What I learned about God's love from a Gay Stranger

The day I picked a young gay man up on the side of the road changed my life. After a half hour ride and an honest conversation I learned something about myself. I was holding on to more spiritual pride than I realized. I also learned something about God. His love can't be quantified and limited the way we as human's try.

The hunger that poured from this young man's lips caused my heart to twist uncomfortably in my chest. The days leading up to our meeting had prepared me to hear what God was trying to teach me. This young man, struggling with his identity and place in life, wasn't an object of pity, he wasn't disgusting, he wasn't an evil to be avoided.

He was the beloved.

That evening, as I processed the conversation we had had, my heart was gripped with the realization that God had brought me into this young man's path as a witness. I could sense the love God was pouring out over his wounded life, the way he was meeting him, calling out to him. God hadn't introduced me to him to set him straight or hone my apologetic skills. God wanted me to stand in wonder at his undaunted love for all of humanity, each person, each one.

I have never been the same since meeting the stranger. He's not a stranger anymore though, I consider him a friend. 

This year I've stood in hurricane force winds, arms and mouth flung open wide in the face of our Father's current of mercy. How can I be the religious zealot, the closet pharisee I was in the past with the display of mercy God has put on in front of my eyes. Or maybe it's that he opened my eyes to the merciful dance he has always been spinning. 

Either way, I can't get my thirst quenched. I want more. I dream bigger, risk more, wrestle my own pride more viciously. 

As the mercy washes over me I'm beginning to lose my appetite for arguing over agenda's and groups of people, conditions and ideologies. A conversation with a stranger changed my perspective, I refuse to point fingers anymore. I prefer to deal in the economy of hearts, and mercy, and love, and who am I. 

I've struggled with spiritual pride my whole life. Only recently have I come to realize that at the core pride is a desire to be worshiped. Considering that reality it seems absurd  that I point out the obvious brokenness and sin of other people, of the insanity of the whole world. That's an argument no one can win.

I love holiness. I believe we were created for order, right perspective, pure relationships, and an understanding of God's sole possession of truth. I believe we were created to live holy lives, drawing others to God. My view of holiness hasn't changed, my view of who is responsible for my holiness has. The best way to display holiness is through serving, not arguing, condemning, or comparing anyone's life to our own.

God's economy of love, this season of mercy, his bending in grace is beyond what I can fathom. But one thing I've learned is not to get in his way. He will have mercy on whom he chooses and extend blessing for generations. Judgement rests with him alone. I can only stand back in wonder!

Some days the world seems mad. In Jesus face I find the answer to the madness. Wherever I can, whenever I can I choose to live in the answer. Mercy for me and mercy for you.

This is how much God loved the world: He gave his Son, his one and only Son. And this is why: so that no one need be destroyed; by believing in him, anyone can have a whole and lasting life. God didn’t go to all the trouble of sending his Son merely to point an accusing finger, telling the world how bad it was. He came to help, to put the world right again. John 3:16-17 The Message

Becoming Washers of Feet

I'm writing less and more sporadically these days, and it seems more raw. I thought when I came back from Serbia last October I would be a more liberated, world wise writer. I was wrong. It seems that words have become like a jagged, ugly cry rather than a thing of beauty. But some things of beauty, at least outwardly, are hideous. A brand new baby in a smelly, manure filled stable for example. Or perfect Jesus, with the tender voice and piercing eyes, blood matted on a cross. Perhaps that's where worth comes in, the holy meeting the putrid in a visceral mess.

Lately, when I un-clench a protective hand from my blood red heart, I stare at a silver vein running through it. It creates a stark contrast, this sliver of hope tracing itself on flesh. A promise held in trust. It aches like a splinter and throbs like love, tethering it's owners together, stretched thin through time and space.

