Are you a big believer in coincidence or are you someone who is willing to acknowledge circumstances as God’s presence in your life?  Can you sit in wonder or does life always make logical sense to you?  Have you ever walked away from a moment that felt truly holy and do you think those only exist in scripture?

Let me tell you a story and you can decide where you land.  No judgement…just an exercise in getting to know one another.

I’m the only one who drinks coffee at my house, so I’m the one who makes it.  On a recent Saturday morning I finished my habitual glass of water and set about filling the carafe and pouring water into the machine.  I folded a filter to nestle in the basket, measured the exact amount of coffee, and dumped in the scoops.  I pushed the whole mess beneath the drop spout and flipped the switch. As I waited for my morning wake-me-up, I found my journal and pulled out a mug.

A few mugs in my collection mean something to me.  Though I love the sweet mug I instinctively grabbed, on this morning another mug tugged at my heart.  I could see it in the cupboard with it’s creamy sides and wide base.  I thought of the friend who gifted it to me and decided the second mug felt more appropriate for my day, so I swapped it out.

I savored the words on the side, “Fearfully and wonderfully made.”  I remembered the day it was given to me.  It had been a hard day and the mug brought me joy.

My coffee machined breathed and gurgled to signify that it had completed the brewing process.  I poured some of my favorite beverage into my mug and added in sweet creamer making everything a light blonde.  I plunked myself down in a chair and flipped open my devotional.  I read the prescribed scripture: 

My jaw dropped and I slowly sat back in my chair.  The moment felt holy.  I didn’t want to take it for granted.

Now I’m sure that this reading doesn’t strike you as particularly holy.  It could seem like just a normal reading to accompany Psalm 139.  I don’t blame you for thinking that.  Rightly so.  You’re missing one piece of information that might cause the necessary impact.

Less than 24 hours prior to this devotional reading I’d walked in to a legitimate establishment called “The Smokey Banana” and gotten my first tattoo.  Well, two tattoos actually.  One on each wrist.

The one on my left wrist reads “Broken”. Like “I’m a sinner who desperately needs forgiveness and a savior,” kind of broken.

My right wrist reads “Beloved”.  Meaning, “I’m created by God in his image, knit together in my mothers womb with enormous care and chosen for a special purpose on earth.” THAT kind of beloved.

It is entirely possible that everything that happened during my morning devotional up is merely a coincidence.  I don’t blame you if that’s where you land.  And honestly, I KNOW that you could read this and have big problems with the idea that a Christian woman scarred her body with a permanent tattoo.  I’m fine with that.  I’ll pray through it.

I can understand all of the possible reactions.  I used to feel the same way.

But I am stepping into something new and different and that is why I permanently inked up my body.

I got my tattoos because I needed to mark a period in my life.  The last 12 months have been hard.  I walked the line between believing I was broken and desperately wanting to hear that I was also beloved.  I struggled to let people in to the mess.  This period has helped me to draw in some long time friends and recognize new friends.  I am learning what makes a great community and how to discern who to trust.  Counseling has helped and so have wise people in my life.

And my time with God each morning has been the lifeline that carried me through.  Some days I could hear him loudly.  Though the ground beneath me felt unsure, I knew I could trust him.  There were also days where God felt far away, even as I believed that he was nearby.  Our relationship has changed as I’ve grown in this season. The kind of growth that makes me feel gratitude for what has passed.

Now as the yearly season turns to fall, I feel like I’m stepping into spring.  I see new growth in my life and fresh starts.  I am learning to accept that I am broken and that in my brokenness comes connection to those around me.  God continually reminds me that I am also beloved…not in spite of my brokenness.  It’s not a broken BUT beloved.  It’s broken AND beloved.  They exist as two COMPLIMENTARY truths.  As my relationship with God grows, I’m learning to lean into this truth more and more.

Which means I’m paying attention to the moments that could be coincidence but that feel more like God showing me he is near.  I don’t want to miss a holy moment.

I don’t want to step on your toes here, but I don’t want you to miss holy moments either.  I believe God is as alive and active today as he was during both of the Old and New Testament times.  To see and hear him requires that we slow down and listen.  It means that we stop chalking things up to coincidence and acknowledge his presence in our life.  It’s worth it, you know.  Leaning in to these moments and acknowledging him.

