What Mercy to be Gained

Your mercy birthed
Compassion
The moment You saw me.
How great the chasm
Of Your love;
I fail to fathom its depth.

The intricacies of Your work
Subtle yet divinely glorious.
Why do You call me as Your own;
Why when I am clothed
In wretched rags, You still say
I am Your beloved?
Your mercy knows no boundaries
As it is woven within grace and love.

My guilt was enough
To put me on the cross.
Yet, You denied me
To receive the consequence
For the recompense
Of this just cause;
Casting down Your head
As a goat readied for the slaughter.

I thought I was better 
Than Barabbas.  Now only mortified
To find his reflection
In my mirror.
He walked away in his sin,
And You died in his stead.
It was in Your death
I no longer am covered
In the blood of my shame.

Your mercy implores
My heart to know the One
Maimed on my behalf;
The One who gave to
The thief who stole from Christ.
The Offended saw the criminal
As a victim of their own fleshly demise.

How can I refuse 
Such a love
That calls me by a new name?
In repentance, I am not cast out
Because of my past,
But seated at the table
For now who I am and remain,
With a Father whose love
Birthed a mercy
Strong enough to move
The hardest of hearts
Such as mine.

Hillyard: The Next Chapter

     Two years since moving the Rez, I held onto this hope that I would be going back after my internship.  I helped out at my Spokane church, but if I was completely honest, I held my heart off, so that I wouldn’t become too attached.  I didn’t want to break any hearts if I was going to leave after the post-season closure.  After all, I was planning to go back to the Rez.  I didn’t know if that meant going back to the same reservation, but I at least wanted to go back to my Native people.     However, since my trip to Mexico in February, I have seen a shift in direction.  While in Mexico, I was reminded that there have been dreams from when I was a teenager that I have since laid dormant in the meantime.  I knew at that time; I would be traveling over the course of my life.  However, since living with my Blackfeet family, I wanted to stay there for the remainder of my life.  This internship was supposed to be just a season.  But it’s not looking like that.     Recently, the Regions Beyond church network had a conference.  I was planning on receiving a prophetic word to “thus saith the Lord'' what should be the next stage of my life.  Ironically, there weren’t many opportunities for me to receive prayer, and I received one word.  “I hear the word committed.  You will take a step and know which direction to go.”  Well, sheesh!  That wasn’t helpful at all!  Actually, it was.  Because the Sunday before the conference, during worship, I felt the Holy Spirit say, “Stay in Hillyard.  Be prepared to be sent out.”  There was a lack of fight in me, when I received the word.  It was a sense of, “Okay.”     This means one major thing.  A letting go of a requirement to move back to the Rez.  It may mean years before I come back or visit, and there is a question of will I come back at all?  If I will be moving to different places, this could mean overseas.  It means not being able to see friends as often as I used to.  However, what this doesn’t mean is a forsaking of my Native family.  The years I spent with them has changed me forever.  And whenever I hear news of what’s happening, I know I will continue to have a passion for what Jesus wants to do in their lives.  I will cry when they are broken; I will cheer when they have praise reports.  Though I am moving onto a new thing, I am not forgetting them.     Since I have moved, I have also seen a miracle beginning to form with my Native family.  In the place of my departure, I have witnessed Natives stepping up and into positions of influence, changing the atmosphere.  There are things being accomplished, that while I was on the Rez, I was unable to do, because of the condition of my own broken heart.  I LOVE that God is healing my Native people…and this is only the beginning.  I can’t wait to see what is in store! (Even at this moment, one of my Blackfeet sisters is on a mission trip to another country. Natives are being sent out, when for decades, they were the mission field!)     Moreover, staying in Hillyard means that this neighborhood is now my neighborhood.  Hillyard has had a reputation of being one of the worst neighborhoods in Spokane, but when I look and walk around… I see a beauty.  This neighborhood isn’t a project.  This is now my community.  A present question: “Can anything good come out of Hillyard?”  The same question was asked about Nazareth when Jesus was becoming public.   My strut has changed when walking the various streets that make-up the neighborhood.     