Forget the Jewels!

 Disclaimer:
The following discussion
Concerns a theological stake
I do not understand.
Whether, because of 
Absence or miscommunication,
I am only writing
On behalf of the confusion
Wrought by contrasting
True heavenly expectation
Vs.
Church idealism of discipleship.
Please read with caution
And mercy.

God, I plead with my ignorance.
I've heard that my first moments
Before Your throne
Will be ones laying down
A crown, decorated of jewels,
Rewarding my efforts
In being Your witness
In this world.

Is it so?

What people do not know
Since the moment 
I became Yours,
I soon became compelled
To learn theology,
To go somewhere,
Accomplish something
In the name of Jesus.

It was not enough

To just be.
I rather had better
Grow, substantiate
The righteousness I now have,
Follow the calling
Bestowed on my life.
And if I failed,
Then the jewels offered 
Would wither in the fire,
For an opportunity not taken.

Keeper of time:
You know how long
I have busied myself to prove
My worth in pleasing Your heart
In ministry,
In the workplace and world,
In the home.
Have I done well?
For the amount of good done
Fails to satisfy a quota.
I don't know whose.

Frankly, I have so many 
Voices in my head
Directing me what is
Supposed to be
Your will.
But is it?
Legalism breathes in my bones;
Every second of pressure
Externally suggested seeds
An anger that bleeds
Black and blue 
Ink.
Even at my best,

I am not enough.

All I have heard
Is how my effort will result in jewels
Forged in life, sustained eternally,
If only I would take the steps 
To honor Your Name
In everything
I do.

God, 
I feel like I'm being discipled
To insure I have stories
Accounted unto me
Glorifying the One who came to save.
But no matter where I go or do,
It is never enough!
I am still lonely;
And I am forgotten.

Whose glory am I fighting for?
I have been purposed
Toward a goal,
But should I be aiming
To sit at Your throne;
When able, invite others to join?

Is that when a jewel is created?

King of heaven,
I mean no disrespect.
But where in Your words,
Are my works supposed to define
My identity as Your child?
I can preach grace,
But no amount of time or sermons
Have cured this brokenness
Within me:
Wanting to be loved unconditionally;
A sense of belonging without a fight
To sit at the table.

I have forgotten
The impact of faith.
My mind knows what it should
Believe, but my heart fails
To grasp its reality.
For in one breath, I hear,
"Faith is all you need,"
But in the next, "Now,
Do the work God has commanded!"

Hell is not my home.
I know that.
Sin must not remain in my life.
I also know that.
But am I worthy of heaven
If all I brought was my desire
For You to be my King?

I know a crown is to be laid
At Your feet;
A wedding feast is to be prepared.
But will the Lord be offended,
If I only came in my rags?
Because all I have is myself.
Any stitchwork I attempted
Only resulted in bunched threads;
Uneven patterns clashing with color.
Any work I have accomplished,
Any praise gained...I have
"My award."  It is empty.

Nevertheless, if You made
A gown worthy of Your beauty,
I would gladly wear it.
Anything I could present
Will only crumble in ashes.
I know it, already.
But if You are pleased with me
As Your child, enjoy the matter
That I am credited to Your Name,
Then what work
You have done in me
Will forever be displayed.

When Faced with the Failure of Others

    It was the start of Christmas vacation, and what was on my mind?  Sure the expectations of last minute shopping, getting Christmas cards finalized, and getting excited about giving my husband the gifts I had for him.  But there is something about the holidays, that although it can bring much joy, can also usher a wave of remembrance for things lost.  Unfortunately, such was something on my mind.  It is no secret that there is an ongoing forgiveness concern.  However, I realized last weekend that the main problem wasn’t the sins of this particular person who caused my wounds, but rather, feeling like I wasn’t protected from those wounds.  There were only two things I could do: weep and write.

“Questions for My Hero”

I grew up with my hero.
He was the one
I looked up to,
Found my confidence in
And willingness to fight
Obstacles that appear
In life.