Because beloved isn’t a position that is held by only one.  We all get to be beloved.  And that’s the very best news of all.

What do you do when you realize that you are broken and you can’t fix yourself?  What do you do when life feels frenetic and the world doesn’t make sense? When prayer and exercise, acupuncture and vitamins don’t work…

Find a counselor, that’s what.

For my whole life I’ve avoided counseling.  Don’t ask me why.  Something about shame and believing I was REALLY broken if I needed someone else to help me figure things out; that only truly crazy people sought help.

As there is a history of mental illness on my paternal side, I may also have been afraid of what might come of seeing a professional.  If someone else got a look inside my thoughts they might see that I was actually crazy and lock me up for good.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on what part you focus on) I finally reached a point in my life where I had no choice but to seek counseling.  And I discovered that I’d been really wrong about the shame and the getting locked up part.  Or at least my counselor hasn’t suggested that I be locked up YET.

Now there is a LARGE part of me that would like it noted that what sent me to counseling was not entirely my fault.  This is the part of me that embodies my overdeveloped sense of justice.  But I’m not going to tell you the whole story.  I only want to note that a big part of what happened in the last twelve months was that I believed that if I could just be better, that I could succeed.  And that just isn’t true.  There was so much more happening that I didn’t control. 

Back to that counseling bit…I asked for referrals, made a bunch of phone calls, answered a handful of questions… all which led me to a small office in Boulder on a very hot Thursday afternoon for my very first counseling session.

To start, I appreciated that my new counselor immediately told me where she would sit.  It was clear that my space would be on the couch. Which side of the couch to choose felt like an important decision, one that she was allowing me to make.  If I sat too far away from her was I communicating that I was closed off?  I suppose I could have picked the chair right next to her, but that felt strange; over-familiar.

So I picked a spot directly across from her.  I gently placed my phone and my keys on the couch spot to my left.  I folded my hands in my lap and gazed at this new person in my life.

She began by asking me what was going on; what had brought me to see her.  Instinctively I knew the story began in August of 2018.  Starting a new job coincided with the onset of my unraveling.

I detailed all of the events of the last twelve months.  My friend’s diagnosis, it’s relationship to another friend’s death three years prior, as well as my new job.  We spoke of faith, family history and the ways in which beliefs and behaviors are formed early in life.  I laughed at myself and the irony that my siblings and I all work in church settings.  That has got to be a therapists delight.

She asked insightful questions.  She tried to keep everyone’s names straight as she reflected back to me what she was hearing.  She showed compassion when I spoke of the things that were painful, surprise at events that were slightly shocking and at the end of it all she asked me to do a few things in the days ahead.

She taught me about self compassion.  Truth is, she taught me about self compassion right around the very same time that I recognized that sharing my weaknesses brought me closer to some of the coolest people.  Instead of creating distance, my humanity brought me nearer to those around me.  As I shed layers of the mask that I have it all together, people near me were able to connect in ways we hadn’t connected before.

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My counselor has helped examine the things that need to be examined in a safe space.  She’s given me permission to feel hurt and sad and shocked.  I’ve learned to see my bad habits as coping mechanisms while uncovering what causes me to need them in the first place.

But my counselor is not a miracle worker.  She’s just a person. I’m still broken and will be for the rest of my life.   But I’m also experiencing more moments of feeling seen, heard and loved in the midst of it.  Both by God and by really great people around me.

I’m grateful.

And if you’re one of those people who has put off counseling, maybe this is the encouragement you need to make an appointment.  Because it’s okay to ask for help unravelling things that don’t make sense, or to ask for a different perspective on bad coping habits that have plagued you for years.

Don’t do it to fit in, and don’t do it for someone else.  Do it because the world needs the best version of you.

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I remember the patch of road where I took the phone call.  I’d received a text the night before asking to talk because a friend had “yucky medical news.”  As she shared what was happening in her life, my heart sunk.  Her diagnosis was still unknown, but she asked me to pray.

One week later I sat in her hospital room, knowing her diagnosis and that God had said “no” to my prayers.

A few days later while listening to an audible version of Annie F. Downs book “Remember God” I wept at the words “I’m afraid this story is going to break my heart. And you’re going to see it.”  I looked at the year ahead and envisioned challenge after challenge for my friend and I questioned how a good God could prescribe this path.   I was afraid that God was going to break my heart through my friend’s illness.

