to defend myself, and in fact, the decision was made just days after Paul and I lost our baby. This decision was made by our pastor (who I no longer blame) based on faulty information that had come to him by way of his own gossiping staff. Though I was wounded, at least my wounds were visable and could be accessed for healing. In some, there are far deeper, more damaging wounds that lie just beneath the surface, unseen and festering, and these are what destroys God's people.

Since that time, God has been working in me and on me regarding issues of forgiveness, and learning to find the worth that HE has determined to be within me. As a Christian, I'm not sure there's anything more damaging or a betrayal that could run deeper than having been rejected by your friends and family of faith. My heart was broken, my soul rended, and I was a mess.

And yet, that's the place where Jesus just loves to climb down into and start working.

The idea that Love Wins had become blasphemous to me - that this church used this phrase as a handle was what first attracted me. That the One who was Love would ultimately Win - what an amazing way to reach out to people. Already seeking healing in other areas of my life, I fully embraced this principal, and began to open my heart to the love that I believed God was pouring out through others. Sadly, we all learn the hard way (at least once) that while God only pours in perfect love, human beings have a way of screwing it up and using God as a battering ram against the hurting.

Some would argue that my concept of love leaves no room for truth. Quite the contrary, you cannot genuinely LOVE at all, unless you love in truth. Love is far more than an action committed from one person to another, or from one group to another. Love is choice, a way of life, a way of living out your existance with one another. It is about far more than rings, or houses, or beliefs, or agreements, or whispers behind the backs of others, or face to face confrontation. Love is what fuels the choices you make. Love is what makes Mercy a verb.

It's been a little over a year since I got my walking papers and my scarlet letters. I've thought about a lot of things in that time; about what I'd like to say to those who knowingly betrayed me. I'd like to ask them if the 30 pieces of silver was worth it. I think about the man whose actions nearly drove me to suicide, and then I quiet my soul and pray for him. I can't imagine the burdens he shoulders daily. I think about being rejected - again. And then I think about Jesus, and how nothing I've endured is unlike His own life.

I've also learned a lot about what Love is and what it is NOT.

Love never hurts. Love isn't about keeping score or being proud of yourself. Love takes no sanctuary in evil things - not in lies, not in gossip, not in secret darkness. Love can never fail - ever.

Love is a multitude of wonderful things however;
Love is opening your home - not just your house, but the privileges that come with sharing a home.
Love is opening your arms - not for quick once weekly pats on the back, but for "all the way around" types of hugs that make most church people nervous.
Love is sticking someone with a needle, and then sitting with them in the ER.
Love is logging nearly 100 hours in a car with someone without killing them.
Love is a kiss on the forehead - even if you're both adults and not married to each other
Love is sharing life - all of life.

And that kind of LOVE really does WIN.

Where's the Glue?

July 30, 2010

Been school shopping the last couple of weeks. This year, the kids are going back to private Christian school (Thank you GOD) so we've been stocking up along and along b/c there are added expenses to consider. We don't mind. . .but today, I unloaded the back of van and we spread out school supplies on the dining room table. YIKES! Talk about an abundance of goodies!

While I was making piles, I noticed I had purchased an abundance of glue sticks. I guess there's worse things to have an abundance of (thinking of when the kids brought home buggies. Ick) but we have a LOT of glue. LOL It got me to thinking about all the things in life that require some agent to "hold it together."

Consider marriage - ok, maybe we shouldnt. There's a lot of "glue" required for marriage. Paul and I will be married 16 years this year, and truth be told, it's only 16 b/c we were too poor to file for a divorce when we thought about it. Thank God for that! But there's a glue that keeps us together. Most of the time it looks like this; common interests, a genuine likability of the other, mutual respect, shared dreams, etc. But sometimes, it's really unexpected - like grief. Last year was a year FULL of grief for our family. I think though, that in our grief, we were held together. And in that, we discovered a strength unknown to us before then. A "super glue" of sorts you might say. At the end - we were left with this crazy weird bonded love that we'd never experienced before. It was like we'd been glued together, then welded, then sealed. I kind of like it.