What story can be told? I've told it before, over and over. Hands I've held in my own, small and dry from lack of care. Chewed for comfort, missing a mother's touch. I remember the feel of them; some days I wish I didn't. And yet he smiles and coos and laughs, if you can call the sound he makes laughter. Who's womb bore him and then gave him up when illness clamped it's steely jaws around his mind? Why would I, a stranger, grieve and cry and pray and beg for his life more than his own flesh and blood? What could her story be.

Sometimes I remember his fragile frame and wonder if a soul and body can just disappear. How many months until his stick legs are bent and twisted, never to straighten again? Will his smile dry up and the mask of loss be his to wear forever? Will the dull, glassy, institutional eyes replace the sparkle? Will he be lost for good? At the moment I see life flicker behind his eyes and I pray it doesn't vanish.

I'll see him in July. I catch my breath and wonder what I'll find. Will he be in the little bed, arms pushed through the rails, waiting? Will he have changed? Will I be able to bear seeing him again?

Sometimes I wonder how the world can take the burgeoning weight of her orphans without ripping at the seams of her huge heart, when it feels my own cannot. How do you taste the brutal love of a Father grieving for his children and not stagger under the weight of it? I cannot, and so most days I cry.

I cry for his mother who knew a beautiful, sweet child and lost him to disease. I cry for the hopes she had for who he would be. I cry for his body, his time, his future, his days locked away from love. I cry for what could have been and what may not be. I cry for me to have seen him and have fallen in love and have to live without him. I cry for everyone who hasn't seen, and lives as if he and his brothers and sisters don't exist, and miss the agony of caring. I cry because I escaped a life of neglect that so many in the world have known. I cry because Jesus cries and he wants company in the grieving. I cry because one day I trust I won't have to any more.

He's just one orphan of so very many, why could it possibly matter that I love him? Ezekiel 16 contains a peculiar passage that hints at the answer. God says to his people Israel, "No one had the slightest interest in you; no one pitied you or cared for you. On the day you were born, you were unwanted, dumped in a field and left to die. “But I came by and saw you there, helplessly kicking about in your own blood. As you lay there, I said, ‘Live!’" Is that not the story of humanity, of me? Is that not the story of the cross?

What if God had passed  by on the day we became orphans in the Garden at the beginning of time? What if he decided Jesus was too great of a price for our own lives, could you blame him? But he didn't. He has pursued us as though we have always been his sons and daughters.

That's what I came away with this Easter season. I was reminded that a great God stooped to clean and care for an orphaned humanity. I was reminded that I'm not greater than my Master and just as he washed feet it's my privilege and responsibility to wash feet too. Wherever I may find them. In my home, in my church, on the side of the road, in Serbia.

I wish I could daily wash the feet of this little orphaned boy. But right now I can't. And so I daily choose to bear the burden of love and wash his feet in prayer from a distance. It's always more complicated when holy and profane meet. I don't know if I'll ever bring him home and be his mama. But I will climb in the yoke of suffering with Jesus. The cross has made a way, and burdens that never seemed as if they could be born, for the love of Jesus, can be. I will labor for this child. The heavy heart that comes, in the light of Jesus, becomes a joy.

When he had finished washing their feet, he put on his clothes and returned to his place. “Do you understand what I have done for you?” he asked them. “You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them. John 13:12-17

Who's burden are you carrying, who's feet has Jesus asked you to wash. The burden becomes joy when carried in love.

How do you use your influence?

Business bullied my heart this week and pressing responsibility squeezed tight. The littlest one bore the brunt of it. She usually does. As I felt the crush of expectation, mostly my own; and drive to accomplish, my words turned sour and sharp. How could I think about, write about, celebrate mercy, and yet so shamefully neglect to give it? 

I'm reminded once again that I am sorrowfully broken, so easily misguided. Even the best of my intentions, without God breath, are a puff of dust leaving a dry taste in the mouth. 

Perhaps that easy distraction, a slipping into the love of boxes and rules instead of truth, isn't so new a problem. In Acts Paul mentions a group of women, devout, God fearing women, who were easily stirred up to love their own way more than the truth.

