Category: Faith

A Manifesto for Parents – What I Believe About Letting Go

This was written by me in November 2016 with heavy input and editing by Seth Barnes, founder of Adventures in Missions. I did not do this perfectly with my own son and daughter, but I do believe there is truth in it.

What does it mean to “let go” of our children, particularly as they transition to adulthood? What does the parental role look like in this new stage? What do we do with the mixture of emotions? What if we just enjoy being with them and we miss them? What about the fear? The “what ifs?” How is a nurturing, supportive parent different from a “helicopter parent?”  When do we extend grace and when do we let them suffer consequences of their decisions?

What does this stage mean for our kids? What do they need from us that is different than what they needed when they were younger? How do we help them develop resilience and other life skills? What if that means solving fewer problems for them instead of solving more problems? What if that means letting them suffer or fail?

What does this new stage mean for us? What does God want to do in us at this stage of our lives? What fills the hole that’s left as our kids move on to more independent lives? When parenting needs to look like cheering from the sidelines instead of directing from center field? 

With strong editorial help from Seth Barnes, I’ve written a position statement, a Manifesto for Parents that we will be using in Parent Ministry. The World Race parents I work with have a journey thrust on them whether they like it or not. I see great responses but I also see harsh and fearful responses. The Manifesto is several pages long and attempts to address the types of questions mentioned above.  [You can find the document form through the link.  But if you’d like to comment, it’s posted in its entirety after these introductory comments.]

While a lot of this comes out of my work with World Race parents, I think it’s for any parent. Those who do wrestle with what letting go looks like. Those who are afraid. Those who are excited. Those who have done it well and can add input to this. Those with younger children who want to be intentional about raising their sons and daughters to be independent adults. Those who don’t struggle with fear but do struggle with how to articulate an answer for the friends and relatives who ask “How can you let them do _______?”

A Manifesto for Parents

As parents, we raise our children the best we know how. We want them to thrive, to have opportunities we may not have had and to embrace the faith and values we hold dear.

This process is not always smooth. For many families, raising children and helping them transition to adulthood is hard. Our children may struggle to find their way or we may struggle to let go.

Too many of us, however well-intentioned, have allowed our own fears to weigh down our children, and our own desires to hold our children back.

Instead of being equipped spiritually, emotionally and in basic life skills, sons and daughters find themselves struggling to leave the nest and fly. They have had their activities and goals chosen for them. Obstacles are smoothed over in the name of being helpful. Too many lack drive and decision-making skills. Their sense of entitlement keeps them from working through setbacks. “Leaving” is challenged by current parenting trends.

Believing parents raise their children in the church but balk at their desire to go into the world to bring light into darkness and freedom to captives.

Has this generation been “parented to death”? Never learned how to take risks? Will they never reach their full potential because their parents never let go?

What Should We As Parents Believe?

We believe it is possible to raise children who find their God-given identity and thrive.

We know:

  • Our goal as parents is to raise our children well, wanting them to become emotionally and spiritually healthy adults.
  • When we make mistakes, we can embrace the grace available to us and live in the truth that God is a God who redeems.
  • Each family is unique and God’s plan for it is uniquely suited to it.
  • The encouragement to “let go” does not dismiss the parental role in appropriately vetting situations or voicing concerns.
  • Letting go is difficult but necessary and is often harder and more unsettling for moms, who typically feel a bigger role shift than dads.

We need perspective:

  • What is God doing in my son or daughter?
  • What does appropriate letting go look like at this stage?
  • What does God want to do in me during this season?

Where We Are Headed – and the Challenges

The reality is, we’re trying to raise adults, not children. Yes, there is a childhood – and it’s an important time of nurture and protection. But our end goal is adulthood.

Scripture is clear as parents we should provide limits, establish discipline, teach the tenets of the faith and nurture our children. We should help them learn faith, self-control, wisdom and discernment – moving them gradually into adulthood at appropriate ages. 

Updated guidelines given to child psychologists show adolescence (the stage between childhood and adulthood) now extends into the mid-twenties and beyond. Skills that a generation ago were learned as part of growing up are no longer emphasized. HR directors see parents intervening in the job interview process. And the traditional church is seeing a mass exodus, particularly of young people.

We have inadvertently parented in a way that contributes to this.

Lack of rites of passage – Rites of passage, which define and celebrate the movement from childhood to adulthood, have essentially disappeared in our society. As a consequence, we have children self-initiating into adulthood. Teen pregnancies and gun violence among youth fall into the category of extreme and unhealthy self-initiation. A wide range of experiences, previously reserved for adulthood, now creep down into young ages. Four year olds getting manicures. The abundance of TV channels and internet options that bring “adult news” within easy reach of children. The line between childhood and adulthood is blurring without the guidance and rites of passage needed to move in healthy ways from one to the other.

Distorted view of what parental love looks like – Today, parenting can appear to be more of a rescuer role, bailing out our children rather than letting them fail and learn from their mistakes. The training role scripture assigns to parents is often lacking. Many of the complaints about ungrateful kids with a sense of entitlement come from the patterns we have set when we remove all obstacles, eliminate consequences, rescue them from hard situations and give them more than they need.

Widespread “failure to launch” – Economic conditions and other factors have led to more kids, of all ages, returning home to live. This is not necessarily bad. But it can delay the normal maturing process, especially when living at home carries very few responsibilities. Scripturally, “leaving and cleaving” applies to marriage, but “leaving” applies to all of us. Abraham left, Moses left, the disciples left their families and their professions. Leaving is part of growing up.

The pressure to succeed academically and it’s impact – The pressure to succeed academically has risen in the last generation. A Nation at Risk (1983) argued American kids weren’t competing well against kids in other nations. This led to more homework, federal policies designed to address the gap and a focus on activities which increase the chance of getting into a “good” college. The 2010 film “Race to Nowhere” documented the pressure. Universities are observing freshmen who, having gotten into an elite university, don’t know how to set a new goal for themselves. Depression levels and dropout rates are rising.

In part because of this pressure, fewer children are contributing to the household. Life skills are not being learned. Some are basic – managing money, cleaning the bathroom, proper social etiquette in diverse situations. Others are more intangible – resilience, wisdom, discernment.

Helicopter parenting – Helicopter parenting can be defined as: (1) doing for our child what they can do for themselves; (2) doing for our child what they can almost do for themselves; or (3) doing for our child something that feeds our own ego or need.

Helicopter parents feel the need to be part of everything – from questioning professors about a college grade, to chastising HR directors when their child doesn’t get a job. On a daily basis, helicopter parents take on tasks that should be done by our sons and daughters, hoping to ease the pressure or just to “help out”. There’s an appropriate helping and blessing role for parents but, in general, it is currently out of balance. As a culture, our children are not learning life skills, self-monitored time management, or how to advocate for themselves in healthy ways.

