And if I cared like Jesus, would I do stuff different?
You bet I would. Less of me. More of him.
Yada yada yada.
However, a message — found at a missions and ministry conference in San Diego (at least this is what I was told) — hit me where it hurts. My pride.
I’d love to think I have it all together spiritually. I don’t. We are ALL in process.
Here’s the message:
I was hungry and you formed a humanities group to discuss my hunger.
I was imprisoned and you crept off quietly to your chapel and prayed for my release.
I was naked and in your mind you debated the morality of my appearance.
I was sick and you knelt and thanked God for your health.
I was homeless and you preached to me the spiritual love of God.
I was lonely and you left me alone to pray for me. You seem so holy, so close to God.
But I am still very hungry — and lonely — and cold.
Busted? Me too.
Sure, I counsel hurting women. And, yeah, I’m putting together a ministry to help child sex slaves. But what about the widows in my church? The single moms? The moms grieving the loss of a child?
Woe is me. . .because I haven’t fed the hungry and clothed the naked or — tra-la-la — slipped into my Super Saint cape and did it all for everyone.
The true Rescuer pulls me out of the quicksand of twisted perfectionistic self-pity and gently reminds me what’s most important: my relationship with him. As I tune in to him, he’ll direct me and his purposes prevail.
Always.
Rather than worry, I must trust that he is in control and. . .
LYNN SOBBED. Her voice cracked as she tried to put together a sentence: “I don’t think even God could forgive me.” (Names have been changed.)
It had been many long years of numbed pain before she broke her silence of her abortion at age 18. At least I hope she did. You see, Lynn and I lost contact during college. We never talked about her abortion. I’ve always wondered why. Were we. . .
Too stupid? Too proud? Too embarrassed?
Yes, yes and yes!
I didn’t know then what I know now: Women who have abortions are in desperate need of healing.
I would not have helped my friend get an abortion. In fact, I would have yelled, screamed, laid down in front of her car, anything but stay silent.
Lynn and I–and our bestfriend Suzanne–were inseparable during our last two years of high school. . .except when Lynn was with her boyfriend. Then she missed her period and told Suzanne that she thought she was pregnant and not to tell anyone, even me.
Suzanne told me anyway. Suzanne bought a pregnancy test for Lynn. When her suspicions were confirmed, I suggested to Suzanne that she call the Better Business Bureau and check out the abortion clinic so Lynn would be OK. We didn’t want her hurt.
She thought she was doing the right thing. She had plans to go to college and start a career then a family. Her boyfriend didn’t want to get married. Neither did she. The women at Planned Parenthood told her that her unborn baby was a blob of tissue. Nothing more.
They are wrong. She was wrong. So was I.
MY SILENCE WAS DEAFENING!
In our churches today, women very rarely share the story of their abortions. It seems to be THE no-no topic. Women are far more likely to say they have depression or anxiety, a rebellious kid, a messed-up marriage, infertility or a miscarriage.
Abortion? No. It’s not a safe topic in almost all Christian circles. More silence!
Why? One reason: fear of condemnation from church people. Abortion hurts the woman too.
If anyone reading this has had one, may God bless you. He loves you so much. He wants you to return to him. He knows your pain. He wants to heal you.
An unexpected storm blew in soon after my husband and I adopted a baby from Russia in 2000. Specialists diagnosed John with several medical problems.
One day when gray clouds bucketed rain, I prayed, “Lord, will I ever write another book?” I hoped for a “Yes,” not for me but for John, because if God gave his nod to my writing then I knew my little guy would be okay.
And he is.
He’s my miracle child. But that’s another story.
God used my break from writing to heal broken places in my own life and to speak a call into my heart: to communicate to women how valuable and beautiful and significant they are in Christ.
When God healed me of distorted thinking about myself and him, he gave me words from the Old Testament prophet Ezekiel: “I myself will tend my sheep, declares the sovereign LORD. I will search for the lost and bring back the strays. I will bind up the injured and strengthen the weak.” This was my pastoral call to minister to hurting women, and I began studies through Western Seminary in Portland, Oregon. Still, I felt out of place at my church. Few of the women wanted pastoral care – at least from me.
My insecurities reared up.
Again.
Our good God reaffirmed his plan for my ministry to women. He moved our family to a new church where the pastors encourage biblical counseling.
Watching God heal women with anxiety, depression, troubled marriages and difficult pasts gives me tingles.
Through Twitter I soon discovered that many, many — way too many — Christian women have no biblical counselor nearby. A biblical counselor is NOT a psychotherapist. A biblical counselor is NOT a life coach. Rather, the Word of God (the Bible) directs the biblical counselor and her counselee.
I am amazed that God uses technology to reach his daughters. Who knew a tweet could go so far?!
How has God amazed you this week? Which of your tweets has touched a life?
MANY LITTLE GIRLS grow up with fathers who were absent in one way or another. If you are among the few whose fathers were there for you emotionally, physically and spiritually, you are blessed.
Others — me included — have father wounds.
Some dads may not have beat up their daughters, though, so sadly, this happens. It’s criminal.
They may not have slipped into our rooms at done unspeakable things. Or they may have.
This is sick. Beyond sick.
If this describes you, you are not at fault for his sin. He is.
Some dads may have got up and left. Divorce, separation — legal terms that fail to capture the pain of a dad’s absence.
Or maybe — like my dad — he was there physically but absent emotionally.
I cannot begain to describe how much his emotional absence hurt me and confused me and set me up for depression and anxiety and shame.
My early 30s ushered in an intense time of healing. I found the strength to forgive my dad. He never asked for forgiveness. I gave it to him anyway. I had to. For my sake.
He truly didn’t realize how much he hurt me. He didn’t intend to.
And yet when I chatted with him on Father’s Day and we laughed and said, “I love you,” a part of me felt blah. I desired what I didn’t have, couldn’t have when I was little.
Back then, I needed to know he loved me, that I reigned as his princess.
But you know what?
I decided years ago to follow the apostle Paul’s instruction, “forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead” (Philippians 3:13). What is ahead for me is heaven. My “now” is loving my kids as best as I can, together with my husband, because this is God’s desire and my own.
I have seen life upside-down, inside-out and as black as night. I’m not going back. What about you?
Here’s a music video by Jeremy Camp. It’s the turnaround of my experience. The son takes off. The dad feels hurt then elated when the young man returns. Enjoy.
Please pause my music player at the bottom of the page. Thanks.
As I watched this video, my heart grew three sizes and tears ran down my cheeks. I had glimped God’s beauty, his strength. And I wondered, would I have picked up the injured “enemy”? Would I have put the opponents’ interest before my own?
The unselfishness of two truly beautiful softball players remind me of Jesus. The most unlikely person, according to human standards, saves us all. Enjoy.
Please pause my music player at the bottom of the page. : )
Do you care, really care? Do I?
LYNN SOBBED.