And so the Word of the Lord [concerning eternal salvation through Christ] scattered and spread throughout the whole region. But the Jews stirred up the devout women of high rank and the outstanding men of the town, and instigated persecution against Paul and Barnabas and drove them out of their boundaries. Acts 13:49-50

The truth of Christ is always met with opposition. What is scary is that it can be met with opposition even in the most devout. Truth always requires a response, a bending with or standing opposed. It strikes me in this passage that the women mentioned had the opportunity to affect the whole community, for good or bad, with their actions and words.

Do I realize, do you realize, the power our words and attitudes, actions and choices have on those around us? Our children are watching, our husbands listening, the young women we teach, the facebook community we interact with, the women we have coffee with, they are all influenced by us.

Women are influencers with the power to "instigate". Sometimes it's hard to look in the mirror, but I think this question bears attention. How are we influencing? Are our words negative, biting into the heart of those listening, leaving behind a trail of doubt and cynicism; are they self exalting; are they colored with rigid religion, fear, or pride?

Or do our words wash others with an outpouring of hope, fresh as rain, quenching parched hearts. Do we speak of mercy, forgiveness, trust? Do we confess our fears and weaknesses, doubts and lack of understanding in humility? Do we celebrate the spread of Christ's eternal salvation, for all people?

Our influence as women in our communities is powerful and not to be taken lightly. I'm convicted regularly how short I've fallen, how careless I've been with such a sacred trust.

I'd love to hear from you. How do you guard your influence? Do you have women in your life who hold you accountable? 

You can leave a comment here or head over to the Allied Women website and join in the conversation in the Mentoring forum. We would love to have you!

Can There Be Too Much Mercy?

I have a new obsession. It's the mercy of God. I need it, want it, love it, don't understand it, trip over it. 

The more I stare at the beauty of mercy the more I feel it scrub away the scabs of judgement, stinging my conscious, exposing the new skin of a stripped down pharisee.

Some days I still stumble over the old pattern, tasting the crunch of critical words on my tongue. But it isn't long until I look for the stream of mercy to wash the bad taste from my lips.

It's like an addiction. How far will mercy go? I've dabbled in faith before, believing from my recliner, tucked in the early morning with my stack of devotionals. I've heard of mercy that consumes but doesn't burn up, a mercy that leads out nations. 

I want to see it.

Not from the comfort of my recliner, but from the discomfort of the red light district and divorce court. From the squeeze of the psychiatric ward, and in the challenge of another language. Perhaps, most miraculously of all, I want to see it in the extravagant embrace of a fellowship of Christians who don't skimp on handing it out, because they know they're really handing out life.

My heart quakes at moments when I realize what I've asked. To see God on the move, stretching out a banner of mercy over the nations. My legs could never keep up on such a journey. So I pray I will trust him to carry me. Because I'm determined to see what he's about. I understand the fear of God in a new way now. God is scary in his fierce mercy, there is no one he won't touch, or ask me to touch.

I ask myself, can mercy be too extravagant, can there be too much mercy? The fearful, of which I was one, say yes. I recognize the slip from breathless faith to robust religion. It comes from not looking in the mirror enough. The mirror of God's standard, and recognizing how woefully we measure up, and then the quick intake of breath as we realize that mercy never runs out and it's still here to kiss us hello in the morning. It can bring me to tears in a heartbeat.

And in that heartbeat I realize that lavishing mercy on another woeful beggar can never make me unholy, quite the opposite. Did Jesus lose holiness when a prostitute lavished his feet with her kiss, quite scandalously, in public? No, his glory shone all the more. Mercy, breathing in, pouring out.

Mercy never loses the hard edge of holiness. It makes it attainable.

Jesus was never made less holy by embracing the tax collector, conversing with well women, rubbing shoulders with the possessed, leprous, loud mouthed, riotous, dirty, immoral, or heathen. And he wasn't made holy because he obeyed every law, and observed every holy decree. He was, he is, holy because he is himself. And in the touching of others he wasn't soiled, they were made clean.