Hovering parents are different than nurturing parents. Being asked for advice by our kids is different than taking charge of a situation before they have a chance to navigate it. Finding the mix between imposing rules, extending grace and allowing freedom is hard.

What is Lacking?

Resilience – Resilience is the ability to learn from mistakes, to rebound quickly and to try again. This is no longer learned in a culture where children do not have the freedom to fail. Getting a B on an exam leads to suicide. Problems are solved for them. They are protected from conflict. But resilience is highly correlated with healthy executive functioning and the ability to have a “successful” adult life. Our tendency to jump in – while motivated by love – denies our sons and daughters the opportunities to learn to do it for themselves. Our parenting must provide opportunities for our children to learn resilience.

Training in Wisdom (and Consequences) – When decisions, big and small, are primarily made by parents – at an age when our sons and daughters should be learning to do that – young people enter adulthood untrained in wisdom. Let’s model the decision-making process. Then trust them with decisions of their own. They will learn wisdom and the consequences of unwise decisions.

It is scary. An unwise decision as a toddler might result in a skinned knee. As a child it might be regret over wasted allowance money. But as a teenager it could be an unplanned pregnancy or loss of life in a drunk driving accident. Watching as a parent can be gut wrenching.

Discernment – Joyce Meyer says, “Some people think they have discernment when actually they are just suspicious.” Too many of us have the latter but need the former. Our children need to develop the ability to gather information and evaluate options, to judge one choice against another and to factor in faith – all while thinking through consequences. And as parents, we need God’s help in knowing when our children need the opportunity to take risks.

The Changing Parental Role

In the early years, we parent primarily from a positional authority: “I’m in charge because I’m the parent.” It’s helpful, it’s right and it’s good (when properly administered). Babies and toddlers need a protected and more structured environment.

By the time a child reaches their teens, on the threshold of adulthood, if the relationship has not moved to parenting by influence, then there is likely to be trouble. If a relationship of trust has not been built, if they are still “forced” to obey, if they don’t choose on their own to seek counsel – then the ability to effectively parent is limited.

No longer can a parent easily say “You’ll do as I say because I’m your parent.” Physically, they cannot be made to comply. Legally, they have new rights. Colleges won’t share student grades with anyone (including tuition-paying parents) without the student’s permission. HIPPA laws prohibit sharing medical info after age 18 without permission. And so on.

Parents don’t abdicate all positional authority. If we are supporting our son or daughter financially, paying for college, or if they are living at home, compliance with certain rules is part of the deal. Requiring some form of rent or certain chores can help children move toward responsible adulthood.

Wisdom and courage are important here. Some requirements, if enforced, may also create estrangement, at least temporarily. They may choose to leave and move into unwise or unhealthy situations. This is where many parents find it hard to do the tough things that ultimately lead to adulthood. It is excruciating to watch them leave that way and many of us cave in and rescue instead. Knowing when to extend assistance or grace and when to let them fail is no easy task.

This shift from positional authority to influence doesn’t happen overnight. It is not without heartache, but it is essential. The end result is you are becoming brothers and sisters in Christ in new ways. Enjoy this new stage!

Baby Birds Are Supposed to Leave the Nest

Parents are supposed to provide a nest and we know children who do not receive this safe nurturing place in early childhood suffer tremendously. But baby birds are supposed to leave the nest.

The nest-leaving process can be scary for the one needing to leave and for the parent who has protected him or her from the cruel world. It’s hard. But it needs to happen. They are too big for the nest. Something inside them has been telling them this for a while. They sense they were made for something bigger.

Parents may feel protective. A mother’s life has often been structured around caring for her children. There is nothing she can do to stop her natural instinct. The “what if” questions about life outside the nest arise. It’s a normal feeling that needs an override switch.

So how do we do it? How do we let them leave the nest? The world can be cruel. Err too much on the one hand and our naive child may feel thrown to the wolves. Err on the other side and our kids are delayed in growing up.  

Recognize this is normal – All parents whose children grow up go through this process. It’s not easy, but it is the natural order of things.

Grieve it – Loss requires grief. It’s hard to let go, and when we do, our emotions may well lag. Give yourself permission to feel the pain of the loss.

Maintain an appropriate distance – This is not about us. This is about giving our child the opportunity to grow up, develop their own decision-making skills and feel the pain of failure. They need space to be able to figure out who they are.

The Goal of Parenting

Eugene Peterson sees something relevant in the Biblical story of Samuel and Eli (1 Samuel 3:1-10). Samuel had been serving in Eli’s house and one night is awakened by someone calling his name. He runs to Eli asking “What do you want?” Eli, who hadn’t called for Samuel, sends him back to bed. This is repeated a few times until Eli realizes what is going on and instructs Samuel to answer this way the next time it happens: “Speak Lord, for your servant is listening.” Samuel responds that way and the Lord begins to speak more things to him.

Peterson sees a model of what our goal as parents should be: To transfer the primary voice in our child’s life from our own voice to the Lord’s voice. We can’t do that without letting go.

Most of us say “My children really belong to the Lord, not to me.” But there are times the Lord asks “Do you really mean that? Are you willing to act on that?” 

I once put my mid-teen-age son on an airplane for a mission trip when I had a strong sense I would never see him again. This wasn’t wisdom and a need for appropriate protection. This was fear. Despite my fears, I knew there was no appropriate reason to keep him from something he felt called and equipped to do, that had appropriate safety precautions in place. I said good-bye, thinking it was the last time I would see him. He did come home fine, but in the meantime, I learned an important thing. When put to the test, I really did believe my kids ultimately belonged to the Lord. And my own spiritual life changed as a result of acting on that. 

John Piper, a pastor and author, says something along these lines: “Parents, if you are sitting here and your deepest desire is for your children to grow up, get married, live close enough for you to see your grandchildren regularly, and have a house with a white picket fence and good insurance plan – then you might be in the wrong church. We intend to go after your child’s heart and our highest hope is for them to give their heart fully to God and His call. And we expect for some of them this call will take them around the world, into needy and risky places, with no medical care and limited chances for you to see your grandchildren. So decide now. Is this the right church for you?”

Everything in us may know the answer needs to be “Yes” – but the cost is right there in front of us too. This could be a costly “Yes”. How you model this – your “yes”, your letting go, your transition to new seasons – will help your children know how to do it in their own lives.

Fear and Safety

Letting go is often hindered by fear. Something could happen. What do we do with our fear? How should we look at safety? Placing a high priority on safety is not wrong. In fact, it’s wise.

But what if safety becomes an idol?

How do we know if it is an idol? It is an idol if our “yes” to the Lord is held hostage to our requirement for safety. If safety has to be first – no matter what, no exceptions.

As followers of Jesus, idolatry in any form needs to be recognized and confronted.  As Sarah Young points out, ”God detests idolatry, even in the form of parental love.” Anything that supplants the Lord as number one in our lives is an idol. If we felt the Lord calling us to an unsafe place, would we go? If He calls our children, will we encourage them to go? The answer to that is crucial.

