The Gap

Her name is Sylvia.  I didn't KNOW that at the time.  She'd been to my class before and of course told me her name, but it didn't really register.  But what she did for me THAT day will linger into eternity, like the sweet scent of perfume remains a room long after the woman who wears it has left.  And because of THAT she holds a sacred place in my heart.

Life was happening and I was exhausted.  At the time I was working, running my home, leading a marriage seminar with my husband and teaching Sabbath school every Sabbath.  Now that my not seem like much but  everything I was doing required my heart to be fully engaged.  My clients get me, all of me, fully present and emotionally engaged.  Doing a marriage seminar, well I bleed desperation for marriages to be all they can be,  man and woman fully loving each other, filled with grace and acceptance, and a pour all of me, all my energy into imparting that.  Wanting to inspire couples to take the risk, because it's worth it.   And any woman knows how tiring running a household can be; a son in grade 8 and a daughter in grade 11, two different schedules to coordinate.  I was getting all my "work" done so I could pick my son up at 3:00 and be home in the afternoon.  Making meals, doing groceries, cleaning house etc, etc....   you know how it is.  My family needed ALL of me.

And then there was my Sabbath school class.  Well that class was special.  It was a Women's class and the estrogen flowed freely, as did the tears.  We had created a safe haven.  We came and left all pretense and facade on the other side of the door.  In our little room, we laughed, we cried, we shared, we supported, we prayed.  And these precious women, all ages, all life circumstances......... well they too deserved ALL of me too.

But on this Sabbath morning there was no "All-of-me" left.  There was nothing.  I was physically exhausted and emotionally depleted.  I remember praying, "Lord I have nothing to give."  I prayed throughout the morning, frantic, my unspoken request for God to give me "something" so I'd have something to give.....  His answer to my prayer . . . silence.

The Sabbath school room was full that morning, we were 12 - 15 strong.  The ladies carried on like they did every Sabbath.  They chatted and connected, then went through their heart's desires for prayer. . . .  all the while I listened, and smiled . . . and still, I had nothing.

Prayer time arrived.. . . .   I looked at my precious women. . . . tears welled in my eyes and dripped down my cheeks. . . . in a feeble, weak voice I told these beautiful women "I have nothing, I can't even pray.  I don't even have the energy to pray."

Sylvia spoke up then.  She said she would pray.  She said, "I'll pray for you."  And though she sat across the room it was as if she came and sat in my chair with me, beside me.  She told Jesus all the things I couldn't say.  She lifted me up and let me rest in her prayer.  She stood in the Gap of my nothingness, where I couldn't even reach Jesus.  And took hold of Jesus FOR me.  The Glorious Spirit of God was in that little room. . . .  and there was peace.

After prayer I was able to teach class. . . . but this story is NOT about some miracle of prayer that gave me energy to teach.  This story is about the miracle of standing in the Gap for another.

"When hope is more than you can bear, and it's too hard to believe it could be true.  
And your strength fails you half way there, You can LEAN on me and I'll believe FOR you.  
And in time you will believe it too."  (Jason Gray, Nothing is Wasted, emphasis mine.)

I was changed that day.  Leaning on Sylvia, she "believed" for me.  She was strength for me, she was love for me, she was peace for me, she was prayer for me.  She stood in the Gap FOR me.   She gave me a gift that transcends this "here and now" and carries me into the realm of the holy.

Of course she gave me a glimpse of what Jesus did and does for me.  And that too is a gift because I have a fuller understanding. . . .  my experience with Jesus is  richer, deeper.  O the love the Father has for us. . .  that we should be called the children of God.  Co-heirs with Christ. . . . because Jesus placed a cross in the Gap and built a bridge. . . . my heart overflows. . .

But this story, though a shadow of what Jesus did, is for today.  For you and me.  Let's stand in the Gap.  We NEED each other.  I'll stand in the Gap for you. . . you can lean on me. . . and I'll believe for you. . . UNTIL you can believe it too.

Thanks Sylvia.

blessings,
k

Safe?

There is so much pain in the world I just want to make it better.  I want to reach out, touch, ease the burden.    If only I could brush my thumb across your forehead and soothe your furrowed brow.   If only I could place my hand over yours and relief could escape your lips.  If only I could sit with you, in silence, and your grief would know it is not alone.  You are not alone.....

I recently read a blog (a response to the Boston bombing) about being safe.  About wanting to keep our children safe.  What a farce!  We cannot keep our children, or anyone else, including ourselves, safe.
Free from harm!  Not on your life!  There's no way.
So what to do?  Harm is everywhere.  There is no freedom from pain.

I guess one response would be to secure ourselves in a tower of fear.  Yes, that's it.  Be aware of all the dangers out there. . . constantly on the look out. . . vigilant . . . senses highly tuned to every sound, to every shadow that could harm.

I imagine that would keep us safe. . . right?   That way I could avoid all the harm, all the pain.  Right?  That way my kids would never get hurt.  Right?  That there would be no risk of suffering.  Right?