I have these friends in my life as well - and I can see the "glue" in our lives. One friend in particular - she and I aren't exactly "close" or anything anymore. Truth be told, I couldn't really say if our friendship looks ANYTHING like what comes to mind when you think about friendship. But again. . .there's this glue that bonds us to one another. We haven't spoken aloud to one another in nearly a year, but that doesn't keep me from crying out on her behalf to Papa God every day. It doesn't keep me from grinning from ear to ear when I read about a coffee date, or a powerful worship experience. We share experiences in life that connect us - that bond us to one another.

Another set of friends are the kind that I can just be completely myself with, at all times. Wow. . there's an incredible freedom in that. How many of us really get to just be real - all the time? They accept me as i am, no matter how good the situation, or how bad. Our bond transcends typical friendship on every single level. They are as much my family as Paul is. I think the "glue" in this relationship is that realness. . .there's no assumption EVER of being anything less than who we really are with each other.

When we think about the things that connect us to others in our lives, what's the glue? What's the thing that absolutely bonds you to these people you love, you relate to, you share life with?

Dirty Dangerous Worship

Oct 19, 2010

Recently, I've been confronted with the question of worship and what it's "supposed" to look like. Having been raised in the Methodist church, saved in the Baptist, sanctified and spirit filled in the COG, and delivered from religious bondage by the Vineyard, I've encountered a LOT of different worship styles. While I don't think any one particular denomination or group has cornered the market on what worship is supposed to look like, I've come to understand clearly what it is NOT.

The very definition of the word worship is a surprise to most - WORSHIP is a verb. It's something you DO, but it's also something you feel. It's also a noun, because true worship is something you ARE. . .not merely a description of an action.

Worshippers are people who "display reverance or adoration, as to a diety." Ummm. . .ok. Translation - worshippers are believers who offer a sacrifice of their being through the act of reverance AND adoration, not simply one or the other. Worship can only take place in ONE form however - in truth. Jesus spoke clearly about this, saying that only those who worship in truth will know Him.


There comes a question about styles of worship, and while I do think that largely worship is up to the individual, there is one aspect in which I think there can be no compromise. We must worship the one worthy of our praise in the same manner, mindset, heart offering in which He gave Himself to us - passionately,  unabashedly, unrelenting, and without reserve.  John 4:24 says this, " But the hour is coming, and now is, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth; for the Father is seeking such to worship Him.  God is Spirit, and those who worship Him must worship in spirit and truth." Not should, or ought to, and not as we feel like it, but MUST worship in spirit and in truth. Whoa.



The other night, I had the opportunity to experience worship while others seemed a bit put off by the music choice. Frankly, I didn't let it bother me much once the Lord began to speak to me. The music was edgy, raw, and rather dirty in a sense. There was no lovely melody, no sweet harmonies. It was banging, thumping, the rythyms undulating through my spirit and awakening something altogether primal within me. The thump of the drums, the panicked strumming on the strings, and the cracking realness of the vocalists took me a place far beyond the confines of our gathering room. It was in that place that He spoke to me and said, "Wanna come get dirty with Me?" Hahahaaa - we all have stories of our Jesus moments. Most of them are purely g-rated - butterflies and pink skies, meadows and mountaintops. How often does He ask us to go get dirty with Him?



So I went - He took me back to a time in Columbia when I was at MOW at the old church. Peter Steyne and Toby Trull were banging out the walls on the drums, Joe Cash was smoking his guitar, and there were more shofars than I could possibly count. There was a frantic energy as the worshipers of God began to touch heaven with their praise. . .and then it happened. It was gradual - a few of us began to feel really warm, and then noticed others sweating heavily. Within half an hour, the temperture was over 100 degrees with over a hundred bodies packed into a small space. The A/C had gone out during the hottest summer on record. But. . .NOBODY LEFT. Not a single soul left the oven like room we were all in. Rather, the pressing in took on a new life altogether, and our praise became a sacrifice like it had never been before. People were sweating, dripping; the dirt from the carpet and the stickiness from children's hands made us dirtier still. Makeup melted off, hair fell, and body odor ran rampant. . .but so did the Holy Spirit.



I joke that that was the night Danny Steyne baptised me, b/c quite literally he drenched me when he leaned over me and spoke the words of the Father's heart to me. The anointing oil of that night was the very ESSENCE of the lovers of Christ, coming out of and off our bodies.