But they say,
“Don’t ever meet your heroes.
They will disappoint you.”
For all the good
You have done,
As I grew up,
I became familiar
With your flaws.

Why?
Why, when the enemies came,
You quieted your firm voice
In the name of them
Being family?
Were we not worth defending
From the barrage of hatred
Disguised as discipline?
You were supposed to be
Our protector!

Maybe, they cleverly hid
From your sight.
But maybe,
You remained silently
Resigned, because you actually agreed?
Is this the case?
Whether or not,
When confrontation came
With the truth,
You decided to retreat,
Rather than risk criticisms
Upon your own head.

How?
How shall we proceed?
Do I share with you
My frustrations?
Once, I tried…
But you rather
I just let it go;
Stop being so sensitive.
Just keep the peace.

But what peace can exist
When good men don’t stand
In the face of an onslaught?
Sticks and stones may break bones,
But words do indeed hurt.
Sometimes, they kill.
Will the shame of the past
Condemn you to resolve
Into a perpetual groveling,
Unable to forgive yourself?

What?
What do I wish of you?
Nothing more than speaking up
For those under your care.
Grow a backbone that seems to have been lost
When you quit drinking.
Of course, a strength
Coupled with Jesus’ grace.
But even He knew when
To start cracking whips.

For now,
I know I need to stand.
I need to speak up
When appropriate.
Silence protected you,
But it has been killing my soul.
I know that reconciliation should be
My aim.  However, trust has yet
To be gained.

The pain I carry
Is that you passed down
A shield to this maiden
Before she was old enough
To inherit its responsibility.
And now, that I am of age,
The responsibility is mine,
And yet, I’m either
Too exhausted or too angry
To carry any more.
You were
And are
The head of your house.
What convinced you
That silence was the best
Solution to make peace?

     Here lay the accumulation of tears that I carried for two decades.  Not that I had been wounded, but rather, that the ones who had the power and responsibility to protect me didn’t.  Where was my shield when I needed him?  Where was my hero when my internal self was threatened?
     And yet, in my tears, God still met me.  The day I wrote this poem, the overlay of depressed emotions lingered.  However, as the day drew to a close, I was able to smile again.  The next morning, I read the following verse, and because of the context I was living in, it hit me like a ton of bricks.  “Do not be afraid…I am your shield, your exceedingly great reward (Genesis 15:1b).”  God was, and is, my shield.  He is my protector.  Furthermore, He is a glorious King whose strength is mighty and establishes the world we are in (see Psalm 24:7; 93:1-5). 
     Unfortunately, life is not fair.  Expectations are failed.  Innocence is lost.  Betrayals come because of long-held resentments or birthed out of an ignorance that certain actions or wounds can harm.  Time passes, and with that, the reality that the responsibility that should be one’s, as they mature, becomes unsettling when one realizes they have been carrying that responsibility before they should have.  Nevertheless, what can one person do?
     Well, one can persevere without acknowledgement of the pain.  Sometimes, intentionally, as a means to cope.  Sometimes the pain is externally suffocated.  Anger usually results, and it bleeds in resentment years down the road.  I have found, recently,  that tears can bring healing.  It releases the anger I once hid.  But I am also learning that, although grief is needed for healing, sitting in it for too long is also not wise.  One can become addicted to wishing the past would change before one is whole. Yet, that isn’t realistic.
     God being the shield that I needed hasn’t resulted without its emotional scars.  It hasn’t saved me from pain, like a bodyguard would for a member of royalty.  Rather, His protection is more like that of a king leading a military charge.  His men know He fights for justice and what is right; the plans have been set, but the soldiers follow, prepared for battle, whether due to professional training or because war has been thrust upon them (cue Aragorn’s war speeches from Lord of the Rings). 
     God’s protection is the mature wisdom I should have received when I was younger, but am now taking proactively, because the present time calls for it.  Following my King doesn’t mean my past will be written differently, or that my life will suddenly be fair.  Casualty will come; a cost will be made, but because of the King, I know when I stand in His stead and protection, even where there may be sorrow, I can still find joy.  That is my hope on my forgiveness journey, up to this point.  

