Clapton & Christ

I love Eric Clapton! On the hour & a half car ride home from my in-laws' house tonight, I just couldn't stop singing: If I could change the world, I would be the sunlight in your universe. You would think my love was really something good, baby, if I could change the world...

As I thought about that line, I immediately modified it to my own belief that God is #1 and thought, "Well, really I would want God to be the sunlight in your universe, I can be second!". And then it hit me -

He already is. He DID change the world.

Today we celebrated the birth of a baby born to die, and everything about that baby - His coming, His life, His death, His resurrection...all were prophecies fulfilled. He came with the sole purpose of changing the world. So instead, His song might say:

I changed the world. I provide the sunlight for your universe. You will see my love is really something good, child, when you know how I changed the world.

Happy birthday, Emmanuel.

Joy comes in the morning?

O God, listen to my cry! Hear my prayer! From the ends of the earth, I cry to you for help when my heart is overwhelmed. Lead me to the towering rock of safety, for you are my safe refuge, a fortress where my enemies cannot reach me. Psalm 61:1-3

Tonight, my heart is overwhelmed.  When David wrote those words, he was pleading for physical safety, but as I read them I am overcome with desire for an emotional fortress, longing for the comfort that only my father's arms can bring.

The phone call started out all smiles - my wonderful mom-by-choice called just as we finished getting our free Chick-Fil-A sandwiches.  She seemed excited to be telling me that my aunt & uncle from out of state would be here for the weekend, and I figured she was just calling to update me on what's going on with the rest of the family.  In a way, I was right - but what I didn't realize was that the biggest part of the update was going to be hard to hear.  My bio dad called her today.  He calls her once or twice a year, and every single time I think I won't be hurt when she tells me about their conversation.  Of course, every single time, I'm wrong.  Tonight, he had lots to say, and he also told her that he's called all their brothers & sisters recently to wish them a merry Christmas.  He's even making plans to see at least one of them for the holiday.  As she told me about his failing health, my brother's new job, and my stepmother's return to work, I couldn't stop the tears from falling. When she told me that he spent the morning with my sister, standing by her side as the adoption of her four kids was finalized, I couldn't stop the hurt that welled up inside.

I wish I could just not care, not be angry or hurt.  I wish that I could be happy that at least he's contacting family, happy that my sister has a supportive dad, happy that the adoption is final, happy that my brother found a great job.  Instead, I feel hollow, empty, unloved, and unwanted.  Mom said he asked about me, and all I could think was that he should be asking ME how I'm doing instead of asking her, that he should be calling ME and not just his siblings, that he should be the one telling me about his health issues instead of his sister.  And then I remember how much it hurt the last time he did call me, how emotionally invested I can't help but become every time he reaches out to me, and how incredibly painful it is every time it doesn't work out. If he calls me, it hurts.  If he doesn't call me, it hurts.  So tonight, as I sit here wondering which pain is easier to take, I cry out to the One who will never fail me, praying that morning will bring peace and comfort to my aching heart.

His Children - September 2011

What do you do when God answers your prayers but you’re hurt by the results? For a while now, I’ve been praying for my biological family – my dad & sister, my stepmom, and the four kids my sister & brother-in-law just adopted. I’ve prayed, genuinely & sincerely, for my bio dad and stepmom to be good grandparents to these beautiful children who so desperately need a family to love them. I’ve prayed for my sister and her husband as they begin this never-easy journey of parenting. I’ve prayed for my new nieces and nephews, that they will feel loved and accepted, and that they will grow and thrive. I’ve prayed that they will overcome the views they almost certainly have of what the world is like and learn new ways of thinking where they can be confident and truly believe that there are no limits to what their lives can be. And I’ve meant it with every fiber of my being.

So why, now that I’ve seen evidence that my prayers are being answered, do I feel so much pain? It appears that the kids are doing great, my sister & brother-in-law are loving and enjoying them, and my bio dad and stepmom love having grandchildren. And so my heart is in turmoil. I’m so full of joy when I think of those precious kids. For them to have found a permanent family, where the four of them can stay together, where they belong and are surrounded by love…that’s God at work! They’re no longer bound by the pain of feeling abandoned, unwanted, unloved. They were chosen and they are adored. Their potential is unlimited – they are free to dream, free to believe, free to love. My God has taken them from foster care and given them a home, and my heart rejoices to think of what that means for them.

