I don't know what it is about growing up in the church. I have friends who gave their lives to Jesus in their adulthood and the freedom of grace is a reality. However, for myself, though I have been in the church for 25 years, and saved for 18, I matured in my faith with a lack of grace. Which would be comical, if it wasn’t for the detriment of what that really means. To forget living by grace is to live by works. To live by works is to live by the law. And it is through the law that sin brings death. Maybe it is just me. Maybe, this is an isolated event. Disclaimer: the experiences I will detail, I did not confer with other Christians who have grown up in the church. So, perhaps my concerns are singular in nature. However, this blog is about my honest questions to God. And one of the things I need to face is that although I say I am saved by grace and live by faith, the outcome of this faith has been motivated by so much more than what Jesus has done for me. Everything stated in church supported the notion that we can only be saved by grace. I grew up with an exciting energy during worship, because the congregation was assured of the love of God and the salvation obtained through Jesus, alone. But when I grew up knowing Jesus, part of the sanctification understanding turned into a perpetual pressure to do better. No one said anything, directly. However, the message was delivered, clearly. I hate the idea that I may have to blame the fact that I am a product of society. I was not only a child of the church, but a child of the Western American culture. I have come to an understanding that some of the things I grew up with, culturally speaking, may have misrepresented Christ in my own life. This isn’t to say that everything in the Western culture is of demonic origins. Nevertheless, some of the values, taken at their extreme, and cherished among Christians may have led me to a belief that Jesus’ work on the cross wasn’t enough. Besides learning about Jesus, I had learned an expectation of perfectionism. “Don’t try; do.” If I made a mistake, even numerous times, I was to be ashamed, because if I knew better, I should do better. An apology given for the same offense…an offense that was committed multiple times, was no longer valid. "Sorry doesn't cut it." Perhaps it was unintentional, but I became convinced that I was never really forgiven, unless I never sinned again. I had to prove that I was sorry. In the Western culture, there are genuine nuggets of wisdom. There is an emphasis on personal responsibility. We learn that we don’t just give enough to pass the grade, but to give all of our effort. Blessed to be a blessing, we give generously. When we do something wrong, we must make a change. We determine actions to hint at the status of one’s heart. We stand strong and independent. I wonder if that last American value is the Achilles heel in our culture, and it is the poison that seeps into even some of the godliest of church bodies. Sure, we should be aware of when sinning, not to just act like nothing happened. A true change is required. But any child can reiterate the human flaw that most of us don’t learn our lessons the first time around. So, what happens when we fall? And fall again? And again? Are we beyond forgiveness? Is repentance fruitless? I do not mean to insinuate the need to apologize or make amends is pointless. Even Paul stated that we were not saved just to go on sinning (Romans 6:1). James emphasized that faith without works was dead (James 2: 14-24). Our works are evidence of the faith we lay claim to. Nevertheless, I have grown up feeling an immense pressure to follow rules, and when I broke them, I was beyond reconciliation. I learned to hide things. Still do, at some level. Because, when I am convicted of a sin in my life, the lessons of my childhood begin to echo. “You know better, Laura. How could you be guilty of this? You are not as strong of a Christian…maybe you really aren’t a Christian. If you were a true Christian, this wouldn’t be an issue in your life.” The American church can preach grace all we want, but until we are willing to sit in the messes of each individual, to forgive numerous times - even for the same sin; until we echo that no one is saved, nor sustained in their salvation by their own works, we will subtly let our culture influence that grace will never be enough. The old covenant of keeping laws will persist in the New Testament church. There no longer is a treasure in the value of being independent. It has only taught me that I have to carry things myself. But, I have found that things in life are hard. I have found that I screw up over and over. I have found that I become more depressed when I don’t have friends who can encourage me and hold me accountable. I have become afraid. I have become convinced that I must live to please God with every action I make, and failure to do so is a degradation of my salvation status. I have lived SO long with a desire to want to do God’s will, but convicted of my imperfection, only discouraged that I could never do well. If God changed my heart, then why is my heart still so full of things not of Him? Was it just an impulse on praying the sinner’s prayer? Was it just an emotional high at camp? Did I just go after Jesus to protect myself from getting into trouble? Was this Christian faith just an act? And by the end of my questions, I pray an intense prayer to do better. Not just a prayer. A promise. Unfortunately, I found myself breaking that promise. And the cycle of hiding, self-loathing, desire for perfection and the promise of doing better is recycled. And repeated. I feared so much judgment; and ironically, in my lack of understanding for grace, I failed to be gracious. I demanded works, because I was convinced of works. In much of our Western ideology, we determine behavior to be an indicator for the motive of the heart. And yet, sometimes, that is not the case. God looks at the heart (and in the Jewish culture, they look at the original sin as a breakage in connection with God, not merely a breaking of rules), but because I feared my heart to be too blemished, I couldn’t trust that Jesus was enough. All because a childhood lesson told me that I had to prove my faith. And this all continues until I learn to come back to the original sentiment that never could I do it in my own strength. Paul addressed the Galatians on this matter of being saved by grace, but sustained by good works. “O foolish Galatians! Who has bewitched you that you should not obey the truth, before whose eyes Jesus Christ was clearly portrayed among you as crucified? This only I want to learn from you: Did you receive the Spirit by the works of law, or by the hearing of faith? Are you so foolish? Having begun in the Spirit, are you now being made perfect in the flesh (Galatians 3:1-2)?” I need to get back to the place that who I am is because of Jesus and His work in me. He loved me while I was a sinner (Romans 5:5-6), and did not wait for me to be cleaned up to get saved. Logic also explains that if I couldn’t reach Heaven on my own, then why the heck could I believe that I would stay in Heaven on my own initiative? My righteousness cannot, nor will it ever, come from me (see Philippians 3:9). When I have failed, I MUST remind myself of these truths. Lack of doing so will result in going back into the old ways of living; according to works. This does not mean that works is meaningless. People know we are Christians by our fruit. But the works that are evidence of a living faith are motivated from a place of worship to God, not a submission to prove myself worthy in Heaven. The change seen is a result of repentance (turning our hearts to Jesus), a motivation of submission in the heart and lastly, an action of obedience. This order is crucial, because if we try doing things for Christ without being in Christ, what goodness afforded is by our own glory and ultimately, still never true righteousness according to God’s standard. It is an extremely heavy weight to believe that the status of my eternity is dependent on my goodness. As much as I try, it really is never enough. I am in my 30s, and I can tell you that if it isn’t my actions, the hidden thoughts and motives of my heart prove the fallacy of my perfection. However, my righteousness depends on the One who is already righteous, and He has given me His word that He will walk me through. He is always active in my life. He leads; I follow. There is a scene in The Chosen, Episode 6. A disciple went back to old habits. When found by two others, they say, “I have faith in Jesus. I just don’t have faith in myself.” The statement is made from a place of discouragement. One morning, I thought about this scene. It is a discouraging statement, only as long as one determines that they themselves must sustain their faith. The amazing truth is that God doesn’t leave us alone. The Holy Spirit is with us and is at work in our lives constantly. He is the One who makes us into His image. And who better, but the One in whom we are being made the likeness of? It’s time for me to get back to the new covenant. I was saved by grace and will be sustained by grace’s work in my life. If and when I fall, I am assured that God still loves me, and all that I have to do is come back to my Daddy, and He freely forgives me. As I walk in amends of my sins, it is only by His strength. This is a simple truth hard to believe in a culture of independence. But, I am choosing Christ over culture. And in that, my freedom on earth will persevere.
