Sunday IV

This is a departure from my recent posts on church going.

A very recent experience has left me troubled in my mind, in my heart and in my spirit. My mind holds on to the thing that was done to me, the memory of it. I'm certain the enemy seeks to stir that as often as possible, to keep me stewing in it. My heart bears the hurt, like a fresh wound, painful, sore to the touch. In typical human nature, I don't leave alone to heal, but pick and pull at the scab, inspecting it deeply. It can do nothing less than leave a huge scar.

It is the residual effects in my spirit that I wrestle with the most. This whole situation has called upon me to measure my Christianity. Many of the standards I hold up are false measures. They are traditions, long-held beliefs and religious pillars in my life. Much like testing the earthquake-readiness of a building, my foundations have taken some shaking. Cracks have been opened, weaknesses revealed.

Here's the thing: people will hurt you. I've known this much of my life. It rarely affected me like it has in this situation, but I can look back and see a few times when God has shaken my foundations to test me. You should know something about me - I am the eternal optimist.

My mother told me this story when I was growing up, about two little girls. One was a pessimist, the other an incurable optimist. The parents wanted to help the girls see things with more balance. So they showered the pessimist with grand gifts, hoping to improve her outlook on life. Of the new bike, she proclaimed it would only make her fall down and scrape herself. Of the grand new dolly, she said it would be broken and dirty with use. Nothing they gave her ever met with her approval. The other girl could find no wrong in any gift. So, they gave her a sack full of horse manure. She squealed with joy and ran through the house, laughing all the while. She opened closet doors, peeked under all the beds, become more and more excited. Finally, her parents stopped her to ask, "what are you so excited about, child?" She replied, "With all this manure, there must be a pony around here somewhere!"

That was me. I saw only the good in any situation. This is not a bad trait to have. I have certainly given grace where others might not have. In this case, though, I feel I might have had blinders over my rose-colored glasses. I opened my home to a family in need. That is what I saw - actually, I didn't even see that until they arrived. I truly opened my heart to them because I saw an opportunity to heal relationships. Perhaps I was even guilty of meddling.

Now, As I look back on the whole experience, I still struggle to see all of the pieces of God's plan through the haze of pain and disillusionment. These people took advantage of me. They lied to me, and then they stole from me. I responded in anger, but I also followed my husband's lead, as we sternly invited these offenders to leave our home and not return.

Now I have to return to the wound, examine it and find it's root cause, and discover if it will heal as it should, or if perhaps there is something festering deep down that must be rooted out. What I fear is a residual pain that will hold me back from helping the next person in need. It is in my nature to trust, and to give. That leaves me wide open to being taken advantage of. This is most certainly a large part of why I am with the husband I have. He, being the polar opposite of me, wields far more wisdom and caution than I.

I will have to continue this post in a day or so, as I ferret out all the causes and effects this situation has put upon me as a Christian. I saw this as an opportunity to be Jesus to someone who hadn't known Him. Did I fail? Did I plant a seed? I may never know. And I am left examining broken pieces of my heart, asking God why it had to happen. When, or if, I discover more answers, I want to share them with you. Because deep down, I know that I am not alone in this.

Until next time, may God richly bless you in all of His wisdom and love.

Give me the eyes of Christ

It has long been my prayer to see people through Christ's eyes. That is such an all-encompassing request. There is really no way to measure my success. What I find, when I see people through His eyes, is that I see pain behind the anger, I see hurt behind the attack, and I see the need for grace more than ever before.

I'm sure that some will find this candid example offensive - but each time a person of color walks down the sidewalk in front of my house, I have a decision to make. I decide whether to think uncharitable thoughts or to consider their plight. As a whole, I find the black race an enigma. I never considered myself racist. But I now see how we treat one another differently, not because of color, but because of behavior. It is less a color difference, and more a culture difference. I can, by recognizing this, now consider with compassion why a mother with four young children is walking down the street in the heat of the summer. Rather than seeing her as a victim of poverty, or as a nuisance when they loudly make their way down the sidewalk, I see her as a fellow traveler with a destiny as great as my own.

It makes me want to be a public speaker, a preacher or evangelist. I want to have a voice to announce to these people that there is hope, there is something greater to live for. I would love to rush out there and ask her if she knows Jesus. Fear keeps me from actually doing that - although I have had the temerity to ask one of the them not to walk on my lawn! Such a hypocrite.

Yes, I tend to judge myself harshly as well. It serves to demonstrate in a very real way that God's ways are not our ways. Where I would give judgement, He gives forgiveness. Where I would give criticism, He gives comfort. Where I would give advice, He gives grace. I am learning that I can only help someone when I am subject to and a student of the same mercy and grace they require. To walk a mile...