But in the midst of that rejoicing is a searing, unrelenting pain. It’s the same pain I felt when I saw the hurt in my daughter’s beautiful eyes the first time it occurred to her that they’re technically her grandparents, too. While I know that those sweet children are absolutely wonderful (even though I’ve never met them), I also know that MY sweet children are incredibly amazing. As I see my bio dad & stepmom being congratulated on becoming grandparents, I can’t help but want to scream, “They’ve been grandparents for 14 years!” As I see them playing with my nieces and nephews, I can’t help but feel rejected all over again. With the joy of knowing that my prayers are being answered comes the pain of remembering that I’m still not wanted – and the even greater pain of knowing that by rejecting me, they’re also rejecting my kids. As much as I’ve worked to give my kids a better childhood than I had, as hard as I’ve tried to shield them from the pain of that rejection, this one answered prayer has made me feel like I’ve failed. This one answered prayer has brought immeasurable joy to four kids I will probably never know while bringing pain to three kids I love more than any others.

Yet, in the midst of the turmoil, I still have hope. My God is so much bigger than the scar on my heart, and he comforts me. He guides my thoughts to all the people he has so skillfully put in our lives to replace those who have rejected us, and how precious those relationships are, not only to me, but also to my kids. Because my children know the pain of rejection, they also know the value of acceptance – and this makes them one step closer to Him. Through the pain, He’s teaching us all how to bring glory to Him.

Christ accepted you, so you should accept each other, which will bring glory to God. Romans 15:7

And because my God comforts me, I know He will comfort them. After all, they’re His children. He’s just trusting me to take care of them for a little while.

Dream On - July 2011

I had a dream about my real dad last night. Very strange, because I haven’t dreamed about him in many years – in my mind, I see him as a book I’ve already read, one of those books you can read over and over and still find something you missed. The Book of Dad sits up on a high, dusty shelf in my mind, and while I take it out once in a while and stare at the cover or ponder a chapter, I always wipe off the dust and hide it back on the shelf. That book holds my life with him, my memories, feelings, and dreams of what might have been. When I take it off the shelf, I sometimes wonder if there will ever be a sequel. Usually, though, I accept that the book has already been concluded, and, at best, there will one day be a short funeral chapter that will serve as the prologue. So I hide it away and move on with the books still in progress, those that need my attention and investment, those that still have a chance for a beautiful ending.

But last night, my unconscious mind decided I needed to revisit that story. I could hear his voice, see his eyes, feel his love for me. In my dream, he looked just like he did when I last saw him – old, tired, broken. But as we walked and talked, catching up on each other’s lives, he grew taller, appeared younger, and the pain in his eyes seemed to lessen. Our barriers had been broken. We had come to a place of mutual acceptance, and I reached out to hold his hand. I couldn’t believe it! A sequel was beginning!

But something was wrong. When I touched his hand, the sadness returned to his eyes and his skin was cold as ice. He told me he loved me, but no sound came out as his mouth moved, and the excitement I had felt just moments before was replaced by grief. He was gone, and there would be no sequel. No forgiveness, no repentance, no love, no joy, no renewal, not even a goodbye. Only sorrow and longing for what might have been. I woke up feeling drained, sad, and emotionally exhausted. My body may have gotten a good night’s sleep, but my brain certainly didn’t.

Sitting at work, on the other side of this dream, I can’t help but wonder why God chose to show me that. Why get my hopes up for the millionth time, only to dash them with such finality? I don’t know the answer to that question, but I do know that whatever his reason, it’s for my good. So, in the harsh light of day, I move forward, shoving the Book of Dad back onto that deeply hidden shelf. Maybe the prologue really is all that’s left?

Breakthrough! - June 2011

I did it!  I finally did it!  I prayed for my stepmother!  A real, genuine, heartfelt, loving prayer, actually asking God to bless her – WOW!! And it feels so…weird.

