The Redemption of Pain

Pain is an unfortunate part of life, but it is also unavoidable. People who run with all their might find that pain finds them. And those who open their lives to people who are hurting frequently get hurt themselves. Pain even works its way into the midst of healthy loving families and people who have joined together to do good. Churches which strive to follow, live by and share the teachings of the man of love, Christ himself, are full of people who have been hurt by churches that were trying to follow, live by and share the teachings of Christ.

So, what's the point of it all? Why try so hard? If everyone suffers pain, what does it matter how you live?

It matters, because Christ came to redeem our lives. What that means is that He takes what was bad and makes it good. Not only does he change our lives into something better, but he changes our experiences, too. He takes what was meant for evil and uses it for our benefit. This is what redemption is. This is what makes pain in a Christian's life different.

I speak from experience. A few years ago, and I'm going to be intentionally vague so as not to malign anyone, something happened that rocked my Christian world. I was involved in ministry, but struggling deeply with personal difficulties, and something built to the point that it exploded. I was completely shaken. For a few months, I couldn't even go to church for fear that my crying would raise questions I didn't want to have to answer. The situation was bad enough, I didn't want to make it worse. And to complicate matters, I still loved the other people involved and believed that they were doing their best. But we were all stumbling our way through this and hurting each other in the process.

In a few months, I was able to return to church, but those relationships haven't been the same since. And I haven't been the same since. Most notably, I have avoided any serious commitment to ministry and my one attempt at a return failed miserably. Consequently, I have suffered, my family has suffered and those I should have reached out to have suffered.

But, God is in the business of using suffering and he has used it in me. In the time that has passed since the suffering, he has changed me. I was partly responsible for the "something that exploded" because of my attitudes, my pride, and my inability to trust God to work in the situations of life and the people around me. He has softened me, humbled me, and made me more considerate and thoughtful.

Now, he had to make the initial changes with a butcher knife, but He has since changed to the soft polishing cloth and oil. What do I mean? In addition, to putting people in my life who have helped rebuild my confidence and just love me, He has gently shown me what has been preventing me from fully moving forward. One morning a couple of weeks ago, as I was getting ready for church, He revealed to me that I had not really forgiven the other people that were involved: the people who I felt had not seen the real me and had not accepted my attempts to reach out. I had forgiven those involved in the "explosion," but I had not forgiven the misunderstandings that led up to it. And forgiveness is freeing! Before you forgive a person, you still feel the need to "do" something about the wrong. But when you truly forgive, the problem just goes away; that's one less thing on your shoulder.

And then there was this morning. I forgave, but what now? Should I let them know it? Should I contact them? Write a letter? Or keep quiet? And it hit me! Really, I still wanted their understanding. Instead of seeing their lack of understanding as due to their own issues or difficulties at the time, I felt they were holding out from me; that they didn't want to understand. Really, I was still holding them accountable for something I had had to let go of in myself: insensitivity. So, my answer was "no," I didn't need to let them know.

True forgiveness means accepting that whatever in them contributed to the problem is no longer my problem. Were they unable to understand? Then, that was a sad flaw in them that I hope has been remedied just as I hope it has been remedied in me. Were they unwilling to understand? Then, that is a sinful attitude that is God's problem to deal with. Either way, as I release them, I can let it go and my own life will be more meaningful. And whatever the reasons this all happened, I am a better person because they did. The changes in me were needed and I welcome them looking back.

So, yes, pain comes for us all. But it does not need to cripple our spirits. Trust God to work in all situations and relationships and He will... and we will be better for it. And, as Galatians 6:9-10  says, "So we must not get tired of doing good, for we will reap at the proper time if we don't give up. Therefore, as we have opportunity, we must work for the good of all, especially for those who belong to the household of faith."
And don't forget, some trees take years to produce good fruit.