The Entschuldigung of a Hypocrite

      I’m sorry for the things I have said to you through the years.  Was trying to be funny, but I can tell how they caused you tears.  I should have been there, encouraging, lifting you up; but I see how my words only stunted your creativity, disregarded your feelings and left you questioning your worth.  I was supposed to be there for you; instead I made you insecure.

    Oh Auntie Dearest,
    I was hoping that as I became older, I would be free from this chain that has haunted my history.  I could’ve sworn I forgave you, but every chance I intend to meet with you; every chance I allow room for you to speak, it smells like toe fungus growing on the surface of your tongue.  It’s almost kind of funny.  For a time, I was even able to see a hint of your beauty, but since we separated again, it’s like you’re back to your old antics.  But maybe they were never old.  Maybe I was the one who changed, and yet, you stayed the same.  Maybe I was optimistic in believing you would listen.  After all, when you apologized for a misunderstanding, I took it as a hint of hope.
    But misunderstanding my position wasn’t my problem.  I could care less if we stood on the same side.  However, when you treated me oppositionally for taking an opposite view - excused your verbal barrage for stating your thoughts, I have to admit…I finally became more realistic.  You don’t care.  You don’t think you have done anything wrong.  Your lack of self-accountability is concerning, especially since you seem so concerned to hold the world accountable for their actions. 
    What did I ever do to you?  How did the world declare war on you?  People say you are a blessing, but why would any need enemies with family such as you?!  You can tell me you love me, but I never really could be sure, unless my actions encouraged your pride in me.  I know I failed your expectations.  Actually, I am at a loss for what you even wanted of me.  A mirror?  A mini-me?  Were you concerned for my soul, or that I looked exactly like you?
    Was it such a curse-able thing to have lived in a mission field not overseas?  Did I truly not stand in my femininity enough unless I wore elongated fabric around my legs or became a professional in the kitchen?  And how often more should I wear a dress - as often as you?! 
    You seek to point out the irreconcilable sins at a moment’s glance, but did you ever take a chance to see if a reflection looked back?  Do you even practice discernment, or just call everything you disagree with demonic?  You speak so much of the freedom found in Jesus, but as I grew in your house, the weight of your laws was overbearing.  Why didn’t you try to teach rather than criticize?  Console rather than make a farce joke?  Empathetically listen rather than force a change that wasn’t yours to make.
    Ironic. 
    I guess you could say I’m doing the same to you. 
    Is it even worth it to continue writing these imaginary conversations, realizing that they will never materialize?  I have tried, but you don’t want to hear it.  My offense…my pain…my hurt, apparently is my fault.  Isn’t that what you implied?  I’m looking to be free, but the only way I can see that happening is if the Jesus in you could actually make an appearance.  At this time, it ain’t happening, and I don’t know if it is ever going to.  Should I still care?  The only reason I do, is because you made me feel like I was never enough.
    There is always something that is below your standard.  I don’t even know how anyone can make you genuinely proud and unconditionally loving toward them.  Ain’t that funny?  Because if someone can make you unconditionally loving, it probably isn’t unconditional love.  I have since become an aunt myself.  My husband’s brother’s daughter.  The same relationship dynamic I have with you.  She doesn’t know Jesus yet, and similar to me as a teen, doesn’t have a good relationship with her mother.  I want her to be saved, but I am waiting for her to invite me in that space.  Until then, I’ll pray.  I want her to know her worth isn’t bound by what she does.  This is the lesson I have learned from the tears I carried from our conversations.  I hoped you could have been like a mother when I was searching and in constant confusion, but more criticism was all that followed.
    Is there a chance that we can restore our relationship?  I, now, carry a child, and with all due respect, I’ll be damned to let my family be abused in the way I had been with you.  Parents silent to your intimidation, others silently supporting your disapproval.  What chance did I have to see myself in the way God does?  As the matriarch of my house, I want Jesus to be glorified, children encouraged in the calling God has for them, more than the personal expectations I could want for them. 
    Because, isn’t that the point?  None of us are good, on our own.  I was never good enough for you.  And I wonder if this extra effort to abide by the law, and make others do the same, is your effort to prove to God that your salvation is viable.  Don’t you see: if our works were enough, Jesus would never have been needed.  But because any righteousness we can muster is as filth, Holiness became sin that we may not only be creation borne of His image, but become children born of His Blood.  Do you remember what Jesus saved you from, or do you work so hard to forget the shame already redeemed? Or maybe you have “always” been good, and believe it is your God-given call to disciple every person who passes your presence.  It sure feels that way.
    The only reason I want you to change is because there are too many others still willing to tolerate your bullshit, in the name of love.  And as long as that continues, I will take it upon myself to protect.  Like I said, I’ll be damned if I let my family be abused.