Anyone who knows me knows how much I absolutely, positively, without a doubt LOVE kids.  All kids, from newborns to teens.  I truly believe they are a blessing from God and that every child deserves as many people as possible on their side, fighting, teaching, and guiding them to become fully devoted followers of Christ.  I believe every child deserves a chance to overcome their circumstances, to make good choices, and to be forgiven and lifted up when they fall.  I believe they deserve to be told the truth and not lied to, to be loved and cared for, and to be allowed to make their own choices when appropriate.  I also believe that God has not only breathed this love & passion into me, but He has also gifted me to teach, relate to, and truly empathize with the next generation.  I can usually see their point of view & figure out ways to help meet their needs, and I know that’s not of me – that’s 100% God!  So, it should come as no surprise that my big breakthrough in forgiving my stepmother came because of – you guessed it – children!

I learned recently that my sister (technically my half-sister, she’s my dad & stepmom’s daughter) is in the process of adopting four foster children.  When I first found out, I’ll admit, I freaked out a little.  I’ve been told my entire life that the reason my stepmother abused me & removed me from their lives completely is because I’m not her biological child.  I’m a reminder that my father loved someone else before her, and because of that, I had to be eliminated.  When I left her house at the age of 7, she wrote me off forever.  My own brother didn’t even know I existed until a few years ago, and my sister (who was 2 when I left) wouldn’t have known either, if she hadn’t had scattered memories of me and been old enough to hear the fights my father & stepmother would have every time I tried to communicate with him.  A few years ago, as an adult about to be married, she finally came right out and asked my dad about me, and he gave her my phone number and told her I would tell her the story.  Words can’t describe how stunned I was when she called me.  It was hard to tell her what had happened.  After all, the villains in my story are the loving parents in hers.  She grew up in a ‘normal’ family of four who did life together – church, school, work, home-baked bread…the whole 9 yards.  No one knew there was a 3^rd child who no one acknowledged, who lived a whole different life, completely the opposite of ‘normal’, who called different people her ‘parents’ ever y time she was asked & never really felt like she belonged anywhere.  No one knew me. 

So we talked, and eventually met, and through the years have developed a friendship.  I love her, and I miss her when we don’t talk, but I also respect her need to be a part of her own family – and I know that my very presence in her life stands in the way of that sometimes.  I know she wants children & hasn’t had any of her own, so I wasn’t surprised when Morgan saw her at an adoption event here in Stillwater, or when I learned that she was the official adoptive mom of 4 foster children.  What did surprise me, though, was how I felt about it.  My joy for her & her husband was peppered with resentment, jealousy, and fears that my stepmother would treat these children like she treated me.  So, after struggling with these feelings for the last few weeks, my love for children finally overwhelmed my anger toward my stepmother, and I prayed:

Lord, I know that you are in control of all things.  I believe with all my heart that you have a plan for each one of your children, a plan that will be wild, great, and full of You.  I know that from the most hopeless situations, you can bring life, love, and change.  I pray that you will be with my sister, her husband, and with my father and my stepmother as they go through this process.  I thank you that my stepmother seems excited to have grandchildren on the way, and I pray that you will help me not feel resentment that my own children aren’t recognized as their grandchildren.  Please help these children to have loving and wonderful grandparents, as my children do, and lead them in the plans you have for them.  Be with my stepmother as she navigates what is sure to be a difficult road for her; give her strength, love, and compassion.  Let these children be the catalyst for a new beginning for her, a healing for this family that is still so fractured by the events of the past.  I know my dad’s health is failing, and I know that has to be stressful for her.  Give her your peace and your strength, and let my father & stepmother be wonderful grandparents, and my sister & her husband wonderful parents, for these children who so desperately need ‘normal’.  Help me to continue this journey of forgiveness, and fill me with your love so that I don’t let my feelings of anger & resentment choke out the glimmer of hope I have today. Amen.