Friday, December 17, 2021
Thursday, December 16, 2021
Lonely Thoughts and Tears Caused By Mirrors
Please do not tell her,
"Oh, you are so skinny!"
As if to say,
"You are so beautiful!"
For what happens if one day
She no longer is
Thin?
Please don't tell her
She has nothing to worry about,
Because she eats right and works out.
For what if one day
Her figure pluses in size?
I know you mean well.
But don't you realize that these compliments
Fall
On
This girl
Like some kind of definition?
A standard
She struggles to uphold.
This girl knows she won't get the gold.
She turns on the TV and angels with wings
Lay the foundation of what is called "stunning".
Every other ad shows women with small, tight abs
And gives tips on how to lose every inch of fat.
This girl knows she ain't that.
But that doesn't erase the lonely thoughts...
She is slim, trim...now...sure.
But what about tomorrow?
Today, the girl decided to eat a Big Mac with fries and everything that comes with it,
Because she like the taste of the food.
But by nightfall, she is crying in the shower.
Lonely tears stream down her cheeks.
"If I was beautiful then," she thinks,
"I won't be tomorrow."
The amount of food she consumed repulses her.
She vows to stop eating;
Regurgitate this 'glutinous sin'...
The thought is temptin'...even for only a second:
Maybe if she puts her body through hell,
Maybe she can be seen worthy of heaven.
She is mindful of the flab -
No matter how small it is, how biologically necessary it is -
The fact is, she still sees it.
Despises it.
Disgust rises in her.
She grabs the skin with fingers
Meant to dig away the 'abhorring matter'.
She makes a fist and pounds at her waistline,
Wishing it was...if only it could be...
Minimized in the next moment.
She quietly utters her plea:
"Mommy! Help me please!"
She knows woman to woman
The struggled with the same battles.
They fought the same hurts.
But her momma is still
Haunted by the demons found in mirrors.
Everything becomes comparable.
Because the girl is closer to the model of perfection,
Her concern is bearable.
So, the girl hesitates.
She silences her tears;
Retreats into her lonely thoughts.
How is that generations upon generations
Of women are so forlorn with their tears
Yet are in a company of desperate hurt?
How is that daughters, sisters, mothers
Are so distant in their talk
But are so empathetic in their thoughts?
Mirrors shroud and surround.
Standards are pressed; words expressed
Forcing the genuine beauty
To be forgotten.
Making it to be a foreign memory, a dream;
Unreachable. Unattainable.
What happened to the time
Where a woman's splendor was found
In the admiration of her character
Rather than in the structure of her anatomy?
What happened to the era of Marilyn Monroe
Where women were seen as the hottest thing on the block -
Because of their smile, voice, integrity and kindness
And not because they lacked a waistline?
Doors must be opened;
Tears cannot be hidden.
Girls, we cannot convince ourselves
That silence will protect a peaceful pacifism.
We need to confess our sorrows.
However, the pain cannot be possessed.
There will be a morning full of healing.
We shall stand confident,
Direct - Our smiles reflecting
That the scars no longer wound us.
Knowing
We have finally remembered
The fabulous women we are.
Little girls:
Stare into the mirror
That has caused so many lonely tears and thoughts.
Dare the piece of glass to recall
The innocent days when you looked into your face
And knew without being taught
That you had been graciously and wonderfully shaped.
Little girls:
You are stunning, truly beautiful -
Beyond all compare and comment,
Above all reproach.
Magnificent. You are
Adorned with a joyous, entrancing life
Carrying an elegant delight wherever you step.
You are captivating; ravishing.
You are an immeasurable treasure
That was brilliantly formed.
You are whole just as you are.
(Written in 2013)
What Does it Mean to Worship
The drum beats, claps, thunks and bangs.
The bass hits the low notes
And the electric guitar fingers a sweet slide.
The piano and keys harmonize
Eloquently and fearlessly.
This has got to be good worship.
The congregation starts to sing the words on the wall.
We do the two-step sway and get 'into it'.
At the right time, I let air flow under my feet.
I stretch my arms in surrender on the right beat.
The worship leader's neck is flexed as she pours out
Her vulnerable soul before You.
This must be great worship.
The lyrics are penetrating if attention is paid.
They speak things proclaimed in Your Word.
If spoken by the pastor, someone would shout, "Amen!"
A man next to me breaks down; he can barely stand.
Maybe tears can roll down my cheek...
This is amazing worship.
Pause.
Mute the melodies;
Shut down the sound board
For a moment please.
What does it mean to worship You?
To glorify Your name and praise You
Independent of my heart's ability to sing?
What does it mean to fall to my knees,
Because I am unworthy to look upon Your face
And yet...You still welcome me?
What does it mean to sit before You
And fully realize that I am in the presence of the Almighty God?
I am completely welcomed, but so out of place.
Miracle of lavishly, unwithheld grace:
What does it mean
When I jump, dance and shout -
There is an immeasurable and uncontrollable joy inside of me?
What does it mean to mean the words?
Throw out the dictionary of religious language.
When I intertwine my fingers and utter petitions
There is more than walls that listen.
Something yanks on my heart and aches until I mind.
Simple words are all that is said; sometimes only a groan.
What does it mean to worship You?
Darken the stage. Hide behind the closet.
Away from looking eyes - only room for the intimate.
No more drumbeats or cymbals. No more strings.
Where no one can see and no one can peer
Except for You.
Perhaps worship is more invisible.
Not only in the melodic notes, but found in silence.
Not only in spoken prayers, but found in listening.
Not only in the excitement of revelation and grace,
But found in the desire to sit at Your feet.
Perhaps worship is more tangible when we
Forsake our natural senses
To come before You.