The early church, when faced with strong persecution did not ask for safety but prayed “Lord, look upon their threats and grant to your servants to continue to speak your word with all boldness ….” (Acts 3:29)

What does it take to do this?

Understand safety and comfort are not the same thing.  A lack of nice houses, air conditioning, good food, regular electricity, or indoor toilets – or even the presence of things like lice and bed bugs – is not primarily a safety issue.  It’s primarily a comfort issue. 

Don’t operate in fear, calling it “wisdom”. Wisdom is important, but be brutally honest about whether we are really trying to avoid fear by using “wisdom” as a cover. (For example – “I don’t think it is wise for you to …” when we really mean “I am afraid for you to …”)

Live incarnationally. If we follow the model of Jesus, we will touch those we are called to love and live among. Whether or not it is comfortable. Whether or not it is safe.

As believers, we acknowledge both a spiritual realm and a physical realm. Erwin McManus tells the story of his son, who had been scared by demon stories at a Christian summer camp. His son asks “Will you pray God will keep me safe?” Erwin’s response? “I can’t pray God will always keep you safe, but I will pray God makes you so dangerous when you enter a room, the demons flee.”

Are we willing to get there? To the point where we are more concerned about being powerful in the spiritual realm than safe or comfortable in the physical realm? Can we model it for our kids? Or maybe, can we learn it from them?

Next Steps

As hard as it is to let our children go, for most of us this may be the answer to the prayers we prayed throughout their lives. “Please let them grow up to love You Lord, and desire to follow You.” And then they say they want to go overseas on missions, to third world countries without the amenities we rely on, and without regular communication – and the answer to those prayers suddenly looks and feels scary. 

Bless them. They are growing into adulthood, but they still yearn for your approval and blessing. Tell them how you feel about them, why you love being their parent, what godly characteristics you see in them. 

Be grateful for your son and daughter’s desire to follow the Lord. Many of those who are parenting “prodigals” would trade places with you in an instant. The pain of saying goodbye to a child leaving to follow the Lord can pale in comparison to the pain of having children who have rejected Him. Or who live a life filled with unhealthy choices. 

Seek perspective without negating your own pain and struggle. The pain of letting go is real and intense. Military parents face a letting go typically harder than what the rest of us do. Not only do they say goodbye, they say goodbye to sons and daughters being deliberately placed in harm’s way. Parents who have lost children in a variety of ways grieve deeply and wish their children were still here. The call of Jesus is not the only thing that asks us to let go.

Hold your children with “open hands”. As Seth Barnes, founder and CEO of Adventures in Missions, often says, “If we wanted our kids to be safe, we should never have introduced them to Jesus, who is a revolutionary and dangerous world-changer.”

What About the Hole Left in Your Life?

Letting go can create loss. But this can be an amazing season in your own life. Acts 13:36 makes a reference to King David, saying David did not die until he “had served God’s purpose in his own generation”. Our purpose in our generation and in God’s Kingdom is not yet over.

Our journey is about more than just trusting Jesus. It’s about the courage to dream dreams.  Dreams abandoned or put on hold long ago – out of fear, out of shyness, out of “circumstance” or “necessity”. Dreams of mattering and making a difference. Dreams of exploring and adventuring. It’s about the restlessness many of us feel as we enter this stage.

Do these observations ring true for you?

We hit a point of realizing time is short and we don’t want to waste it – We want what we do to matter. We want to leave a legacy based more on significance than worldly success. Complacency may try to tell us we have done enough and we’re entitled to slow down. Or we’re too tired, too old or too unqualified to tackle new challenges. But something in us knows this is not true.

We need to look for new sources of identity and new experiences of trust – Particularly those of us who felt our primary identity was as a parent. “Letting go” of adult children forces us to trust God in new ways. The faith built as we let go builds faith in other areas of our life as well. 

Mistakes or failures may hurt or immobilize us and loss may be very real – It is not too late to grieve well, find healing and grace, and move beyond them. We lose parents or maybe even children, long term marriages end, businesses fail, some dreams die, medical issues may surface. In all of these, we have the choice to run to Jesus for healing or to blame Him. 

Ready to dive in? 

This is an ideal season to expect God to speak about transition, new stages, reviving forgotten dreams or birthing new ones. Along with this comes the need for courage and obedience – especially for risk averse types. Being empty-nesters brings a type of freedom once we adjust.  Don’t waste this window if it exists. It will be gone at some point. Don’t look back with regret.

The world needs our generation to stay activated and engaged in ways far beyond our role as mom and dad. The Kingdom needs us. The next generation needs us. The people affected by injustice and oppression need us.  We encounter hurting people every day. We have a lifetime of resources, experiences and wisdom to bring. 

Conclusion

We love our kids. We want the best for them. Even our missteps are generally motivated by a desire for good and not harm. Their transition to adulthood can be hard for them and hard for us. A healthy process on both sides requires appropriate, and sometimes gut-wrenching, letting go. We don’t lose relationship, but it does change. The end result is worth it. 

Our sons and daughters need us to press through. And we need it as well.

(For references use this link to see this in document, rather than blog, form. Some sections are adaptations of previously published blogs by Seth Barnes and Betty Means.)

Five Years

Originally written in July 2016 on my 5 year anniversary with Adventures in Missions. Revisiting this is a good reminder of my call to go there – and the importance of “call” in general. It’s also a reminder that the journey was still just beginning at that point.

July 15, 2016 was my 5 year anniversary at Adventures in Missions. I’ve been trying to decide if I have anything profound or important to say.

It’s a milestone. I’ve held volunteer positions longer than 5 years, but paid positions are a different matter – in part because of the 20 years I spent as a stay at home mom. The next longest one was just under 5 years. So I’m entering new territory. But there’s nothing particularly profound about that. 

Has it been worth it? Leaving Connecticut, an amazing church, incredible friends? Taking an out of character leap of faith to move to Georgia and work for Adventures in Missions? That’s worth pondering.

It’s the wrong question in one sense, however. I felt a strong sense of call. And a restlessness that intensified rather than abated. In the end, I was acting in obedience to that. “Worth it” is secondary to “call”. I wrestled with it, I wisely waited until certain things were clear, I did not rush into this. And all of those things worked together in very good ways. Ultimately, my “yes” was to the Lord and not to my own desires. A sense of call is the solid foundation I return to time and time again.

But am I glad I did it? Absolutely – a definite YES. It’s been both unexpectedly good and very hard. But both of those things have produced growth and I’m grateful.

I have missed the community in Connecticut deeply – and that has not lessened as time has gone on. In some ways, the longing for it has grown more intense. But I have also learned that I am stronger and braver than I thought I was. 