I know what people may think.  “Laura, you’re crazy.  Why would you stay there?”  And the honest answer is: because, there is a people in this district that Jesus loves and wants to reach.  There is a treasure worth chasing, and there is a Treasure inside of me worth sharing.  This sort of decision shouldn’t be so surprising.  Ever since I was in high school, I was kind of “ruined” to want to go to the forsaken places.      While I was a teen, many friends wanted to go to China and Africa (mind you, there are people who are INDEED called there, and should prepare to minister there), but I had compassion for a different group of people.  “God, give me the forgotten ones.  Give me the ones that nobody wants.”  While on mission trips, my youth pastor stretched us to see beyond the immediate feel-good sentiment that usually occurs.  While in New Orleans (after Hurricane Katrina), we learned to work beside hurting people wherever needed.  We also learned to talk to strangers (uh oh - trouble already brewing…).  While in San Francisco, we did ministry down the Tenderloin (i.e. the Red Light district), giving blankets to the homeless and praying for the city.  While in Portland, we learned to see the face of a homeless individual before smelling their clothes.  We even had lunch with them!  My youth pastor taught us how to value every person that was in front of us, no matter the background, because Jesus loves them too.  Is it any wonder why I would intentionally want to be in Hillyard?  Looking at my history - both in high school and while living on the Rez, it shouldn’t be too hard to guess. 
My church is at the corner of Queens and Market.  Across the street is a new bar; next to us, attached to an apartment building is a tattoo parlor with sometimes a peculiar smell coming through the doors and interesting art designs on their windows.  Our neighbors are small business owners, as well as friends who camp in the alley way.  We have a Marshallese church and an Irish dance class meeting in our building.  Walking across the Hillyard neighborhood complex, there is a wide variety of homes and families.  There is a school and plenty of children.  The population is multi-ethnic, multicultural, and the backgrounds in families vary, as much as the eclectic demographic of our own church Family.     And I absolutely love it!     I know what people may say, and yet, on some level, I don’t care.  Because I see a people worth loving.  And when that is acknowledged, what else can be said?  I know it won’t always be easy.  In fact, on a most recent prayer walk, I heard three sirens in an hour.  A familiar pain.  It was a reminder, “Hey, heads up.  Know what you’re signing up for.”  And yet, when God tells us to plant somewhere, I think that we can trust Him to care for the needs while we make ourselves available.  My local pastor brought up this note: “We are inexhaustible until God tells us otherwise.”  He is in control and will have us work for how long He means for us to be active.  This isn’t a disregard of safety or pain.  But I am learning, in the duration of my internship, that while counting the cost, I can say that in spite of what may come, it is still ALL worth it.  These people are worth it.  (Jesus thought so.)     I don’t know how long I will be in Hillyard.  It could be a short stay, or longer.  But at this moment, this neighborhood is going to be my home.  As for the preparation, I don’t know what I will be getting prepared for.  It may be back to the Rez; and if so, it may be in Montana or Washington.  But it could be for something else.  It could be a different state, a different church plant, or even overseas.  At this moment, I’m not concerning myself with that.  What I am focusing on is learning how to love the ones in front of me, for this chapter of my life, instead of yearning for another group from or for another season. What I am learning is how to be enraptured by my Savior, develop a heart that imitates God’s passion, and stir up the gifts He has put inside me to benefit the people and Family I am with. God’s story continues to be written; and it’s time to read what He has planned.  Here’s to the next turn of the page. 

We Worship Ourselves

We worship ourselves,
Though it is You
Who is sovereign;
Has everything in control.

We worship ourselves.
We seek to earn a place with You
But You are the One
Who extends Himself to us first.

We worship ourselves.
Searching for You as our comfort
When idols cease to satisfy.
We drink of Your water
Just enough to get us back
To the poisons that slowly
Deplete our souls without our knowing.

You are Lord
And everlasting.
Your existence is more 
Than I can fathom.
Can I rightly describe
The measure of Your majesty?

