Ellie's Hotel and the Catapult

Ellie (aka Rachel) opened up her garage top hotel for business today. Her first two customers had lots of pets join them. She even has service for Jack, the wonderdog -- with two different types of water. I don't understand that, but I guess I don't have to!

Meanwhile, up on the deck on the other side of the yard, Jonathan is building a catapult. It seems to be aimed directly at Ellie's hotel, which concerns me just a bit. There could be a war in a few hours. I might just have to distract them with a meal of peace.

Watching my kids play this summer seems to be more of a joy than it ever has before. Our little family has been through a lot, and my kids have seen and heard more than kids really should. It is such a gift of God's grace to me to be able to watch my kids just be kids. They are playing and creating today to their hearts' content and it is a thing of great beauty to me.

Sure, they are real kids who say "Mom, I'm bored," a little too often and they can be really mean to each other. But they are miracles to me, each and every one of them. They have saved my life, more than once. I am beyond blessed to be able to do life with them.

Pause for a Thunderstorm

As I've looked over my postings for the last few days, I've realized that there is an intensity about them that requires a little break -- both for me and you, my dear readers. So here it is . . . with of course a connection to grace and identity at the end, because I wouldn't be me without that!

Early in our marriage, we took an intensive Russian course in South Carolina. I loved my time there, being in the classroom and spending time with others who were suffering through the beginning stages of Russian learning along with me. But my favorite part of the day were the afternoon thunderstorms. I have never since seen so much lightening or heard such loud thunder. We would often sit outside our dorm room and just marvel at the rain and noise.

Yesterday Rachel came home from school with a book of poetry proudly in her hands. I immediately looked for her poem and am now sharing it with you:

BOOM!
A thunderstorm is coming
I'm scared
It's just a storm
We're fine
I'm still scared
Come here
Ok BANG! Flash! Oh no!
It's just rain
See, we're fine
Jack is not scared
Or the cats
I'm still a little scared
Watch some TV
IT WON'T TURN ON
The powers out
Come color with me
Ok. Flash!
Look, a rainbow
It's over
I'm not scared anymore

I'm still marveling at the insight my daughter has. I'm not sure that she even knows what she has written, or the gift she has given her mother in this piece of writing . What do I love about this?

• She has the freedom to say she's scared, even when others might make fun of her
  
• She looks for ways to distract herself, but none of them work -- except being with others
• She is scared at one of those "just a" things . . . don't we all have them? Things we are afraid of, but think we shouldn't be? Something that will be over with soon?
  
• She remains scared, even when others around her tell her that no one else is . . . and she admits it!
  

As I reflect more about this little bit of third grade writing, I am amazed and humbled by her honesty. It is the kind of honesty that I want to have in my own life. Sometimes, when I am afraid, the cliches don't make me feel better -- but in order to make other people feel better, I pretend they do. But not my Rachel. She hasn't learned to do this yet. I pray she never will. I pray that she will be able to walk in the freedom of her true self, and her true identity in Christ. I pray that she will not feel like she has to go into hiding with her family and friends.

I know that God has put these children into my life, another set of miracles, to help me mature. Thanks Papa!

Don't Quote the Bible to Me!

The first time I walked into a 12 Steps Meeting, I felt like I was in a movie. As I said, "Hi, I'm Melissa," and heard in return, "Hello Melissa," I thought I was going to burst out laughing. It was, in part, a nervous laughter, along with a sense of how incredible it was that I had gotten myself to a place such as this.

When I walked into that meeting, I hated God, I hated the Bible, and I hated anyone who offered to pray for or with me. But at the same time, I was drawn to these things that I hated. I wanted so much to find that God really loved me. So here I was, shaking, ready to swear, and listening to people around me telling the world that they were here at this 12 Step Meeting because they wanted to grow in their Spiritual Life. I found out later that some of the people in the room thought I was a piece of work when my answer to the question of my appearance here went along the lines of, "I don't really know, but I have been spiritually abused and please don't give me any Bible verses." Yeah, I think they were probably thinking I was in the wrong place, too.

How had I gotten here? Well it wasn't an addiction to alcohol or drugs, but rather an addiciton to many other things, including over thinking and loving people to their detriment. In short, I was here because my life was out of control. In the years between kicking out my husband and discovering my son had cancer, my son had gotten better, my husband moved back in, I finished my Master's Degree, I had my dream job, and I had run three Ironman Triathlons. And I had never been more UNHAPPY. Depressed. Anxious. Angry. Scared. Full of Rage. My emotions were coming out all over the place and I was a complete wreck. There was one episode where I broke down in Cub Foods, yelling at my husband for who knows what minor infraction (I couldn't shop there for months). After years of coping fairly well, I was again thinking about suicide all the time. So, I went to the meeting suggested by my therapist.

It was with this group of people that I finally found the Room of Grace. It didn't happen right away, but over time I began to trust the people that I was with each week. By sharing their own stories of brokenness I realized that I was not alone. And by crying and laughing with me as I shared my own, these people shared with me a love that I had been craving. I came to find and know God's love through the love of other broken, deeply hurting people. Yeah, we shared some prayers and some Bible verses, too. But mostly it was through the sharing of our hearts that we found healing.

This group was yet another miracle in my life. Through God's gracious gift, I was able to receive their love. It is difficult to receive love because it requires trust and my trust had been broken. But God enabled me to trust, first others and then eventually him. It is only this received love that has the power to change lives.

Miracle Pictures, Part One

This picture is a miracle. Actually it is many miracles, but that is something you would never see unless you knew the rest of the story. Over the next few posts, I'm going to make an attempt at capturing some of the miraculous nature of this family photo. In order to do that, I have to tell some difficult things about myself and my family. This is the first time I've told these things, in this way, so please excuse the rough edges in it. It is, afterall, only a first draft.