I have had the opportunity to build a new program (for parents), lead trips and see the world. In many ways, it is more than I ever imagined it could be. But I have also felt misunderstood and the sense that I don’t quite fit in never goes away. I am an introvert in an extraverted environment. I am quiet and I observe well, but the norm here is to dive headlong into things with greater speed. I get from A to B by seeing the obstacles and knowing how to navigate or solve them; but what feels like forward movement to me feels like I’m raining on their parade to others. It’s not about better or worse. It’s about different styles and different giftings. But there have been seasons of weariness in addition to seasons of great delight.

And in all these things I’ve never lost sight of the big picture. I’m called here – to be part of bringing Kingdom by bringing my skills to Adventures in Missions. I’ve grown through the challenges. My view of the world is bigger. I’ve loved the experiences. I love what I’ve learned about God and what I’ve learned about myself.

It’s also been part of God redeeming a season of my life far beyond anything I could have hoped for. With great confidence I can say that this leap of faith, this moving to Georgia, has been good.

Finally, for those of you who have supported me, prayed for me and encouraged me – THANK YOU. My needs go far beyond the financial support I need to raise. Without your love and your prayers and your words of encouragement, I wouldn’t have been able to continue to say “yes”. I treasure the many, many ways you have blessed me.

I believe the “yes” continues – and I can’t wait to see what’s ahead.

When Going Deeper Reveals Subtle Stinginess

Originally published May 2016.

Healthy boundaries are important. This post is not about that. It’s not about the wisdom needed to prayerfully navigate through healing. It’s not about reconciliation. And it’s not about forgiveness.

It is about the quiet voice of the Holy Spirit. A voice that becomes discernible when you pay attention to a nagging sense that what is “right” or “appropriate” is not the whole story. The voice that in this case said “Don’t be stingy with prayer.”

It is, at its core, about asking the Lord why something keeps you unsettled. About running human voices through the filter of His voice and His grace.

Someone who hurt me deeply, someone I have very little contact with these days, recently asked for prayer. And it unsettled me a bit. Almost unbidden, a thought popped into my mind. “That’s inappropriate. This person lost the ‘right’ to ask that.” And on one level that is true. We’re not in the kind of covenant friendship or relationship where praying for one another is part of the commitment and the bond. In addition, it is a situation where certain boundaries are wise and appropriate.

It is not a case of the Lord nudging me to pray and me refusing to do so. That defiance would clearly be wrong on my part – and would say more about my relationship with the Lord than my relationship with this person. The reality is, from time to time I am nudged to pray and I do so. But being asked to pray felt different.

It felt like an in-between space. I’ve forgiven this person. I’m not uncomfortable when life throws us together at the same event. I don’t wish them harm or destruction. If they should be blessed beyond measure, to be completely honest it might be a little bit hard for me but not terribly so.

But being asked for prayer nagged at me. Why?

Trusted and wise friends confirmed that there is a certain awkwardness in this prayer request. They know the story well enough to confirm that I am released from the bond that would “require” me to pray. They affirm that the boundaries I’ve put in place are healthy ones.

But the nagging unsettledness wouldn’t go away. And I’ve learned to pay attention when that happens. It’s important. It typically takes me deeper into the heart of God.

With the help of a trusted counselor, I pinpointed the uneasiness I’d been feeling.

My focusing on what was right or appropriate was subtly edging me toward stinginess in prayer. That’s what didn’t feel right. It’s what felt unsettled.

Stinginess in prayer shouldn’t feel right. I was unsettled because I was being called deeper. Having done the hard work of healing and forgiveness, having let that grow more and more solid, enables a new and deeper freedom to emerge. One that is not governed by the details of rightness or appropriateness. One that more closely resembles the model Jesus set for me.

So it feels different now.  Boundaries? Yes, they are still appropriate. Wisdom? Of course it’s necessary. Being unsettled by a prayer request or being stingy with prayer? That’s what I needed to bring to the Lord.  That, and a continued willingness to wrestle with unsettledness and to be called deeper.

Jesus and Poverty and Dwelling Among Us

Once again, the repost to the new platform doesn’t coincide with the season. Originally written December 2015.

I have a pet peeve. It’s North American children (and adults) picturing Jesus as blond and blue-eyed because that’s the way He looks in their Nativity set. Never mind that the historical record tells us differently.

For years I’ve collected international Nativity sets. A few from my own travels. Most from places such as Ten Thousand Villages. They become part of my Advent meditation. Part of my contemplation of what it means that Jesus became flesh and dwelt among us.

In my Children’s Ministry days I took a different Nativity into class each week during Advent – even when I was teaching 4 year olds. I’d ask them to look at the Nativity and we’d talk about these questions:

What does this Nativity tell us about the people who live in that country?

Why do you think Jesus looks the way He does here? Mary? Joseph?

What does this tell us about who Jesus came to earth for? 

I have a favorite Nativity – and it’s been my favorite since I first laid eyes on it decades ago. It’s from Cameroon and there’s a weightiness to the metal it’s made from.  You see the distended bellies of malnourishment, and the gaunt frames where skin hangs on bones. The poverty is front and center and for some people, it’s jarring to see Jesus that way.

It’s not stately and elegant like the one from Tanzania (right). 

Or interestingly rustic like the one from Indonesia (left). 

But it grips me.  And it touches something deep in me.

Jesus dwelt among us. He didn’t just come to us as someone who will never completely understand what it’s like to live in this world. He became poor in our midst. He comes to us where we are. He understands what we live in the midst of. Even if it’s messy. Even if the poverty – or the hurt, or the shame, or the dreariness of life – overwhelms us. Even if we see no way out.

My poverty is not a physical one. My life, by any standard, is a good one. But my heart still yearns for the One who will come to me, who will dwell with me.

Jesus became flesh and dwelt among us. And through the Spirit, dwells in us today. We have a companion, an advocate, a comforter, a Savior. And it’s good news. For all people.

I’ll admit.  I read about what our World Racers are doing to serve Syrian refugees in Greece.  I hear the stories of the women forced by their poverty into the sex trade around the world. I see abandoned children – here in the States and in third world countries.  Is it really possible that Jesus is good news for them? That we have the ability to proclaim ‘good news to all people’? 

I believe we do. I also believe it can’t be just empty words and a pat on the head. I believe we must act. I believe we must learn to lay aside privilege and become poor in order to dwell among others with compassion and integrity. But it needs to be good news for me before I can proclaim it as good news for anyone else.  And when I recognize my own kind of poverty, when I am so grateful for Jesus’ presence in the midst of that poverty, then I begin to understand what it means to be incarnational. To dwell among those who are not like me.

I want to be overwhelmed, not by my circumstances, but by the love that would come to me in the midst of them.  And this year, I find myself wanting to grow in my ability to be more incarnational in my daily life.  To look for places to bring good news. 

For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you by his poverty might become rich. (2 Cor. 8:9)

Has Safety Become An Idol?