And the Journey Begins - June 2011

Forgive: to cease to blame or hold resentment against; to grant pardon for

Unforgivable: so bad as to be unable to be excused or pardoned

Colossians 3:12-14, NIRV You are God’s chosen people. You are holy and dearly loved. So put on tender mercy and kindness as if they were your clothes. Don’t be proud. Be gentle and patient.  Put up with each other. Forgive the things you are holding against one another. Forgive, just as the Lord forgave you.  And over all of those good things put on love. Love holds them all together perfectly as if they were one.
Obviously, nothing my stepmother has done or continues to do is truly unforgivable, according to Christ.  As God’s chosen one, I have been forgiven; I have been granted a pardon for every wrong, past, present, and future, so I must cease to blame or hold resentment against this woman.  Even more, I am supposed to love her.  At this moment in time, I can’t even find a shred of love in my heart for her, because all the memories I’ve held on to for all these years are the negative ones – all the pain, the anger, the injustice, the resentment…I just can’t understand WHY she does the things she does or what I did wrong to deserve any of it.  So, before I can try to find positive feelings for her, I have to deal with all the negatives bombarding my mind.  WARNING: I am not going to sugar-coat or gloss over anything that happened between us, and my words may not be kind or gentle through this part of the journey; I may offend, irritate, & whine, and I have no idea how long this phase will take.  I plan to speak my heart about my past and my childhood (as it relates to her) in order to truly forgive every bit of resentment that I’m holding on to.  This is only one side of the story, the only perspective you are getting is mine.  I will not use her name, because most who know me have no idea who she is and I want to respect her anonymity.  With all that said, I’m going to start at the beginning…
My biological parents divorced when I was three, and one of my earliest memories is of the day my mother left my father.  I remember him crying, me trying to console him, and not understanding at all what was going on.  In fact, the only memory I can think of right now that is from before that day is of my dad taking me into his Frito-Lay truck when he got home from work and letting me choose a treat.  He was a driver for Frito-Lay at the time, and I was completely enthralled at the sight of all those treats.  I thought my daddy must love me A LOT to let me choose whatever I wanted from that huge variety!  I don’t remember what I chose, but I do remember the love I felt.  It was as intense as the heartbreak I could see in my dad the day my mom left.  Not long after that day, my dad and I went to live with his sister, my Aunt Virginia.  My mom and dad both remarried when I was 4, and I remember being passed back and forth between them a lot.  My mom’s new husband was an abusive, drug-dealing pedophile, and my memories of the two of them are memories that I wish I could bleach away. My memories of my step-mom during that time, however, are few.  I do remember being in a church nursery for their wedding, not even knowing they were getting married until after it was over & I was playing with cousins at the reception – they were the ones who told me why there was a party & about the wedding they had attended.  I was too young then to be offended that I wasn’t a part of or even invited to the ceremony, but as I got older, it became, in my mind, the starting point of her removing me from the family.  Once they were married, I remember the trailer we lived in, the way she got mad at me for picking the raisins out of my cereal and eating them separately, and the fights they had behind closed doors.  I remember the day my Aunt Virginia & her daughter came to get me to take me for portraits, and the way my stepmother was furious that they had shown up at our house.  After that day, there were no more visits from family, and no visits to family, either.  They were cut off.  My aunt and cousin, who I had lived with and who I loved so dearly, were told to stay away, and I missed them. They were my family, not this woman I barely knew and who didn’t seem to like me at all.
Lord, help me forgive this first hurt.  I don’t understand why she took my family away from me.  She ruined my close relationship with my cousin forever; it has never been the same to this day.  She broke my life beyond repair and set the stage for the abuse that was to come by ensuring that I had no one to tell, no one to care what happened to me.  She never loved me and she stole my daddy from me.  I don’t know how to stop blaming her for that.

It's Going to be a Journey - May 2011

Have you ever had a moment where you realized that something  you thought you had done, overcome, or gotten over was actually still eating away at you, ugly and unrestrained?  Well, I had one of those moments this weekend.  Our sermon series right now is called “Getting Past Your Past”, and let me tell ya, it’s not one I’ve been looking forward to.  My past is a mine field in so many ways, and, if I’m being honest, I was actually a little bit relieved last weekend when I spent every service in the wonderful yellow hallway full of kids & didn’t have to hear the message on overcoming labels.  This weekend, the topic was forgiving those who’ve hurt you.  Now, I have plenty of people in my past who have hurt me very deeply, but I wasn’t AT ALL prepared for what hit me as I sat in service.  My dad is the first person that comes to mind when I think of who has hurt me – and I spent years in counseling learning to get over that hurt and forgive him.  Even though I occasionally have moments that renew that hurt & remind me that forgiveness is something I have to do over and over again, I do feel as if I’ve moved past it most of the time & overcome that pain.  Unfortunately, as Craig & God spoke to me Sunday morning, I realized that while I had forgiven my dad, I had done so by blaming someone else – and now God wants me to forgive that person. 