All of that happened one year ago.

In that year my friend suffered horrible medical treatments to beat a terrible disease.  She had awful days…and she came out the other side.  By all accounts, she has won.  That part of the story is thrilling!

Yet I’ve been blindsided by my actual broken heart at seemingly trivial events.  In the midst of walking my friend through the awful disease, I began to unravel. Not because of what was happening in her life but because of what was happening in my own.  Things I thought I wanted turned into out different than I’d expected.  A place where I’d hoped to find solid ground brought insecurity and anxiety and self-doubt.

Where I am today is not where I thought I would be. My heart has been broken in this last year…just not for the reasons that I imagined it could be.

I explained this feeling to a friend recently…that I felt broken.  That I can’t seem to fix myself; to will away the insecurities and anxiety.  My friend corrected me.  Reminded me that words matter and that I’m not broken.  I nodded with her because I agree that words do matter.  And yet…

I do feel broken.

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The parts of me that I thought would always be present are no longer there.  God has pulled back layer upon layer of hurt and nudged it into the light.  The exposure is painful.

I have fought this broken feeling every single step of the way.  I’ve read books, listened to podcasts, tried supplements and acupuncture.  I’ve seen a doctor.  It appears that God has brought me to a place where I am faced with my brokenness and my toolkit is inadequate. I’m finally forced to admit my need.

Maybe this is what God intended all the while.  Is it possible that this pain means something?  That my broken feeling is intended for my good?  I’m beginning to think so.

Now I’m trying to engage in the pain instead of boxing it up and pretending it isn’t happening.  I’m finally ready to say that I’m struggling.  And I know that there isn’t a simple answer to fix what’s happening.  There is no quick fix here.

I do know that it’s going to take hard work on my part.  Time examining my habits and behaviors and understanding why I react the way that I do.  Unlearning patterns that have served me over time and then learning new habits to fill the void.

There is also something healing in the midst of what is broken.  I’m unable to piece myself back together but I am also unbelievably sure that God is near to me in the midst of it.  I can feel his presence.  He isn’t removing my hurt, but he is whispering his love for me in the middle of it. I’m finally seeing that I have no choice but to unfurl my fingers from their grip on my life and turn my palms upward once again.  To trust God for the outcome.  And I do trust him.  More than anyone else in my life, he has ALWAYS been faithful.

And I feel hope that in this broken, I can be stronger.

It was still and hot as we packed up.  It took four of us to lift and push our camping box into the back of the Pilot.  My daughter and I counted together as we hoisted the car top carrier onto the roof. Sweat dripped down my back as I stuffed one more sleeping bag into the carrier .  I was excited about the potential for cooler air.  In fact we were all excited for the weekend ahead: time away, together and outside.  Sunshine, stillness, s’mores and our regular camping treats highly anticipated. The kids and I were leaving on a Thursday and my husband would join us the following afternoon.

The drive was perfect, winding along a creek for miles on end. The kids and I arrived at the campsite while it was still daylight, which gave me plenty of time to start a fire.  Which is GREAT because it actually took me over an hour (in my defense damp firewood didn’t help.) What now know is that it was a perfect precursor for an IMperfect weekend.

Missing tent stakes, shivering dogs AND people, and so.much.rain. meant that our planned long weekend away turned into a two night trip. We finally called it when the hubby opened the tent door to see that all of our shoes had been drenched and so had his entire bag of clothes.  We swiftly packed up as the rain poured down, stuffing the tent into the back of the car.  As we drove away from the site, the smell of wet dog permeated the backseat.  Which about summed up the weekend.

Later that night as I sat on our covered porch I couldn’t help but think that our camping trip reflected the current state of my life.

This last year, one that I anticipated would be sweet and fulfilling has felt more challenging and difficult than I ever imagined.  What I’d envisioned in my future was not reality at all. My confidence has been tested.  I have felt less like myself.  All of the good that I had dreamed has turned into muddy water with an uncertain future.

My life today is NOTHING like I thought it would be a year ago.  I’ve had more bumps, more bruises and more rainstorms than I’d like.  I have never felt less like myself or more confused about my reactions that I have this past year.  I second guess myself more, my confidence has been tested.  So I question if this is what Jesus designed for my life.