Some level of risk is inherent in life in general. And missions brings some additional ones as well. I believe that what I wrote in October 2015 is still true – about risk and about idolatry in general.

I’ll admit – I’m a bit scared to write this. There’s some (theologically unsound) apprehension that once I say this out loud, or in writing, the Lord will ask me to live it out more completely.

I place a high priority on safety. I’m not a fan of “risk for risk’s sake”. I want to feel safe – and my choices of where to live and what to do on a daily basis are impacted by this.  I admit to feeling a bit nervous when my adult daughter lives in a city and I don’t know how “safe” her neighborhood is. My first thought when I think of certain regions of the world or certain parts of a city is primarily the lack of safety. And so on – in big and small ways, my thoughts are filtered through safety.

I don’t think that is necessarily wrong.  In fact, I think it’s wise.

But what if safety becomes an idol?

How do we know if it is an idol? For me, it would be an idol if my “yes” to the Lord was held hostage to my requirement for safety. If safety absolutely had to be first – no matter what, no exceptions.

As followers of Jesus, idolatry in any form needs to be recognized and confronted with brutal honesty about the place it holds in our lives.  Anything that supplants the Lord as number one in our lives is an idol. Is safety an idol in my life? Maybe not.  Do I need to be watchful so that it doesn’t become one?  I do.  If I felt the Lord calling me to an unsafe place, would I go?  I hope so. 

There’s a commonly repeated phrase, intended to bring comfort, but which nags at me because I don’t think it is true – at least not the way people tend to use it. 

“The safest place to be is the center of God’s will.” 

Is the center of God’s will absolutely the RIGHT or BEST place to be?  Yes.  Is it the “safest” by the measure most of us use for safety?  I’m not sure it is.

Look at the apostle Paul, who describes his life this way:  “Five times I received at the hands of the Jews the forty lashes less one. Three times I was beaten with rods. Once I was stoned. Three times I was shipwrecked; a night and a day I was adrift at sea; on frequent journeys, in danger from rivers, danger from robbers, danger from my own people, danger from Gentiles, danger in the city, danger in the wilderness, danger at sea, danger from false brothers; in toil and hardship, through many a sleepless night, in hunger and thirst, often without food, in cold and exposure.” (2 Cor. 11:24-27) 

There’s the early church, in Acts 3:29, who when faced with strong persecution did not pray for safety but prayed “Lord, look upon their threats and grant to your servants to continue to speak your word with all boldness ….”

Matt Blazer, my pastor in Connecticut, describes any promised safety this way:  It refers to our internal heart and our eternal salvation.

So what does it take to make this shift in perspective?

Let’s start by being honest that safety and comfort are not the same thing.  Most of the world lives very differently than we do. A lack of nice houses, air conditioning, good food, regular electricity, or indoor toilets – or even the presence of things like lice and bed bugs – is not primarily a safety issue.  It’s primarily a comfort issue.  We can talk about safety, but let’s make sure we’re not really talking about comfort. 

Let’s admit that it is impossible to be incarnational with our message of the gospel and also make our comfort or our safety the most important thing. If we follow the model of Jesus, we will dwell among those we are called to love. Whether or not it is comfortable.  Whether or not it is safe.

Let’s realize that the shift involves the spiritual realm and not just the physical one. Erwin McManus tells a story of his son, who had been scared by demon stories during his first time at a Christian summer camp. He asks Erwin “Will you pray that God will keep me safe?” Erwin’s response was “I can’t pray that God will always keep you safe, but I will pray that God makes you so dangerous that when you enter a room, the demons flee.” (paraphrased based on my memory of the story)

Can I get there?  To the point where I am more concerned about being powerful in the spiritual realm than safe or comfortable in the physical realm?  I don’t know.  But I think I’m supposed to try.

(Postscript Note:  I work for an organization that makes safety a top priority for our mission trip participants – and it is right for us to do so. This is not about questioning or changing that. Scripture is clear that we are to be wise, that we are to count the cost before entering into something. I believe safety is part of that equation.  But I’ve written before about a tendency to mask fear by calling it “wisdom”. And Seth Barnes, the founder of Adventures in Missions, often tells people that if we wanted our kids to be safe, we shouldn’t have introduced them to Jesus.)

Discovering Strength (and Becoming Dangerous?)

I wrote this in August 2015. And, like so many things I am revisiting as I move posts to a new platform, I love that what was once new and scary has now become more deeply embedded into my “normal”.

For most of my life I didn’t see myself as “strong”. Growing up, I was “compliant”, not “strong-willed”. I was shy – and it’s hard to see yourself as strong if you are too afraid to speak up. I was fearful – again, not a great underpinning for strength (or so I thought). My identity was wrapped up in being “nice” and “understanding” (in some good ways and in some unhealthy ways) – not in being strong. I was a people-pleaser and craved approval – which meant I didn’t tend to take stands that were my own. I was told more than once that being strong made me undesirable and that “meekness and gentleness” disappeared if I was strong. And on and on.

 There’s a somewhat clichéd quote, usually attributed to Eleanor Roosevelt, that says “A woman is like a tea bag. You never know how strong she is until she’s in hot water.” As much as I don’t like clichés there’s something about this that has been true in my life. I discovered my strength during the hard times. I don’t think I became strong during them. At least a core of strength had to have been there all along. It didn’t magically appear when things got hard. But it emerged and it became visible.

I didn’t see it at first. My friends and counselors saw it before I did. In my mind, even now looking back, I was just doing what had to be done. It didn’t feel as if I made a deliberate choice to be strong. I didn’t even feel like I was making choices. It felt like a constant slogging through pain and fear, taking the next step and then the next one. “Of course I throw myself into all that counseling provides.” “Of course I keep going.” “Of course I cling to the possibility that grace will get me through.” “Of course I try to be wise about what I say and do.” “Of course I run to the Lord.”

It didn’t feel like strength. It felt like survival. In hindsight I see a pattern and I do see choices that I made out of strength. I did choose to embrace counseling and let the Lord work through that. I did choose to cling to the Lord rather than run away from Him. I did choose my words and actions carefully. But in the moment, I didn’t see choice and I didn’t see strength.

So what does strength – which may have emerged during hard times – look like during other seasons of life, the ones that aren’t necessarily difficult times? For me, an intriguing concept began to surface. Does it mean I can be “dangerous”? An odd word for a shy, introverted, quiet person to resonate with. But it came from different places and it always stirred something in me. Even before I could believe it, I could feel the stirring, the twinge of hope that would come even when it didn’t yet make sense or seem possible. Even before I had the courage to think that it could describe someone like me.

