The Messy Middle
One of the hardest things for me during our years in family ministry was unfinished stories. More often than not, we watched our students blossom and their families flourish, but there were times we could do very little to help move a struggling family towards healing. It’s a special kind of hard to see a train wreck coming for people you love, and having to let go and leave them in their mess. Occasionally we hear updates about former students that remind us that it can take years for the waves of sin and trauma to crest, and we ache for them all over again. We couldn’t stop their pain then, and we can’t stop it now. The reality of ministry – the reality of life – is that there will always be unfinished stories, where the hopeless mess seems to be winning. I was...
Read MoreNo Shadow of Shame
I usually don’t even feel the words burrowing until they’re already under my skin. A little comment here, a critical thought there, slipping in and lodging like tiny splinters that feel like they should be easy to ignore. And there they sit, taking root until I’ve incorporated their poison and pain into my movements like they’re just part of who I am. Sometimes I don’t realize how much I’ve slowed and stiffened until things that used to come easily just don’t anymore. Taking a full breath. Loving without fear. Letting myself be seen. Those splinter words are seeds of shame, and when they’ve grown a bit they can be downright paralyzing. Shame is an expert impersonator. It mimics our own voices, pretends it’s familiar and trustworthy, convinces us it belongs. After...
Read MoreForgive Us
We Christians can be trundlers, clumsy with our heavy feet and careless steps. We can be tanglers of words, crushers and blinders of tender minds. We Christians can be foolish dancers to the tunes of snake charmers, the music of lie peddlers who steal and sell the name of Christ. We can hide behind our I-would-nevers and hold no mercy for those who would, turning a broken heart inward to cut itself again. Forgive us, Jesus, whose scarred hands are strong enough to hold gently. We Christians can be pride-deaf, tuned to hear voices of power over the Word of God. We can welcome idol shackles, chain our hearts to politics and positions and possessions. We Christians, we are contradictions, owning freedom and flirting with slavery, too often closing our fresh...
Read MoreOpen Letter to My World Weary Sister
Dear Lovely Friend, I saw it in your eyes today, that exhaustion that comes from dangling with all your loose ends for so long. Yesterday you weren’t sure how you would do today, and today you’re not sure how you’ll do tomorrow. You hoped it would all be over by now, but it’s not, and it may not be for a long while. And there you are, finding the courage to put your feet on the floor in the morning and move forward into another day of living in the not-yet. Another day of letting go, another day of hard choices, another day of white knuckling truth that doesn’t always feel so true. Sometimes the again and again-ness of all of it sits like a boulder on your aching chest, and you can feel it pressing a hole into your tired, tender heart. It’s no wonder you’re...
Read MoreWhat We Wouldn’t Know
A friend of mine stepped out of her skin last week, right out of a body worn down by 17 years of tumors and treatments. She was beautiful, and cancer is an evil mockery of creation. But here’s the thing – she wouldn’t have been who she was without it. Every day my friend chose joy, some days easily and some days more like a desperate wrestling match. But she wouldn’t have known the value of joy if she hadn’t felt the lure of hopelessness. Isn’t it true that the light always shines brightest against the darkest backdrop? Courage is most courageous when the fear is strongest. Hope is greatest when it defies the deepest despair. Redemption is most obvious where stories are the hardest. I don’t believe God caused my friend’s cancer. He didn’t cause my mom’s...
Read MoreOne Foot, Two Foot, Sure Foot, True Foot
I wonder how they felt there perched on the edge, those men and women and little ones getting ready to put themselves between impossible walls of water. I wonder if that first step down the bank was hard, with the unnatural path ahead stretching long and dark. The line must have been slow, all those people and animals carrying everything they owned, plodding on through the night hours. There was the pillar of fire back behind, a bright and terrifying promise of rescue from an army bent on their destruction, but up ahead all they could see were people’s backs and a flood piled high on either side. Safety was still a long walk away. That night the Israelites’ faith looked like footsteps. They were scared and angry at Moses, not sure they believed that God was...
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