(Written in 2013)
Tuesday, November 30, 2021
Debate of Grace's Extent
We are saved by grace through Jesus Christ. Every Christian knows this, but ironically, the more one studies the Bible more, theology becomes grittier and more complex. One such question is the extent of grace. Is someone “once saved, always saved” or is it possible to lose one’s salvation? Of the two churches I grew up in, I have been surrounded by both perspectives. In writing this blog, I must disclaim that I am no theologian, aside from the fact that I daily read my Word. I am not basing my conclusions on any commentaries. I write this blog to propose the question, suggest inquiries, studying Scriptures and have my own conclusion. A bit of a spoiler: I still haven’t taken a firm stance on either side. The questions came as I realized that I was going through ministry in the motions, but not carrying the heart. I began to not only question the sincerity of my position in church, but also my salvation status. Was I just another person who is involved in church activities, but when I get before the Throne, God will have to tell me He never knew me. I couldn’t even be convinced of the motives of my heart! Furthermore, I have had Christian friends who once swore allegiance to Jesus, but either their lives have walked away from Christianity or they have completely denounced their faith (of the past). So, are they still saved? Were they saved at all? How long does it take to actually lose salvation, if that is possible? On what basis does our experience of Christ transform into salvation of the soul? Can someone who lives a completely sinful lifestyle die and will be welcomed into the Kingdom, because they prayed “the sinner’s prayer”? All of a sudden, salvation isn’t so simple. It’s not the question of gaining salvation that throws the curve ball. It’s the matter of keeping it. And, in my humanity, I am terrified that I cannot keep my own salvation. I talked a little with my aunt and uncle, separately. Ironically, they sit on opposite sides of the spectrum. Actually, my uncle says one can lose their salvation, but concerning a grandson making bad decisions he states that God would have him die before losing his salvation (so, my question then is - do you ACTUALLY believe one can lose their salvation? If God is sovereign to have someone die on their last day of faith, wouldn’t that be for everyone? Or is my uncle trying to be optimistic about family?? Side thoughts). My aunt believes no one who is saved can lose it. Even if they fall into a homosexuality, they would still be saved. “One cannot be unborn,” she stated. Amazingly, while all these questions were running in my head, Scriptures started popping up in my devotions concerning this very topic. I itemized them here into the following: “Once Saved Always Saved”, “Can Lose It”, and “Discrepancy”. The discrepancy is key, as - honestly, I wonder if it’s how it’s read lends to which side we stand on. (All Scriptures quoted in the AMP translation.)
My mind can start swirling...FAST! Are there times when I was just acting as a Christian, but really wasn’t? If I’m a Christian, does that mean I am unable to fall into sin and still stay saved? And yet, Paul admitted that he had sinned post-Jesus, but of course, he died in redemption (see Romans 7: 14-25). So, where does salvation stand? To what length is the question. I still lean toward the possibility of losing salvation.
The premise I do so, is because I have witnessed in my life Christians who have decided to walk away from Jesus. However, my stance on their present saved status has changed. Maybe they haven’t lost their salvation, but they are walking away from it. The longer they do, the easier it is for their heart to be hardened. I don’t believe that God revokes His gifts, but we can leave it. But God is long-suffering and doesn’t let us off that fast. After all, God doesn’t want any to perish (see 2 Peter 3:9). It takes a LONG time of chasing, and a LONG time of refusal before our hearts can be hardened to the Holy Spirit.
There are two absolutions I came up with. First, I can’t lose my salvation as soon as I thought before. Secondly, it is not my job to keep everyone’s count where their salvation is. My job is to pray that a person who is not walking with Christ would do so, and soon. Nevertheless, I don’t believe that is the end of the conversation. So much of this talk of salvation’s extent still leaves much out of the discussion. Frankly, it loses sight of the purpose of salvation, and the key to one’s salvation.
We receive salvation, because of repentance. The word repentance literally means “to turn around”. It describes the process by which we turn to Jesus. He already did the work (let THAT sink in). We just have to turn to Him. We are still human and are prone to temptations and sin. Having the Holy Spirit does not make us immune to falling. However, what keeps our hearts from hardening is the act of repentance. And as many times it requires to repent, God is willing to forgive, because we have an Advocate (see 1 John 1:9).
Furthermore, the premise of “how far can I go” misses the point of redemption. Sin is not about breaking the rules. It is about becoming disconnected from God. We needed salvation - not because we got caught doing bad things, but because in our sin, we broke our relationship with a holy God. It is not God’s heart for man to be “merely saved”. It is His heart for us to know Him profoundly! We are asking the wrong question. Truly, if the goal is to know God, would we wonder how far I can go before He no longer would take us back? Or if we understood that His heart was for reconciliation, then we would understand that He will do WHATEVER IT TAKES - even forgiving smacks to the face and accusations to bring us to Him.
Perhaps, we should stop asking “how much sin can I do before I’m no longer forgiven?” Honestly, that shows me the person probably is not saved or doesn’t understand salvation. It isn’t about not getting burned when we die. Salvation is about making God Lord of our lives (see Romans 10:10). The Bible doesn’t mention a special prayer to get saved; it discusses the status of a heart. Do we really want Jesus in our lives? I feel a burden that in this American society, we have been led to believe a simple prayer but no mind to the God it addresses is enough to be saved. But, salvation is about reconnection with our Creator and the One who wants to adopt us. If we saw His heart for us, would we worry about the extent of His grace, or would we become more concerned about how we can be more connected?
Thursday, November 18, 2021
Daddy, Where Are You?
Dear Daddy,
Growing up, I never thought I had a problem with you. You were around and I was the reason for your smile. But as I have grown into a woman, I have looked back on my life and seen an inconsistency. I have been insecure. I was unsure. I shared thoughts in my mind and it was too much. I have seen brothers make mistakes and lose their favor; could I be in the same boat? If not, why not? Though you were around, growing up, I still felt alone. And I felt like I had to carry the worries of this world on my shoulders. Where were you?I know that you met Jesus later in life. I know a shift in your marriage and parenting came. But as I matured, I was the one who pursued Christ more than you. I went into my Word, and asked for accountability. I wanted to go deeper, but you stayed in the shallow end. You were proud of me in every area of my life. Present for the milestones in life. Like two peas in a pod, we were. But when God was brought up, you were found amiss. Confused. When dysfunction entered the home, I found myself holding the reins. Instead of me finding shelter in your wisdom, you would ask me what was to be done. Emotionally present, but spiritually absent. I was not meant to carry the household. Nevertheless, I found that I have taught myself to never be in want. Although, I admit I am in need.
As the years progressed, you grew in your faith. You are one to speak of Jesus often. I can tell you are near to Him and His heart. But you are hidden in the back room. Fully aware of the world’s plights, but are you ignorant of what goes on your home? Your tears cry for the destruction of the earth, but what is its worth when you are absent from the hearts of your children? Are you - and forgive me if I pre-judge, more concerned with ministry that you fail to realize that your family is priority? Now you are spiritually present, but emotionally and physically absent. As you are silent, I step up and help the mother rear her children. The children whom you are accountable for.
I always wondered why I found security in being alone. Simultaneously, fretting all the while that I was disconnected. But I have learned that I must care for my own soul. Mothers taught me rejection; but fathers taught me abandonment. I have to speak, because the fathers fail to step up. I cannot admit need, because I have households that I must care for. I know I want to be loved by a man, as I should be, but how can I if I don’t ever trust him. More importantly, I know I have come to believe that God may love me, but He “must” be distant. I have to beg for your presence, but I’m hesitant to interrupt the importance of the screens placed before your eyes.
I need you near. I need you to carry. I need you to be present in all respects. So, will you come?
Mommy, Will You Let Me In?
