... And I listened

      I've got a fire in my belly.  It's the kind that rises from deep within, when an ember of passion has been fanned. It had been squelched for quite some time, but it never went out.  It was dormant, tucked away for safe keeping, until a safe time to re-emerge.

     When I was in middle and high school, I wanted to be a social worker when I grew up.  I wanted to help people, like I had been helped.  However, somewhere along the way I was talked out of it.  I was told there was no money in it, getting a job would be hard, it would be too much emotionally.

     And I listened.

     I went to a year of college, taking gen-eds, before dropping out to go to Youth With A Mission (YWAM).  My time in YWAM stoked my fire.  During my time there, I was really able to work on myself.  I know that may sound like a cliche, but there was work to be done.  As I worked to reconcile my past experiences and who God was, I seemed to develop a magnetic field around me.  I was a magnet that attracted other abused women and children{it's so strange how we can sniff it out in others!}.  I had many ministry opportunities that allowed me to interact with other broken and abused women and children.  Their stories just poured out of them. 

     And I listened.

     As I have listened to so many stories of hurt, trauma, and victimization one thing has become clear.  We as a church do a really bad job of  helping these women, often to the point of revictimizing them.  We say "everyone welcome", which is true as long as you have it all together and look like us.  We say we want to help but they remain marginalized.  They sit in a corner alone.  You know why?   Because the modern church doesn't handle "messy" well, and messy is where these ladies and children reside.  Working through their "stuff" is a process.  A grimy, smelly, dirty process. 

     I've had periods in my life when I had more interactions with these women and children.  It was some of the most fulfilling times.  I felt a sense of purpose.  The fire burned bright. But then I went through some awful things.  I was revictimized by the church, by a pastor who knew my past and used it against me.  I was shaken to the core.  I began to question my calling, my ability to help, if I was even able to make a difference. 

     I shut down.

     For the past several years I have been in a "ministry desert".  I just didn't feel like I had anything extra to give.  But my magnet continued to pull injured women to me.  I gave what I had, though it didn't seem like enough.

     I listened.

    Over the last month, I have felt that ember fanned to flame.  I feel a passion burning deep in my belly.  I have a stirring that is pushing me forward.  I have to do something.  I just don't know what that looks like yet.  I just know that I, that we the church, need to do better.  It's time to reach out.  It's time our arms pull in rather than push away.    It's time I step out of my comfort zone and back into ministry.  I don't know what that looks like yet.

     But I'm listening.

Can you change a bully?

     There was a bully who lived in my neighborhood during most of my elementary and middle school years.  He was not just mean, he was cruel.  For a long time, I was actually afraid to leave my yard.

     I grew up in what some would consider an idyllic setting.  We had a house in the woods, surrounded by trees and hills.  There was a creek at the end of the lane where we spent most of our days in the summer.
     Our house was just a summer cottage when my parents bought it, as were most of the houses.  Five or six other families lived there year round.  My dad poured a ton of sweat into making that cottage a house we could live in.  He worked third shift at the post office, then he'd come home and work on the house.  What he didn't know, he learned.  He apprenticed anyone who would let him.
   
     When we first moved in there weren't other children my age, so it was a big deal when this family moved in down the lane.  They had a daughter and three sons, one my age and one my younger sister's age.
     This family put a mobile home on a large corner lot, and some time later added another mobile home, creating an "L" shape.  They then built a deck that filled in the space between the two. 

     Dennis was closest to my age, and the third child in his family.  He had a stay-at-home mom and a dad who worked long days.  His mom was nice enough, but his dad was terrifying.  The kids would stay away from the house as much as possible when he was home.  He drank, a lot, when he was home.  Then the yelling would begin.  I could hear it all the way up to my house.  Any minor incident would send him into a rage.  The older two boys were beaten on a regular basis, as was their mom.
     One day, Dennis's dad had an accident at work and he lost his eye.  Eventually, he was fitted with a glass eye.  This wasn't like the modern inventions we have now, the one you can't even tell are fake.  His was a full-on 1970's nightmare.  It was fixed in place, and totally resembled a marble.  I was both frightened and fascinated at the same time.
     After his accident, Dennis's dad became even angrier.  Ultimately, he had an affair and abandoned his family.

