Hurting Our Own

Christians are held to high standards when it comes to loving non-Christians.  As it should be.  The Bible states that the greatest commandment is love...God first and others as yourself (Mark 12:28-31).  We are to go out and tell the "Good News" (Mark 16:15). Win others with love so that they will come to church and, ultimately, accept Christ.  We don't want anyone to go to Hell.  So there is an urgency.  Do we always get it right?  Absolutely not.  I've heard countless stories of people being hurt by those who feel the need to judge instead of love. It's heartbreaking. If you are reading this and have been one of those condemned by Christians, I apologize.  We ALL are so flawed.  Incredibly messed up.  But, for Grace...none of us would even be here.  The church needs to work on loving, not hurting.  I get it.

What happens though inside the church?  What happens when Christians hurt other Christians?  This is not spoken about as much in churches across America.  People are silently hurting inside the building that they are supposed to be able to go to and seek refuge...solace from a crazy, chaotic world.  Join in "unity" with those of like-mind.  Fellowship.  Praise Jesus without inhibition.  Hear the Word come forth without wondering what those around them are thinking.

For every story I've heard of a non-Christian feeling judged by Christians, I've heard at least five more of Christians being hurt by Christians.   Maybe part of this is because I've been raised in church all my life.  Here I sit in my thirties wondering why is this considered to be OK?  Why is it OK for several members of the body of Christ to loudly proclaim to not hurt people "of the world" but stand silent when their own church members get hurt by their counterparts?  Yes, I know we are to "turn the other cheek" (Matthew 5:39). We should not allow "bitterness to take root" (Hebrews 12:15).  I've heard so many times, "Well, the Church is made of humans - all who are flawed - and we can't expect for it to be perfect."  Of course we can't.

Still, it's wrong.

Jared and I know people who have been so hurt by the church that they refuse to go back.  They would rather worship at home.  Worshipping at home is fine and necessary, but we wouldn't be told to not "forsake the assembly of others"(Hebrews 10:25) if that wasn't important.  We know people who are terrified of other Christians learning a family secret because they know they'll be judged...or their family member will be judged.  When you can't share with those you consider to be your friends out of fear of retribution, there is something seriously wrong. Stories of people who are just not nice.  Rotten, really.  They think it's OK to just say whatever they want because it's not like "Christians are perfect."  People who cry during a church service because they are feeling shunned by other Christians. People longing for real fellowship but being told that their Christian friends are just too busy.  People who are being criticized because they are voting for this one or that one or no one. People who hurt others all week, but smile on Sunday morning like they are the most God-fearing humans.  It disgusts me.

We can complain about America not being unified, but why should it be?  Yes, we should be one nation UNDER GOD, but we don't even act like we are one church UNDER GOD.  We're destroying our own.  We're fighting battles with this world and we're losing because we are wounding our own people.  We have people who are considering leaving their faith.  People who are beginning to question if God is really good because His people are so mean.  How can we bring the lost in if we are losing our own?

We can't.

Is this really how it should be?  Should we excuse our behavior under a blanket covering of Grace?  Should we act like a high-school with cliques based on social status, ethnicity, background?  Or should we hold ourselves to higher standards?  We have been changed by Christ who DIED for us.  Shouldn't we diligently seek Him to allow Him to change us and form us to be more like Him?

I will be the first to admit that I don't get it all right.  I mess up every single day.  I am as flawed of a Christian as the next.  Know that I point the finger to myself first.  And, really, that's the only place any of us should be pointing a finger...to ourself alone.  If we focus on God helping us with our own flaws, maybe we won't be so quick to point to others.  Maybe we will stop hurting and start healing.  Maybe we will become nicer.  Better people. Maybe we will begin to see others through His eyes and not through our own judgmental filters.  Maybe then the church can become a place of joy and solace for ALL...the lost and the un-lost.

Would that be so bad?