After years of submitting to physical and emotional abuse, I finally got up the nerve to admit to myself and another person what was happening in my home. I say myself, because for the first 12 years of my marriage I couldn't bring myself to call it abuse. I think it goes back to early days of our marriage when I did tell someone in our church, who told me what was happening was normal, especially in marriages with a strong unsubmissive woman! I spent the next 12 years trying to be good enough, trying to submit more . . . and failing misrably. I know now that the natural outcome of this kind of life is going to be depression, but when it first hit me I was really scared.

I had been separated from my husband for about a month when I first began to think of myself as unworthy of life. The thought was fleeting, but it came back. And back. And back. The world seemed black, overwhelming -- almost like a prison. I didn't see how I could possibly be a good enough person, a good enough mom to even deserve to live. And so I wanted to die. Really bad. And then the shaking started. I would sit and shake and shake. I couldn't stop. In order to stop the pain, I started hitting and cutting myself. It was amazing how the appearance of a bruise or blood on my skin would allow me such emotional relief.

I finally was convinced to take meds, but they couldn't start working soon enough. I know I wouldn't be alive today without the people who surrounded me, who watched my kids, who talked to me late at night, who told me they loved me.

And then, just one month after the depression hit me head on, Jonathan was diagnosed with cancer. At the time, it felt like God had hit me in the gut. The wind was knocked out of me and I no longer had the energy to even be depressed. Fatalism hit me, along with a deep abiding sense that if God existed at all, he was NOT good.

But in the background, God was working to show me his love. The overwhelming nature of my life hit everyone around me . . . it was clear that a single mom with four children age five and under could NOT do this on her own, and so I no longer could hide. I could be angry; everyone expected it. I could be scared; it was a natural feeling. Food came out of the woodwork. People came to help work in my business. People cleaned my house. They watched my kids. And I was free to be on the LONG journey of healing.

There is more to this story, as I would get much sicker before I got better. But, in retrospect, although it seems sick to say it, Jonathan's cancer was a way of salvation (albeit a strange one), not only for me, but also for my relationship with God and my husband.

Faith is not always smiling

So, it seems that I now am feeling ready to write about some of the dark days of the past few years. When I was in my teens and 20s I never felt anything like depression. I was a rather happy-go-lucky girl, who saw the good in everything (including a very difficult marriage). I assumed, wrongly, that depression and godliness could not co-exist. So I buried the pain and put on lots of smiles. When I couldn't muster a smile, I stayed home. I became a master at hiding -- from my children, my husband, my family, my coworkers. I'm certain, now, that many of them suspected that all was not right with Melissa, but at the time I was convinced that no one knew. I filled my mind with cliches that I didn't believe and spouted them off all the time in the hopes that eventually I would feel the joy that these cliches seemed to promise. What I didn't realize at the time was that by stuffing all the pain associated with abuse I was receiving, I was laying the foundation for a very dark and difficult mental illness.

Over the next few posts I will explore some of my depression history, what I have learned, and how I think God is continuing to redeem those dark days. I will also look at a very painful time, last November, that I call my Dark Night of the Soul.

For today, I want to leave you with a quote from Ed Welsch's book on Depression:

God says that strong faith can coexist with emotional highs, lows, and everything in between. It is a myth that faith is always smiling. The trust is that faith often feelings like the very ordinary process of dragging one foot in front of the other because we are conscious of God.

If your life feels like this today, please know that I KNOW. I have lived like this for months at a time. I will probably feel like this again. The daily slogging of life, against the ordinary difficulties like broken down cars, just barely not enough money, or even the need to take three kids to three different places with only two adults can be overwhelming to the point of tears. Your issues may be huge, like a sick child or parent. You may be grieving the loss of a friend or family member or a job. You may just be sick of the pressures of a job. Or you may have no idea why you feel like crap. Whatever the source of your pain, God is with you in it. Even if you feel like he isn't. Even if you can't believe. He is standing by your side, his arm around you ... whispering in your ear, I love you child. I love you.

And I don't believe for one minute that God is angry with you, he is not displeased at your lack of faith to get over the icky feelings. Faith is not always smiling.

Yet another post on how much we need each other

Today I'll go back to Susan Howatch and her novel The Heart Breaker. This was a book that I didn't expect to relate to for a number of reasons, but by about half way through I was almost completely undone. If you haven't read Susan Howatch's books, don't start with this one, (I'd start with Glittering Imagines), but if you like her writing, eventually you will end up here.

Here she is quoting from Mud and stars: the report of a Working Party on the Impact of Hospice Experience on the Church's Ministry of Healing:

All of us, carers and cared for, are on a journey whose destination we understand only dimly: We know we are searching for something, yet the nature of the thing we seek eludes us. On this strange journey, in this tantalising search, we only feel lonely and bemused, in need of guidance, encouragement, companionship. Not always knowing what we are asking for, we reach for the help of others.

More than once I have been confused about the path God has led me on. The whys overwhelmed me, making it nearly impossible for me to see God. I was lonely beyond belief and I needed a fellow traveller to come alongside of me and help carry my burdens. Today I have a special gratitude for those who have hitched my wagon to theirs and helped pulled me through the deep muddy pits. I'm certain that at times you wanted to push me back into the muds, but you allowed God's love to flow through you anyway.

And by the way, I still need you and others to join you. And I need to be able to love you back. I may not be stuck, but I will always need to give and receive protective love to help me continue to mature. We all really do need each other, despite anything our American culture teaches us.

My Children are Learning to Protect

The dog picture will make sense at the end. Or maybe it won't. Let's just say that Jack riding in the back of the bike trailer was one of many highlights to this glorious day!

My children know me. They know my sin. They know my weakness. For a long time I tried to hide my imperfection from them as I thought that the only hope for my children to be perfect was for me to provide a perfect model for them. Anyone who has tried to do this knows how perfectly exhausting and ineffective it is. All it takes is a jam jar falling out the fridge to allow those carefully hidden words to come flying out. Sometimes it takes even less than that!