Dear Mommy,
I know there was a time I was considered the apple of your eye. But 20 years of words have perpetuated this hurt that seems to bleed from the ground. I know I have forgiven you. I know that you may carry wounds from others. I know I am learning to take God’s words as gospel more than any other. However, the reality is for every disagreement, critique, or abrupt comment, it only forms a dagger into the scars that were supposed to be healed by now.There is a wall between us. Whether it is formed, because of fear, or because there is an affront, the situation differs in motive. But how do I lean in when I believe that my worth to you is for what I can do? Is my future blessed only for what I can accomplish according to the will you have for my life? Am I enough as I am? Why do I feel like I have to beg to be your delight? And only find favor when I have shared a helping hand?
Would you love me even then? Even when I make a mistake? Even when I disagree? Even when I choose a different calling than so many of my family? Will you want my presence for more than sitting on the couch made for comfort? A comfort that may bring solace to the mind, but fails to bring true peace.
I wanted you to be in my life. I wanted to know that I am worth something...but I want to be worth more than just something. I wish I was loved...unconditionally. But will you love me beyond my accomplishments, and in the midst of my failings? Why when I linger you are content with my silence, but if I am gone, then I am missed? Mommy, will you let me in? What is my worth?
Thursday, November 4, 2021
How to Love the Black Sheep
I have a cousin who has screwed-up big time, according to his relationships with our family members. Making choices that are not wise, nor healthy, as well as detrimental, the closeness he once had no longer exists. At least, for the moment. I mention that, because as much as my cousin is running away from God and all that He may have for him, we pray that he will return. But that return may be hard. To say he screwed-up is only slightly an understatement. I have since learned to tread lightly and make a point to not get into detailed conversations with my uncle on the subject of my cousin. Frankly, my uncle (my cousin’s grandfather) has admitted that there is a wall. “But the doorknob is on his side.” My uncle implores that he loves his grandson, but that he is a disappointment. The wall can only be taken down by my cousin, and to set anything up, my cousin needs to set up the details. My cousin is no longer welcome at the house, and no longer can ask for monetary support. I know that my uncle loves the Lord, but the tone for which is used hinted at a sense of unforgiveness. Was I just assuming? Or was there a reason for such an extreme case of excommunication? The worst that my cousin ever did to me was not talking with me for four years. Actually, it was a miracle that I got to see him in August of this year, because I don’t think he would have contacted me, otherwise. However, his offenses toward other family members are more substantial. He has stolen. Lied. Been verbally abusive. Not just with my aunt and uncle, but also with my cousin’s mother and sister, as well. There is much strain. And though sometimes I have questions (or news), I wonder if I should say anything at all. I risk bringing anger forth. My uncle last month noticed how uncomfortable I was about how he talked about my cousin. (After all, he called him “a disappointment”. A noun. There’s the danger of an identity. He refuses to welcome my cousin or shake his hand at church.) In response, my uncle stated, “Shouldn’t I protect my family? I hope when you are married, that your husband does the same thing for you.” I was at a standstill. I know that there must be boundaries when it comes to people with unhealthy behaviors. However, to what extent do our boundaries just become armor for our unforgiveness? In my own journey toward forgiveness, I found that distance was a huge indicator of unforgiveness. And yet, I was not hurt by my cousin as my uncle had been. But I couldn’t understand the hint of hostility (??) that I seemed to rise when my cousin came into the conversation. Immediately, I was reminded of 1 Corinthians 5. After talking with a mama from church for counsel, I studied the chapter. Paul found himself needing to address the Corinthian church in the context of people in the church who habitually sinned. Key verses that stood out to me were 1 Corinthians 5:5-7,11. The text is as follows:
“You are to hand over this man to Satan for the destruction of his body, so that his spirit may be saved in the day of the Lord Jesus. Your boasting [over the supposed spirituality of your church] is not good [indeed, it is vulgar and inappropriate]. Do you not know that [just] a little leaven ferments the whole batch [of dough, just as sin corrupts a person or an entire church]? Clean out the whole leaven so that you may be a new batch, just as you are, still unleavened. For Christ our Passover Lamb has been sacrificed...But actually, I have written to you not to associate with any so-called [Christian] brother if he is sexually immoral or greedy, or is an idolator [devoted to anything that takes the place of God], or is a reviler [who insults or slanders or otherwise verbally abuses others], or is a drunkard or a swindler - you must not so much as eat with another person (AMP translation).”
According to this reference, my cousin is guilty of them all. He has slept around, gotten drunk, swindled, verbally abusive, and therefore, also an idolator. Much of the confusion that surrounds him is that back in high school, he had an “experience” of meeting Jesus. He prayed the prayer; got saved, baptized. He went to YWAM. So, at what point did he turn from God? (Or the thought that runs in my head - was he ever a son of God to begin with?) Furthermore, being a grace-filled Body of Christ, aren’t we supposed to show compassion to my cousin - that in the efforts of showing goodness, my cousin would come to repentance?
Nevertheless, through my study and communication with God, some things came to light. My cousin has interacted with family members as an addict, not as himself. Because of the abuse he has committed, they no longer can trust that my cousin is only the family member. He has to prove himself trustworthy before being asked back into a place of hospitality. My confliction of emotion is apparent that I have never been personally hurt by my cousin. The hurt that my uncle feels is real, but I don’t share it, because I don’t share the experience.
The form of excommunication seems foreign to me, although it is a New Testament concept (there were forms of it in the Old Testament, as well). Frankly, it is because I have never seen anyone do it, nor a church. Most of the time, if someone is convicted of their sin, but becomes offensive, they do not have to wait to be kicked out. They leave on their own. However, there may be times when someone is boasting of their life and yet will need conviction. I think this occurs on levels. First, someone has their sin addressed. Secondly, they may be removed from their position of leadership. If there are areas of further injury or negative impact can be incurred, then removal of the person altogether may be required.
While questioning the validity of excommunication...or rather, it was understanding excommunication in the context of my cousin, I tried to figure out where I should find myself in this. Additionally, I found myself judging some of the members of my family who were doing the excommunicating. If you had held boundaries and not given monetary support or a bed to someone whom you know is an addict, you wouldn’t have been burned. And if you weren’t burned, you could love [my cousin] from a distance, and not be hurt. I love my cousin very much. We grew up together, but anyone who is related to an addict knows how dangerous it is to rescue them when they like the hell they are in. I am not angry. I’m not bitter. For the betterment of the person, I will let Satan have at them so that they may repent sooner.
But that isn’t what some of my family members did. They poured out assistance. They opened their homes. Gave cash. Maybe it’s because they didn’t realize that my cousin is an addict. Or maybe they hoped their kindness would inspire my cousin to change. That is possible - and that is what was the key to helping me to stop judging. (Moreover, judging doesn’t change the past and it certainly doesn’t bring a solution for which my cousin can truly benefit.) I can make appropriate boundaries, because I see plainly the state of my cousin. This may be another attribute to the different perspective and approach to my cousin.