Matthew 5:43-44 “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’  But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you,

I thought I was pretty good at forgiveness.  I’m not the type of person to hold grudges, and I have so much love in my heart that it overflows onto everyone around me, freely and genuinely, all the time.  Sure, it’s been hard to forgive my dad for abandoning and abusing me, but I pulled all that pain out, acknowledged it, cried for all I’ve lost, and forgave him.  But as I sat there telling myself that this message wasn’t really for me, that others in the room needed to hear it but I had it all covered, God smacked me right in the face with how wrong I was, and my eyes filled with tears.  You see, when I forgave my dad for abandoning & abusing me, I took every ounce of anger, resentment, and blame that I just couldn’t let go of, and placed it squarely onto his wife.  She wasn’t my mom, she was evil, & she doesn’t deserve forgiveness.  What she has done and continues to do is unforgivable, unexplainable, and unreasonable.  She is my enemy, and she persecutes me.  I have absolutely no desire to forgive her or love her.

But God says I must.

So, here I go.  I don’t know how long this will take, how many blog posts it will include, how many emotions I will cycle through, or what the end result will look like.  But I have to be obedient, so this is my first step. Pray for me?

Lord, I don’t know how I’m going to do this, especially right now.  It’s not a good time for me; I already have enough on my plate.  But you’ve proven to me over and over that your timing is perfect, not mine, so I’m trusting you again.  I don’t like her, & I don’t want to forgive her.  She doesn’t care if I forgive her, so why do I have to?  I know, I know…bitterness and love and all that.  I want more than anything to be like you, so I know I have to.  But I’m going to need your help. A lot. And I know you’ll be here for me. Help me feel you there.  I love you, & I thank you for exposing this to me so I can let go of the nasty, ugly feeling I get every time I hear her name.  Amen.

Memories and Tears - April 2011

Funerals…I’ve been to so many. Short ones, long ones, people I knew, people I didn’t really know, old people, young people…all were different, and yet all were oddly the same.  A couple of songs, a couple of prayers, lots of tears, memories of the deceased, hugs and moments of complete silence with friends and family, reunions with people you haven’t seen since the last funeral.  So today, when I drove to the funeral of a very dear friend’s brother, I thought I knew what to expect.  I put tissues in my purse, knowing that when my friend broke down, I would cry with her, and if her kids broke down, I would too.  Not for my own pain, but for theirs – I knew that I love them so much that seeing their tears would make my own heart ache.  I settled into the pew, prayed for peace and comfort for everyone in the room, and waited for the family to come walking in.  I had tears in my eyes as I saw my friend and her husband, her children, and her parents, along with other relatives I didn’t know, make their way to their seats.  As the rest of us sat down and the service began, I was completely overtaken by something I didn’t anticipate.  My friend’s niece, only 4 years old and now suddenly fatherless, was playing in her pew.  As they played the slide show of her daddy and a picture of the two of them came up, she cried out “Look! It’s me!”  At that moment, my whole emotional perspective changed. With that joyful, innocent statement, she brought me back to the day my mother died.  The day my 5-year-old brain etched into my memory forever, and the one funeral I wasn’t allowed to attend.  I’m sure that the strangers sitting next to me thought I was crazy – here I was at the funeral of someone I didn’t know well, completely unable to stop the huge lump in my throat that seemed to cut off my ability to breathe and make streams of tears flow down my face.  This beautiful, innocent, vibrant little girl just lost her father, and she barely even got to know him. One of her earliest memories will be of the day he died, and another will be of his funeral.  One day she will cry because she’ll realize that she never really knew her daddy, that all she has of him are a few scattered memories, pictures she doesn’t remember being taken, and a funeral program.  When she gets her first car, she’ll know that her daddy provided it for her, and she’ll weep for how much he loved her and how she’ll never be able to thank him.  When she graduates from high school, her heart will be heavy because her dad isn’t there to be proud of her.  When she gets married, she’ll cry because her daddy can’t give her away.  There are so many moments, so many times that she will miss him, that she will wonder about him, that she will be angry at his departure so early in her life.  Sitting in that pew, seeing her big pink bow and hearing her little toddler voice, my heart broke for her pain.  She’s never met me, but we now have an invisible bond, a bond forged by such profound loss that I will never forget it.  So for that, for all the pain she will have and all the times no one will understand, I pray for Kayleigh. Today, tomorrow, for the rest of my life, I lift her up to the only One who can truly comfort her, my rock, my fortress, my redeemer. I pray that she can learn, as I have, that His comfort is always there, always perfect. And I thank Him for reminding me, even though it hurts, of my beautiful mother and the few memories I do have of her.