    I’m sorry that we never spoke up.  This is a burden you shouldn’t have had to bear.  I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you.  I’ll be here, if you want to give a call.  I will listen.  Can’t promise what you say won’t hurt, but I’ll stick around.  I want you happy.  I want all that God has for you.

    She wasn’t perfect, nor will she ever be.  But she’s humble and willing to grow.  She’s the mother I needed and have wanted; and she is my own. 

Consequences When Confrontation Doesn't Work

How does one embrace another when they do not want to change unhealthy behavior?  I was always taught to just “let things go”, that a person acts a certain way, because they are who they are, a representative of the times they grew up in…they just don’t know better.  But in the last year and half, I have not only tried to see the positive points in this person, but when there were harsh things said, I was willing to confront them.  Nevertheless, there was no accountability taken.  Apologies given for misunderstandings, or for sounding frustrated; worse yet; “I’m sorry that you are so easily offended.” 
    I’m sorry. (Pun intended.)  But that is not an apology.  And no accountability for becoming a verbal barrage of rage or unwilling to see someone’s perspective (even if you disagree with it) shows a lack of empathy.  I had hoped it was true.  I hoped this person was just ignorant of their behavior.  I learned to stop holding onto resentment, and I found that it was more loving to tell someone how they hurt me than to keep it to myself.  Because if that person comes to repentance, then it was worth it. 
    Yet, that was not the outcome.  In confronting hurtful words and behavior, I received defensiveness and deflection.  There is a statement of intention to watch what is said, but it is more so to not offend me; I can tell it is not a heart change.  Just a behavior change, and only doing that, because I finally placed the boundary that should have been built so many years ago. 
    I learned to forgive, but even now, there is still disappointment.  What I explained as ignorance has been proven to be arrogance.  The difference between the two is one lacks knowledge and wisdom.  However, the latter refuses the wisdom when it is presented.  It says that it does not want the knowledge, and pridefully states that they already know better. 
    Is it even worth sticking around in a relationship with this person?  What does it mean to embrace someone, even when they show their faults?  Am I just supposed to stomach the comments?  Am I to keep my mouth shut?  That was how it was dealt with for so many years, and the result of that was hatred birthed in my own heart.  I am to the point that something has to be done.  And being that I’m not just my own person; I have my own family to think about, I am becoming increasingly convinced that limited contact may be required to prevent any further harm or verbal abuse from occurring.  To what extent, I don’t know. 
    All I know is, presently, I feel like I’m the only one who is speaking out against this person’s behavior.  Everyone smiles and tries to have a light-hearted comeback, but no hints are really picked up.  Am I being too soft?  Too sensitive?  Should I just “let it go”?  Isn’t that what forgiveness is?  Yet, forgiveness is letting go of an offense, and also saying that person doesn’t owe you anything.  The hardest lesson I’m learning is that this family member doesn’t owe me any apologies.  Maybe I am finally coming to the part of acceptance, but there is still grief, because I hoped so much this person was willing to listen and learn.  