So, today comes yet another confession to you , my dear readers. I struggle mightily with the 10th commandment. Yeah, that one about coveting. The problem with this commandment is that it is awfully sneaky. I don't want a lot of things and most of the time am very happy when my friends get great things. I've rejoiced with incredible jobs found and dream vacations for my friends. BUT, there are some day and times when I am so NOT able to do this. I've been in lovely houses owned by lovely people where all I've wanted to do was run out and cry because I wanted what they had so much and knew that I would never have a house like theirs. I've listened to people list accomplishments and not been able to come even close to rejoicing. I have to admit to having some not so nice thoughts at times.

And yes, my kids know about this. I especially struggle with one person in my life who seems to get everything I think I want. We were at the person's house today and he wanted to show us yet another of his toys for their lake cabin. I cringed inside, knowing that looking at this toy would just wreck my day. As we got back into the car, I was ready with all kinds of critical words about this person and his family. I didn't feel at all about talking to God about this . . . to use a quote I wrote in here eariler this week, I was ready to give the devil a nice long ride.

Jonathan, knowing my distress and weakness in this area, spoke first. His words showed an incredible love to me. He said with absolutely no critisim in his voice (I would know if it was there), "Wow Mom . . . It's like they are building an amusement park up north." I started to smile. He went on to describe this amusement park and what it would look like and how much fun it would be to enjoy playing there this summer. By the time he was done, I was laughing as I enjoyed this picture he was creating. His uncritical humor was like a lifeline out of the jealousy and envy that were seeking to drown me in misery.

And as if by unconscious decree, all four children continued to surround me for the rest of the day with an incredible gift. Their presence. Childish. Free. Loving. Gracious. Laughing. We went on a bike ride that was a comedy of errors from start to finish. Starting with bringing Jack the wonderdog who did NOT want to be in the trailer (what were we thinking?) and ending with Jonathan leaving all his tackle alongside the bike trail and not realizing it until we were home (a place for me to show a little protective love of my own!), the day had more than its share of memories. But, we laughed so hard today. It was a Philippians 4:8 kind of day:

Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things.

While there were struggles along the way, we all seemed to be able to point ourselves back to living in a place where we could think beautiful things about each other. Our new natures were certainly wooed today. I'm so incredibly blessed to be able to do life with these precious people. I love you Jonathan, Andrew, Caleb, Rachel, and Brit!

Thank you Papa for putting us together in this life.

What is THAT on the Wall?

When Jonathan was two and half years old, I had three boys under the age of three. There is much about that time that I don't remember, but there are a few precious memories that come out at family gatherings and holidays. This is one of them . . .

I had just returned from a retreat. For some reason I didn't consume the bag of Hershey's with almond minitures that I had taken on the trip. In true ADD fashion, I didn't bother to take them downstairs, but rather put them in the closest drawer while I was unpacking, the one in my bedside table.

The next morning I was really tired. The kind of tired that you can only be if you have three kids two and under and you had just been at a retreat where people played Mexican train dominoes until three in the morning.

Naturally, Jonathan was not tired and came into my room as soon as the birds started singing, somewhere around 5am. I told him, rather sleepily, to go back to bed. And he did. As I drifted back to sleep, I thought to myself, "I have the best little boy in the world. He's so obedient. I'm such a great mom."

Yeah right. Now I know better. Jonathan did go back to his room, but he didn't go back to sleep. On his way out of my room, he opened the drawer by my bed and ever so silently removed the bag of chocolates. He took them to his room and ate many of them. At some point he must have remembered what we had been talking about concerning sharing, because he woke up his brothers and began unwrapping the chocolates and passing them through the bars of their cribs. It's just great to see your kids share!

When I woke up 90 minutes later, I walked in their room and saw brown everywhere. On their faces, on the sheets, on the wall, on the floor, on their pjs. Yes, everywhere. I sniffed the room in horror. Surely this couldn't be . . . .? And then I saw the pile of Hershey wrappers. Lots of them. A full bag full, actually. And, in neat little piles on the floor beside Caleb and Andrew's cribs were almonds with all the chocolate sucked off! They still don't like nuts.

And I still love my kids. Jonathan turn 13 this year. He's still a leader, creating fun stories and games for the rest of the family to enjoy. He's a leader at school and home. If something is happening, he's usually the one who started it. He has such a tender heart. As I look at the changes ahead for him, it is my prayer that he grow to really know who he is in Christ. That he will not be afraid of his sin and that he will not go into hiding. That when he feels shame he will have the courage to trust God and others with it. That he will know that his mother loves him when he is good and when he is bad. That my love for him is not conditioned on his performance for me. I want him to know and experience the deep love and grace of God in his daily life.

I hold this prayer for all of my children, but today my heart is full of Jonathan.

Don't give the Devil a Ride

I love this quote from Anne LaMott (found in Grace Eventually)

"I prayed for God to help me find a way out, and what I heard was, 'Call a friend.' But something edgier was speaking more loudly, and I pricked up my ears at the sound, even though an old man at church once told me never to give the devil a ride. Because if he likes the ride, pretty soon he'll want to drive."

I need to call more friends, more often. They are often the way of escape for me. Hiding is the devil's business. I don't want to be in business with him. He likes to take over the business just as much as he likes to drive.

The Field Trip

It's been an exhausting few days. Since God spoke to me at Costco, I've finished grading, attended graduation, hosted a birthday party, attended a going away party, took the dog to the vet, adopted a rat, nursed Andrew through his first migrane headache, and accompanied the sixth graders on their big field trip to the science museum and state capital buiding. Life has gone on and I've had very little time to reflect, much less write about what has been happening. Whenever life gets this way, I get a little ragged around the edges (okay, a lot ragged), so I'm glad to be sitting at my desk today, alone in my office with a bit of time to process life.

But even in the craziness that I get to call my life, God has seen fit to inject some truth and encouragement into my life. Both of these came, from all places, the dreaded field trip. Now I love these sixth graders and I like the science museum. But by the time Monday rolled around, I was so exhausted that I felt like there was just no love inside of me to give. I needed affirmation in the worst way, but couldn't ask for . . . didn't really even know how to ask for it. I probably didn't even know in that moment just how much I really needed to hear an affirming word.

