New Year's Prayer

You can find my blog at this link.

Happy New Year!

Parallel Lines: An Advent Poem

I can't seem to write in prose lately. :o)

I have been awestruck by the God-man, Jesus, and the parallel of how he entered the earth as an infant, and yet will return as the arbiter of justice. Healer and judge. He gracefully walks in the already and not-yet. We, his image-bearers, do the same to some extent, but there are some parallels that only Jesus can bridge. And thank God, He did.

Funny how parallel lines meet

Streaks left by busy jets
Passing the dawn or
The ebb and flow of telephone lines
Along desolate roads

Both bend to kiss the horizon

Wedding and engagement rings touch
Covenant sworn around my finger

Parallels meet:

Woman, wife, mother
Sinner, saint
Two and yet one; better yet,

Three and yet one
Savior and Sacrifice
Faith and assurance

My first response
Skepticism
This cannot be
Banishment, toil and labor
The thorns I carry
I ate the fruit from that tree
Destiny
Wrote us separate for eternity

But out of the clear-blue
You
Easily bent time and expectation
Fought mortal fear with hope
Your outstretched arms

Bridging

the

spaces

I

couldn't

cross

death and heaven
Hell and angels


You


And


Me

Almighty God
Itty-bitty baby

Parallel lines met
Intersected
No…
Crossed
And stamped
A due date on
Salvation

A Poem for the Gerasene (Luke 8:26-39)

The ministry of loneliness
Is staying when you want to leave
When those around you don’t believe
But you’ve come out of darkness

The daily plague of Legion
No clothes, no sleep, no shelter
Life above the tombs no better
Than living underneath

The soul is strange the body bruised
No end, this darkness permeates
But then this man comes
Radiates
The promise, hope renewed

Legions flee in fear
Neighbors stand and stare
They hate the man that cared
But I am here, I am here

I forgot my name
Until he came
They’re asking him to leave
But my life is his now
I cry, I beg, I bow
He says ‘don’t follow me

Instead, tell your good news
And give praises to God’
I agree and nod
How can I refuse?

But this is not what I would choose

The ministry of loneliness
Is staying when you want to leave
When those around you don’t believe
But you’ve come out of darkness

Redemption Poem

redemption
love lost and found
hope once bouyant seemingly drowned
baptized through the inferno
gold-forged now shines eternal
phoenix rising for the nations

stunning bird
and spotless silent lamb
in eternity the great I AM
yet baby clothes and baby cries
witnessed by Simeon and Anna's eyes
Redeemer Savior Word

redemption song
chorus widely heard
some still don't know the words
love sin sacrifice resurrection
unworthy - praise God for His affection

after all that I've done wrong

redemption
love
lost and found

Friends

Proverbs 17:17
A friend loves at all times, and a relative is born to help in adversity.

Proverbs 18:24
A person who has friends may be harmed by them, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.

Proverbs 27:6
Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but the kisses of an enemy are excessive.

Proverbs 27:9
Ointment and incense make the heart rejoice, likewise the sweetness of one’s friend from sincere counsel.

John 15:13
No one has greater love than this – that one lays down his life for his friends.
(All versions are NET)


Thank God for friends. Good ones.

Here are some things I am celebrating today about friends:

• They unselfishly celebrate your promotions, good grades, or a fabulous hair cut.

• Friends will tell you when you have a little booger in your nose.

• Good buddies honestly share that he isn't good for you, patiently endure you in your self-absorption, and cry with you when the relationship fails (without saying "I told you so").

• They never tell you that you look fat, but they will split an entrée with you, avoid the ice cream section of the grocery store and coo over red peppers instead, and they’ll walk or jog with you.

• They’re in the waiting room when you get your biopsy results.

• They help you name your babies.

• Friends cry with you because you cannot have babies.

• They know your lipstick and nail polish shades like they know the chorus to Golden Girls.

• When you’re in their space, you feel safe.

• Other than your mama, no one prays more specifically for you.

• They can hurt you with their intimate knowledge of your past and your shortcomings, but they never will. The thought never even enters their mind.

• Friends are for you. Pro you. If you were a pro sports team, they would slather themselves in face-paint, don a jersey, and get that foam finger thingy and wave it in your face all day.

• Girlfriends who stand up for you on your wedding day with tear-filled eyes.

• A good friend can tell you a stinging truth, and then cover you with compassion.
• Friends bring laughter!

• Friends give us a second chance.

• Friendship underlines the incarnation of God’s love, and His genius plan for us to live and love in community.