     I was recently reminded of the way Jesus interacted with the rich young ruler.  Jesus confronted this man, shared that he abided by all the laws, but still failed in loving his neighbor.  He challenged him to give up his most prized possession.  Jesus’ response?  No animosity.  He just turned and walked the opposite direction.  There was no further conversation.  There was no more wagering for his heart to change.  Jesus let the man have what he wanted.  And letting him have what he wanted would mean the consequence of being separate from Jesus.
    I have taken the steps I could to bring my offenses with this person.  I went one to one with this person.  Is a mediator needed?  At this point, if my husband hears something, he may pull this person’s husband aside and speak with them.  I see a growing likelihood of publicly throwing shame in this person’s face; wondering if a taste of their own medicine is going to wake them up.  But will the victim/defense (“What did I do?!”) card be played?  Somehow, I think the only way for this person to finally get the hint that they are the root of an inward family hurt is if others start speaking up.
    That’s not happening, and I feel I must be careful to not become the family’s protector.  My cousins are adults; they have their own families.  They must determine what they are willing to tolerate or draw boundaries around.  My family’s security is not my responsibility.  And neither is this other family member’s repentance.  I may have to be more intentionally distant.  I know they would like a closer relationship, but I don’t trust them to be respectful.  I can pray for them.  But like many relationships I have been learning to walk through this year, I am finding prayer is my only resort; and God is the only One who can make the change.  

“The Numb Fool” (inspired by Linkin Park)

I was seeking
For love,
Wanting to be seen
For the gift I am.
But even in your sights,
I still fell
Below
The standards of approval.
Never enough;
Always something to fix.

Always talking about Jesus,
But confused of what I was hearing;
Was it really from Him?

You have become so numb.
I don’t think you care.
All I wanted to be was to be wanted
For me,
But that was never intended,
Unless I became less
Like me,
And more like you.

What will it take for me
To be free of your grasp;
To not care what you think
And even let you have
Your consequence?

You want to call everyone
Different from you
Stupid.
But have you ever thought that
You may not always be right?!

What were you told
When you were a child
That made you judgmental
As an adult?
What insecurities do you hold
But never share,
Because a mirror may be revealed?

You have become so numb.
I fear you don’t care. 
You speak so much
Of the grace of Jesus,
But I fail to see His light.
Sometimes our own goodness
Blinds us
To see our own sin.

You quickly call out fools;
And yes, there is an ignorance
Of the knowledge of God.
But there is a fool borne
Out of arrogance.
And the only fool I know
Of this kind,
Is you.

I used to hate you
For all the ways
You made me feel less than.
I learned to love you
Enough
To confront the hidden toxins
In your speech.
I was hopeful humility would
Have its perfect work.
But inward morality persuades
The offenses are others’ problems.

For that
I will respect you
To let you have your way.
And I will respect me
To not be in the midst of it.
I may have to take my leave;
And maybe in the distance,
You will finally see
The change that must be made
To no longer be numb.