I was standing with the group of girls that I was chaperoning and trying to figure out how on earth I was going to keep track of them. I didn't know them, as my sixth grader is Jonathan . . . and Jonathan has not yet discovered the joy of spending time with girls. I know the boys in his grade, but the girls . . . well they are just as much a mystery to me as they are to Jonathan.

So, Jonathan was in a group with his best friend, whose mother was also along on the trip. I was standing just a bit behind Jonathan and got to overhear him say something that made my day . . . He said to his friend, "Yeah, I just know after today all these kids are going to come up to me and say how much they like my mom, how nice she is, and how fun she is to be with. Everytime kids meet her, they say that." I gasped silently and immediately had the energy to spend with these four delightful young ladies. Somehow hearing truth about myself enabled me to live it. A gift of grace, no doubt. God knew just how much I needed to hear those words in order to be present to the task of the day.

Then later in the day we were touring the capital. It is not the most interesting tour for the kids, and it was very difficult to hear our guide because the capital was so busy yesterday with it being the last day of the legislative meetings. So I was trying to help remind tired kids to be respectful, when I happened to look up and saw the following words written outside the doors to the Minnesota Supreme Court, "Laws can discover sin, but not remove it." The most beautiful thing about my discovery is that Jonathan was standing next to me as I jotted the words down in a book I had with me. He asked why I was writting in my book, and I got the opportunity to talk with him a little bit about how we were not created to deal with our sin and that all of our attempts to do so have been a dismal failure. We need a Savior to deal with our sin, both for the next life AND for this life.

My little family is just as prone to a legalistic way of life as I am. I so long for my children to be freed from the need to perform their way back into God's delight, and realize that they are already there. Their heavenly father delights in them, right now, today. I didn't expect that our trip to the state capital would give me an opportunity once again to share the message of grace with my son.

I am realizing that it is in the ordinaries, the dailies, where God speaks the loudest to me.

God Speaks . . . At Costco?

Before I tell this story, I want you to know that I have debated for several hours about writing this. It was an important event in my life, but it reveals more about me than I think I want others to know. But I feel compelled to tell the story, so I guess I will jump right in. Some of you will respond with "Is that it? Isn't there more? Come on, you've got to have more." And others will say, "Good Golly Miss Molly, I had no idea she could sink that low." But alas, as much as I'd like to, I can't control you response. So, all premable aside . . . this is what happened to me at Costco last night.

It was meant to be a quick trip in and out. I was buying a gift for Brit, who gracious gives me time every Wednesday to go on a date with myself. I knew exactly what I wanted to get him and where it was. But as is common at Costco, those quick trips lead to carts so heavy I can barely push them and rather large sums of money being shelled out. As I grabbed Brit's gift, I thought . . . contact solution, I need that. It's really cheap here and then I won't have to stop at Target. So I rolled my cart over to the pharmacy area. And that is when God spoke to me.

No, I didn't hear his voice booming over the loudspeak saying "Chicken Potpie on sale in the Deli, now. Go fast." In fact I didn't hear an audible voice at all. But I knew it was God.

Before I finish the story, I need to give some background. Almost two years ago I started to really feel the pain of abuse that had been done to me. There were many, many days when I felt like there was no way I could handle anymore. So I began to use Benedryl (*disclaimer at the end*) to get to sleep. And then I would use Benedryl whenever I wanted to hide from my pain. It dulled the pain for me, much like alcohol might do for some people. It was a great place to hide. It's not physically addicting, so I told myself that it was okay. But, like all man made methods of coping with with our sin and pain, it involved hiding. Lots of hiding. I had shame about my pain and I had shame about the manner in which I was dealing with it.

I ran out of Benedryl a few months ago and hadn't bought any to replace it. I was okay. I was facing my pain and God was protecting me in it. But suddenly, I was standing in front of the Benedryl bottles -- those big bottles that have 400 tablets in them that sell for under $4.00. And I picked one up and put it in my cart. And God said to me, "I love you. Do you really need that?"

Me: "Of course I do, I need it to go to sleep."

God: "Do you? You haven't used it for several months. You've been sleeping just fine. I wonder if you are hiding from something Melissa. I love you kid. I love you."

Me: "But you said you'd love me no matter what I do, God, so I'm buying the Benedryl. I need it. I'm really afraid of some stuff that came up today. End of story."

God: "Ok. I do still love you. More than you ever know. But I wonder if you could trust me on this. Can you trust that you are deeply loved? I want so much for you to live out of that place. It's a good place Melissa. I'll protect you Melissa. You don't need to hide anymore. Those bad things that happened to you are in the past. I will give you the deep sleep you long for."

Me: "Thanks. But I think I'll take the Benedryl, just in case."

God: "That's fine. But when you want to talk about this issue, I'm here . . . standing by your side, ready to help you deal with it."

Me: "Great. I'll get back to you on that."

And I walked on and realized that I deeply wanted to trust God with this. I wanted to stop hiding. I wanted to feel the pain and grief that I knew might come in the night, because I wanted so desperately to experience God's love in that. But I felt like I couldn't. So the conversation continued.

Me: "So, if I trust you on this . . . you'll really be there for me?"

God: "I already am. I loved you before you walked into Costco and I'll love you when you walk out, no matter what is in your cart. But I so want you to experience what it feels like to believe what I have said is true about you."

And so the Benedryl went back on the shelf. Sorry to the Costo stockers -- I didn't take it back to where it belonged.

As I walked through the rest of the store, I felt like I had grown up. I was able to believe God and this trust enabled me to say no to a temptation that would have kept me in hiding. In that moment I felt love for God in a way that I had not known possible. He loves me! He protects me! He defends me! He has provided a way of dealing with my sin and shame that actually deals with it, not hides it. And when I am able to trust, I grow. I knew it last night. There was growth and healing in that incidient that enabled me to go home and face some difficult stuff. God's love was flowing through me last night. And it felt better than anything I've ever done to hide my sin and shame.

I am well aware that there will be many more conversations like this as I continue to mature. I know that until the day I die, I will struggle with sin issues. I know that I won't always make the choice to trust. But I also know that I don't need to stay hidden or be afraid of God when I don't make the right choices. I am chosen and deeply loved.