All I know is when I am before
You, a shift in the atmosphere 
Stirs inside my heart.
I lose the eloquent words;
My legs forget their strength.
What gifts I inherited 
Bow before the One 
Who bestowed them.

Maybe I fail to utter who You are, 
For my eyes have sought for my sake.
I admit
I can worship myself.

Bring me into the room
That I may know my First Love
Again.  Might I be enraptured
By your presence, obsessed
With the One who deserves all the praise.

Death Stirs Anger

I found out that a friend from church passed away yesterday.  Either in her late 60s to mid 70s, she had been fighting cancer for a while.  It even seemed like she was on the mend.  She recently had surgery to take out the cancer.  They thought they got it all.  But the cancer came back.  Aggressively.  Stage four.  I know she knew Jesus, so that should be a comfort to my heart.  But even after the reminder from my pastor, my tears dripped along my cheek, while my heart’s beat increased in its pulse.  I wasn’t just sad that a friend (not just a distant elder in my church) passed away.  I was angry.     Alone in my bedroom, I asked a question that most reverent worshippers wouldn’t dare, for fear that they are overstepping the sovereignty of their God: “Daddy, why didn’t you give her a miracle?”  I realize that healing is not always on this side of heaven, but…but when you have been to as many funerals as I have; when you have buried as many individuals who died in the prime of their lives; when the word cancer riddled your heart as a teen; even though knowing Jesus conquered death, there are moments that death still seems to have the victory.  “Daddy, why didn’t you give her a miracle?  Why didn’t you heal her?  Why did you have me pray with her for healing last fall, if she was going to die, anyway?”  There has been confusion with my sorrow.     In the past, I have been ashamed of the emotions I have felt in response to things that have happened. I have felt guilty for feeling sad over a Christian dying.  After all, if they are in heaven, shouldn’t I be in celebration for them being in the place where we would all want to be?  This morning, I was thankful that I found God didn’t tell me that I should stick with my Bible reading plan.  He didn’t deny me to process hidden emotions; rather, He welcomed the confrontation, so that I can see things from His perspective.     So, instead of reading the Gospels, I felt an impression.  “Read Psalms 45:7.”     “(Back up to 45:6) Your throne, O God, is forever and ever; a scepter of righteousness is the scepter of Your kingdom, You love righteousness and hate wickedness; therefore God, Your God, has anointed You with the oil of gladness more than Your companions.”  I still didn’t understand.  I don’t understand why My King - though I know He is good - chooses to work in some peoples’ lives, and others, He doesn’t.  Oh why in this world, do bones still have to break (thank you, The Chosen, for that line)?  And yet, I heard my Father say, “It’s not [too] sorrowful a day when I call one of My children home. Death does not win when Christ is (in someone’s heart).  Read the context of 1 Corinthians 15:57.”     Before I jumped to the 1 Corinthians chapter, I decided to read Psalms 45 in completion.  As I reached verses 10-15, I couldn’t but help but think that the “daughter” in the psalm could be similar to what my friend is going through at this moment.  She is desired by her King, and she is worshiping Him.  She is a royal daughter- all glorious within the palace, wearing clothing woven as with gold.  She shall be brought to her King; with gladness and rejoicing she shall be brought.     As I finally read 1 Corinthians 15 (the entire chapter), my heart suddenly opened to a revelation about the resurrection of Jesus in a way that I don’t think I had.  “Part of the promise of salvation is resurrection.  It is not eternal life in this body - and thank God for that!! Could you imagine being stuck with a body riddled with cancer? But there are new bodies in heaven (without pain and won’t break).  My first coming was to save the soul.  My second coming is to save the body (creation).”     I know that death will be swallowed in victory.  Still there is a wrestling…why not now?  Turns out that death is going to be the last enemy destroyed (see 1 Corinthians 15:26-27); nevertheless, Jesus indeed still has the victory.  When we believe in His sacrifice, though death may touch our bodies, it will not steal our souls.  That being said, I have become more aware how brittle my faith actually is.  It scares me how certain things can make me so bitter and doubt the goodness of God.  I am thankful for what God showed me, and I’m reminded of Mercy Me’s song, “I Can Only Imagine” as a song of comfort to draw on, during this time.  But I don’t want death to threaten my faith any more.  I don’t want to lose hope in the face of pain.  So with all this written, God, increase my faith!!