Where does this leave me? How shall I love this black sheep cousin of mine? First - realize that he needs Jesus more than anything. I cannot be his savior. Secondly, I do not need to have protective walls, as I have not had boundaries pushed. It is okay for me to be more open but going into point three - I need to be fully aware of the situation and have boundaries. For me, that means no bed and no cash for him. Fourthly, be open with my cousin. Just because he’s not in a good place doesn’t mean I have to hide my faith from him. Fifth, pray for everyone in this family situation. We all have a heart for my cousin to return. We’re all trying to figure out how to do it best.
Love is compassionate, but sometimes the most compassionate thing to do is to let someone feel the deepest depravity of their sin, so that they will no longer want it. My grandfather’s generation called it “tough love”. It is not heartless. The sight is for long-term thriving rather than short-term pleasure. I pray that my cousin may come to the Lord and change his life, sooner than later.
Lean In(to the Pain)
Forgiveness is easy to preach. It’s harder to live. And when distance has amazingly protected the areas of the heart that were wounded years ago, one may question the need to get close to the flames that scorched. So has been the case of my healing in this season. God told me I was supposed to be in a season of rest and healing. In my obedience, I moved back to my hometown, and for the first couple months, it was going well. Spending time in God’s Word and studying what it meant to be a child of God was exactly what I needed. But my aunt and uncle went to South Africa for a short-term mission trip, and since that moment, I have found that the form of rest is taking a different shape. I never wanted to go back to Missoula, in the first place. I settled in my heart that a season of rest was needed, but I begged God to allow me to move to another Rez. Send me overseas. Anywhere but Missoula. And if I had to move to Missoula, I knew that the only place I could afford living was with my aunt and uncle. This doesn’t sound so bad until one realizes that some of my childhood (and even adulthood) wounds came from them. Leaning into the pain takes a whole new meaning. As I mentioned before, things were going well the first couple of months. I found that my aunt and I were talking in ways I could never talk with my mother. I realized that our personalities are similar, and we try to be upfront about what we think. It’s a positive attribute, but sometimes we can be a bit too bold. Things were going good. Nevertheless, when God has been pouring into you, it should never come as a surprise that things will happen to stir the water. Call it an attack of the enemy or God purifying things - either way, sometimes the ugly comes to the surface when God’s been at work. It started with the week of crazy - something intense occurred in my family and I had to make a decision that could mean life or death. But I feared judgment from my aunt concerning how I addressed the circumstance. Then came Halloween. As I have gotten older, the comments from my aunt have generally ceased. Except for one area. My native people. And on Halloween, she made another joke that was rooted in racism. I found myself at a complexity. On a spiritual plane, I knew that I could learn from my aunt, however, on a personal level, I experienced degradation. What was this hypocrisy that I encountered? How could a godly woman who stands firm on the Bible hurt me so much? In processing her wounds (both past and present), I found that I had a soul tie. Not all soul ties are romantic. However, if one is guarded concerning how a person reacts and finds it extremely difficult to be transparent with them, it is probable there may be a soul tie. The irony of the Halloween statement is that in response to her “joke”, I had an open reaction. I turned around and whispered - but, apparently not so quietly, the essence of her joke. I looked back, and she looked shocked. She hasn’t told me, but something in me says she heard me. This was the first time I actually addressed any of her wounds, directly. Most of the time, I either became quiet or made a joke about it, myself. But not this time. I openly stated that her “joke” was not appropriate (“That’s not racist,” sarcastically). But the fear came in immediately. I thought I should prepare for a defense. I wasn’t at all apologetic, as it was something that I believe needed to be addressed. Nevertheless, I hesitated inwardly. I didn’t want to go back to her place. I thought about the idea of packing out and moving in with my parents. They don’t have any room, but I could make it work. I prepared for a detailed speech. That soul tie was yanking my fear chain. And at some level, I need to stop being afraid. This doesn’t mean I don’t care about what people think, at all. It is important to be humble enough to heed conviction. But the fear I had was one that made me believe that my worth to my aunt was conditional, based on if I agreed with her 100%. And obviously, that wasn’t the case. Nevertheless the soul tie I needed to break with my aunt required forgiveness. Forgiveness is a good message until an application comes up. But in this comment, I knew that to break the subtle bitterness that could ensue, I needed to give this free gift. I needed to completely pardon her. She didn’t deserve it. However, maybe she didn’t know that the things she said were inappropriate. As much as she is a godly woman, maybe she, like myself, has blind spots. I, too, am a repeat offender to God. And I wish for forgiveness from Christ. As Christian-cliché as it is to say, who am I to withhold what has been given me? Forgiveness doesn’t excuse the action. God walked me through the grieving and the hurt. “What did the joke communicate?” Most offenses wouldn’t offend if the words themselves had not communicated something other. In my case, the words communicated that my aunt didn’t care about me, or the people God put in my life to minister. I saw areas of comparison and favoritism displayed in a simple sentence. In a joke...that really wasn’t much of a joke to me. Yet, holding on to the hurt was holding onto pride. It was saying I was righteous in holding my grudge. However, the process of forgiveness, for me, is to see that nobody is perfect, and where harm has been committed, lack of knowledge is prevailing. So, after I grieved with God and understood why the words hurt so much, I was emotionally settled. I knew I had forgiveness toward my aunt. However, did I need to bring this up? I waited a couple of days, and my aunt never mentioned anything. I thought that I was good, therefore, I didn’t need to say something. However, one of my unhealthy codependent habit was to feel the urge to bring up an offense only when I felt the sting. But once I felt okay, I wouldn’t say anything. Subsequently, I was set up to be hurt again, because the offender never came to the knowledge that what was done was hurtful. It was more beneficial to be emotionally at peace and then bring up the concern. Not to prove a point (as what would be the motive if I was emotionally charged), but to bring reconciliation. I would bring up the wound in an effort to invite the person to right their wrong, and secondly, to allow for a deeper level of trust to result. It was three days after the offense happened, and I knew that I needed to say something. The truth is, I wanted to be able to trust my aunt and be able to go to her, but this offense was the wall. Furthermore, if I was scared of her reaction, then the negative soul tie that formed as a child would persist. I had a short paragraph prepared. I told my aunt how I felt, but I only got a couple sentences in. There was nothing mentioned to make her feel like an idiot, though I informed her of the danger of her words and what they communicated. She said that she wouldn’t make those comments again. I told her I forgave her and loved her. Nothing else was spoken. And that night, we watched Big Bang Theory, as was our nightly tradition. The soul tie is cracking, if not already completely broken.
Tuesday, October 19, 2021
Woman Who Was Born Dead
They say that once an individual suffers a stroke, it is an emergency. “A typical patient loses 1.9 million neurons per minute after a stroke occurs.” (Stroke. 2006 Jan;37(1):263-6. doi: 10.1161/01.STR.0000196957.55928.ab. Epub 2005 Dec 8.) That is millions. Per minute. What is incredible in all of my musings and writings concerning living with a disability, it has for the most part been in the context of how God hasn’t healed me, and moreover, the frustration with failed expectations. However, when I took a trauma-informed class for my SPED endorsement, I realized that God was at work more than I first knew.