But like my camping trip, I have a choice.  I can think of only the expectations that I’ve lost OR I can relish the pieces of good.  On our camping trip I can remember the multitude of stars on our first night and the laughter around the fire; the moments of laughter in the tent and a shared goal of keeping the dog warm; quiet conversations in the car; the adventure of tracking down a moose to capture the perfect photo (little did we know he’d find us the next morning and be camera ready.)

Photo credit: Brian Boonstra

There ARE pieces of good in my work that I can see when I stop and allow myself to be still.   I rely more on God’s voice than I have in a very long while.  God has used challenges to help me shed some unhealthy habits.  I practice sabbath more because I so desperately need it.  God has also given me some amazing chances to connect with new people, to share what God has done in my life and reflect the things I see that He’s doing in theirs.

God keeps asking me to trust him in the midst of the hard.  I can choose to focus only on the things that were unexpected or that make me uncomfortable or I can let go of my expectations and trust him. I can listen for his voice and lean in to what he’s doing.

Clearly I’m having trouble letting go of my expectation of happily-ever-after.  God is asking me to live out the things I’ve already said about him.  I hate it when he does this.  I know that he is good and that I can trust him…but some days that’s harder to remember.  Obviously I’m a work still in progress.

Tonight I see the clouds.  Not only the darkness of the clouds but see the beauty in their formation.  Perhaps I’ve seen this before…the shades of grey, the shapes, the contrast between the clouds and the fading orange sky.  But tonight I noticed and appreciated it.

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Maybe life is less about the big lessons and the “aha” moments and more about daily practicing the things we say we know.

I’m in a season of things that feel hard.  Can I daily practice actively looking to God in the midst of the struggle?  Can I choose to look at my struggles through his lens?  Can I trust him?

Stay tuned.

I slipped off my shoes, and got comfortable on the couch.  I had a few moments to spare so I fluffed some pillows, pulled out my book and started to read.  As the minutes ticked by, I relished the sunshine and the low buzz of church happening all around me.

There was music in the background, a mumble of voices all around.  Older folks smiled and hugged one another as they said hello.  Kids rushed to classrooms.  Middle school students stood awkwardly waiting for parents to get coffee.  I smiled at a few of the people I recognized.  Some came and said “hello.”

I saw a woman who had been given a cancer diagnosis, and a couple who had recently gotten engaged. I saw a family that had lost a child and another carrying a one month old baby.  I saw joy and grief, life and death.

Best of all I saw community.

In a moment a wave of gratitude washed over me.  THIS is church.  I knew it in my core.

There are many more days when I’m so proud of our church leaders that I could burst.  It’s a church that holds tight to the teachings of Jesus.  We value our community and the people in it.  And we want others to see the real Jesus, the one who sacrificed everything for them.

At this church I’ve been reprimanded by cranky people and encouraged by cheerful ones.  I’ve experienced moments of heartbreak and others of pure joy.  I’ve laughed so hard I cried.  I’ve also just plain cried.  For better or for worse, this is what I’ve got and I’m grateful.

But as I reflect on this gift, I also recognize my instinct to hold this community at a distance.  My go-to mechanism is self preservation and I see so much risk involved in opening up.  I’m afraid to let others close.  Afraid that if I let them in, they have the ability to hurt me.

When Jesus began his ministry, he invited people along.  He began by inviting a few fishermen to become fishers of men.

As Jesus was walking beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon called Peter and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. ¹⁹ “Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will send you out to fish for people.” ²⁰ At once they left their nets and followed him.

²¹ Going on from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John. They were in a boat with their father Zebedee, preparing their nets. Jesus called them, ²² and immediately they left the boat and their father and followed him. 

Whenever I read this story in Mathew 4 or in Mark 1, there are TWO things that amaze me.  The first is that the men immediately stop what they’re doing and follow Jesus.  I assure you, I probably would have asked a few more detailed questions before dropping everything.  But not the disciples.  Pretty amazing.

Something else that I wonder but that isn’t super relevant to this particular topic…do you think that Jesus invited more than the ones that are listed but the others DIDN’T accept and so they didn’t make the story?  That’s both a TERRIBLE thing to consider and ALSO…really reflective of real life.   These are just the things that run through my brain when I read the Bible.   