No.  That would be an illusion.  A facade of smoke and mirrors that would cause more pain and suffering.  Fear IS harm.  Fear is a prison that lies and tells you that you are safe but slowly devours you from the inside.  It eats away at your soul.  Leaves you behind bars . . . and alone . . . dissolving to nothingness.

But I don't want to feel pain.  And even more so I don't want YOU to feel pain.  I want you to be kept from harm. . . . you, my friends, my children, my husband.  You, the stranger who is being crushed under the weight of suffering too heavy to bear.

I see you.  I see your anguish.  I see how it dulls the sparkle in your eyes, how is curves your shoulders and bends your back.  How you stumble as you so bravely carry it through your day, through your life. . . . moment my moment . . . so heavy.

What can I offer?  I can't take it away.  I can't change the circumstance.  I can't pick it up like a large boulder and carry it away. . . far, far away so it does not weigh you down anymore.

All I can offer is myself.  All I can do is sit in the suffering WITH you.  All I can do is not shrink away, not be horrified, not talk you out of it, not shame you and not force you to pretend it isn't there.  All I can do is offer myself.  Not my love, not my acceptance, not my sympathy, or pity or kindness.  NO!  Me, all of me.  Present!  Showing up!  In your pain.   I might be afraid, and I might be shy.  You see, your pain reminds me of my pain.  It reminds me of the ugly truth that there is no freedom from harm.  No protection from injury.  But that is not enough reason to stay away. . . and all the more reason be to present.

So perhaps we need to redefine "safe".   Perhaps "safe" is not freedom from harm or injury.  Perhaps "safe" is me "with" you.  And in the ugly of pain we will discover the beauty of connection.  In the horrible of suffering we will find the loveliness of belonging.  You to me and me to you.

And neither of us will be alone.  And we will both me "safe".

Deeply Graced by God......

I love the phrase "deeply graced by God".  If feels like a a warm blanket all wrapped up safe and snug.  I heard it from a woman who describes her past as the "deepest pit of sin".  It made me reflect on my own life.  And compare mine to hers.  I cannot say that I've ever been in what we might call a deep pit of sin, at least not by human standards.

The combination of my temperament and circumstances created a "good girl" in me.  I was not rebellious or defiant.  Quiet and compliant I kept the rules, did what I was supposed to do.  I was good, "perfect" my mother would tell me.  I never gave her or my young husband any trouble.  And it wasn't a Pharisaical "goodness"; me being above everyone else, looking down my nose at the lowlifes who smoked and got bad grades, or those who were divorced or "controlling".  Rather it was a "goodness" coat, used to cover the "nothing" I felt inside.  Zipped up nice and tight.  It wasn't fancy or flashy.  No, it was strong and sturdy,  not ugly, just practical.  And it covered me from head to toe

But here's the thing.  Sin is not defined by a behaviour or state of being.  Sin is the chasm between me and comfort, between me and safety, between me and Love. . . . between me and God!  And it doesn't matter whether that chasm is dug with the shovel of bad deeds or the backhoe of "goodness".  They are equally as heinous and equally as deadly.

But today, I sit snuggled and warm in a fuzzy blanket.  Comforted, safe, loved . . . I breath in the freshness of life renewed, released and freed.                      
                             I too am deeply graced by God.
   

Safe

I woke up last Sabbath morning feeling normal.  I've felt normal every since.  6 days of normal.  It's so relieving   I've existed under this weight, so heavy on my chest, for over three months. . . . the last month being the worst, suffocatingly so.

I read Psalm 134 yesterday; part of my quiet time Bible study.  It's a call to "bless the Lord".  What struck me was that it is for those who "stand in the Lord's house at night."   A strange picture is drawn in my head.  Normally  I think of coming to the Lord's house in the day time, sun shining, flowers blooming, a bounce in my step, joy springing from my soul.  But this. . . this picture is at night.

 It's dark, only street lamps light the way.  Dim ones that cast a faint yellow glow.  The air is foreboding.  Darkness presses in.  I walk the streets.  A cloak covers my body, a hood over my head.  I shiver, not from the cold, but from the darkness of the night.  I know where I'm going.  The shadows dance at a distance.  I turn the corner, the House of the Lord stands tall before me, majestic, made of stone.  The rose window luminescent under the night sky.  I lower the hood off my head and undo the clasp of my cloak as I walk up the numerous steps to the massive wooden doors that stand between me and the House of the Lord.  I grip the long brass handle and pull.  Heavy, I pull hard.  The door opens silently.  I enter.  Candles light the House or the Lord.  The breeze caused by opening the door causes the light to flicker.  Removing my cloak I place it over the back pew.  A deep breath escapes my body.  Slowly I walk to the front; each step brings greater release.  My shoulders relax, the anxious anticipation seeps out of my heart.  Though my soul is heavy I find rest.  I sit in the front pew.  And here I am, in the House of the Lord . . . at night . . . and I am safe.