Can there be too much mercy? Never! Now is the time for mercy and we should never fear handing it out like water, living water. Because we're made holy by Jesus' presence in us and his presence always brings mercy!

Who are you most afraid of giving mercy to? Who have you received mercy from, did it make a difference? 

Mercy Looking Backward ~ Forgiveness

A while back I prayed a prayer to understand God's heart, which plunged me into a season of discovering mercy. Most recently God has been teaching me about forgiveness and it's connection to a merciful life. What is forgiveness other than Mercy looking backward, taking root and painting the past in new shades? Mercy is forgiveness swallowing up what has been.

It's impossible to pray to understand mercy, ask to love it, to be a partner to it, without mercy calling at our own front door. I suppose initially I had assumed mercy was for those people over there, not realizing God would call me to a higher standard of living out mercy right at home. I'm learning to be careful what I pray for, it will always be a longer journey and require more participation on my part than I had bargained for!

We're meant to embrace mercy in the present, by living with a heart not easily offended. But for the times we pick up an offense there's forgiveness, an opportunity to extended the mercy we didn't in the present. I know people struggle with forgiveness so often, I have. But I wonder if that's because we don't understand the power, the need, the design for us to live in mercy. Whenever I struggle with living in mercy I remember these verses:

Moses responded, "Then show me your glorious presence."  

The Lord replied, “I will make all my goodness pass before you, and I will call out my name, Yahweh, before you. For I will show mercy to anyone I choose, and I will show compassion to anyone I choose. Exodus 33:18-19

I'm always amazed at how God revealed himself when Moses asked to see his glory. God could have displayed his holiness, his creativity, his righteousness, power, or justice, but instead it was his goodness, his mercy, and his compassion that he revealed. What does that say about God, who he is, what he values, and how he relates to us?

If mercy is who God is and how he responds to man, isn't that how we should respond to one another? No one can offend us more than we have offended God. When we are aware of the mercy we've received we are happy to give mercy to others.

If you're struggling to forgive someone it may help to realize that forgiveness is God's second chance to get mercy right, to extend mercy backward.

Can I pray for us? Father, by the power of your Spirit will you work the wonder of your mercy into our hearts. That we will live as people with hearts not easily offended, and when they are help us to look back over our shoulder with forgiveness. Set us free from the selfish motives we stoop to, when we make others pay for an offense, and release us to accept the payment of your Son on behalf of others. Amen.

Join In

For the last couple of months our church has been talking about Vintage Faith. We've taken the passage in Hebrews 11 and drawn out some of the stories of faithful men and women. Their lives have given us a picture of what faith in the living God looks like. For me it's been a powerful time. I don't think I will quickly forget these messages.

Right in the middle of the series some pretty major things happened in my life, things that could have left me drained, confused, and overwhelmed. But instead I feel energized and excited. Why is that?

I believe it's because I've recognized that the men and women of faith we've been studying, Abraham, Moses, Rahab, Peter, etc., were all invited into the establishment of God's kingdom. Their success was based solely on the power and devotion of God to accomplish his plan. And I believe that is true in my life as well. 

I believe God has called me to be a part of the establishment of his kingdom in my corner of Alabama and in Serbia. He's called all of us who follow him to seek and extend his mercy and live in his reign wherever we are. Being present in God's kingdom, and drawing others in, is what it's all about.

That life doesn't come without opposition and hardship, but it also doesn't come without power. Were Rahab and Gideon, Abraham and Joseph exceptional in and of themselves, were they something all together different than we are? I don't think so, but they did have exceptional faith, faith God honored. The hardships they overcame and victories accomplished were all through God's power.

When we step out in faith to express mercy, to live holy lives set apart to God's glory, to live in a way that joins in the spread of God's kingdom, there is power to obey. God is already working to advance his reign and his glory, the display of his mercy to all mankind, it's our responsibility to ask him where and join him.

When I got back from Serbia my sister asked me a question I've been thinking about for a while. She wanted to know if the workers at the institution, and I imagine even myself, questioned where God was in a place like that, in the midst of the suffering.