• Friends challenge us to be better versions of ourselves, because they see us as sweeter, kinder, smarter, and stronger than we see ourselves.

I’m leaving tomorrow to see Julie. She is one of my true friends.

Delilah's Song

I've been studying, meditating, and writing a lot about Judges 16 lately. It's the story of Samson, a judge/deliverer/champion of Israel, who, like so many, loses his sense of mission because of his libido. All because of Delilah. The temptress. The wanton woman. The one motivated by greed. A stranger to love and honesty.

The more I hang out with Delilah and Samson, though, the more I see myself in her. Seeing a powerful man who's vulnerable to her, calculating how I can use my words and my charms to get my way. Not so much because I want to put an end to my nation's enemy, but because I want to 1) be right, 2) hide my own insecurity, 3) satisfy a warped sense of self-esteem, or especially, 4) make sure I'm in control so that I never experience pain from a man again.

I can't demonize Delilah anymore, because only the grace of God and the guidance and counsel of His word and His Holy Spirit keep me from reverting to Eve-like selfish influence (that is, when I listen to the Holy Spirit).

I wrote a song for Delilah - and for all of us who share her hurt, and tend towards her coping mechanism; manipulation. I'd like to share it with you:

Delilah’s Song by Sharifa Stevens
“I’ll never let go of you” he said
sincerely spoken between kisses
the truth as my heart reminisces
lies and love can be so close
I gave all I should and some I shouldn’t
Knowing that happily ever after
Joys and secrets, whispers, laughter
Would be mine for all time

But his love was not enough
To cover me
And the cold is seeping in
My heart is breaking
His love was not enough
To keep me safe and now I understand
no
one
can.

“I’ll never get hurt again” I swore
caress their egos, bide my time
fill them up with lust’s sweet wine
till they’re begging for more
What they don’t know is
I find pleasure
In defiling what they treasure
The first man stole my soul
There’s nothing left to control

Because his love was not enough
To cover me
And the cold has set in deep
My heart is frozen
His love was not enough
To keep me safe and now I understand
no
one
can.

So can’t you see
By the time he came to me
To rest his head upon my knees
I knew what I should do
Stroke his hair and whisper lies
Lay his head upon my thighs
Get that money, that’s the prize
Break one more man that I despise

Dignity gone but a little richer
Too blind to see the bigger picture
The reality that’s hurting me
When I cut them I feel pain
The hole in my heart keeps getting bigger
There’s more than just this killer figure
Someone told me life can be better
living for Christ is where you truly gain

They said His love is enough
To cover you
With the clothes of dignity
And love that’s pure
His love is enough
To cover you like
No
Man
Can
They said His love is enough
To cover you
See your worth was lost
But oh, he found it
His love is enough
To come for you and
No one can…
Take you from His hand.

TiVo for Life

TiVo changes things, doesn't it?

My friend Rhea and I watched Top Chef episodes over breakfast this past weekend. I don't have cable, so I'm not sure when it actually airs, but I relish the creative cuisine and competition inherent in the show. They can make a gourmet meal out of absolutely anything!

We watched, and then a particularly troublesome ad came on - you know the Prius one where the landscape is made out of gyrating people? Creepy! - and Rhea immediately pressed the fast forward button and boop! it was gone. Back to our show, already in progress.

Cut to the good part.
Fast-forward the unsavory, unnecessary, mundane.
Get to the resolution.

If only our lives had TiVo, right? Skip the waiting, the grief, the broken heart, the disappointment; get to the resolution.

John 11 paints a different picture; a meaning to the pauses - commercial breaks, if you will - in our lives.

If you're not familiar with John 11, it's a passage where Jesus hears that his dear friend Lazarus, brother to Mary and Martha, whom Jesus also loved, is terminally ill. Jesus' response to the news is seemingly counter-intuitive.
I know it left me scratching my head. Here's the passage of John 11:3-6:

So the sisters sent a message to Jesus, “Lord, look, the one you love is sick.”
When Jesus heard this, he said, “This sickness will not lead to death, but to God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.”
(Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus.)
So when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he remained in the place where he was for two more days.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. When Jesus, the Healer, hears that Lazarus is sick, he stays put. He says the sickness doesn't end in death, but God's glory.

In the eyes of Mary and Martha, however, the pause between the time they send for Jesus and the time He actually arrives tells a different story. By the time Jesus comes, Lazarus has been in the grave for four days.

Have you ever prayed, pleaded, called out to and cried to the Lord, and felt like your prayers were greeted with silence?
Can you relate to Mary and Martha's understandable confusion that their dear friend came too late. They both said "if you had been here, my brother would not have died."
I know I can fill in the blank: "if you had been here, my father would not have cancer." "If you had been here, I wouldn't be laid-off." "If you had been here, he wouldn't have left me."