Erwin McManus wrote and spoke things that brought a perspective to my life in the midst of pain and struggle – I’m part of a bigger picture and I’m made to be dangerous in the spiritual realm. My counselor urged me to consider the possibility that the enemy was trying to derail my ministry because it was significant in the Kingdom and important enough to be attacked. An in-depth profile of how I’m wired surprisingly revealed there’s a bit of “rebel” in me – a quiet and subtle rebel, but someone who had changed how things were done. Lynne Hybels wrote a book called “Nice Girls Don’t Change the World” and provided a picture of a Christian woman that was not limited to the “nice Christian girl”. Much of her journey, many of her assumptions about herself in the early years of her life, lined up with my own. 

So here I am. Fairly content to describe myself as “strong” these days. Still not at a point where I would put “dangerous” on a top 5 list of personal descriptors – but wanting to grow in that.

Lynne Hybels has a prayer, a “creed”, in her book and online. I return to it time and time again, asking the Lord to make this more and more true of me: 

Dear God, please make us dangerous women.

May we be women who acknowledge our power to change, and grow, and be radically alive for God.

May we be healers of wounds and righters of wrongs.

May we weep with those who weep and speak for those who cannot speak for themselves.

May we cherish children, embrace the elderly, and empower the poor.

May we pray deeply and teach wisely.

May we be strong and gentle leaders.

May we sing songs of joy and talk down fear.

May we never hesitate to let passion push us, conviction compel us, and righteous anger energize us.

May we strike fear into all that is unjust and evil in the world.

May we dismantle abusive systems and silence lies with truth.

May we shine like stars in a darkened generation.

May we overflow with goodness in the name of God and by the power of Jesus.

And in that name and by that power, may we change the world.

Dear God, please make us dangerous women. Amen.

Finding a Voice

So grateful that all these years later, the Lord continues to teach me how to use my voice.

Intro when originally posted in April 2015: This is the second part of a discussion. Part 1 was Sorting out Shyness, Fear and Introversion. Coming soon in other posts – thoughts on being a strong (dangerous?) woman and thoughts on being an introverted leader.) 

This second installment in the series has proven troublesome. In part, it’s because something keeps intruding into the story that I hadn’t intended to talk about. After two weeks of being stuck, I’ve concluded that it’s not going away. I can’t talk about being a strong woman without talking about the need to find my voice.

Remember the 1999 movie Runaway Bride? Maggie Carpenter (Julia Robert’s character) has left several fiancés at the altar and a reporter does a story about her. As he talks individually to each former fiancé, the interviews often take place over breakfast at the local diner. Each guy orders his eggs in a different style. In the course of conversation, every one of them mentions that Maggie likes her eggs the same way he likes his.

That’s a woman who didn’t know how to use her voice. That was me.

I mentioned last time that part of the process of letting go of fear was that I discovered I had a “voice” and that I wanted to use it. I also said God did the deepest work on my fear during a scary stage of my life. What I didn’t say is that it was as my marriage was ending after 25 years. I was a stay at home mom. I’d never been driven by career aspirations. I really just wanted to be a wife and mom. I loved volunteering. But suddenly I was looking at re-entering the paid workforce, being more completely on my own, facing an “empty nest” without a companion and all the other things that go along with that. 

(Just a side note – there is a danger in oversimplifying any divorce and I don’t want to do that. And this isn’t the place to share details. This is about a profound work the Lord did in me during that time frame.)

The person who should have been my biggest cheerleader no longer played that role. When you live with someone who doesn’t treasure or value your voice, you get confused. You wonder if you are really what the other person says. When you are put together the way I am, you keep trying to prove that you’re good enough – but it never makes a difference. You ask counselors if your thoughts are normal and they try to help you see that even asking that question indicates there is distortion in your marriage and in your thinking. 

It was in this context that God was working on my fear and shyness. But He was also telling me I had a voice – one that it was okay to use. Over the years, I had grown in confidence in certain areas. I knew my stuff when it came to heading up Children’s Ministry. I was competent in a number of other areas. But at my core, the part that was most intimately connected to my hopes and dreams, my likes and dislikes, the things that made me laugh and the things that made me cry, I didn’t know how to use my voice.  There was a tentativeness around most people.

Some of the most tender moments in my journals came as the Lord told me that not only was it okay to have a voice, it was important to use it.  He told me I had value and He gently encouraged me to believe that. He, the Lord of the universe, showed me His delight in my voice.

Some steps were big. Some were small. I grew enormously through the years of counseling before the marriage finally ended. And in the midst of the intense pain that was my life for those years, this growth felt like a gift – the hidden gem. It felt like weight being lifted off my shoulders. It felt like fresh air. I was coming alive in ways that were exciting to me. But to my husband it seemed as if the ground rules were changing and he could not rejoice in the things that felt like freedom to me.

Eventually, I was the one who filed for divorce. I had begged God that if my marriage was going to end, please have my husband be the one to file. In the end, for a number of reasons, I had no choice but to do it. And in doing so, I found a new piece of my voice – one that I believe the Lord knew was important for me to use. Admittedly, it was a piece I had never wanted to use, a piece that initiated me into a club I had never wanted to be part of (divorced). But it was a voice that came from a place of realizing I had value and importance and a call on my life. Perhaps most importantly, that there were lines it was appropriate for me to draw and there were things that were important for me to say.

Toward the end of Runaway Bride, Maggie Carpenter has figured out more of who she really is. She’s an artist, among other things. She’s built a successful following in the city. She’s found her voice. She’s eaten every style of cooked eggs and she announces to the reporter: “Benedict. I love Eggs Benedict. I hate every other kind.”

Finding your voice matters. And egg preference is just one of the fun parts.

The “Hard to Name” Blog Post

I wish I could say this has gotten easier since it was written in May of 2014. At that point, I’d been doing it for 3 years. It’s now been 12 years. My gratitude for the support team that makes it possible for me to say “yes” to this call – whether that is financial support, prayer or other forms of encouragement – is huge. It’s still not the easiest part of my journey, but God has been faithful.

I’ve changed the title of this post quite a few times – trying to find one that captures what I want it to.  I’ve tried “It’s Humbling”, or more specifically, “The Humbling Experience of Support Raising”, or “What Have I Learned About Obedience and Joy and Gratitude by Support Raising” or “What It Has Felt Like to Support Raise”.  But none of those quite capture my jumbled thoughts.  Or maybe this is just a hard one to write.

I know.  For some of you, you want to stop reading right here.  Please don’t. This isn’t about an “ask”.   It is an attempt to share with you a bit of my journey in the same way I have shared on other topics.  I want to be transparent about how I think and process and wrestle.  I want to share the things that have been hard.  The things that have been nice surprises.  Where it has stretched me.  Where it has exhausted me.  Where there have been great stories. What I’ve discovered.  What I still wrestle with.

Essentially everyone I know is bombarded with various requests.  Or you don’t believe in people raising support.  Or you are ambivalent (or not!) about short term missions. I know that and I am respectful of that.  There are organizations that require their home office staff to fundraise (like Adventures) and some who don’t.  There are ways to do short term missions and discipleship with integrity and there are methods that are offensive to everyone involved. 