I didn't encounter anyone at the institution who identified themselves as a follower of Jesus. But I saw God's presence in a way I didn't expect. I saw his image in people. Men and women who knew to be compassionate and merciful to those in need were bearing him in their DNA.

And I saw in the suffering a hope to hang on to life even in difficult circumstances and limited capacity. God was there. 

I believe more now than ever before that even though many of these people live rejected by society and on the fringe of life that God desires to establish his kingdom there. A refuge of his mercy in the storm of this life. I also believe he has graciously drawn me into that plan, he's already doing it, it's his work but he's invited me to join in.

Where is God working around you? Where can you see God stretching out his kingdom, offering people mercy? Are you joining in? There will be struggle in the journey but there will also be power, because it's all for his glory.

"And it is impossible to please God without faith. Anyone who wants to come to him must believe that God exists and that he rewards those who sincerely seek him." Hebrews 11:6

Steps

Steps up Petravaradin Fortress

Last week I wrestled between God's leading and my dreaming as I worked out a response, a vision, to the needs of Dom Veternik's institutionalized. He brought me to a place of quiet and trust, of waiting, that I thought could last for days, even weeks. Unexpectedly, I love how he surprises us, that time of quiet lasted much shorter than I thought. 

I'm catching a new vision, a new excitement, as God continues to soften my heart to people he loves. Beautifully he used a blog friend to confirm and solidify his plans. I never could have envisioned it but I'm so thankful how one step leads to another. All I have to do is take each step before me, in his power and grace. Sounds simple, feels like a mountain some days. 

This weekend I took a step that may appear small but felt monumental, and was accompanied by that momentary tremor of fear. But it's what's before me, the next step. I submitted a request of name for a non-profit organization. The name has been reserved by Alabama's State Department and I have 120 days to file paperwork to form a non-profit corporation. I had just enough money left from what was given for the trip to apply for the name. So I used it as a seed.

That's one of those moments that grab you by the heart and squeezes your insides. I wasn't sure if I wanted to do a happy dance or grab my head and panic. What have I done? I believe I've listened and trusted and risked. I'm expecting that the God who has given the love for the task will also give the power.

There is a lot to do. I'm trusting God will continue to call people into his love for Serbia as partners. Whether it's in giving or going or praying. I trust God will continue to raise people up to be a part of the ministry's board, he's already started putting together a team! I trust God will continue to supply the resources. Most importantly I trust God will cause our obedience to bear fruit, that people will come to know his mercy and his name will be made famous in Serbia.

If you feel drawn to be a part of the work God is doing in Serbia contact me and we can see what that looks like. I hope in the near future to send out an email and launch a website to keep you better informed and to spread the word to get others involved. Stay tuned for those exciting developments and of course for the unveiling of our new name!

In the meantime would you continue to pray?
Pray for God's continued leading and provision.
Pray for the seed of love that was planted at Dom Veternik to take root and draw people to Jesus.
Pray for the local church in Novi Sad to continue to grow in love and size.

Thank you friends for your continued support and interest. I'm thankful for the encouragement you provide and your hearts that celebrate with me the spread of God's glorious mercy!

Blue Eyed Boy

His blonde hair had been stroked by a mother, once. That was before the virus had come and stripped his body of it's memory. After the meningitis had had it's way with his brain it then stripped him of what was left; relationship, hope, a future.

The burden of his care had reduced him to the status of orphan. I wonder if his mother cried when he was taken to the institution. Did she go with him and watch as he was placed into the white metal crib that is now the extent of his world? I hope she didn't.

His innocent blue eyes still hold hope, lighting up whenever anyone gets close enough to notice. Little hands reach out through bars, grasping, looking for what's been lost.

He had five healthy years before the sentence fell. His body is still flexible, able to sit with supportive hands, able to reach. Unlike some of the others on his floor. 