Thank you for the power of your love last night Papa. I love you more today than I ever have.

(*disclaimer* it is not my intention here to say that all sleep aids are ways of hiding. When Jonathan was hospitalized with leukemia, I needed them. They were a gift to me. There are people who have serious issues with sleep. At this point in my life, I do not. I know that my use of Benedryl is a way to hide. So, please . . . don't take on my shame. I don't judge you. Let God speak to you.)

Spiritual Maturity Part Two

I've been thinking quite a bit the past 24 hours about the Barna report I read yesterday. I have realized that the message of grace doesn't sit well with many people. Grace has been abused and I think, not really understood by many in the church. It seems to be a word that we throw around with very little practical meaning.

So, I was listening to a great message by John Lynch which was preached atWoodmen Valley Church on April 26 of this year. I strongly encourage you to find some time to listen to his words. There is no way I can summarize what he has said more beautifully then he preached it. I did take the time to type out one quote, having to do with Spiritual Maturity, since that is what has been on my heart. He says:

Spiritual maturity takes place when we actually learn to be believe what God says is already true about me. Not what someday I might earn or be good enough to get. Put all that death away . . . It isn’t just that we know what the Bible says to be true about us in Christ but that we actually try it on and we wear it and we believe what Christ says is true about us. Godly people actually believe who they are in Christ and they live it out.

This I can do, with help from God and others. I already tried the doing everything the Bible says route. It just made me sick, exhausted, and more than a little depressed. The good news is that we are already righteous and that on my very worst day God is there with his arm around me saying, "I love you Melissa. I love you. You are my beloved daughter. Nothing you can do will make me love you more and nothing you can do will make me love you less. I'll help you deal with the pain and sin in your life. Us. Together. Not you trying to make your way back to me all by yourself. I've never left. I never will. I have chosen you and I will protect you."

Follow the Rules . . . or ELSE!

I just read an interesting study put out by the Barna Group (click here to read it for yourself). The study looks at spiritual maturity and the struggle that Christians have with obtaining it. One of the most striking, but not surprising, results of the study was that the majority of Christians view maturity as keeping the rules. The study reports:

"One of the widely embraced notions about spiritual health is that it means “trying hard to follow the rules described in the Bible” – 81% of self-identified Christians endorsed this statement, and a majority agreed strongly (53%). Even among those individuals defined by their belief that salvation is not earned through “good works,” four out of five born again Christians concurred that spiritual maturity is “trying hard to follow the rules.”

Wow. I had no idea I was in such good company when I lived in the Room of Good intentions, trying with all of my heart to please God. It felt so lonely in there! This is a whole lot of people trying really hard to be accepted by God, who already accepts them and longs to stand with them as they face their sin issues.

Most Teachers Usually Don't Like Me

It's that time of year when I start getting feedback from my students about their experiences in my classroom. I want to share one comment with you today, not to toot my own horn, but illustrate the incredible need we human beings have for loving, true affirmation.

Tammy (not her real name) wrote this to me yesterday:

Thanks for everything you have done for me. You have taught me some stuff that I didn't think I could do. You made me feel comfortable in here. You understand me and most teachers don't. You are one of a kind. I wish there were more people like you. Really I do. I really like you for all the weird times and fun things we did. You made this class way easier for me and most teachers usually don't like me. So thank you again. I will miss you.

I finished reading Tammy's note with tears in my eyes. Yes, she said some really nice things about me. And I think I can accept them as true about me. But what hit me the most was her line that most teachers don't like people like her.

Tammy learns differently than the traditional student (actually, I've yet to find anyone who learns optimally in the traditional way, but that's another post). Her learning issues are strong and go very deep. In grade school she was continually picked on by her peers because she couldn't read well. Her teachers would force her to read aloud in front of the class and when she couldn't perform well the torture continued far beyond the classroom walls. She began to act out -- who wouldn't? And so the very people who could have and should have protected her as she was learning to learn became the enemy.

When she entered my class, I encouraged her to write about her experiences with learning. As she shared with me her anxiety through her writing, I began to write notes back to her, affirming what she was doing well. I pointed out any creative idea. I showed her where her ideas connected in very unique ways. You see, Tammy has an incredible mind. She thinks about life in a way that so many of us would benefit from. But no one had shown this to her. The simple act of showing Tammy where she was doing well freed her up to explore her abilities in other areas. She wrote incredible papers for me . . . filled with the typical spelling and grammar errors that normally would have given her failing grades. In my class, I helped her fix them. I showed her strategies for getting help. I told her that writers who publish books have editors to fix these things and that she could look for editors as well to help her writing be readable to her audience.

But most of all, I loved this young woman. We were able, in our small little class, to create an environment of grace where love could flow and be accepted. This was the victory in that classroom for me. The things that I learned about my students this semester made me love them more, not less. Their weakness, their odd little habits, their frustrating behaviors . . . I loved them for those. And in turn, they trusted me to teach them something.

This is the power of love to heal deep wounds. This is what was given to me by a few dear people. They loved me when others did not. I learned to trust and then I began to mature. It still amazes me how God's love flows out of me. The change in my teaching came not from a clever technique or seminar that I went to. It came from being able to accept the love of God and others.

"You Are so Tough Melissa"

I promise, Mom, that isn't my leg! At least not yet. My tattoo will be smaller and have Hawaiian flowers surrounding it. I have the imagine in my mind, just not the guts to put it on my body.

So why am I showing you a random picture of a leg with an Ironman Tattoo on it?

New followers of my blog may not realize that I have completed three Ironman Triathlons . . . that's 2.4 miles of swimming, 112 miles of biking, and 26.2 miles of running. Yes, in the same day. And if you don't finish in 17 hours you don't even get the t-shirt.