I’ve always had a chip on my shoulder, living with a disability. I never wanted to be short-changed concerning what I was capable of, so I pushed myself. I pushed myself beyond expectation. I pushed myself beyond my boundaries. If there was a physical challenge, I stepped up. If someone told me they thought I couldn’t do something, I made a point to prove them wrong. Even if I failed, I had much rather show that I wasn’t one meant to stay on the bench.
Truth is...despite all my “exploits”, I still couldn’t shake off the anxiety that I was still the “handicapped” one of the group. It would rise and fall with every challenge that revealed itself wanting of both sides of my body. I played softball, and though I knew my team didn’t doubt how well of a player I could be, I wondered if the other teams would feel sorry for me. When I dared to swim across open water independently, I worried my family (or at least, the adults. I was seen as really cool by the kids). I always wanted to summit mountains, but waited until I was 31 years old, because I was afraid that if I found a mountain too hard, then I would burden friends in assisting me to make the top. When I lined up for the Spartan Race in 2018, I wondered how many murmurings I would receive for being one not “physically apt” for such a feat.
Some may comment on the actual physicality of certain things. Maybe some of it is worth noting. Nevertheless, the issue wasn’t really whether or not I could do something, but rather my approach to things. Even in the situations where I was physically apt, I still had a mindset to prove to the individuals in front of me that I wasn’t lacking in my worth. Living with a disability wasn’t a physical problem as it was an identity crisis.
I refused to join any kind of support that I could use. I quit physical therapy, because it felt too much like a doctor’s office. In college, as much as I had empathized with other disabled friends, I never joined their club, because I didn’t want to be one of them. You know...The ones who are different, and whose worth is somehow diminished, because of what they couldn’t do. Maybe it was my junior high experience of a PE who made me run when my right hip was extremely hurting. When I got a doctor’s note saying to not push me, the teacher made me stop running altogether (the goal was to allow me to run until I knew my body couldn’t push any more, not to have me quit physical sports altogether…) Whatever the reason, I grew up hating myself, and honestly, my body, because of the fear of what I could not do. And I would be damned if I had to ask for help.
I hid my right arm from pictures. I never showed my right foot which has a bunion, due to an imbalance in my step. I hated videos, because I saw my limp gait and my limp fist. Furthermore, I found ways to strengthen my left side in such a way where it didn’t matter if I had my right side or not. I used my teeth to open things. Taught myself to type one-handed, as fast as any two-handed individual. When I worked out, I only strengthened my left side. Because if I could become the titan that I wanted to believe I was, then I was convinced that no one else could question my worth.
But I was still neurologically dead. Okay. Maybe not all of me. However, I suffered a stroke before I was born (we don’t know when), and didn’t find out until after I was born. So, we don’t know how long I went without treatment. How many minutes I went without help. How many millions of nerves died. Maybe I am slightly exaggerating (I hope not), but understanding how time and stroke work. The atrophy my body endured was a sign that not everything was alright. That being said, I received speech therapy and can walk. There was some level of rescue in my situation.
Nevertheless, going into my adulthood, I was stuck in my pride and offended, because God had not healed me. Or so I thought. By the time I was nearing my 30s, I loved the strength that I was exemplifying muscularly, however, I was greatly cognitive of the fact that the joints and tendons on the left side of my body were being stretched more than what may be healthy. My left knee could get sore after an intense workout. All these years of beefing up one side of my body left that one side in danger of being disabled itself, if I didn’t take any care.
The problem wasn’t the physical activities I participated in. Rather, it was the absence of inviting the other side of my body to participate. By the time I took my trauma-informed class, there was NO WAY anyone would catch me in a brace to help the weaker parts of me. But what I read about neurology started my journey to soul healing. One point nine million nerves die every minute. The synapses are cut off. Yet, if the body is treated, and put through therapy, the nerves can - wait for it, this is the actual neurological term - resurrect.
They can resurrect. Raise from the dead. What was once gone can come back again, if just given the chance. And I failed to give my right body the chance to heal...to resurrect, because I let my worth be defined by my ability. It took some time after taking the class, but slowly, I realized where God’s glory still could be manifested in my situation.
God was not absent in healing me. The manner for which He chose to heal just wasn’t instant. In today’s society, we want miracles. The sign within the moment. But often, God likes to weave His handwork in the subtleties of life. He showed me in June of 2020 that I needed to let go of the pride of being strong. I had to be honest where I was weak, in order for His strength to come through. All the while I was on a track of disarming my body (pun may be intended) of what strength I needed, but God has challenged me that what strength I need to be equipped for the work that He gives me must include the parts of me that I had previously wanted to stay hidden and forgotten.
Coming down a mountain I summited this year.
Note the ankle brace I wore to support my balance.
I eventually began wearing a hand brace. I found that my right arm has some strength, but the wrist was weak and needed to be supported in order for my arm to be strengthened as it should. I also began wearing a brace on my right ankle. It is amazing what a resurrection can do. Now, I can hold a bowl with my right hand. I can open certain bags of chips. (My fine motor skills are finally coming back!!!!) I don’t have to resort to using my teeth all the time. I can carry more on my right arm. The muscle tone in my right biceps and triceps are growing. My balance has improved, and the other day, I was even able to stand on my right tippy toes...even if it was just for two seconds. It is more than zero.
Subsequently, I am learning to strengthen my entire body, and my left side isn’t as worn out as it might have been. My entire body is being trained to be healthy and carry me through whatever the day may bring. And yet, I would have missed it, if I remained stubborn that my identity was grounded in my ability. There are moments I still am guarded (such as if there is mention that people with disabilities should be aborted or left out of activities), but I’m slowly learning to put my stake on what God has told me, rather than what people perceive me, or what I fear they may perceive. God is active. He still heals. And He does it in such a way that will glorify Him most.
A little more than a week ago, I attended an Encounter Weekend. A woman prayed for my right hand, and said, “Do not look at this as a hindrance. May [you] not even notice when God heals you.” I had to laugh to myself. With all the grave digging that God has been doing in my neurological pathways, it wouldn’t surprise me if how my hand is opened little by little. That no longer bothers me, though. Seeing the gradual growth of what my right side is able to do...it’s almost like surprise Christmas gifts.
Wednesday, September 22, 2021
Whose Kingdom Being Built?