They could tell stories, if they could speak. Once they could move and smile, but slowly, over time, they've turned to wood. Like real boys gone unloved turning back into the block of wood they came from. But this isn't a fairy tale, no good fairy coming to break the spell, just day after day of the same bars.

Of course there is one nurse, Lubitza, meaning violet, maybe she is a bit of a fairy, singing and kissing as she tends to needs. But the hands are so few and the needs so great it's not enough to stem the tide, not enough to make up for what was lost.

Blue eyed boy with the golden smile. I'll hope with you for a while and pray this isn't the end of your story. The saddest thing is, I can't remember his name. It bothers me that I can't.  Just one of hundreds of little lives, all who deserve hearing. I think the least we can do is lean in close and listen.

My husband would say I'm obsessed. I have to confess, he's right. I also have to confess, I don't care. I would rather be obsessed with redemption than anything else I can think of. What else is adoption, seeking out the lonely, praying for restoration, than redemption at a human level?

I'm messy at it, and I'm okay with that too.

How much more, then, will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself unblemished to God, cleanse our consciences from acts that lead to death, so that we may serve the living God! For this reason Christ is the mediator of a new covenant, that those who are called may receive the promised eternal inheritance. Hebrews 9:14-15a

Will you join in praying with me for this little one? That God will set him in a family and restore his hope. If you want to know how you can be a part of helping the residents of Dom Veternik please feel free to contact me.

{Update: I returned this summer to the mental institution, Dom Veternik, where blue eyed boy lives. I learned his name is Cedo. He is not available for adoption because his parents still have custody of him. They are unable to care for him due to financial limitations and poor social infrastructure for people with disability.}

Waiting on Mercy

I feel a little frustrated, an ache of longing has settled into my heart, the weariness of life has slipped around my shoulders like an unwelcome friend. I miss the children of Dom Veternik and the people who care for them. I miss the Christians I met so briefly but love already. And I feel a little helpless.

Sweet friend

What does one woman, who already has her hands full raising her own children, writing a book, loving a husband, serving at church, loving my neighbor, growing a garden, what does one woman do? How could she possibly matter?

Last week at church we studied the story of Rahab as a part of our series called Vintage Faith. Her story is compelling, highlighting God's plan of mercy and his faithfulness to his own character. Whenever he judges people for sin he always provides a refuge of Mercy. 

Amazing architecture of a Catholic church in Novi Sad

When Rahab acknowledged God's supreme rule and submitted to him God didn't remove her from danger, he protected her in it. As the walls fell she was hidden in a refuge of God's mercy. When he destroyed the earth with a flood he didn't remove Noah, he mercifully protected him in it, in a refuge. Jonah deserved judgement but God protected him, essentially in a watery grave, a merciful refuge. The children of Israel hid in their homes under lamb's blood, a refuge of mercy. Ultimately Jesus' tomb was a refuge of mercy, protecting us all if we will come, offering us mercy. God reminded me that's what he wants for the Serbian people, to choose mercy, to come into his refuge, out of judgement and into life. 

This week at church we're studying Gideon. I've been feeling like Gideon, as I said, a little helpless, kind of small. But then God reminds me he has called his servants mighty men (and women) of valor. If it's God's plan of mercy for the nations I've been drawn into then it rests on him to accomplish it. I get to participate. But it takes faith, maybe a little failure, sometimes looking foolish, waiting, and trust. I'm not always good at those things, but when glory peaks out and God's mercy breaks in I'm finding it's worth it.

So even though I'm a little overwhelmed by the task, little faces burned into my memory compel me to action. Even if it's the small act of remembering and praying, telling their story, or collecting even just a few resources I'll remember that it's God's mercy I'm under and he uses small people to accomplish his plan! I'm waiting on Mercy and trusting for it to be enough.

Sculpture in the courtyard of Dom Veternik

Those who live in the shelter of the Most High

    will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

² 

This I declare about the Lord:

He alone is my refuge, my place of safety;

    he is my God, and I trust him. Psalm 91:1-2