I was never an athlete. I still don't really consider myself one, although I'm told that's no longer accurate. Whatever. I'm not going there today as I look at my screwed up knee propped up on a chair. What prompted this post today was a comment from a co-worker a few minutes ago. He had heard me share part of my story last Friday and said, "I saw a side of you I never knew. You are so Tough." I didn't know what to say to him. I don't feel tough at all. In fact, I feel rather weak most of the time and wonder that others don't see it. As I thought about his words, I realized that he wasn't seeing the whole picture.

Here's what my co-worker doesn't know about me. Some day I hope to share this with him, when he's ready. Today I will share it with you. If it weren't for the love of God, I would not be alive today. I could not have surrived the last seven years without his incredible grace in my life. And if it weren't for the love of a few precious friends, I would not be alive today. I don't do what I do alone. I am weak, dependent, vulnerable. Really, truly, I am. I've known this about myself all of my life and started admitting it to God and others a few years ago. My apparent strength comes From God in me -- protecting me, defending me, loving me, working through me. It also comes from those people God has put in my life who have offered me protective love. They protect me in my weakness, the accept me for who I am, and they affirm me for what I do well. They don't let me get away with "I'm fine" when I'm clearly not.

So, my dear co-worker, it's not me you see that is tough. It is the work of grace in my life.

Papa, would you work through me that others could find the freedom that comes through accepting your love?

Pass it On

Last week I opened up my fridge and a jar of jam fell out and landed not so gently on my foot. The first word out of my mouth was "CRAP." Now, for those who know me well, that is actually a very tame version of what I would normally say. I'm not sure what happened, but the salty language just didn't come. Sorry, I know some of you are disappointed.

But, the word apparently didn't sit well with the eight-year-old in our house who pulled me aside after the jumping around on one foot subsided and rebuked me ever so gently with these words . . . "Mom, did you know that we will be just like you when we grow up? If you don't want us talking like that, then you shouldn't either." Yikes . . . out of the mouth of not so tiny babes. Where did this child come from?

Actually I wouldn't have a problem with my children saying "CRAP" when a jar of jam fell on their big toe. I wouldn't have a problem with any other words they said in that moment either. It hurts to have a jam jar land on your foot. But as I've thought about this incident, I realized that I am passing on to my children some things that I really don't want them to have to carry the rest of their lives.

Yesterday Caleb came home really sad. He's my uber talented child who in 5th grade is doing math that my college students are struggling with and discusses books in ways that makes his College English teacher mother really proud. He's also a great athlete and wonderful friend. He has a kind, sensitive heart and when I see him with his peers I just have to smile.

So why was this boy sad? Because he came in 4th in the mile, instead of 3rd like he wanted. This disappointment followed a standardized math test where he only scored 4 points higher than in the winter. I actually didn't think he could go any higher. I mean, if you are doing high school and college math in 5th grade is there much more room to go?

As I listened to Caleb talk I realized that he has taken on most of his mother's perfectionism and desire to be the best. It was so sad for me to the see the weight of this on an 11-year-old boy. I wondered how he got this way and I realized that he learned it from me. Not just from watching me, but also from all the praise that he has received for his talents. He is a talented kid, but it occured to me that he also needs to be affirmed just for being . . . not only for doing.

And so as I listened and talked to Caleb I affirmed that I loved him so much for talking with me. I heard myself saying that I loved him for just how he did on those tests he took today. And that there was nothing that he could do that make me love him more nor anything he could do that would make me love him less. I told him that I struggled with some of those same feelings about wanting to be the best and that I was learning more and more to trust in what God has said is true about me.

I have a long way to go in learning how to parent my children's new natures, but I also know that everything that is in me wants to pass on a full measure of grace to my children. I long for them to be secure in their identity in Christ. I want them to know that when they fail, God still is incredibly in love with them. And that God will always stand beside them as they face their sin issues.

No Additional Words Necessary

I'm longing for . . .

A place like this.

Tolkien describes it this way in the Fellowship of the Ring.
Frodo was now safe . . . The house was as Bilbo had long ago reported, 'a perfect house, whether you like food or sleep or storytelling or singing, or just sitting and thinking best, or a pleasant mix of them all.' Merely to be there was a cure for weariness, fear and sadness.

Oh, how I need a place like that right now.

Process

I love novels because they help me to understand how truth can be lived out in real life. One of my favorite novelists is Susan Howatch. Her books about the Anglican Church in England have been used over and over again to give me a picture of God's love and acceptance of me.

It sometimes amazes me how I can get the truth of grace so right some days and other days I feel as though I know nothing of God's love. Last night was such a time. I went to bed thinking, "I do NOT want to blog ever again." I felt as though I had nothing to say, that I was a horrible person who did horrible things. This time I think I'm up to my nose in the shame pool.

In the light of day, I don't feel much better. There is an ache deep in my heart that just won't go away. So I picked up my journal to find some words for today. Today you will hear less from me (although I've already revealed far more than I had intended), and more from Susan Howatch.

This quote comes from a priest who is helping an man who has been deeply wounded through spiritual, emotional, and sexual abuse. He's struggling on the road to healing and frustrated with the slow process. God's agent of grace says to him:

You can try again later. It's not an all or nothing situation . . . One should think of health as a journey towards a cure, a journey punctuated by healings . . . And anyway one can argue that a complete cure is never possible because no one can be completely well in mind, body and spirit. Such perfection simply doesn't exist in this life. It's the journey towards the cure that's so vital. (The Heartbreaker, p. 462).

These words are a comfort to me today. I know that in Christ I am chosen and dearly loved. He doesn't expect me to do everything right every day. That's Room of Good Intentions living. Instead he invites me to trust him with my sin issues. I'm struggling with the trust today, but God can handle that. He invites me on an honest journey towards healing and freedom. My journey will be filled with peaks and valleys. But God knew that when he chose me, and he chose me anyway.