As a 21 year veteran to the Christian faith, you would think I get this “building God’s kingdom” thing. And if someone were to ask me if I had it down a few years ago, I would have agreed. “Yeah, I know what it means to build God’s kingdom.” But the funny thing about God is that as much as He looks at the efforts of the hands, He weighs the motives of the heart, more so. So, within the last couple years, I have been forced to look at the mirror of my life and ask the question, “Why do I do what I do?” Is it really for God? I would often say so, but the truth of the matter is, there is a very real, selfish, and therefore, sinister reason. I puff myself up. I want the accolades. I want the praise. I want to know that I am making a positive impact in someone’s life. I want to know that I found worth in someone’s life. I want to be the hero. Wait. But isn’t this supposed to be about Jesus? Absolutely, yes. Of course, I want people to be saved from their sins. Of course, I want them to have a relationship with our Father in heaven. But I also want it to be known that it was me who led them to Christ. Sheesh. The truth oozes with pride. My very cursed pride (appropriate time for a specific cuss word?). So, even though it’s by Jesus’ name, it is duly noted that it is my own kingdom that I seek to build. It is no secret that I have struggled with self-esteem. I’ve blogged about it before, but seeing it’s long-awaited result can make me sick concerning the reality of what might be. As long as I have deemed it necessary to rebuttal the verbal or written attacks on my identity, I can only focus on my own worth, rather than on the worth of God. And because I am guilty of seeking my own glory, I fail to glorify God. I wonder how often I have shared a testimony, and it overemphasizes what I have done, but, “Oh Jesus stepped in at this one moment, and helped it along…” Yeah, sure. Honestly, it is very easy to forget to give any credit to Him at all. Sheesh. I’m not as clean as I think I am. There really isn’t too much to wonder why there was a need for a season of rest. How am I to share the love of God if all I am concerned about is how people care about me? I can’t. Luckily, I’m catching it now. However, sooner or later, if undeterred, the motives of my heart would muddle the very notion of why ministry is conducted. I would focus on works, again. I would have a hopeful heart, at first, but burn out. My unconditional love would reveal itself to be conditional. Friendships would be dependent, and not mutually caring. I would get jealous if someone else received affirmation, whereas I hadn’t. I know that this would happen, because it started happening. Even before I officially moved into my season of rest, I began recognizing that something was amiss, and perhaps, I needed to step down from ministry. Whether or not I was going to stay in Browning. There are wounds in my heart that need to be healed; mindsets that need to be realigned with God’s Word. There are lies about myself and my life that I have believed. While buried under a rug, I had been proclaiming truths that I now wonder how deeply (or shallow, as the case may reveal) I honestly trusted and believed. I am finding that in my wounds, I have sought for a safe place to share my faith. I’ll be bold in my writings and among my friends, but ask me to talk to someone beyond my immediate circle; ask me to pray for healing; ask me to do something out of the ordinary, because God directed me to - I will refuse. My boldness has waned. And it’s because I’ve believed the lies of the enemy. I have failed to be assured in my mind what my spirit knows to be true. I have believed that I’m not worth anything. I have believed that I’m someone’s second choice. I have believed that God won’t answer prayer in a timely fashion. I have believed that the results of a supernatural encounter are dependent on my ability and faith, not on the work of the Holy Spirit. I have believed that I need to prove God real. I have believed that salvation needs to look appetizing to the senses before Jesus can be shared. The truth is, while I’m wanting people to accept Jesus, I’m REALLY wanting people to accept me. Because I have feared my entire life that I wouldn’t be. That I could be thrown away. And being thrown away means more to me than if someone fails to have a relationship with Jesus, and subsequently, spends eternity in hell. Sheesh. Quite a narcissistic desire. But it’s my kingdom I’m building. Unless something changes. And the truth is - I DO want it to change. I want to stop worrying about what people think about me. Furthermore, I want to know how to love God beyond what He can do for me. The failure to chase after His heart is because there has been a desire in me for others to chase after mine. I have become convinced of the world’s promises, and found where my convictions have been compromised. It sucks. All this time, I thought I was close to my heavenly Father and doing great things for Him, only to find out it wasn’t 100% for His glory. What. The. Heck. Was I thinking??? Didn’t I see how God wasn’t at the center of it all? To say that I made some mistakes is an understatement. There is some regret. There is a part of me that wants to just jump back in the waters of ministry. When can I go back to a reservation somewhere, or overseas? Maybe I should get involved in the youth or children’s ministry here. Yet, I’m hesitant to do so. For good reason, too. I have come to realize that I lost sight of my Father’s heart, and I want to get back. And I want to go deeper. I’m sure there is a danger to becoming comfortable spending extensive time with God on an almost daily basis. But it would be far more dangerous to go back sharing the Word of God without His heart or His kingdom in mind. As long as I’m afraid of what others think of me, I’ll be too dang focused on me, rather than on Him. So, it is high time to till the soil, fix the broken things in me...but more importantly, fix my eyes on Jesus, lifting up His kingdom instead of my own. He is to increase. I am to decrease. Let it be so.
So, What's the Plan?
I had a plan. I knew what I was going to do come this Fall. Or I thought I knew. Making plans can be a funny thing, because sometimes things happen as one detail, but there are other times when what was envisioned is not so. This Fall is one such instance when the plans I made fell through completely. I already knew the timeline for YWAM shifted. But I was supposed to be going to Israel at the end of August. Then that got delayed to the Spring. It was confirmed that this is supposed to be a season of rest. But what does that even mean? I’m not working, and to the outsider’s mind, I’m just chilling and freeloading off my family. This rest isn’t meant to be permanent, nevertheless, it is amazing how quickly the questions came as to what the plan is for me moving back to Missoula. “Are you going to sub?” “Are you going to teach at DeSmet? (We need tutors.)” “What about Valley Christian?” “Are you going to reapply to YWAM? Maybe you should try another base.” “You should go to Rhema. I feel it in my spirit.” “I heard you’re interested in YWAM. Here’s a contact for Ronan. They are looking for students.” Are you, are you, are you? You should, you should, you should… It can be a bit maddening if I ponder on the expectations that I have felt inwardly pressured. Truth is, however, no one is telling me I have to do something. Most of the questions coming are from people whom I haven’t talked to in a long time, and so they see a new chapter and wonder what’s being written. Nevertheless, when God has revealed to me in a number of ways that I should be sitting tight, it is anxious to see the open doors, when I have been directed to shut them, for the time being. I grew up believing that if there is an open door, I should (there’s that word, again…) walk through it. However, I am finding that when God gives a directive to stop doing, then open doors become a test. Am I going to listen to Him, or am I going to do what I want to do (which is being involved)? Truth is - so much of my maturity in my faith has relied on what I do for God, more than in who I am. And when I told God that I should be about my Father’s business, He then retorted, “What if being about My business is sitting at My feet?” Dang. There it is. I’m so comfortable at being busy than being, in and of itself. So, what’s the plan? For now, just sit at His feet. Learn to address the hidden things in my heart that I have learned to bury over the years. Seek His face and His heart over my personal motivations. The plan is to rest. Rest seems lazy. It can look immature. But there is a purpose in it, when done right. I’m not vegetating. I’m addressing the things that for so long were neglected. I, also, see areas where God is going to stretch me. That is, if I am willing to follow through on the exercises that He gives me. Rest is meant to be active, not dull. But more on that for another time. As for now, I see that there has been a reason for my plans falling through. There is personal growth, but I have also been able to reconnect with family I haven’t seen in years; and am a needed help in other ways. I don’t know what the plans will be come November or December. Will this rest thing only be a couple months, or the length of the school year? Only God knows. But I am in no rush. Maybe that’s a bad thing. Although, maybe it isn’t. Our society pressures us to have a plan and follow a timeclock for certain goals and events in life. But God is the one who writes the story, ultimately. Maybe...instead of writing my own script, it’s time to read His.