I’m also amazed at the men Jesus picked to be his people.  I’ve read a bunch of this story before so I know some of what happens.  SPOILER ALERT: The men let Jesus down.

One of the first people Jesus invites along is Peter.  The same Peter who is a bit of a hot head, cuts a guy’s ear off and then denies Jesus three times right before Jesus is crucified.   He has other amazing qualities.  I mean he did start the church…but he wasn’t exactly “friend of the year.”

I always wonder how much Jesus knew about his friends.  I’m sure he knew the character of Peter…but, at the beginning of his ministry, did he know that Peter would deny him three times?   When he invited Judas in, did he recognize that Judas would be the one to betray him?

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Jesus, the very son of God, had friends who betrayed him and hurt him.  He had the capacity to avoid it and he didn’t.

It’s convicting when I think about it.  It’s incredibly easy stay in my seat on the couch as church continues to happen all around me.  My feelings don’t get hurt.  I don’t risk anything by showing up, caring for those who are hurting…but never really letting people in. It’s unlikely that I’ll get my heart broken if I stay seated.

OR I can take a page from Jesus book and invite people into my story…knowing that it won’t always be a happily ever after; knowing that the people that I let in have the capacity to hurt me.

The prospect is terrifying.

I’d love to end this with a tidy bow; tell you the three step process to how I overcame my fear…but honestly, I’m a work in progress.  It’s a daily debate for me to open up with people I don’t know that I can trust.

I have to end with an incomplete ending because I don’t believe the story is over.

The moment I became a mother my capacity to worry multiplied.  When my babies were little I would sneak into their rooms at night and lay my hand on their backs to feel the rise and fall of their chests.  It was always comfort for me to breathe slowly along with them.

You might expect that by the time the third came around I’d have settled into an experienced calm, but my anxiety just seemed to amplify .  Each night, as I carried my drowsy baby to his room, my mind would create terrible scenarios of SIDS.  I would pray over him as he dozed off to sleep knowing that later that evening I’d check on his breathing.  Often multiple times.

Over the years I’ve worried about all sorts things for each of my kids.  Milestones, friends, futures and always about their teeth.  I have this weird thing with teeth.  Probably because my third child had teeth trauma at age one.  I think I may still have PTSD.

Worry seemed to be my default setting.

It was almost as if there was a trophy that I wanted…”Parent with the Most Worry”

I worried and protected and interfered, all in the name of protecting my kids.

But as my children grew, I grew as a mother and also as a follower of Jesus.  And I learned that the words “do not be afraid” turn up a lot in the Bible.  I started to dig into what that meant.  Mary saw an angel and the angel told her not to be afraid. The angel was about to disrupt Mary’s perfectly ordered life…and he instructed her not to be afraid.  And she listened.

I also learned about the lives of the men who were closest to Jesus when he was here on earth.  Turns out they didn’t exactly experience happily-ever-after here on earth. So if Jesus tells us not to worry BUT ALSO combines that with his followers leading difficult lives, doesn’t that mean I need to trust him, even when things don’t feel okay?

These days I feel this never ending challenge to trust him. A challenge to trust God with my kids and my future.  To choose trust over worry, even if it means that I won’t get my imagined happy ending.

It’s hard to write that because there is an underlying message that dominates the news and our social media feeds…we all need to be worried. We should be worried about our country, our schools and DEFINITELY worried for the future of our children.  The message is underscored with the idea that we all deserve the happily-ever-after that we imagine.

Do I want my children to be safe-absolutely!  Can I guarantee that nothing bad will ever happen to them?  No.  Do I want them to get the happily-ever-after that I imagine?  Sort of?

Sort of, because in the midst of some pretty hard “nos” in my life I’ve grown far more than I ever did in the happily-ever-after. Thus far, God’s plan for my life appears to be far riskier than I imagined.  There are some dark parts along the way that I wish had happy endings but don’t.  Abuse, a broken heart, people dying…  But my relationship with God is far deeper and more real than I thought was possible.

So the question is, which will I choose for my kids?  Will I chose the happily-ever-after with no dark areas, or do I trust that God will do his thing?

And the thought that I even have a choice in the matter is absurd. My choice is really, “What do I want to model for my kids?”