Worship. . .like many other experiences in life. . .isn't meant to take on one persona and remain that way. There are times for "quietly sitting with hands folded" types of worship, and there is a time for "dirty, dangerous worship." I prefer the latter, but that's just me.


What I do know is that regardless of the worship style you like, what can never be compromised for our comfort is this - we must passionately pursue the heart of the One who passionately died for us. If I offer my praise b/c it's simply my responsibility, I fail to give a sacrifice. A sacrifice is something that costs me something; my pride, my dignity, my time, etc. If it costs me nothing, then it is not a sacrifice. . .and it does not reflect  HIM at all.


I only want to be like Him - even if it means I have to get dirty in the dangerous places.

An Encounter with. . .

July 26, 2010

Last night, I went with some friends to a church thing. I typically don't stray far from my own stomping grounds, but this seemed (at least by the advertising) like something I'd be "into." And for the most part. . .it was.

The worship. . .ohhh the worship. Amazing. Passionate. Freeing. Wow. It was beyond wonderful. I felt parts of my spirit opening up that had been shut up for a while. While not a MOW event, it definately had a "mountain" feel to it. I kept watching. . .waiting to see who was going to break free from walls of the dam, who would be the explosion that would bring all the spirits of religion and limitations crashing down.

I wept as the woman next to me broke out of the aisle, joined by teenage boys, dancing in worship.

I watched another woman abandon herself to the music, to the worship, to her Savior. She was still in the room, but she was definitely SOMEWHERE else too.

One of my friends wasn't feeling too well. We'd all been at a picnic earlier that day, and he thought he might have a touch of food posioning. I prayed for him, laying my hands upon him, expecting healing ESPECIALLY in this place of freedom.

At the end of the service, many people were being prayed for. I moved through the crowd up front, enjoying the presence of God, wanting more still. Without going into details, I"ll say this. I was approached by a woman who directed me to the other side, and was mildly chastised for having prayed for my friend earlier, because "We don't do that here." What they don't do is allow people of one gender to pray for someone of the opposite gender.

Now, that said, let me say this. I can completely understand not being ok with a man and a woman heading off behind closed doors for some "prayer ministery." But in a room, with 400 other people, what EXACTLY do you think is going to happen that's inappropriate if a man lays his hands on a womans head and prays for her?

My God - when did we decide that these rules are somehow more appropriate than the ministry of Jesus Christ to the hurting? To those who need healing? To the ones for whom a simple touch will break down years of distrust? When did the "Jezabel" spirit run off the Holy Spirit?

And so. . .still. . .I hunger. For true freedom in Christ. For worship that has no barriers. For relationship that GENUINELY reflects Jesus. I wonder what they would have done had I wept on this man's feet, and then dried them with my hair? Would that have somehow been MORE appropriate than laying on hands and praying for him?

When. . .when. . .WHEN are we as the body going to begin to work together as a body? When do we begin to operate in the integrity of Jesus Christ and demonstrate that so that these ridiculous rules are no longer necessary? When do we answer the call. . .HIS call. . .regardless of how well it meshes with our "rules."

Freedom by its very nature is meant to be FREEING. I don't want freedom that keeps me shackled by the limitations of who I can or can't minister to. As a medic, I would help ANYONE, any time. Regardless of gender, color, sexual orientation, etc. Why is it more acceptable for me as a medic to put my hands on someone in THAT circumstance, but in the church - where lives can be saved and changed - I'm not allowed to touch a man?

Ah God. . .I'm hungry. Not for a "trailer" of Your outpouring, but for the "feature event."

The Happy Human Dance

August 12, 2010

Let me introduce you to someone I hardly know. He's a quasi-famous internet guy...well, if YouTube counts anyway. Matt Harding is in many ways a "loser." A college dropout, no "real" job to speak of, lives with his girlfriend out west somewhere.

A few years ago, Matt made a video. The story goes something like this - he was traveling around the world with friends, and one of his friends suggested he do that dumb dance he does, and he'd record it. The idea took hold, and Matt was recorded doing his dance in over 70 countries. The result is a video that has swept the internet, and was noticed by Stride gum. (They later hired Matt to make a more professional video for them.) It was also noticed by average people - moms and dads, husbands and wives, everyday people who watched this guy - this BUM - doing this ridiculous dance all around the world.