Hiding

One of the first lessons I learned in the Room of Good Intentions was hiding. I learned to hide my sin, my weaknesses, and my feelings -- especially my feelings. I suppose it was okay to be sad if something really bad happened, like a friend died or your son got cancer, but even then I was taught to say that "God works all things together for good", thus encouraging me to quickly move through that sadness to the joy that all Christians are supposed to feel. Other feelings, like anger, hurt, or disappointment were rarely, if ever justifiable. Jesus could get angry at the money changers in the temple, but there weren't any occassions that I thought merited that kind of anger in my life. I was wrong, of course, but since I wasn't talking about my pain no one was able to point it out. So, as I was hurt, I stuffed the pain. As people disappointed me, I buried it. As I faced abuse, I endured it.

As I left the Room of Good Intentions for the Room of Grace, I began for the first time to allow myself to feel. Yikes and Ouch! Those emotions can really sting. I was tempted for a long time to head right back over to the Room of Good Intentions, but as my good friend Richard was so fond of telling me "This genie is not going back into the bottle." To this day I love him for holding my feet to the fire when I so desperately wanted to jump ship.

Since I have been through so much to get where I am today, you'd think I would have this no hiding thing down pat. But I don't. And yesterday was a great example. I was deeply disappointed by someone yesterday who cancelled an apponitment we had made. Initially I didn't feel that I had a right to feel disappointed and so I stuffed it as I tried to get busy with other things. But there was a nagging in me that just wouldn't go away. So I began to sit with the feelings of disappointment. After awhile, they turned to hurt and very quickly then turned to anger. The funny thing is that I was less angry at him and more angry at me. I felt that I wasn't deserving of his time. I began to believe that NO ONE would chose to be with me. They would love me if they HAD to, but would never actually chose to do so. Intellectually I knew this to be false, but my emotions had taken over my brain.

Then . . . DING. DING. DING. My shame meter started to go off. I realized that I was neck deep in a pool of shame. The reaction that I was having was hugely out of proportion to the cancelled appointment by this trusted friend. What had been triggered were my deep feelings of shame that I could never be lovable. While the cancellation was not rejection, I had translated it into that.

So much for feeling my feelings, right? I struggled with wanting to go into hiding. I was suffering shame about my shame. Ugh. The only way out, I knew, was a path I didn't want to take. But somehow I made a commitment to truth and to trust. I would be honest with myself about how I was feeling. I would stay present to those feelings. And I would tell this friend how I felt.

Was I ever scared! I didn't feel any right to share my feelings, but I did it. And guess what? The world didn't collapse in on me. He didn't yell at me or get defensive. This relationship was and continues to be a place of grace for me. But I didn't feel any better.

I got off the phone and wondered why I still felt so awful. I continued the evening with this deep feeling of rejection, even though I knew that I hadn't been rejected. After some time and lots of tears had passed, I realized that I still hadn't trusted God with who I was in this moment.

This incident had tripped off a major area of my shame. As I'm learning, only love can heal the shame that is buried in me and I needed the love of my Father to begin to heal the ragged edges of my shame. So, I left a meeting early to get some space to be quiet. And in the stillness, I said these words:

As I've noticed and reflected on these feelings today Papa, I am really hurting. I ask that you would do the work of healing. I am climbing on your lap and accepting your gift of unconditional love and acceptance. I can hardly believe it, but you do love me freely, by YOUR choice. And your love is the only thing powerful enough to root out the shame and pain in mylife.

I heard these words in return:

Yes, I do love you Melissa. I accept you. Right now, in your pain, in your tears, in your fear that you will never be lovable. I am here, come cry on my shoulder. I will protect you.

At last I was able to be carried out of the pool of shame. I couldn't have done it, though, had I stayed in hiding. Hiding was my first response. And my second. And my third. But as I allowed the process to work, I found a bit of healing that never would have come through my clumsy attempts at dealing with my shame by myself. The subtitle to the book TrueFaced contains these words: Trusting God and Others with who you really are. One of the important words in this sentence is that little word AND. I need both God and a community of other grace-living people to live in the room of grace. Part of my healing came from being honest with this friend. The other part came from God. I needed BOTH. The truth of this was very evident to me yesterday.

I knowthis is not the end. I'd love to have the happily ever after that could claim that my shame is gone, healed, never to return. But I am continuing to learn to trust the process which involves staying out from behind the bushes I try to find to hide the real me.

Why What I Believe About Myself Really Matters

It’s been over four years since Jonathan had his last dose of chemo and to look at the kid, you’d never know he had been sick. He no longer defines himself by his cancer. When we talk about his times in the hospital, I realize more and more that it is my memory that is fueling his. He will turn 13 this year and the only thing he loves more than being with people is fishing with people. He is equally at home with adults, peers, and little kids.

Moms have better memories for this sort of thing, I think. At least this one does. “Your son has cancer.” Those four words have power to do incredible things. The reality behind them changed me in ways that I still struggle with. Jonathan was recently hospitalized with pneumonia. While we were there, I had ample time to reflect on Jonathan and the history of his illness. I realized that I am very quick to define myself as “the Cancer Mom.” I don’t feel bad about this tendency; I think it is a normal reaction to that very stressful period of in our family’s history.

As I looked at his blood tests and saw how elevated his white blood counts were, I started to panic. Yvonne, one of our dear nurses, saw the fear in my face and came over to explain. She showed me what was excellent in his lab report and helped me to see that his body was having a normal reaction to the infection. His body was doing its job. Several hours later as I helped Jonathan try to stop a bloody nose I remembered her words and realized that there has been a subtle shift. It was just last year that I cancelled a trip because Jonathan had a bloody nose and I wanted to rush him to the doctor to check his platelets. This time, in the hospital, I didn’t have that same rush of fear. The reality was that the room was dry and Jonathan was sick. Yvonne’s words came back to me – “This is just pneumonia, not matter what your body responses might be telling you. I know you are scared, but we are here to help you.”

As I thought about this, I realized the same is true with my relationship with God. I have my own sinful past that can trigger a shame spiral as the memory of my sin attempts to convince me that I am completely unlovable. But the reality is that I am chosen by God, holy and beloved (Col 3:12). The more I can live out of this truth, the more I am able to do the things listed in Col 3:13-17 – showing compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. I am able to forgive and I am able to love. But first, I must live in the truth that I am holy and dearly loved. This is the truth about me. And some days, just like I need reminders from nurses that Jonathan’s blood tests look good, I need reminders from my community just how much God loves me. I simply cannot remember on my own how loved I am.