     Dennis was mean to me almost from the beginning.  He had found someone weaker than him.  Walking to and from the bus stop was torture!  We lived on a dirt road that was covered in gravel every summer.  All the way up the lane he pelted my feet and legs with stones while he yelled "dance".  I would pray for the bus to be there so I wouldn't have to wait with him.  Coming home was no better.  At one point, I remember the bus driver giving me a head start before he let Dennis off the bus.  I would run as fast as I could down that dirt road, praying that I wouldn't fall. (Don't get me started about how the bus driver handled this!)
     My younger sister was a scrapper.  She had brute strength and wasn't afraid of anything.  I remember a time when Dennis had been threatening to beat me up.  I was supposed to meet him behind the fire hall.  I was filled with dread.  I knew for sure I was dead meat.  When it was time for the fight, my sister stepped in.  She beat the daylights out of him!  He got in a few punches, but she won in the end, loudly demanding that he leave me alone.
     She bought my peace.

     There was a brief time between adolescence and puberty when we had a love/hate relationship.  We'd get along for a bit, but then he'd show up at my house with a sledgehammer, demanding I smash something with it (usually a frog), or he would smash my foot.  I don't remember ever smashing something myself, but I saw him do it plenty of times.  It was enough to keep me in fear of him.
     My parents didn't like me hanging around with him.  They had that parental spidey sense, the desire to protect their child.  They didn't know what he'd done to me in the past-- I never told them-- but they were determined to protect me in the future.

     Once we reached puberty the general taunting ended.  My body developed early, and soon both Dennis and his older brother were sniffing around.  I knew enough to stay away from his brother, but Dennis and I had a few make-out sessions, but nothing sexual.  My  boundaries were murky.  Mom and dad taught me to save my body for marriage, to not let men take advantage of me.  This contradicted with my early childhood experiences.  Grown men had already taken advantage of me.  It was all too confusing.  

     Ultimately, Dennis sexually assaulted me.  Twice.  I didn't tell anyone.

     I write these experiences all to get here:  how different would Dennis's life had been if another adult had intervened?  Would he have been a kinder, gentler, non-abusive person if he had received tenderness, acceptance and unconditional love?  I believe so.  I'm not excusing his behavior.  Not by any means.  But, now as an adult looking back, I can feel empathy for him.  

     How different would our world be if we all did what we can to bring healing?  What if we stopped turning a blind eye to abuse and neglect?  What if we saw beyond a persona, beyond their living situation, beyond the clothes they wear or if they're bathed?  What would happen if we all reached into those people's hearts?  That's what Jesus would do.  

     I want to be more like that.   

   

Mere Christianity

     I grew up in the church.  Well, from five-years-old on up.  I loved hearing Bible stories of how people in the church took care of each other.  The stories of Jesus ministering to people, where they were, were some of my favorites.

     As I got older, Sunday School lessons revolved around "being like Jesus";  we were to treat people with kindness, feed the poor, take care of the needy, visit the shut-ins. But I was also taught to "be of the world, but not like it".  People who weren't Christians were supposed to look at me and know that I was different, that I had something they didn't have.  It was supposed to make them want what I had.

     But where was the ministry? Who were we reaching out to?  It was the same group of people attending each week.  The same group of people attending weekly Bible studies and home groups.  Occasionally new people came.  For the most part, they appeared to already be Christians.  It was a homogenous group.

     I was a wounded child.  I had deep injuries from physical, sexual and emotional abuse.  I didn't feel like my church was a safe place to share that information, so I kept quiet.  But I loved going to church!  Jesus met me there.  He held me there.  He kept me close.  When I left church, I felt good.  As a child, I didn't know how to explain what I experienced.  Sometimes, I still struggle to explain my relationship with Jesus.  To me it sounds like the simplest thing, yet it sounds so trite (or so I think) when I hear the words come out of my mouth.