The Lesson of the Fish

Today, one of my sons' friends came over to visit, being off of school for Thanksgiving week. Among the many varied activities they tried, they decided to catch some fish; and they did. They got a net and a hole-less flower pot and scooped some small fish into the pot to bring back to the house. My son and his friend showed his brothers the fish they caught and then moved on to another activity, leaving the little fish in the hole-less flower pot outside.

And they were forgotten.

Then, my husband came home from work and noticed the fish in the pot... and one poor little fish, dead on the cement, who had tried to escape the flower pot and get back in the water. My son said that the fish had really wanted to get back in the ditch. To which I replied that they all wanted to get back to the ditch. But in his attempt to escape, he died. And the thought occurred to me that some of us, myself included, could really learn from the lesson of the fish.

Sometimes, our situation is really bad. Truth be told, if the little fish had stayed in the flower pot, forgotten, he would have eventually died from lack of oxygen. His desire to escape was a valid one. But he didn't wait for rescue, he took matters in his own hands and ended up dead on the sidewalk. His little fish brothers are being returned to the ditch, and life and freedom, as I write. If he had waited, he would have been with them.

So, this is the lesson: Sometimes, when we get tired of waiting on God to save us from our situation, we take matters into our own hands and make our situation worse than before. If we can suffer a little while longer, have just a little more patience and faith, then just maybe we will live long enough to see the sweeter waters God has planned for our future.

Destructive Feminism

I have a friend on Facebook that wrote regarding his religious beliefs that he hopes, as to whatever is out there, that he or she is on his side. This statement got me to thinking about the use of the masculine pronoun "He" to refer to God. The Bible teaches that God is Spirit. God is not limited in any way by gender. He does not need a counterpart to reproduce. If God wants to create another being, He simply does it. He also doesn't need a physical body to commune with those He loves. In the form of the Holy Spirit, He enters and indwells those with whom He shares a love relationship. The Bible also teaches that when we die, we neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like angels of God in heaven, suggesting that gender is irrelevant in heaven. God is also given both male and female qualities throughout the Bible, suggesting that God is above gender… He is something greater than either man or woman, but more like both together. So, why then use the masculine gender to refer to God? (And you're probably wondering what this has to do with feminism, but I'm getting to that.)

In a patriarchal society, and ancient Israel was a patriarchal society, to refer to God in the feminine would have meant to relate him to the "inferior" sex. The Israelites naturally would have called God "He" to acknowledge His superiority and headship of Israel. So, the question I eventually came around to is, "Are we still a patriarchal society?" And here is my conclusion: modern feminism has reinforced American patriarchalism.

So, why do I say this? After all, women have come a long way from being relegated to the home, right? Well, here it is: American women (and probably European women) have reached for equality with men by adopting traditionally masculine traits and devaluing traditionally feminine roles. Modern women want to do what men do and be what men have historically been. And they've been moderately, though not completely, successful. My thought is that by trying to assume male roles, women have essentially said, "You're right, it's better to be a man than to be a woman."

If we really want to challenge the patriarchal system, then we need to restore value to traditional female roles. Matriarchal systems value motherhood and the traits and experience that are required to be a nurturing mother and support a strong family system. While modern women have proven they can be successful in a great variety of professions, we have at the same time done serious damage in respect to the roles that make women distinctly different from men. Culturally, we have joined men in rejecting the value of women who devote their lives to the home. If we truly want triumph, American women need to acknowledge that there are some things that women are particularly suited to do, just as there are some things that men are particularly suited to do… and be proud of that, rather than trying to be "little" men.

Do I have a certain amount of disrespect for current-day feminism? Yes. I think they have disrespected what makes us essentially feminine. Feminists have given men the right to judge women by a new set of standards: one that raises our standards professionally, but lowers our standards personally. We have given up as much as we have gained, and therefore have we really gained anything? Or have we simply given up something that made us, as women, special to gain something that makes us, as people, common? I think, personally, that we should respect both the commonalities and the differences between the sexes, rather than trading what we are, the heart of the family, to try and prove what we're not: namely, inferior.