A couple disclaimers:  I know that not ALL people in the church act like the above.  There are so many kind people in the church.  If you have been questioning if you should attend a church, just go for it.  Most of the time, the good that comes from the experience, far outweighs the bad.  Also, when I refer to "the church" I am referring to the body of Christ as a whole...not a specific church.   If you are reading this and know me and think you know who I am referring to in any of this, you probably actually don't as all examples were generalized.  And, if I have ever hurt you in any way and haven't made it right, please reach out to me so that I can make it right...and also learn and grow.

Second "Birthday" in Heaven

Addi:  Mommy, I need you to text God.
Me:  Sweet Pea, I can't text God, but we can talk to Him whenever we want.
Addi:  No.  I need Him to tell Izzy something...

Izzy.  The baby we lost.  The baby who would be two sometime this week.  The baby who Jared and I think is a boy, but sweet girl is convinced is a girl...her only hope for a sister.  She named her Isabelle...Izzy for short.  She thinks about her a lot.  Tells her friends and strangers about her sister who is in Heaven.  Bless those precious strangers who listen intently and show compassion.  And bless those who quickly turn away, because responding to something like this is tough.

That sweet baby...12 weeks of life inside me was not enough.  But, there's our joyful Gideon...and he wouldn't be here if that baby was.  So, we question nothing.  We accept it all.  But, one doesn't replace the other and we sure do love and miss that little one.  Especially, this "birthday" week and that week in May when we joined a "tribe."  A huge group of people, far too many...mommies and daddies and siblings that will forever love someone in Heaven that they never even got to meet.

And, our girl...since she couldn't text God, she wrote a note to her sibling.  A note she is convinced God will share with that precious baby.

"Izzy, I hope you have a good life.  I love you very much.  Love, Addi."

I assured her that life is so great in Heaven.  And, that our baby knows we love her (or him).  She hugged me close, looked up and blew a kiss...first to her sibling and then to God.

Giving Thanks for Broccoli

"Mommy says we need to be thankful even for the things we don't like."  He proudly proclaims to everyone at the dinner table.

His words...my words...sting a bit.

"I said that?"

"Yes!"  That sweet boy of mine states before taking another bite of broccoli.

I get it.  He is giving thanks for the thing he doesn't like...the broccoli.  The little tree shaped veggie that is not always the yummiest, but is so good for him.

The conversation has moved on to the latest playground shenanigans, but those words stick with me..."Be thankful for even the things you don't like."

Truth is, that's hard.  Sometimes "broccoli" is hard to swallow.  Sometimes the things we face in life are just not fun.  Sometimes, what is good for us isn't the easiest to stomach.

Still, there must be thanksgiving.  It's in our thankfulness that we learn to appreciate the Giver.  As we thank Him, we learn more about Him.  We see His heart...His love.  His desire is to nourish us, strengthen us, grow us.  That means we don't always get dessert first, sometimes we must eat broccoli.

1 Thessalonians 5:18 - In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.

And, because he is cuter than brocolli...

Expressions of Love

"I love you Mommy" scribbled in big letters because everything that six-year-old girl does is big and bold.  A smaller expression of love written with less letters from the younger brother who is still learning how to spell "love"...and "you"...but he knows a heart and a "U" states his affirmation quite perfectly.

I always love this scavenger hunt.  It's a daily thing.  I tuck notes in their lunch boxes and they tuck notes in hidden places for me to discover throughout the day.  The result for us all is the same:  we are loved and we KNOW it.

It's easy to KNOW when the words are written for us to see, but what about the other times?  The times where sassiness prevails, listening is forgotten, harsh words spoken?  Do we still know?  When we are rushing here and there, when reading - so MUCH reading - needs to be finished, when dinner is burnt and bathtime is rushed?  Do we still know?