My TrueFaced Testimony

I just returned from a fantastic trip to Phoneix where I spent three days basking in an environment of grace put together by the guys who wrote TrueFaced. It was wonderful being with others who are desperate for grace. When I returned, I decided to do two things (well actually more than two). First, I'm going to start blogging again. I've been doing quite a bit of private writing the past eight months and I think I am now ready to start sharing more about what is happening in my life. Second, I rewrote the story of my journey to incorporate some of the language that I believe more accurately describes what is happening in my heart. Often times words are not enough to describe the inner life, but I also know how much I benefit from hearing other people's stories towards grace. Here's mine:


I was THAT girl. You know . . . the one that your parents compared you to. The one whose name you learned to hate: “Why can’t you be like HER?” You see, when I was a teenager, I was completely sold out to God and everyone knew it. I carried my Bible to school, preached the good news to my friends (and anyone else who would listen), arranged prayer meetings, led Bible study groups, fought the school board when they tried to fire a teacher for teaching creationism as an alternative theory to evolution, went on mission trips, and had devotions every day. My nickname in the youth group was “Missionary Miss”. Everyone knew that I would turn out great, because I had such a heart for pleasing the Lord. I even skipped my senior prom because I was convinced that such things were an abomination to the Lord.

I went off to Bible school, got married, and headed for the mission field. I spent two the best years of my life living among the Kazakhs in Central Asia. It didn’t matter to me that we didn’t have heat all winter or that I had to wash my clothes in the bathtub with a plunger. I was glad to try the unusual foods presented to me, which included sheep’s head and horse sausage. And while I didn’t enjoy the fermented horse’s milk or the intestines that were part of the local cuisine, I was glad to try them for the sake of Jesus. I was willing to do anything to please my Lord.

But God had something else planned for me. If anyone had told me in high school that there would come a day when I no longer believed in God, I would have been shocked. I was very much like Peter before he denied Jesus. I was confident in who I was and that I would never be brought to a place of disbelief.

Things happened in my life that I was not prepared for. Serious relationship struggles, my son’s cancer, a cloud of depression and anxiety that would not go away. No one told me that life would be like this. My life was filled with shame over the way I had failed. And worst of all was God’s silence. I was very angry with God, but of course I could not tell a soul because the truth about my failure of a life might damage the gospel message. And so I went on doing my Christian things, hoping that if I tried hard enough, God would be pleased with me again. But instead I got worse. Until finally I found myself asking a trusted friend how on earth that he could believe that God was real. At last the floodgates opened and my angry heart found a voice. And it was a loud one. Read Job, read over half of the Psalms and you’ll find my words to and about God. Except I don't think the English translators put in the swear words.

I stopped striving and for a time, I stopped believing. Everything about my faith seemed toxic to me. I spent at least five years in a fog between belief and disbelief. They were very painful years.

But God never stopped loving me. Never. He was there, in the background – through friends who didn’t judge me, but didn’t stop praying either. And God gently wooed me back to himself as he showed me a different way to live. Not the room of good intentions where everything was Fine. But rather the room of grace where instead of living out of a desire to please the Lord, I live out of trusting him.

The difference is subtle, at least to some people. I still read my Bible, I still pray, and I still serve others. Mostly the difference is in the honesty that I have with God and others. When things aren’t Fine, lots of people know about it. My prayers sound very different. When I deal with sin in my life (and oh, yeah, I still sin) it is me and God working on my sin together – he stands with me, with his arm around me as we face those things.

Some times, okay lots of times, it is difficult to live in the room of grace. To be honest, I’m a bit more comfortable in the room of good intentions, because there I feel a measure of control. However, the problem with the room of good intentions is that as a human being, I was not created to handle my own sin. I don’t have anything in me to manage it. I’ve learned that I cannot resolve my sin by trying harder, going back to the basics, or by getting rid of all my stuff. I might change my behavior for a time, but sin is still there . . . it is just hidden.

My journey in the room of Grace is not done alone, nor is it meant to. We need each other, fellow travelers on this road to help us live this way. I frequently need reminders from others that it sounds like I’m trying to please God.

And so now, even on my worst day (and I still have them) I can imagine God looking down at me and saying to a nearby angel, “Hey did you see that girl down there, Melissa, my righteous one? I sure do love her. I love it when she talks to me, even when she uses those angry words. Did you see that crazy thing she did the other day? And did you see her bravery? She’s talking about it! She is learning to trust me!

The Gift of Others

"Our prayer, our fasting, and our almsgiving is to be done before God and not for the approval of one another -- although we can give and gain support from each other in our Lenten efforts. So at home, in school, in whatever company you keep, encourage each other to mark this Lent as well." ~ Archbishop Vincent Nichols

I'm observing Lent this year. Not as a way to try to make God pleased with me, but as a constant reminder of my desire to continue to surrender to God. I'm using a small book, Small Surrenders, by Emilie Griffin to help guide me in this journey. The above quote was in the reading for yesterday.

I was struck by the words "give and gain support from each other." Over the past year, I've faced a radical shift in the way that I view God. In many ways, I believe that God has enabled me to tear down a number of false beliefs. This has been incredibly scary for me; at times I didn't know how I would survive some of the feelings I encountered as I began to shift my understanding of God.

But God (one of my favorite phrases, by the way), placed people in my life to give support for my journey. These people, none of them perfect, walked along side of me. They encouraged me to rest, to wait, to be patient with myself. They reminded me that God loved me passionately, even on the days when I felt my worst.

And to my great amazement, they are still here. They've seen me, the ugly me, the one I try to hide. And they love me, too. I can't quite believe that, but there are too many signs that say it is true.

So as I entered into this season of Lent, where my primary desire is to consciously let down my defenses against the grace of God, I want to invite others to join me in in the conversation. What defenses have we built up to protect ourselves from the fear of a life lived out of who God says we are? I know I have many . . .