 

Uncoordinated

When I was a young girl, I went through periods of life when I was awkward and gangly. As the years passed, I grew more coordinated and became somewhat graceful as I began to master the movements of my limbs and the thoughts of my mind. But now, I feel awkward and gangly like a child; as though I'm going through some odd adult growth spurt. I haven't yet learned to adjust to my new proportions.

As a young adult, I felt I had come into my own. I felt confident in my skills and abilities. My years of training had come together to prepare me for a future that I watched being realized. Of course, I had not foreseen the particulars of my future. But though certain details morphed and changed, the direction I was headed in fit well with my idea of who I was.

But, in time, something changed. This change led to a chain reaction: a chain reaction of change. I had not imagined what would happen when I became a mother. How could I have known that I would find myself unacceptable and incompetent? How could I have guessed that I would want to change so much about myself?

On the day that I first realized I could not remain the person I had become, I began a journey into a future that I had never imagined for myself. And so, my graceful limbs began to stretch in a new direction. My thoughts and the way I reasoned grew into something I had never known. I became someone new, someone I had never met, and someone I had never even imagined.

Here I stand today in a new life facing an unfamiliar future. I am gawky in this life like a teenager, fumbling between a confusing child-likeness and an emerging maturity. I bounce between both, not really completely either. And I long for the grace I once had, if not the life. I yearn to be comfortable in my own skin and confident of my future.

And yet, in a way, I am more comfortable than at any other time in my life. I have traded bad for good, complacency for activity, common use for special use. I have traded an old life in on a new.

But this was not a future I had envisioned. I don't really know how I fit in this future or where it leads me. I never anticipated this use for my talents and training; they have not prepared me for this. And so I wait, not altogether patiently, for the day I regain my coordination.

The Seduction – A Short Story

Jeanne stood on the sixth floor of the parking garage and looked down at the pavement beneath. Why would anyone jump to their death? She could see it down there, the twisted body pointed at grotesque angles, not doing things a normal body should. What had made that girl, oddly familiar, want to do such a thing?

Jeanne couldn't make out the girl's face or her hair color and length. Girl, yes, because an older woman would not wear such clothes. And there was something about her, something familiar. Something about the girl's style made Jeanne try to remember.

But she couldn't remember. She couldn't remember anything. Yes, Jeanne, was her name. It was like an echo in her memory. "Jeanne, come see." "Get away from me, Jeanne." "Jeanne has always been that way." The voices of the ghosts in her past clattered through her mind.

"Have you had enough, Jeanne?" This voice was not from her past. She turned to look at the voice. "Michael?" That was his name. She thought it was his name.

"Have you forgotten me already?" Michael asked.

He grinned at her with a sparkle in his eye. But it was a false light. There was a slyness underneath his fine features.

It was odd, but she couldn't get her bearings. She knew that she knew him, and yet it seemed she had forgotten him.

Michael's face was handsome, perfect even. It was the kind of face you might see in a Renaissance painting. His beauty was timeless.

She felt herself drawn to him. She wanted to touch him, touch those fine features. Yet, something was wrong. Behind the eyes, something was wrong.

"Why are you still out here?" Michael asked. "You were supposed to meet me upstairs."

She shook her head, partly to clear it, and pointed over the edge of the garage.

"Someone jumped!" she exclaimed. "Look!"

"Are you on something?" Michael laughed without taking a step closer to where she pointed. "No one jumped."

She struggled to take her eyes off of his, but she turned, in her defense, to point again.

But, slowly, her eyes were drawn back to his; to the eyes with that unnatural sparkle and knowing smile. "There's no one there," he said again and took a step toward her.

She let him grab her by the shoulders and lead her away. He was right. The pavement had been dark and empty.

She couldn't speak, but just looked into his eyes as her led her to who knew where.

Michael was speaking, but she didn't understand what he said. Nothing mattered except the lines of his face, the texture of his hair, the warmth and the weight of his hands on her skin.