Exercising My Voice

I have been stuck in a mental state that is immature compared to my chronological age.  I guess we all can have those moments, but the reality is, there are some people who, when it comes to responsibility, it is perspicuously evident.  I am such a person.  I think I’m doing well by trying to think of others, excuse myself from being an intrusion, and will default to others’ opinions and may refrain from challenging a perspective, as to keep the peace.  Frankly, it comes from a place of insecurity, because if I did feel safe, I would mention something.  I may ask for my needs.     But I do not.  Because I have believed since a child that the good Christian thing to do is to put others above myself.  And that has been demonstrated to the extreme.  I take care of my own stuff.  And if other peoples’ behavior affects my own, then I will adjust by moving on by myself.  I wouldn’t want to start a rift by saying I need someone to change their schedule or perspective, because…well, wouldn’t that be prideful?  Plus, shouldn’t I accommodate others; isn’t that the gracious thing to do?     Nevertheless, with all the silent moving around, I become increasingly perplexed when my needs go without.  My frustration grows when my boundaries are pushed.  And if I was completely honest, perhaps I have lived passively for so long, I now no longer have boundaries in certain areas.  That is scary to admit.  I thought I was doing the loving thing by just letting things go.  But I continue to get hurt.  And ironically, when it was suggested to me that I should be the one to speak up when I have a need, I huffed to myself.  “Why should I be the one to speak up?  Here I am leaning into relationships and trying to understand and love others, and I am the one who has to continue reaching out?!  Why can’t somebody else reach out to me?  Why can’t somebody else be intuitive about my needs?”     But these questions don’t get me anywhere but angry and regressing from any growth that I gained over the course of this last year.  And it certainly shortens my ability to be proactive about the solution.  Yes, I believe that it is important for a mutual leaning in.  However, I am learning that requiring people to read my mind is an insufficient way to receive love.  Moreover, I will be more apt to revert to selfishness than if I kept aiming to love- and lean into- others.  I know I need to speak more.     This isn’t about demanding things.  But it is inviting someone to understand me, because otherwise, they may not.  I thought I was being merciful by letting myself move around other peoples’ blind spots.  Now, I am realizing that by not saying anything, yes, I am giving allowance, but I am also enabling the person to see their lack of how they may be negatively affecting me.  This is why it is so important to start exercising my voice.     I know that I have struggled to stand up for myself.  And I am seeing that my silence is sometimes extended in failing to speak up for others.  There is an instinctual desire, wishing someone could come to my defense.  And yet, the reality is, as an adult, I no longer have an excuse to stay quiet when something needs to be said.     I am now in the position of authority in my own life.  I am 100% responsible for how I choose to carry my life.  Including the possibility of my own family, I will be the one teaching my children how to address matters of discussion and conflict.  If I don’t get myself together, then my children will carry the same scars that I bear.  I must learn to speak my mind, when there is a need for it.  Even for the small things.  It doesn’t have to be a grievous offense.  It can be as simple as checking schedules.  Healthy relationships are vital.  Being intuitive to others’ needs is helpful, but I am learning that demanding others to be intuitive for my sake will only leave me frustrated.  So, to love, I need to share.  I need to speak.  In being assertive, I then practice being for the whole of the other person, and not just seeking my own aim. 