Learning to Worship in Grief

      I've seen too often that the meme for expressing Christian sentiments during a crisis is all hell breaking loose, but Jesus believers hold a huge smile on their face, nonetheless.  Humorous as the caricature is, I wonder if it has caused some damage.  I, myself, have learned to hide what pain I have endured; and though I am always willing to comfort the hurting, it is hard to find another soul to be comforted by when I am the one who is grieving. 
     I do wonder if true, biblical, comfort is less smiling and more giving room for the tears, allowing for questions to be aired, all the while trusting that Jesus continues to carry us.  Maybe that's why when comforting others, sometimes words aren't warranted, a hug is all that is needed, and tears become a form of worship.   
     Even in David's grief, he voiced a natural inclination toward vengeance.  But he also was willing to be patient, trusted in God's goodness, and was willing to let Him do His will.  I think it's okay to go to God with our grief and our anger.  Doing so shows we trust that we have a safe place with God to entrust Him with the most vulnerable things in our lives. 
     When we tell people to hold onto a "big faith" theology or encourage people to stop their crying over situations that can't be fixed, I believe we deny ourselves the decency to have an honest dialogue with the One who created us, is sovereign and cares for us.  I cannot say answers will be given, or the answers given will be the ones desired.  Sometimes, "everything happens for a reason" is not a form of comfort.  But holding onto the nature of who Jesus is, what He has done for us, and what that has afforded for us is the strength enough to hope even in heartache.  It allows us to grieve in safety, secured by the One who completely loves us.  Though for the moment, maybe we aren't okay, we can hope that we will be okay...someday.  And that's sufficient.
      Losing a friend recently has brought a different grief than I have known.  Besides losing my pastor as a teenager, this brings a different sadness than other funerals I have attended.  The pain is personal.  Knowing I can run to my God with my tears, even if no one else sees (my husband gets to see it, though) is comfort enough.  I may have my questions and fears, but I also know that God is big enough to handle it.  More over, He remains good, so no matter how this story is written, I can trust in Him, even with my pain.

"Carry the Sparrow"

When the tears fall,
The throat strains
To make a sound;
The mind is cluttered
With memories,
You are near
To be found. As the days come and leave,
The joys of the past
Flood the heart with
Sweetness turned sour
As the contemporary reminds us
Things have changed,
Your goodness remains.
Even in the shadows of fear;
Even in the valleys of death,
You still carry the sparrow.
Even when grief breathes
More breath than life;
Even when the sun is full
Of despair,
You tend to the lilies.
You say
We are much more than they…
So, even in the bitter taste
Of life’s “gifts”,
I will cling to You.
Your love and favor still abound
For Your children.
We are not forgotten.
Your glory is not shrouded
By the threat of darkness.
Pain tempts one to apostate.
Therefore, I will prostrate
Before the throne of heaven
With my mind, soul, and spirit;
With all of my questions, doubts and fears.
Answers may not be given,
Nevertheless, Your peace surrounds
This breaking heart.
Jesus, You clothe me
With Your righteousness,
Echoing Your promises
Of an unfailing covenant;
A hope to hold
Beyond time that has been shattered.
In the stillness,
I can say,
“It is well.”
I prostrate as one
Who carries their tears upon cheeks
Silently,
But accompanied with praises
For the One
Who shows no shame;
Whom will carry me
As a sparrow under His wing.

Just the Memories

     

     Yesterday, I found out a friend from high school, passed away.  They were such a great friend.  However, since graduation, we went our separate ways, including how we looked at life, and possibly faith.  This was a very dear friend, at one time, but that is no more.  Wasn't for a long time.  How do you find comfort in the loss of a friend when eternity is at stake?  It may just be in the memories I have.

We used to be friends.
We used to be allies.
Shared in one another’s hopes,
Dreamt of the future, and
Prayed that God would move
In our present.

But as seconds became years,
Shifting missions created divisions.
We had so thick a silence
Until we accepted our differences
And could care for each other,
But from a distance.

I just heard
You exhaled your final curtain call
While the moon shown
The light of a hope
Of the coming dawn;
You would never see it.

Now, all that remains
Are just the memories:
The laughter and conversations
Becoming a vague screen write.
All that remains
Are just the wonderings
Of lives lived alternatively
Than what pains drove us apart.
What would have been
If we learned to say “hello”
Before wishing “goodbye”?
At least we had our hello
Before our farewells were
Never uttered.
Or maybe that day was meant
To be a sweet goodbye,
Though I didn’t know.

The most painful sting
From your loss,
However,
Is not knowing if I can hope.
Not knowing if you will
Be able to take your final bow;
Not knowing if
The intellect translated to faith.
Not knowing if I will again
See your face, and enjoy
The memory of your name.

That most of all is why
I mourn,
Perhaps without solace,
My dear, little brother.
Maybe there is comfort,
But only in
Just the memories.