And a weird thing started to happen. People began to smile. And go blind. Skin color got lost behind the laughter and stunning scenery from some of the most beautiful places in the world. We lost some of our self righteous pride, arrogance gave way to amusement. This man - this nobody - gave us permission to let down our walls, to see each other as HUMAN BEINGS.

I don't know the first thing about Matt Harding personally. I couldn't tell you if he's a believer in Jesus or Buddah or Mickey Mouse. And frankly. . .I don't care. What I do care about is the fact that he was able to depict nations and peoples and races as ONE RACE - the Human race. All in the course of FOUR MINUTES. Unbelievable. . .

A man I deeply respect once told me that he was not a Christian. It dang near broke my heart. Not because it was true, but because he had seen such a BROKEN side of the church that he couldn't find himself in any of it's teachings. He loved Jesus, served his brothers and sisters, and lived his life according to biblical principals. Yet he considered himself a humanitarian more than a Christian. When did we divide the two? At point did Jesus Christ cease to be a humanitarian? Because if I'm reading the story correctly, He was the ULTIMATE humanitarian - giving His life for another, for the hope of a future, for the promsie of life eternal. When did the blood spilled at Calvary become salvation ONLY for those deserving of it? When did God give us the right to decide who is deserving of our humanitarian efforts and who is not? When did the rules change?

My eyes welled up with tears as I watched Matt dance with pot-bellied children in Mali; when he gracefully executed dance moves with the beautiful daughters of India; when he celebrated in Chicago, IL and when he stood alone in the majesty of the green hills of Ireland. Embraced in a crowd and standing alone - this man brought a world together through the simplicity of a stupid dance. We are all human beings - created by a loving God.

All of us; black, white, Indian, African, British, Irish, Scottish, straight, gay, Buddist, Muslim, Catholic, and so on and so on. Each of us created in HIS image. He made us all so differently, but rather than embracing our uniqueness we have allowed ourselves to create elitism out of our differences. Rather than reconciliation, we war. Rather than the human race. . .we have separated and segragated ourselves into clubs and schools and countries and even churches, where we believe WE are right and everyone else is wrong.

I was so fortunate to be raised by grandparents who embraced the simplest principles of God - love your neighbor as yourself.

I bet my grandfather would have been right alongside Matt - doing his own happy dance.

Relentless

Augusta 16, 2010

 I think we're all familiar with the song,You wont Relent. Personally, I can't hear it without it messing me up good. Last Friday night, it was part of our worship set, and God has a special message for me about my heart belonging to Him, and His seal being upon my heart. I love it when God speaks!

But it brought me to a place of considering what it means to be relentless. Why does God pursue us relentlessly? Especially when we are less than relentless in our pursuit of Him?

It led me to another thought, one I had recently in response to a friends feverent desire to have God take away  the desires of her heart. What I shared with her was that God won't take away desires that are "God breathed." There are wants, needs, desires in our lives that are wired into the very "nooma" of our being. The desire to be connected at the heart level with another human being. The desire to live abundantly. The desire to love as He loves. These are all God inspired - not something we can request He remove. To do so would removed the essence of Him in our lives - to remove these things would be to deny HIM within us, to deny His perfect love in having created those things to begin with.

You see, some of these desires are the very things that make us "in His image." It's not just about the two arms, two legs, etc. "In His image" is more about being LIKE Him than looking like Him. He desires the heart connection; He desires abundant life; He yearns to see us love another as He has loved us.

And so. . .He pursues us.

R E L E N T L E S S L Y

And relentlessly, we navigate, negotiate, plead, beg, cajole, bargin and petition. His heart hears every cry of our own. . .and relentlessly in LOVE He anchors HIS desires for us even more deeply within our hearts. Relentlessly. . .He says, "No. This MUST stay."
Relentlessly. . .He loves us.

I have been so beautifully, relentlessly pursued by a God I do not deserve. And yet He makes me worthy of love.

Adding -

In an effort to consolidate some of my "notes" from Facebook, I'm going to be adding several posts here tonight. No, I didn't write all these tonight. When I can, I'll try to include the date that they were written. A friend brought it to my attention that there are folks who aren't FB junkies who might be interested in what I've written. LOL It doesn't always travel along the Village Life thread, but it's about MY life, and often the lives of those I'm doing life with, so that qualifies it for me. If you don't like it, get over it. :-)