Worth the Pain

  There is something about having a shared struggle that can connect people in grief…and in joy.  Today, I subbed in a classroom with a student who lives with cerebral palsy.  And if there is any kind of person I can quickly notice in a crowded room, it’s those with CP.  It’s easy to notice those who have the same story.  Or something like it.  We spent fourth period together, and then lunch, and in the process of making jokes, sharing my experiences of living with a disability, and lastly, introducing some tricks that I have used over the years to gain independence, it finally hit me.  All the questions I have asked God - all the anger and confusion for feeling I was left out of His promises - was worth it.     Oh, how often I have begged God to just make my hand whole.  Just let me be able to open it without trouble.  Not let me have to worry about other complications.  “Why do I have to be the handicapped one of the group?”  But the truth is, I never was the handicapped one.  Yes, I live with a disability, but as anyone close to me knows…I made sure it didn’t stop me from doing the things I wanted (for better or worse).     And today, I was able to see that by sharing my tricks, I was able to encourage somebody else, who lives with the same disability, to walk in greater freedom than perhaps they have done before.  They are affirmed to not be defined by what they can or cannot do.  Even in the messes we made, there was laughter and joy brought to her face (oh, if you could have seen her smile) …because, by me willing to share my story, I showed her that it was possible to live a thriving and fulfilling life.         I have carried such a shame over the years, because of this “limp fist”.  Yet, in my adulthood, I find that it is now something that can be used to connect with others.  This thorn in my flesh has proven itself to be an inspiration of comfort and hope.  What a paradox!  How can something that brought so much pain to my soul result in bringing life to others?!  My goodness - what a concept!  The “unanswered” prayers were never lost…God has just seen that there was greater purpose to me walking through my pain, then if I went without. Maybe God’s timeline isn’t all jacked up.  Maybe He knows exactly what He’s doing.  My healing has never been just about me.  In my waiting, He’s weaving His glory into my life, and I’ve suddenly begun to see it.

I Am the Problem.

      Recently, I have been learning to let go of expectations I put on other people, for the sake of healing wounds that other people have caused me.  That's the admittance.  The suffering that has cycled in and around me is due to me.  Have I had emotional trauma?  On some level, yes.  Nevertheless, I have convinced myself that I cannot move forward unless someone else fills the hole that was left empty by someone else.  There is a wound, and perhaps I have to mourn the fact that this is my reality.  The person I needed growing up was unavailable in the way I needed them to be.  To this day, I could say I still have need for them; I have need for them to be in my life.  But that isn't my reality... I don't have a mother who can spiritually and emotionally carry me.  And it's been that way since my teen years, minimally.  (Wow...that's out there.)  And while I have been holding onto the pain of losing her, relationally, I subsequently demanded other female figures to become the mother I never had.  Something that really has no place being put on their shoulders.  Being without my own mother still hurts at times, especially when I'm reminded that other mothers invest in their daughters.  But in coming out of this victim mindset (which Taylor Swift's "Antihero" and NF's "Happy" songs address), I need to bring my lack to Jesus and ask Him to meet me where I am empty.

"Amen to Taylor and NF"

All this time, I thought
It was their fault...
Their wrong...Their responsibility
To make it right.
But no matter how many tears
I shed for the past,
Nothing changed
Save for the darkness 
Growing in my soul.
Demanding that history
Had to have a rewrite
To make all things right
In my life
Or else I mentally died
Every dusk the morning failed
To deliver the hope it promised.

But at some point, 
The sin that remains
In the room is my own.
I saw everyone else as an enemy,
But the only person present
Was a vision of me in a mirror.
My inward chaos is caused
By my insufficiency to be
Content with the book's story.
Failing to read the next chapter...

No.  I keep making each chapter
Read similar to the rest.
Yet, the Author keeps 
Introducing His love, asking
When will I rest in Him and forgive
Those who caused me pain?
Will I learn to admit my need
To the only One who can fill it?
Will I receive love from the One
Who can only love me 100% right?

Or will I continue to enjoy
This darkness that has secretly
Become my home?
Will I continue to rant
According to the faults of others,
While it is me who verbally spills
The blood of people's reputations?
Condemning my past has only led me
To damn my present,
Suffocating the future of any hope.
There is a problem.
And it's me.
To be happy,
I need to believe
Christ's work is sufficient
To know and behold a love
I once was starved,
But no longer
Am.

Taylor Swift, "Antihero"

NF, "Happy"