What did Lazarus do to deserve this kind of neglect from the Savior? What had Mary and Martha done to be seemingly ignored by Jesus? Nothing.
Jesus' response is troubling. Troubling, until we see the pattern of God's use of pause for His glory. Here are a few examples:

In Genesis 2:18-20, before the Fall, Adam is naming animals and noticing that there are none that are quite like him. He lives with this tension, even as God knew and thought to himself, "it is not good for man to be alone."
God used the pause between Adam's discomfort and his introduction to Eve to alert Adam to his need so that by the time Eve came, he truly appreciated her.

In 1 Samuel 1, Hannah was surrounded by reasons to be depressed. She had a co-wife (which is pause enough for me!), Penninah, who was a baby factory, while Hannah remained childless. She had a husband, Elkanah, who didn't get her. (You can see my previous post on why I appreciate Hannah's response. She really understands the pause!)
Her priest didn't even get her. But the Lord had a plan to bring His prophet Samuel into the world, through Hannah. And perhaps because she understood supplication and spent so much time in the temple with her earnest prayer, Samuel was better suited to hear the voice of Yahweh.

The people of Israel had 400 years of pause, between the last prophet, Malachi, and the coming of John the Baptist, the herald of Jesus Christ. 400 years of silence. Those silent generations must have looked back on their history and thought of the years of slavery their Israelite forbears spent, languishing, living and dying, until Moses came to emancipate them from Pharaoh’s rule.
But when Jesus came, he set captives free in soul as well as body. His was a pause worth waiting for.

Jesus experienced a pause. Sweating blood and water, He pleaded that the crucifixion would be a price He would not have to pay. But it was the only way. And for three silent days after Jesus was hung on a cross, killed, and buried, His body lay in a tomb.
But there was more in store than the tomb, or all the power of hell, could hold. And Jesus was resurrected, Conqueror of Death. His death gave all who believe in Him life.

The time between Christ's resurrection and His return is the Great Pause. We're left here, in a world that's rife with pain, disappointment, and hurt, waiting for Him to save the day. But I am thankful that this Great Pause persists, because there is more time for people to know Jesus and worship in spirit and truth. His pause is merciful.

The pauses are not necessarily God's judgment, or His indifference. Could it be that His pause in your life is an act of mercy? A way to give you room to grow?

The hard question to ask during a time of silent pause and no "Life TiVo" in sight is: “Lord, how can this time glorify You? Can you give me eyes to see past this point to Your glory and will?” In John 11, the glory came! Jesus raised Lazarus, as a sign of His power and authority, and a metaphor for His impending death and resurrection. This circumstance clicked profoundly in Mary’s mind, and moved her to worship and prepare for Jesus’s death in John 12 (before Jesus’ own disciples understood what was to come, Mary got it. If it weren’t for the pause, Mary would not understand what Jesus’ mission was).

I challenge you not to try to fast-forward through the pauses, but to ask the Lord to guide you through them, and give you a divine perception of their meaning.

You, Me, and Michael (Vick)

I just have a question: how long should Michael Vick continue to pay his debt to society? If he was tried, found guilty, sentenced, and did his time, how much more should we require of him? So when is time served…time served? And once a man serves his time, should he be allowed to work at his livelihood again? What does restitution and penitence look like if a person is not allowed to re-enter into society? How is change measured for an outcast?

My beloved pet is a pit-bull. It sickens me to think of her sweet nature and eagerness to please being manipulated and coaxed into vicious ferocity. The drive to live beating out the tendency towards gentleness. The bloody, messy things people watch for sport and entertainment just boggle my mind.

But the bloodsport didn’t end the day Michael Vick’s dog-fighting ring shut down. The media has carved up Michael Vick’s identity (and all the complexity that comes with being a human being) and left the lopped-off remains: Criminal. Convict. Unforgiven.

What surprises me, though, is the vigorous condemnation after Vick served his time, from people whom I call brothers and sisters in Christ; people who judge any team or organization who would hire this hateful dog-murderer.

The irony, thick as molasses, sits heavy in my heart; people value the dogs more than the man. People who represent a Man who was murdered for folks just like Michael Vick, sound more like Pharisees. People who cheapen the word “justice” (because he did his time) and completely draw a blank on “grace.” The logic escapes me that in order to keep a man from harming dogs, society should bar him from gainful employment and his primary talent.