That has been my experience.  During this time, where what seemed like heavy hands pressed harder and harder on my chest, pushing the very life out of me, I found solace in one place.  Most mornings I would awake early; before the night gave way to the sun.  I did it on purpose, so I could be alone.  And as the sun slowly arose to light the world I sat in my rocking chair and spent time with Jesus.  My own private "House of the Lord".  I didn't find relief from the suffocating pressure, but I did find rest.  It wasn't even necessarily "comforting", but it was safe.  

I don't know whether this time of respite will remain or if it is simply temporary.  And it really doesn't matter. For this I DO know.  I WILL bless the Lord when I come to His House in the night.... and there I will find rest . . . . . . and I will be safe.

Trash

I was watching Beth Moore on video last night.  She was talking about a move she made from the home her children grew up in.  She lived there for 27 years.  The day of the move, her husband sent her a picture.... of all the trash on the porch, left behind and waiting for the garbage men to come pick it up.  It got me to thinking, what is the trash I left behind in my move?  What pieces of garbage stayed there, waiting for trash day to carry it away?

After lights out, snuggling with my man I asked him the question.  His answer was quick and decisive, insecurity.  It's his story to tell but the piece of that in my story is that I am having a harder time figuring out the rubbish I left there.  I don't have a quick, decisive answer.  And the answer most certainly is not insecurity. . . . cuz I still carry some of the around; not as much but at times I still find my pockets full.

When we moved to our last district (almost 5 years ago now) I was a new Pastor's wife.  Graduate school and 2 years of clinical experience covered I was just getting my professional license.  There was adjusting and adventures and lots of "newness".  After some settling took place I found myself in a difficult situation.  One that conflicted with the very core of who God called me to be, as a woman, a wife, a mom and especially as a Pastor's wife.

To explain I have to go further back in history.  Throughout my childhood and early adulthood I carried a tremendous amount of shame.  I covered that shame by hiding behind perfectionism, striving to be the perfect daughter, perfect wife, perfect mother.  Proverbs 31 was my goal.  Being that kind of woman made me worth something.  I didn't know that was what I was doing.  Didn't realize how destructive that was or that I even felt the way I did.  I had deluded myself, living in this bubble of sweetness and enthusiasm.... it was a nice little bubble, all happy and sunshiney but it lacked substance, it lacked true friendship and closeness - even with my husband, it lacked "real".

Then in grad school... I came face-to-face with it all.  My therapist confronted me with "what's with all this perfection?"  (I had sent him an email.  In two sentences, less than 10 words, I wrote "perfect" 3 times.)  (O and when you study to be a therapist, it's generally best to go to a therapist to work on your own stuff.... which what I was sent to do.  With NO idea what my true "stuff" was.)

For a year and half I worked on it.  Slowly shedding the pieces of armour, the layers that kept me "SAFE", but kept me isolated and really, alone.  It was freeing.  I moved from a "human doing" to a "human being".

Enter now a new church district and (again) Beth Moore.  A new friend urged me to go to a Beth Moore conference.  We found one, specifically designed for Pastor's wives.  (She is not a pastor's wife but serves in children's ministry and we went together.)  What an experience.  I cannot tell you. To be surrounded by hundreds of women, all ministering by their husbands' sides.  Of course being new to this "job" I hadn't yet experienced the full impact of what a pastor's wife's life looks like.  But that is a blog for another day.

Beth talked about being Real.  Repression will make you sick.  Rebellion will make you stupid.  God wants Reverent Realness.  I KNEW that was what God had called me to.  What He wanted of me.  To be Real, Transparent.  It's what God wanted and what His church needed.  (and needs)

And of course. . . that was soon challenged.  I found myself eyeball to eyeball, in a situation that forced me to make a choice.  The conflict that ensued.  The misunderstanding and hurt.  Its not what I wanted.  I loved these people, I cared, I wanted them to embrace and find the same freedom I had found.  The freedom to just "be". . . . . to live, to breathe, to be ok. . . . not to be all tied up in perfection and rigidity.  Only that is not what they thought they were.  No, instead I was the bad one.  I was accusing them of stuff that just wasn't true.  They blessed people.  They were good.  Nothing was wrong with them.  Yet when I was with them I had to hide.... I went back to that teenager that covered herself head-to-toe, physically covered herself to hide and then hid in her room. . . . with them I was doing that emotionally.  No freedom, no peace, no contentment,  just strive, strive, strive. . . be perfect, sing perfect, look perfect, just like the rest of us. . . .

To live to my calling I had to remove myself from close proximity.  I couldn't put myself in a situation that continuously put me in direct opposition to my calling.  God's voice for me to be Real . . . . .Transparent.  It was so difficult.  They felt rejected.  I felt misunderstood.

In time I was put in situations where I could be transparent.  Safe places where we shared. . . received and gave encouragement. . .  loved and let people be who they are . . . . no masks, no hiding. . . . . . arms open in acceptance..

So the trash I left behind...... the hiding...... Garbage bags full of it..... I left it there, to be carted off to the dump where it belongs.