He brought her to a darkened room and sat her down on what must have been a sofa. "Do you love me?" he asked.

"You're beautiful," Jeanne breathed.

"I can give you many things," Michael whispered by her ear. But she couldn't see him. The room was dark and warm. She couldn't make out any of the furnishings. And she was drowsy.

She longed to see his face again, but the darkness was heavy. As she thought to call his name, she felt something cold slip first around one ankle, and then another.

"Michael?" she asked, hoping to hear his voice. Aware that she should be afraid, she waited calmly to hear him speak.

"I can give you many things," he said and she relaxed, even though he did not remove the chains.

"Yes," she said, "I have many needs."

She could feel, though she could not see, him smile in the darkness.

She laid back to rest, wishing she could remember where she had come from and what she was like.

Michael laid a soft blanket over her. As she touched its velvety trim, the blanket began to hold her snugly, and wrapped her ever tighter until she could not move.

"May I see your face?" Jeanne asked gently. She was no longer comfortable. The room felt stuffy. The darkness was oppressive. Her body began to ache and the chains cut into her ankles.

Jeanne longed to see Michael's face. In this world of darkness, she needed to see his beauty.

A light grew from nowhere. Michael's face was there, above hers. The features were the same. Her eyes could perceive nothing different. But Jeanne felt herself shudder and her body began to tremble.

The light that had been in his eyes was replaced by darkness. The beautiful face that looked down on her was filled with contempt and the eyes glinted of death.

"Let me go, "she cried, but the words wouldn't come out of her mouth. Nothing would come out of her mouth.

"I could give you many things," Michael said, "but you are not worthy."

"Let me go!" she cried. But the cocoon of darkness held her firmly.

"You've always been this way, Jeanne, you've always been this way," Michael laughed. "You came here yourself, Jeanne. No one made you." "You came and I took care of you. And now you're mine."

"No!" Jeanne cried. "This is not what I wanted!" "You tricked me! You brought me here and tricked me!"

Michael laughed. "You brought yourself here, my dear. You brought yourself." "Open your eyes, child, and see what you've done."

Jeanne opened her eyes, but was blinded. She was free! Her balance was off, but she could smell the city air. Her foot slipped. She heard the sounds of cars and rushing win. She could feel the heat of the sun on her back and an unusually strong summer breeze. She was no longer anyone's captive!

In desperate triumph, she reopened her eyes, in time to catch sight of the pavement.

Not Alone

My 9 year old came into our room the other night, so upset from a dream that woke him up that he couldn't speak. For a while, he refused to talk about it. He watched some television with us while he calmed down and relaxed. Before long, he softly said to me, "I'm ready to talk about it." Then, he proceeded to tell me his dream.

He was walking throughout the house looking for his brothers and for us, but we were not there. Then, he walked down to his grandfather's house. But he was not there either. In fear, he realized that he was alone. Everybody he loved and trusted to care for him was gone. His nightmare was that he was alone.

Don't we have that problem, those of us who believe in God? As we face the unknown, our lack of faith stems from a fear that God will ultimately not be there. I'm not saying that this is a fear that He doesn't exist. But sometimes we fear that He won't be there with us.

When money is tight in September and we don't know how we'll pay for our house note or rent in October, aren't we really afraid that God won't be there for us in October? God has promised to take care of us and provide for us in Matthew, Chapter 6:25-34 "Therefore I say to you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? Which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature? So why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; and yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. "Now if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? Therefore do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' For after all these things the Gentiles seek. For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you.Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble." Yet, we still worry about tomorrow.

We know God has taken care of us in the past. We know God has taken care of us today. We know logically that because God is faithful and always has been faithful, we can trust Him to be faithful in the future. But underneath the surface lies the fear, the one the prompts the nightmare, that when we go looking for God, He won't be there. What if the day we go looking for Him, we just don't find Him? What if one day, we're all alone?