If I claim that God is good and loving and always present but I live my life pulling my hair out in constant worry, what are my kids to believe?

Will they grow up to believe that God is good and trustworthy?  Or will they fear unwanted outcomes?

I remember the day my middle was diagnosed with celiac disease at age nine. The morning of the results appointment I’d taken him to Starbucks.  I bought him a piece of lemon pound cake…just in case.

We’d be dreading the results for weeks.  I’d worried about what life would look like; the things that we’d have to give up, the changes we would need to make. As we sat and waited for the doctor, I went over all of the things he’d said to us after the biopsy.

He’d told us that G’s intestines didn’t look unhealthy.  The doctor felt good about what he’d seen.  He was leaning towards a food allergy and not celiac disease.

I had friends praying for his result to be clear.  I truly believed God would give us a happy ending.

The moment the Dr. walked in the room, I knew the diagnosis.  The way his face conveyed pity was a dead giveaway.

I don’t remember the words he used but I can remember the feeling of sitting in the room and trying not to cry.  I didn’t want my son to know how much this devastated me.  God has said “no” and I didn’t know what to do with it.

We finished the appointment and I drove G the 30 minutes back to school.  Still too young to sit in the front seat of the car, he sat by himself in the back while I drove in silence. Each of us was too afraid to talk.

The second I dropped him off I texted a friend.  It was one word that conveyed the diagnosis and my devastation.   It conveyed everything.  The thing that I’d been fearing for weeks had just come true.

And then I cried.  I cried for him.  He admitted that he hated being different and this was  one way that he would stand out. I cried for all the things he would have to give up to stay healthy.

I cried for me; for the new recipes I’d have to learn, the changes we’d have to make.  I cried because this was unexpected and hard and not what I’d envisioned.  I cried for the loss of my happily-ever-after.

But here’s the thing, it turns out that we’re actually okay.

For starters I’ve learned new recipes and found staples for him to eat.  I’ve also learned what it’s like to have a child who can’t always eat what’s being served.  It’s made me more empathetic to other parents and kids with food allergies.

But more importantly, in his diagnosis I learned that God can say no; bad things CAN happen and God is still good.  And I discovered that always being worried robbed me of some amazing moments in my life.

For so many years I was missing the good things because I spent so much time focusing on the POSSIBILITY of bad things.  I missed enjoying trips to the pond near our house because I was worried someone would fall and break an arm.  I missed cheering for “feats of bravery” because I was so concerned that someone would fall and knock out a tooth.  (I’m telling you, my fear of teeth trauma IS.A.THING)

Living in the possibility of “what ifs”  I was missing all of the amazing things that were happening right in front of me.  And it turns out my worry didn’t actually affect the outcome after all.

And that kid who has celiac disease?  He’s AMAZING.  A few weeks ago as I guided my car away from his basketball practice, he shared about practice that night.  There had been a few new kids that had joined the team.  He recalled what it felt like to be new, so he made sure to give one of the boys a high five.

I suddenly felt a wave of gratitude.  I hadn’t missed this one.  I’d remained present in the moment.  I hadn’t worried about what the news kids on the team might mean for him.  I was simply present and listening to what was actually happening before me.

I want my kids to see a mom who is present and who trusts in a God who is good and loving and kind.  Even when He says no.

That night instead of a future wrought with negative experiences, I saw a strong man with a good heart who cared about those around him.

I cannot guarantee that he won’t ever get sick.  And I can’t guarantee that he’ll never suffer heartbreak or failure.  In fact, I CAN guarantee that he WILL suffer both of those things.  He’ll survive and both will make him a stronger human being.

The fact that he does have celiac disease IS NOT a happy ending.  There are still days where the disease just sucks.  Days when the adults in his life forget or accidentally give him gluten and he throws up for three hours.  Or the times where he can’t have what the other kids are having because no one thought to have something gluten free.  He has days that he feels sorry for himself and that hurts my heart.

But he has a kind heart and he’s funny and smart. He’s healthy and normal and awesome.  And I wouldn’t change a single thing about him.

I cannot control what happens in his future.  But I know that he is going to be okay.  We’re going to be okay.  Even when bad things happen.

Why?  Because God IS good.  He is present.  He will carry us through it.  And he’s asking us not to live afraid.