Wednesday, September 8, 2021
I Remember...9/11 (20th Anniversary)
I remember 9/11...I was getting ready for school, and heading out to the bus stop. As I was opening the door, my dad had just turned on the TV, and at the sight of emergency news, he said, “Oh ----!” I didn’t know what happened, but I knew it was bad. When I arrived at school, I learned about the World Trade Center, and it was the first time I heard of Al Qaeda. I heard about the Pentagon. I learned of Flight 98 and the heroic sacrifice those passengers made. In subsequent days, words of Muslim extremists, terrorism and Osama bin Laden became frequent. I remember the religion of Islam no longer being mentioned as a religion of peace. I also remember that the United States started banding together. We started praying again. On the news, I also remember hearing word that violent acts were being committed as a reaction to the loss of 3,000 lives. Shops owned by American Muslims were vandalized. President George W. Bush reminded the people that we are not to fight our own. The terrorists were our enemy, and that is who we would fight. I was warned that my classmates may fight in this war. There was fear. There was hurt. There was hope. There was unity. I also remember a thought that came along. It became more prevalent to my heart, however, I wasn’t hearing anyone else utter the same conviction (until a couple years later). Would it be...could it be...is it okay to ask God to pray for bin Laden’s salvation? In a time of war, was it odd to pray that the enemy could find mercy long enough to come to know Jesus? I knew that justice needed to be made. I knew life-long imprisonment, in the least; death at most would be required. But...could God hold off long enough to see our enemies become our brothers? Even if only on a spiritual aspect. But maybe I was just being naïve. After all, I was only an 11-year-old girl.
I remember May 2, 2011… Well, the news came a day after, for us, Americans. Osama bin Laden was found in Pakistan and the Navy Seal charged into his home, killing him and shooting one of his wives in the leg. President Obama was announcing the victory we had wanted since September 11, 2001. The man who supported the attack on America ten years prior was dead. On Facebook, the newsfeed was filled with praises for the dead terrorist. My heart felt a mixture of emotions. On one hand, I knew there was a relief; a sense of justice was achieved. However, my heart also felt heavy. But why? As an American, I should be happy.
Right?
I asked God why I felt this heaviness. His reply: “I lost a son.” In that moment, I remembered my prayer when I was a child. I had wanted Osama bin Laden to meet Jesus on this side of death. But he didn’t. Now Osama bin Laden was burning in hell. And that is for eternity. How could I relish in his death when it meant that he would never get another chance to know God as a heavenly Father? I could not.
Two blasts blew at the Kabul airport in Afghanistan on August 26, 2021...Thirteen US soldiers were killed, up to 90 other Afghan citizens were killed, and 120 others injured as there was a plan in place to evacuate American citizens and Afghan allies after the Taliban took over the governing forces in the country. We had been fighting in a war for 20 years. Even two weeks later, the news has ongoing updates on how there are still American citizens stranded in Afghanistan. There is fear. There is hurt. There is not much hope or unity discussed.
In all that has happened in America, and that continues to unfold nationally and internationally, I am hesitant to jump on the “hate the enemy” bandwagon. I’m reminded of my 11-year-old self, and how I was praying for salvation, rather than revenge. When President Biden addressed the nation, he stated one phrase that was repeated across the newscasters: “We will not forgive. We will hunt you down. We will make you pay.” Politics aside (TV is full of opinions on the events of the world; this post is meant to mention something not being discussed publicly), I cannot agree with my president on the notion that I won’t forgive.
I am not going to apologize. But I am not going to allow hate to stir in my heart based on what happened in Afghanistan. Does what happened hurt? Of course. Should something be done. I wouldn’t doubt it. My uncle and I had a conversation last week about this. He believes the death of innocents is close to God’s heart and that there is such a thing as godly killing. In this context, it is okay to respond and bring forth justice to stop evil. Perhaps he is correct. Killing may be required as a form of self-defense. I know that in the Bible and in contemporary times, judgment has come upon those who have done evil.
There is the physical perspective. But there is also the eternal perspective. As an American, I am leery to relish in the destruction of men (and women) who are acting on terrorist means to obtain their end. I do not want to even desire for the demise of the Taliban, ISIS-K, Al Qaeda, or any other Muslim terrorist organization. Even if I have to physically defend myself, I do not want to resort to hatred.
Because as a Christian, I cannot be mindful of the physical realm alone. There is an eternal realm that we must be aware of. There is an enemy greater than the ones we see in planes. And there is a far more sobering reality than dying on a battlefield.
We are trying to fight something with artillery that can only be fought with ideology, furthermore, spiritually. Let’s face it. Even if you kill 100 Muslim extremists, 1,000 may still rise up. Because they believe in the theology of jihad. Of a holy war. They won’t be deterred from their beliefs, as many Christians are not deterred despite persecution.
To beat something spiritually, you must have spiritual weapons. And the prime weapon is prayer.
I feel sad for our nation, but I also feel sorry for these jihadists. They are ensued in a war to bring about a righteousness that they themselves cannot maintain (based on Letters from Osama bin Laden, a book I had to read for my terrorism class, this fight is over Israel (Muslims believe that Ishmael was the promised son of Abraham), oil (which the Western world loved to be involved in), and the sin tolerated in Western societies (which, maybe we Christians should be careful not to call sins vices or tolerate things unbiblical)). According to Muslim law and tradition, they have to pray certain times of day, in a certain language (not every Muslim speaks Arabic), have certain cleansing rituals, and obligations to attend to in life. Even then! When they still adhere to all the requirements Allah dictated according to the Quran, Muslims are at the mercy of their god’s choice.
But Isaiah tells the hard truth that all of us need to come to terms with. Every ‘righteous’ act we attempt to do is as filthy rags (see Isaiah 64:6). The only way we can be cleaned of our nastiness and become righteous is through the sacrifice of Jesus. He died while we were still sinners (Romans 5:5), took our sin upon Himself that we may take up the righteousness of God (2 Corinthians 5:21). I don’t care what religious background you have. None of us can make it to God with our own efforts. That is why we need Jesus. And until we give Him our hearts, we will continue to “earn” our goodness, and attempt to purge the world of any evil and bring a counterfeit justice in our own strength. It is futile.
So back to 9/11’s memory. Back to the Muslim extremists that we are still guarded within our negotiations. We may have to fight. We may have to defend ourselves. Nevertheless, I choose to forgive. I choose to not allow any terrorists to gain my hate. And I choose to pray. Because at the end of it all, I would much rather see brothers than enemies. I want to see those whom I may not know their face or name be able to have a relationship with the One who has known their name and face before time itself.
Am I so naïve?