Why do I bring this up? In a way, it's scandalous to suggest that a Christian might harbor this fear, even when trust and belief rest on the surface. How is it possible that both trust and fear lie in the same breast? I honestly don't have the answer to that myself... except to say that we remain human, even when touched by the divine. The fear occasionally sits side-by-side in my own heart and once rested in the heart of a man who spoke to Jesus, "Immediately the father of the child cried out and said with tears, 'Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!'" (Mark 9:24)

My son knows that we will be here for him tomorrow. In fact, when he wakes up, he will expect it. During his waking hours, it would never occur to him that we would simply disappear. Yet underneath it all, that particular fear exists in him and most likely influences his behavior in ways we cannot imagine. Similarly, we consciously expect God to come through for us. Yet underneath it all, a small seed of doubt causes us to respond in ways that don't reflect what we consciously believe.

How do we combat this dangerous kernel of doubt? I would be lying if I suggested that I have mastered this fear myself. But I think Jesus gave us the keys to doing so. He definitely knew we would struggle with this the fear of abandonment. In a conversation on another issue, Jesus told His disciples, "whoever humbles himself as this little child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven." (Matthew 18:4) So what did my little child do when he encountered the nighttime evidence of this fear? He ran straight to us. He came crying into my arms. At the fear that we would not be there, he hurried to come find us. And he did find us.

When we grown-ups encounter our fear, do we run to God? I know that I am guilty of staying to myself. Sometimes, I cuddle my fear; afraid that if I run to find God, I won't find him. If my son had done the same, he would have stayed in his bed crying alone when my arms were nearby and ready to comfort him. How sad that we, as adults, sometimes lie crying in our beds, feeling alone, while God is ready to hold us in His arms and calm our fears with His Presence. How it must hurt Him, as a loving parent, when He longs to comfort us and we sit, instead, rocking in a corner hugging our knees refusing to get up and walk into His arms.

I thank you, God, that you are a God who reaches out to comfort us and stands ready and waiting to receive us into your arms. "For He Himself has said, 'I will never leave you nor forsake you.'" (Hebrews 13:5)[and] "Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age." (Matthew 28:20)

Right Things for the Wrong Reason

"Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of people, to be seen by them. Otherwise, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven. So whenever you give to the poor, don't sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be applauded by people. I assure you: They've got their reward! But when you give to the poor, don't let your left hand know what your right hand is doing so that your giving may be in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you." – Matthew 6:1-4

When I was a younger woman, maybe even a teenager, I discovered this truth about myself: it made me feel good to do nice things for others. I used to make a point to do nice things, because I liked the way it made me feel. I felt good about myself while I was helping someone else. To me, it was the best of both worlds. In my mind, everyone benefitted.

But I was wrong. I didn't delude myself about my reasons for helping others; I always knew it was really about me. I just didn't understand what I was doing to myself. Helping others was simply another way for me to feed my own selfishness.

It doesn't sound like a bad deal, helping others to make yourself feel good. But it has the same fatal flaw as the belief that marriage is all about feeling love.; when it stopped feeling good, I didn't want to do it.

My help was fickle. It depended less on the other person's need and more on my desire to feel good about myself. But this is not true love. Christ's love taught me that. I am supposed to love others and consider them as more important that myself. If we all lived by Christian love, live would be a utopia. Crime and deception would disappear. Earth would be heavenly.

But this kind of love does not come naturally. The kind of love that does not depend on how I feel requires work, sacrifice and humility. For this reason, Christian love is an ideal that humanity will not achieve on its own. Not many people are willing to live this kind of life; not with the level of commitment that it requires. But this is what makes the love of Christ different. This is why He asks us to give our entire beings to Him. This is what He gave to us. And this is what we have to offer the world: a radical, beautiful, life-changing kind of love.

I challenge myself and anyone who reads this to show Christ to the world and commit to Him, to being like Him, to showing His love to the world and, by doing so, to make the world a better place.