Absolutely.  We have tucked away love notes for years.  Written or just spoken.  Shown in flashy ways and unglamorous ways.  Daily moments that state the same thing...you are loved.  In this house, where mistakes abound, forgiveness is frequent, tears are shed, and laughter is daily...we still manage to do one thing really well (by the grace of God)...we love.  Love drives us when we drive each other crazy.  Love takes the wheel when we just want to take a nap.  Love shouts out "It will all be OK" when we only want to shout at each other.

We are loved.

While I know it through smiles on precious baby faces, hugs from little arms, and the way my husband checks in every day after work...I also know it through the times where we've all had to show true grit. Times where we've had to dig in our heels and fight.

I also know I am loved by God.  The Author of the best love letter ever written.  He put His words into action in the ultimate way, and, now in amazing ways daily.   The moments He has been there loudly and the ones where I can barely here Him whisper.  He daily hides his "notes" for me to find.  That chirping bird...that peanut-butter smeared handprint on the oven door...that encouraging song heard at just the right moment...that feeling of warmth from the sun...the tears of joy shed from overwhelming moments of gratitude...ALL love notes from my Father.

Those moments where the laundry mountain is taller than not only the 18-month-old, but also the five-year-old...the baby will not stop crying, the older two will not stop fighting, my husband and I are not "on the same page"...the unexpected expenses are piling up almost as fast as the dirty clothes...and the situation that I've so desperately wanted to change for the better has not changed a bit.  Even in those moments, His love shines through...if I will just stop and listen.

Sometimes, I want to ignore that still, small voice that tells me He loves me when He says, "Wait."  The One that convicts me when I'm wrong.  The One who refuses to write all letters in fanciful calligraphy, but sometimes writes them in a font I don't even like.  So, I ignore the notes.  Nope, not going to accept that one, God.  Write a different one and make it pretty with bright colors and glitter and all the things I like...not this ugly stuff.  Yet, He, knowing the "ugly" will produce something far more lovely than I can imagine, ignores my requests.

Can I really refuse to accept this letter?  Can I really tell Him to draw another and think it's OK?  Some of the notes written to me by little hands are handcrafted with the best handwriting, some written sloppily. I will never refuse one because they are all designed with love.

And, God?  His handprint of love is in all situations. So, this "letter" that I have been trying to return, the one I've been asking God to rewrite, the one that I've wanted to ignore because I think it's ugly...I cannot refuse it.  I will not refuse it. With open hands, I open my heart.  Write is as You wish, Lord...because it's all written with your perfect love.

"For everything God has created is good, and nothing is to be thrown away or refused..." 1 Timothy 4:4

If You Were Brown?

I place him in his crib for the second time tonight and I try to ignore the question that pops into my mind as I look at his innocent face.  I can't push it out, though and I understand that it needs to be pondered. So, I wonder...

If you were brown, sweet boy, would I even lay you down tonight?  Or, would I hold you close for fear of ever letting you go?

The city we love is in unrest.  The place where I birthed three beautiful children.  Three beautiful, amazing children.  Sweet babies who I have wondered so frequently about what their future may be like.  Will they want to travel the world?  Will they want to change the world?  Countless questions all with an undertone of hope and freedom.

If you were brown, sweet boy, would I be able to dream so freely?  

This world is scary for all mamas.  So much chaos.  So much turmoil.  So much anger.  I sometimes feel guilty for ever wanting to bring children into this madness.  But, still...

If you were brown, sweet boy, would the world be even scarier?

While blame is cast from both sides, angry words shouted, hearts broken, lives shattered...I struggle to find my place.  How do I help?  How do I show love to all? What can I do to let the police officers that live in my neighborhood know that we are behind them as well as the black neighbors that live in the same neighborhood?  How do I show friends of color that while I will never be able to understand their plight, I do want to try to understand better?  Will they even believe me?

He cries out again and I pick him up.  I hold him tight and pray.  A prayer for all the mamas holding babies tonight...whether physically in their arms or tightly in their hearts.  All the mamas who long for the same things I do:  safety, peace, the ability to dream and turn those dreams into reality.