     When I was in Youth With a Mission, that was the first time that I felt like I was actually ministering to the world.  I felt like I was fulfilling my Sunday School command to be like Jesus.  Travelling to third world countries and inner-city areas in America exposed me to people, to opportunities very new to me.  My heart began to understand what it meant to serve the weak, bind up the brokenhearted and give what I had to the poor.

     It's interesting how all along the way I attracted women and children with experiences similar to mine.  There seemed to be a radar on me.  I admit, I was not far enough along in my own healing to really help.  But I was an ear, a shoulder, a beating heart who understood what they experienced.

     After my husband and I got married, we moved several times and attended a variety of churches.  Each of the pastors preached the same sermons of my childhood, but it seemed like the caring aspect of the church, the part that allows for healing, had not progressed.  It was still "churched" and "unchurched".  Often, old-school church vs. new Christians and wounded people.  There was no allowance for the messiness that comes along with people being real, the people who are struggling to heal from things no one wants to talk about.  I've heard so many stories along the way of injured people being further injured by the Church.  

     It hurts my heart.

     This past week has been a hard one for me as I've listened to people's stories.  I am glad to do it.  I understand what it feels like to have no one understand what you've been through.  But this week I heard things that both broke my heart and stirred an anger in my soul.  I listened to the story of woman who endured gut-wrenching abuse throughout her childhood and teen years.  She felt like it made her dirty, that her secret diminished her worth.  When she told me how the behavior, the judgments, of prominent leaders in the church reinforced her feelings of not being worthy of God's love, I broke into tears.  She told me she felt like if they couldn't accept her, let alone help her, then how could God? 

     I hear stories like this over and over again.  The broken, abandoned and marginalized seek solace, some semblance of comfort from we the church, and we turn them away.  Yes, we.  I am including myself.  I don't always respond the right way, and I've been through crap.  You'd think I, of all people, would understand.  But I struggle with messiness.  I like things tied up in neat little boxes.  Emotion is hard for me.  I don't like to show it.  It's equally hard for me to see it.  Yet that is what we are called to, those  are the very people who need  us, who need the touch of Jesus.  

     So that brings me to this:  when do we actually start being like Jesus instead of just talking about it?  When will we see our pews, chairs, auditoriums filled with people who aren't "members", but rather people who heard Jesus would be there so they showed up seeking an encounter with him?  When will women enduring domestic violence, or women whose husbands are molesting their children, feel safe enough to share that with their pastor and not feel shamed for needing out?  When will pastors stop demanding proof of the abuse before they show compassion?  When will those of us who suffered sexual abuse as children feel like it's a safe place to start unpacking all those boxes we have created deep inside in order to help us cope?  

     How would Jesus actually respond?

     The Jesus that I know, would weep at what He saw.  He never intended the church to be for the whole or those who have it all together.  Those He chose to follow him certainly weren't.  They were messy, unruly and decidedly un-Churchlike.  He would cradle those abused children, holding them to his heart.  I see him embracing those who fear that what's happened to them also defines them.  I think he'd be marching in the streets, fighting for those who just can't do it anymore.

     I see Him smiling, eyes warm, his arms open and welcoming.   Can you see him? 

     I've been convicted these past few days to love more.  If you know me, you've probably heard me say "I hate people".   It's a coping mechanism.  I actually love people, I just don't know how to deal with them.  But I'm convicted.  Jesus never would have said that he hated people.  If I'm to be like Jesus, I need to make some changes in my own thinking and behavior.

     How about you?

** I encourage you to check out these songs on Youtube or Spotify.  They stir my soul every time I hear them.

     "My Jesus", Todd Agnew

     "Truth be told", Mathew West

     "Preach", John