But this isn’t about those details.  It’s about my journey with being called to an organization I believe in, that tells me this is “part of the job”. 

And part of what I’ve discovered is that it is more than just a “job requirement”.  There are unexpected privileges in it – along with the other stuff.

I’ll be honest – the thought of having to “raise support” was one of the hurdles I had to get over before I moved to Georgia to work with Adventures in Missions.  I was in my mid-fifties.  It was this simple:  I didn’t want to do it. 

In the end though, it became a matter of obedience.  The restlessness that I knew was from the Lord was pointing increasingly toward leaving Connecticut and had begun to point directly toward Adventures in Missions.  And I reached the point where I knew for sure that to refuse to make that move because of the fund raising component would be active disobedience to what I was being asked by the Lord to do.  The right question was not “Do I have to fund raise?” but “Is God calling me to Adventures in Missions?”

So I’ve learned to trust God in new ways about the hard and scary (and initially distasteful) parts of obedience.

At times I have to actively check my tendency to compare myself (consciously or unconsciously) to those who don’t raise support.  There are two primary ways I can get off track here.  First, raising support for my full-time, long-term job is different than raising for a specific trip or a specific project.  It’s not what I thought I would be doing at this stage of my life.  And I’ve realized that it’s the place where a sense of entitlement can subtly creep in.  “I shouldn’t have to do this.”  “I am owed a salary.”  But I know a sense of entitlement robs you of joy.

So I’ve learned to not give the enemy a foothold by entertaining thoughts that in reality have to do with a sense of entitlement.

A second result of comparing myself to others is that almost without realizing it, those thoughts can feed lies I have no business believing.  Lies about my worth or value.  That my worth is diminished because I don’t get “paid” in a traditional way.  Lies that say I can’t do anything else.  That my security rests in my ability to raise support.   Left unchecked, the lies can bring up the pain and baggage of the divorce.  I do acutely feel the “weight” of not having a spouse to share the burden with but ultimately that can feed into a lie that I’m truly alone. 

However, I know that these lies would surface (in one form or another) no matter where I was, what I was doing and whether or not I was raising support.  The enemy knows where I am vulnerable and he pokes at those spots.  It has nothing to do with support raising.

Therefore, I need to be vigilant in holding onto truth and rejecting lies the enemy would want to have take root in my life.

For much of my married life I was on the other side – the donor who could write the large check.  I often say it’s more fun to be on that side.  But while writing this, I realized I’m not as sure as I used to be about that blanket statement.  I now think it was more fun to be on that side when that was where I was supposed to be.  Supporting a wide range of people and causes kept me connected to what God was doing in the world.  I was a part of helping make something happen even though I couldn’t be on what most people would call the “front lines”. 

It was a gift and a privilege to be able to do that.

But now I’m on the other side – and to be honest, I’m so sure I’m supposed to be here that there’s not a strong draw to be anywhere else, even back on the other side of the checkbook.  There is great delight in being closer to the field ministry, in seeing at closer range what is happening around the world.  In using my skills and talents in a very different environment. In being utilized and fulfilled in a calling.

That I would be called to this is it’s own gift and privilege. 

When I look at the big picture, when I’m not focusing specifically on having to “ask for support”, I’m no longer sure that being on the check writing side is more fun.  It feels more secure, I suppose, but fun … maybe not. 

As I wrap this up, I don’t want to rely on clichéd phrases.  Some of what I’m about to say are things I’ve always heard from support raised missionaries.  And I’ve discovered they are really true.  Not clichés, not “formulas” or “the right thing to say”, but deep down true.  So here goes. 

Some of the good things about support raising: 

  • It has connected me with people in wonderful ways.  It’s true – the people who are nudged by the Holy Spirit to support you may surprise you.  And the gratitude I feel is overwhelming.  As I look at the amount that has been given to Adventures in Missions for my support, I am humbled, and grateful.  It amazes me.
  • It gives me the chance to tell my story and Adventures’ story – and the story of my faith and what God is doing in the world – in a different way.  I’m loving that.
  • I get to experience God’s leading, and God’s faithfulness, in new ways.  I have to rely on Him in different ways.  And I am stripped of any illusion that I can take care of myself.  It may be scary – but there’s freedom in that as well.
  • I’ve had the true joy of people who have stepped out in faith to give $10 a month – where I know that was hard for them.  When that happens, and when I get to be part of it – it’s such a joyful privilege.  What that says to me about their desire to be part of what God is doing here – and what that says about their trust in my call – feels like a holy thing.  And it brings great joy to see them take their own steps of faith.
  • I’ve had people say “You need to be doing what you’re good at in ministry instead of spending time support raising” and they did something which covered most of my shortages for a year.  Words can’t express what that felt like.
  • I’ve been blessed by the people who can’t give financially but who pray faithfully for me and for my ministry.  That gift really is of great value to me and I am connected to them in ways that are very similar to my connection to financial donors.  I couldn’t do this without them and I love being dependent on them as well as on my financial donors. 

There are hard parts too.  I still don’t love to “ask”.  I still worry about putting people on the spot (and while I believe it is also giving them a chance to participate in something that matters – it’s still hard for me to do).  I’ve fallen far short of where I want to be in terms of personal contact and thank yous and newsletters and updates.  Finding time to do the important things (like those) in the midst of urgent things (like the daily ministry needs) has been harder than I expected.  And I worry that people don’t know how grateful I really am.

So it’s still a struggle in some ways.  There’s still a part of me that wishes I didn’t have to do it.  But I’m learning valuable things that come as part of doing it and for that, I’m grateful.

Why Do You Believe?

I’m very aware that there are people deeply wounded by the church and by believers, and who don’t experience the felt presence of the Lord that I describe. I also know there are intellectual discussions that are worth having and I don’t mind having those. But this was written in April 2014 in response to a very specific question. And all these years later, as I repost it, I know I would answer this question – asked today – in essentially the same way.

I have friends who periodically challenge me with important questions.  They are asked sincerely.  They may be asked because their journey or their experience is different from mine.  And they force me to articulate things I should be able to articulate – but don’t often have to.

Here’s the question one of them posed last week:  “Why do you believe?” 

There was a qualifier – “I don’t want to hear why I should believe.  I want to know why you believe.”

Before I answer, I have to be honest about something.  What I’m about to say is based largely on deep and real encounters with a God whose track record in my life is one of love and trustworthiness and transformation.  A loving Father.  A rescuer.  An encourager.  The list goes on and on.

If I didn’t have those experiences, would I still believe?  Would the evidence of scripture or history be a compelling case for me?  If instead of temporary “dry spells” I had no sense of His presence any more, if I cried out and begged for His presence and didn’t hear anything back, would I still believe?  If I was hurt far deeper or far more often than I have been in my life, would that make a difference?  If I couldn’t find my way to gratitude (which I do believe is key to allowing God to transform me), would I see no way forward on the faith journey.  I don’t know.  I hope there would be something to see me through to the other side, but it feels arrogant to me to say that I’m sure of that.