I wipe tears.  Tears laced with pain for so many.  My child is white.  I cannot change that.  However, I can change the perception that this mama doesn't care. I will do my part to PROVE I care.  Sit on your couch and listen to your fears?  OK.  Hold your babies up in prayer?  No problem.  Hug your neck?  Absolutely.  Give a smile?  Always.

Call me naive, but I still believe that love can conquer much.  Christ's act of love changed the world.  The Bible says above all things, the greatest thing is love.  I know it to be true. Love has changed my life.

I lay my footed pajama clad boy back in his crib and smile.

If you were brown, sweet boy, would my love for you be any different? 

I smile because I know that answer.  Absolutely not.  And, as I quietly leave his room, I whisper him a promise...

Sweet boy, I will continue to teach you and your siblings to love fiercely.  To spread peace, not hate.  To share an encouraging smile, not a vulgar gesture.  To choose joy, not anger.  I will teach you this not through just words that don't demonstrate, but through actions that do.

1 Corinthians 13: 11-13
When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.  For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face.  Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known.  And now abide faith, hope, love these three; but the greatest of these is LOVE.

Oh, Rats!

I almost lost my mind over a mouse...well, two of them.  The amazing friend who valiantly moved our washer and dryer to make sure a mouse wasn't hiding behind them, watched our children while Jared and I cleaned out our garage, helped me haul sofas to the dump (because a mouse had hid in one), and fix a door that the horrible rodents had chewed a hole through, probably would tell you that I actually did lose my mind.  My husband - who was forced out of sleep multiple times a night by a jittery and anxious wife, who spent almost $100.00 on traps, who allowed me to schedule a rodent exterminator to come, and who even got a hotel room so that I could finally sleep - would agree.  My sister would concur, too as she listened to sometimes hourly updates of the whole sordid experience.  And, when I stop and think about how I spent time in an actual prayer service at our church praying over the stupid mouse situation...and even very sincerely asked friends to pray...yes, I guess I briefly did lose my mind.

Two weeks after the awful ordeal, I still shudder thinking about it all.  Every speck of black on our floors is a dropping...until I investigate further and realize it's actually lint.  Every noise I hear is another mouse trying to wreak havoc...except, the noises are just regular creaking noises that are in every single house in the world. There are still traps in the now very organized garage, just in case any relatives decide to come looking for the family members we killed. I smiled as I typed that we killed them.  I am a mouse murderer and I'm not even remorseful.  Sorry, PETA.

 It started off innocently enough.  Dropping sightings in our cluttered garage.  So we bought traps (fancy traps, not the cheap wooden ones) and poison.  And, I left it alone. Fast forward a few days later...I noticed there were droppings in our laundry room (which is the room that is connected to our garage).  I also saw that a hole had been gnawed into the door.  More fancy traps and poison were bought.  But, we quickly realized we had a smart mouse.  Actually, at that point, thanks to my incredibly amazing investigative research skills (AKA: I read all the scary mouse stories on Google), I had convinced myself that we had an infestation.  We had 175 mice in our house and it was just a matter of time before the whole house would fall down around us due to the mice living in the walls.  It became an obsession of mine.  I researched, fretted, read some more, worried some more...repeat...daily for a few days.

Then, I saw a mouse run into our baby's closet and while we barricaded the closet door with lots of towels, the big guns were called in.  Actually, first we called a friend who is in the National Guard to assess the situation and tell us what he thought.  I promise, we did.  We called him and his lovely wife late at night and asked them what to do.  We also called another sweet friend and her firefighter husband.  No one really knew what to do.  So, while I decided NOT to call 911, we threw traps into the closet and waited for the ORKIN man to come in the morning (FYI...they have a 24 hour hotline you can call when you're in a panic to get someone scheduled to come to your house the next morning).  