Shame and fear of vulnerability shaped my childhood.

         “Be strong and courageous.  Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” Deuteronomy 31:6

Normally I’m not in favor of using “Christianese.”  You know, the weird language that us Christians use with one another.  We say things like “fellowship together” instead of “hang out.”  We use big words like sanctification or redemption.  We drop Holy Spirit bombs, saying things like “the holy spirit told me…”

That last one actually makes my skin crawl.

To be clear, I one hundred percent believe that the Holy Spirit is alive and active in this world.  I believe we should absolutely pay attention to what the Holy Spirit is doing in our lives.  

But I have BIG RED WARNING SIGNS when someone claims that the Holy Spirit is telling them what I should be doing.  

Like I said, I’m not normally in favor of using the Christian language that so often makes boundary lines clear between who’s in and who is out.  For more on this, see Jen Hatmakers awesome Facebook post on this topic.

BUT, I have an affinity for the word Ebenezer.

Ebenezer is a word used in 1 Samuel 7:12.  For some context: Israel, God’s chosen people, who had previously abandoned God had returned to Him.  The prophet (someone who speaks God’s word to a people) Samuel, had told them to turn back with their whole hearts and get rid of all of their other gods.  And they were doing it.  Yay Israel!

Right in the midst of them turning back, a big army assembles against them. They are terrified.  They come to Samuel and ask him to intercede to God on their behalf.  And God delivers the Israelites by thundering with a loud thunder and causing the other army to panic and run.  And if you just read that sentence and didn’t realize the weight of what God did, please read it again.  The Israelites didn’t make a plan.  They didn’t assemble.  GOD did the work.  BY THUNDERING!

So, in verse 12, the prophet Samuel sets an ebenezer, a stone to help them remember what God did for them.  Ebenezer literally means “stone of help.”

Why do I love this word?  Because the older I get, the more I’m trying to remember.  Not in a “remember the good old days” kind of way.  I want to remember all of the things God has done in my life.  How often does God do something amazing, only for me to forget 48 hours later?  Too often.

It happened recently.  It involved some difficulties I was experiencing in my life.   I was tired and weary.  After following wise advice, I’d stood my ground in a difficult situation.  I hadn’t caused division, but sought unity.

And I felt all the good things slipping away.  I was disturbed by the negativity creeping into my job.  Whispered conversations, division, manipulation on staff.  Instead of cheering one another on, we were looking to critique others.  This felt wrong in a church.  I was ready to walk away.

In an unremarkable early morning moment, a verse was delivered to me.  Psalm 37 simply appeared on the locked screen of my phone, the morning after I’d asked God for guidance.

My jaw dropped when I read it.  My heartbeat picked up.  I read it again.  An arrow of conviction pierced my heart.  My insides told me that leaving my job wasn’t an option.  God was asking more of me.

I spent two more days arguing with God about the wisdom of continually placing myself at risk of manipulation.  I’d expected him to rubber stamp approval of my plan to walk away…but he was clear.  I needed to stay.  So on the morning of the 2nd day, after spending time in Psalm 37, I told God that I would be obedient…BUT I was also claiming verse 10 as a promise.  ¹⁰ A little while, and the wicked will be no more; though you look for them, they will not be found.  

I prepared myself for the difficulty of continuing to work with a person who so easily slipped into manipulating others.  Who engaged in negative back room conversations about our leaders. I knew that God was asking me to step into the tension of seeing this person as a child of God while refusing to engage in the behaviors.

I returned to work, sure in God’s hand but unsure of what to do.

The first day brought more anxiety, a racing heart and a shaken resolve to maintain good boundaries.  I didn’t act any differently.  I didn’t move to fight.  I simply asked God to fight this battle and show me my part.

Day two…well that’s the day I want to remember.  Day two was the day the man resigned.

Just like that.

I didn’t have to fight because God was fighting for me the whole time.

The LORD had helped me.

That is worth remembering.  Waiting patiently for the LORD is ALWAYS worth it.  He is ALWAYS faithful.

If I’d tried to maneuver…tried on my own to bring my concerns to light, I would have missed the miracle.

It was not two days later, when that same man once again tried to bully his way through a meeting and my blood was starting to boil…when I realized that I’d already forgotten what God had done.