Worship with Charlie Hall - March 2011

My family loves Charlie Hall.  When his CD ‘The Rising’ came out, we pre-ordered it on iTunes and got excited about every song we got to hear before its release.  When our good friend Charlie Fox brought Mo-Mo an autographed copy, we all gathered around the computer as soon as we got home so we could listen to the entire CD together.  So, naturally, when we heard that Charlie Hall would be leading worship at the LifeChurch.tv late experience, we had to go.  None of us had seen him live before, and our expectations were high!  As we waited for the experience to start, Cory and I were discussing the various Christian artists I’ve seen in concert and how Charlie might compare. 

The lights went down, the band started playing “Marvelous Light”, and the kids and I made our way to stand near the baptism pool.  The atmosphere was amazing.  During his second song, those who were being baptized started getting in the pool – and through my tears of joy, I prayed that there would never come a day that I could watch a baptism without being overcome with emotion for my Savior’s sacrifice and their acceptance of Him. I cried and cheered as each person went into the water and then came out, celebrating their new life in Christ.  When the pool went dark, we finished the song and I dried my tears, ready to compose myself and sing another song – but God had other plans.

Several words into the third song, the tears came back.  In that moment, singing about the bread of heaven, broken for me…the cup of salvation, held up to drink…I forgot all about Charlie Hall.  I forgot everything – how stressed I was, how much I hurt, where I had been, who I had seen – and the only thing I knew was that Christ is risen and he will come again.  In that holy moment, with my hands lifted high and tears streaming down my upturned face, I wasn’t there for Charlie Hall or for the Baptism Bash.  I was there for my God, my Savior, my Prince of Peace, my Emmanuel.  I walked into that room expecting to be moved by Charlie Hall, and I left that room not even caring who was on the stage. 

Doing God's Work - January 2011

Have you ever gotten so caught up in doing what God has called you to do that you’ve forgotten to BE who he’s called you to be?

Doing God’s work is exciting!  When he calls you to take action, to DO something, to step up and make something happen…and then you do it…the feeling is intoxicating.  In that moment, you can see how you make a difference, how you fit into the big picture, how he can use you to make a difference for someone else.  You get the giddy pleasure of seeing the fruits of your labor, and it creates a longing desire for more.  That longing desire opens your eyes to more opportunities, and before you know it, you’re hooked on the rush of giving, or serving, or advising, or leading, all in big, amazing, far-reaching ways.  And that’s a good thing, right?  

Of course it is! The Bible tells us: For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do. Ephesians 2:10.  Clearly, we need to be doing what God has called us to do! 
But what happens when we forget to be who he has called us to be?  When we get so caught up in DOING his work that we neglect to be a respectful wife, a loving husband, a teaching parent, an obedient child?  When we’re so focused on our next spiritual high that we lose sight of who we’re pushing aside to get it?  Are we fulfilling his plan if we get annoyed with the person who’s making us late to church because they just won’t stop asking us where we’re going and how they can get there?
My goal in 2011 is to stop looking for the instant highs & focus on being in him. I don’t want to so caught up in doing what God has called me to do that I forget to BE who he’s called me to be.