The kindest exterminator came to our house the next morning and confirmed a few things:  

1.  Unfortunately, the mouse was no longer in the closet.

2.  Thankfully, the house was not infested.

3. Much to my relief, the squeaking noises that I knew were mice infiltrating our house were actually just crickets...outside.  

He did not even charge us.  He advised us to use the cheap, wooden mouse traps and told us that the garage decluttering project that we were endeavoring upon the next day was a great idea and would take care of the 1 or 2 mice that were sharing our residential address.  

The next morning, a mouse was in the trap (there was great rejoicing, texts sent to friends and family, and a rendition of "Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead" was sung).  Oh, and the garage was cleaned out. 

We were heading to bed that night, somewhat hopeful that the ordeal was over when we heard scratching in our couch.  A mouse ended up running into the hall closet by our door.  More barricades were set, a frantic text sent about getting rid of the sofas the next morning, traps put outside of the closet, and another sleepless night commenced.  Thankfully, that mouse could not figure out how to escape and once we put the traps inside of the closet the next night, it died.  Yes, I just smiled again when I thought about the mouse's demise.  Maybe I need help? 

Here's the thing...those mice...they were TINY.  Tiny little vermin who became larger than life to me.  WAY larger than life.  I was convinced we were doomed.  We were going to die of some type of mouse disease.  My babies were going to be gnawed on while they were sleeping.  The mouse was hiding under the bed just waiting to attack my feet as soon as I got out of bed.  My anxiety level was EXTREME and as the sleepless nights piled on, as I read more rodent material, and obsessed over every noise I heard, I was very close to having major panic attacks.  Mice being in the house was disgusting, yes, but what I allowed myself to do to me mentally was WAY worse.

Those stupid mice symbolize much because reality is that I am very good at making small "things" in my life become so much larger than they really are.   In all honesty, I'm doing it right now with a situation.  I've allowed the enemy to wreak havoc on my mind as I think of every potential scenario that may happen, every "what if" or "should have,"...and I keep doing it.

Do you ever do that?  What seemingly huge issue in your life is actually minor but has become a constant source of mental anguish?  Can I suggest something?  Let's call THE Exterminator.  Let God bring peace as He assures us that while the enemy does come in as an uninvited guest, we don't have to let him dwell in the crevices of our minds.  Declutter our minds as we bask in His peace.  Rejoice as we realize that the enemy is DEFEATED.  Defeated...that makes me smile more than even knowing those freaky, disgusting mice are dead.

"Guide my steps by your word, so I will not be overcome by evil." - Psalm 119:133

A Lesson On Grace From My Girl

"They didn't have them ready after I called last night to make sure they would be ready by 7:00 this morning!"  I yelled out to my husband as I rushed in the door.

One school-aged child was still in bed, the other one was not ready, lunches were unmade, and we had to leave for school in 40 minutes.  Rushing ensued as I frantically yelled to the kids to hurry up.

Chaos mounted.  The baby was wailing for "wata".  My precious 5-year-old boy was growing more anxious by the moment. Mr. Wonderful was trying to figure out what I wanted him to do when I didn't even know what I wanted him to do.

My sweet girl - the one who is feisty like her mama - looked at me and smiled.  "It's OK, Mommy.  Just email the pictures to my teacher so she can show the class."

And, like that, my little girl "unrushed" me.  As I looked into her beautiful eyes, I remembered what is important.  I am working alongside my husband to raise little souls to love Jesus and handle life situations with grace.  I was being anything but gracious in my frenzied, hurried state.

I took a deep breath as I took her suggestion.  You could literally feel the tension fade as we all calmed down.  Our morning became beautiful.  Filled with laughter, sweet conversations and a walk to school that allowed us to savor time with each other instead of worrying about being late.

The six-year-old who is responsible for the bulk of my grey hair turned our family's entire day around.  I thanked her as we walked to school.

"Mommy, I love you more than pictures of Pete the Cat and I know you tried to get those pictures."

Grace...she's getting it and, now, she's teaching me.