So, with that said … Why do I believe?

I believe because over 42 years ago [as I repost this it is now over 52 years ago], when I was a 15 year old shy, timid “good girl” who had been raised in the church, I finally heard the gospel presented in a way that told me about a personal relationship with Jesus.  And when I said “Yes”, I immediately felt that I was no longer sinking but that my feet had hit a firm and solid rock.  Nothing much changed in how my life looked to others (remember – I was a “good girl”, too afraid or shy to rebel).  But internally, everything changed.

I believe because there have been changes and transformations in my life that can’t be explained by “self-improvement” techniques or natural growth.  They are deeply connected to my experience of God.  A painfully shy, extremely timid girl discovers she has a voice and that she actually wants it to be heard.  A lifelong struggle with whether I am lovable yields to a deep sense that I am.  Years of fear-based decision making give way to more risk taking.  These changes are more characteristic of being wooed by a Lover who wants you to be your best, Who delights in you and encourages you, than they are of working hard to improve yourself.

I believe because in the midst of the most painful season of my life, I still saw great gifts in my life.  Some of them were the transformations mentioned above.  Some were the body of Christ holding me in very tangible ways.  Some were images and visions and prophetic words – given in such a way that I now know for sure that Jesus understands a woman’s heart.

I believe because God has been personal toward me.  There have been enough gifts, words, “coincidences” for me to believe He speaks to me in ways that let me know He knows and understands me.  Some are funny.  An image during an inner healing time of a plant placed by Him into my wounded heart that grew and flourished.  I actually laughed because I knew it had to be Him healing my heart because I cannot keep a plant alive.  Some bring healing tears.  An image of sitting on a swing, at the bottom of a hill in the yard I grew up in, watching my parents and my sister at the top of the hill and feeling invisible.  And Jesus approaches, looks me tenderly in the eyes, and hands me a diamond.  A diamond had special significance at that time because my husband, the only man who had given me a diamond, had by that point withdrawn his love.

I believe because when I am suffering, or when I see suffering, I need to run somewhere and because my somewhere is actually Someone.  And I find arms there to embrace me.

I believe because I have experienced gratitude that doesn’t make sense, peace when my world is in turmoil, hope in the midst of despair and joy that goes deep and lasts, regardless of circumstances.

I believe because I think what I observe in life makes the most sense if there is a battle going on that is bigger than this world.  A loving God.  An enemy.  A people being equipped to usher in a new Kingdom.  Opposition to that plan.  Highs.  Lows.  Heroic acts of love and grace and mercy.  Persistent attacks of evil.  I do believe we know the end of the story, but I also believe we’re in the middle of the story.

Scripture continually tells us to “remember” what God has done.  And I suppose that remembering is integrally connected to why I believe.  It’s what gets me through the rough spots, the times when it doesn’t make sense, the times when God seems distant or silent.  I go back to what I knew for sure in the moment when God did show up, when being with Him felt like being in a safe and loving home.  And I find I believe, regardless of the current circumstances.

Thoughts About Sin Done To Us

Written in April 2014. But it’s still something I cling to – that there is healing for the sin done to us.

The cross … the symbol of one of the central tenets of the Christian faith.  A particularly visible image during the Easter season.  The reminder that Jesus died – and then rose again.   

The reminder that Jesus did that for us.  For me.  For the forgiveness of my sin.  To make it possible for me to be in an intimate relationship with God.

That’s Basic Christianity 101.

This is not going to be a theological dissertation.  I wouldn’t even know where this fits in various theological constructs.  It’s merely the musings of something that pops into my mind from time to time.

Does the cross just take care of my sin?  Or does it also take care of the sin done to me? 

I’m not talking about the salvation of the person who violates another person and sins against them.  I’m not talking about somehow excusing or minimizing the evil that is present when one person sins in horribly destructive ways against another.

What I’m talking about is this:  Can we run to the cross – can we rely on the power of what was done on the cross – with those sins, the ones done to us, just as we can run to the cross with our own sin?

My experience – and my heart – tells me we can. 

One of my “cling to” verses, discovered in the midst of pain, is 1 John 4:16a – “And so we know and rely on the love God has for us.”  Rely – that’s the word that originally leapt off the page at me.

I understand there are circumstances where the evidence seems stacked against a loving and reliable God.  There are situations where I really don’t know what to say because anything I think to say feels less than what the person needs, it feels insensitive to the depth of pain and abuse.  I don’t pretend that my experience should somehow make it easy for anyone to get past their own pain, their own distrust of God.  But for me, I always come back to the fact that I can know and rely on God’s love for me.  And somehow, the cross becomes the place I know that, the tangible sign of the depth of God’s love.

Maybe this isn’t a new idea to you.  But when I first thought of it this way, that the cross could take care of sin done against us, against me, it was somehow more tangible than a vague pat answer about letting God into the pain or turning the pain over to Him.

I am a huge beneficiary of great counseling and inner healing.  I absolutely want to always be part of a community that has a theology of healing and that encourages the use of gifted counselors and healers.   I have counselors that I credit with giving me back the ability to function after the pain of what happened in my life felt as if it would crush me. 

Ultimately though, my ability to move through pain and into healing seems to rest not just on great insights and technique, or gifted counselors who help me see things I wouldn’t face otherwise.  When I look for the “solid ground” on which to stand, from which to heal, it goes back to being able to know and rely on God’s love – to the cross. 

If the cross is about ripping open the veil between us and God, bringing us into deep and nourishing and life-giving relationship with Him – then it has to take care of anything that stands in the way of that.  So it must take care of our sin.  And it does. 

But for some people, in some circumstances, sin done against them can distort a view of God’s goodness, or God’s desire to be close, or our ability to rely on Him, or even the perception of whether He is real and present and caring.  There are stories where you wonder how anyone can survive such sustained or repeated abuse at such a horrendous level.  The “easy” Christian answers don’t work.  They feel trivial and inappropriate. 

And the story doesn’t have to be big or dramatic for that to be true.  There are lesser known stories as well, the ones that happen day in and day out to people we know and love.  And the damage is the same.  It is not their sin, but it gets in the way of the relationship God offers and desires. 

If the cross removes barriers between us and God, in some way it has to take care of these sins done against us as well.  It has to be big enough and powerful enough for this.

I don’t know how everyone gets there.  I don’t know a magic formula that makes it easy to remove that kind of barrier.  I’m not a gifted counselor.  I know there has to be a willingness to let God into the healing – but I probably won’t know how to get you there.

In spite of that, whether I can explain how it works or not, whether I know how to help you get there or not, I still believe the cross is the answer.  I believe the cross takes care of it.