I didn’t need to point out his scheming.  God would reveal his character.  I needed to trust what he was doing in the invisible.

Which is why I’m sharing this story.  I want to remember the times that God THUNDERS for me, so that when I face my next challenge I will see my ebenezer and remember to engage in trusting God.  He is ALWAYS faithful.

You’re faced with someone who makes you uncomfortable.  Perhaps her opinions stand in opposition of everything you believe.  Maybe he says hurtful things that undercut your value.  Your heart has been damaged by this person.  When you think of what he or she said or did, you can still see the room where it happened.  You can re-live the hurt just by imagining the experience.  You have been hurt and you have every right to feel it.

I want you to take a moment and think about ONE specific person that has made you angry recently.  I’m not talking about someone in your life that you love.  I’m thinking of someone you hold at arms length because they’ve hurt you.  Someone you would never consider letting into your inner circle.   Someone who doesn’t actually deserve to be close to you.

How we handle hard people says a lot about who we are and what we believe.

We can give ourselves permission to place boundaries on them. We can battle them, unfriend them or block them.

Or we can love them, in the same way that Jesus has loved us in all of our awfulness.

I truly suck at that last one.

My husband tells me I have an overdeveloped sense of justice.  That’s just a fancy way of saying I’m judgmental.  I create lines between good (that’s me) and evil (that’s the other person).  If someone wrongs me, I create walls around my heart that are so high that I can’t see outside my window.  Really.  I miss all of the beauty around me because I focus on my own hurt.  I focus on all of the terrible traits of the other person and I imagine all the ways he or she may hurt me again.  When I do this, it’s really easy to solidify those walls and create strong boundary lines.

I was in a situation recently that left me feeling powerless.  Someone in a position of power was using it to do damage to me and those around me.  He was hurtful and manipulative.  It made me angry and I wanted to walk away.  I would have been justified.

But I was reminded that he is also a child of God.

And therein lay the tension. How could I live in the space between healthy boundaries and loving my neighbor?

Maybe you’ve been in that spot.   Or maybe you’re still here.

How can we stay healthy BUT ALSO follow God’s instruction to “Love your enemies.  Bless those who curse you.  Do good to those who hate you and pray for those who persecute you.”  Matthew 5:44

Setting boundaries as a Christian is a hard thing to do.  We’ve been trained to offer forgiveness and grace. When we use those words so freely it’s hard to know where to draw the line.  How do you offer those things without becoming a doormat or feeling manipulated?  When is it okay to forgive but step away?  How can we be loving and grace filled but also maintain self esteem and personal value?

I’m still working out the answers.  I am really terrible at it most of the time.  But God is moving in my soul to do better.  To raise the bar and engage.

He is asking me to live in the tension of loving with boundaries.

Some days that means falling on my face and asking for help.I want to see good and healthy boundaries.  Other days that means engaging in hard conversations when my instinct is to run away.

And  the tricky part is that there is no recipe for when one is more appropriate than the other.

The best thing I can do is keep my eyes on God and what he’s doing in my life.

And that sounds nice and Christian-y.  But what does is really look like?

In my recent example it meant that I called a trusted friend to talk things through.  Not someone I knew would hate the person alongside of me but someone I trust to be honest about my failings and give the other person the benefit of the doubt.  After she heard me and helped me unravel what I was feeling, I asked her for recommended next steps.  And what she suggested made me want to run and hide but I also trusted her not to steer me wrong. Once I heard her, I read my Bible.  I prayed and I journaled.  And then I listened for God to speak to my heart.

There have been other times where my next best step was to walk away and NOT engage.  To accept that I had been hurt, to choose to recognize that a person was unhealthy and that there was nothing that I could do to change it.  Once again, I talked it through with friends whom I trust.  I ask for input.  And then I seek God through scripture.  I pray and I journal.  And I listen when my gut tells me what to do.

Listening to God takes practice.  It means leaning in and knowing the difference between telling ourselves what we WANT to hear and hearing the challenge of God.

It also means acting on what you hear.  The more we act and engage with him, the stronger our listening muscles become.  It becomes easier to discern what is God’s voice and what is our own wishful message from God.

You are a child of God.  He simply adores you.  Why not engage with him today?   Spend time with him.  Ask him to speak into what you’re going through right now.