I, for one, was waiting with baited breath to see who would touch him, take a chance on him, hire him. Because the only difference between him and me is that my dirty laundry doesn’t get aired, because my Savior has covered me, cleanses me, and commissions me to do and be who He uniquely created me to be. He sets me up for second chances. He is the person who sees the philandering tax collector and says, “follow me.” He gives refreshment and life to a Samaritan woman who’s looked in all the wrong places for satisfaction. He turns a murderous zealot into an international witness, coach and church-planter. He’s no stranger to the Michael Vicks of this world.

We are all looking for redemption and a second chance when (not if) we fail. And through faith in Jesus Christ, we can be set free; time served, no probation.

And if this is our unearned inheritance of grace, we should be willing to share.

Praying Through The Pain: Hannah's Example

I owe a debt of gratitude to the author (and of course, the Author) of 1 Samuel 1. Thanks for keeping it real, Hannah. This chapter takes us through what must have been an excruciating personal journey in infertility and relational chaos. Hannah is barren and surrounded by fertility (can anyone else identify with this?).

Though most of us cannot relate to an irritating co-wife as Hannah did with Penninah, we may coexist with other women who sharpen their blessings and hurl them to cut us and extract envy. Constantly. For example, I have had the pleasure of hearing many baby announcements lately. And I am SUPER-excited for those dear friends. But there have been one or two acquaintances who’ve shared the good news, followed by a peaked brow and the question (that’s really a statement), “when are you going to have a baby? You’ve been married for, what, almost three years now?”

(I have found that if one waits long enough, a woman’s body will give a huge clue as to whether she in fact is pregnant.)

You almost have to pity the Penninahs of the world; their identity rests on acquisitions (children, husbands, money, position, stuff). Getting more stuff helps them to avoid the vacuous hole that they would otherwise face. For Penninah, this hole might have been a marriage to a man whom she could not satisfy.

Hannah had a husband, Elkanah, who adored her. However, he set the tense tone between Hannah and Penninah by playing favorites. Never a good idea under one roof. Added to this dysfunction was Elkanah’s minimizing of Hannah’s pain when he says, “aren’t I better to you than 10 sons?” Well, no. Not in a day when children were the only nursing-home care that a woman could hope to receive in her old age. Don’t you hate it when in the middle of your legitimate pain, someone tries to quell it and stroke their own ego at the same time?

What was Hannah’s response to the chaos? This is what I so appreciate about God’s Word; it’s honest. She weeps bitterly. She doesn’t eat. These seem to be symptoms of depression.

But one day, in the midst of the ritual of worship, Hannah gets up, gets something to eat, and heads to the temple, bleary-eyed, to pour out her prayer and tears to YHWH. Eli observes her there, lips trembling and flushed from sobbing. Even he doesn’t get Hannah. His spiritual eyes dimly make out a drunk (in 1 Samuel 2, we see that the real criminals are his own sons, and physical blindness overtakes Eli in 1 Samuel 3).

This part saddens me because we are prone to misjudging the people we are called to minister to because they passionately and emotionally respond to their situations as they seek God’s face. It’s okay to ask for healing of the body against disease or against cancer. It’s okay to plead with God to mend a crushed heart or an abused soul. There is no set time limit on grieving the death of a loved one. Praise God that these people take their petitions and griefs to God – He can handle them. I have been rebuked and have heard others rebuked for not "getting over" a hurt in an acceptable amount of time. More often than not, it would better serve folks to pray for them first, listen second, and then be quiet.

Hannah prays with reference to the law (see Numbers 6 for details on the Nazirite vow) as well as her emotions. She’s such a great example of honesty, informed faith, and vulnerable hope in prayer.

Her words are powerful. They move Eli from rebuking her to blessing her! See her triumph song in 1 Samuel 2:1-10? Mary takes cues from Hannah’s lyrics when she sings in Luke 1:46-55. When Messiah's mom quotes you, you are definitely a theological prayer warrior! When she promises that her son would be set apart from birth to YHWH, she keeps her word.

God remembered Hannah. Hannah's first son, Samuel is born, and serves as a light of prophecy and truth to the nation of Israel, and he anoints Israel’s first God-chosen king, David. God heard Hannah and answered exceeding abundantly.

Thanks so much, Hannah, for keeping it real with your life. Thank you Lord, for including her story in the canon to bring hope to Your children as they pray-and cry-even now.

Prose for the Broken-Hearted

I remember a time, more faintly now, when my heart broke so deeply, I thought it would never mend. I asked God to never let me fully forget that once I got married, so I can always have a tender place of empathy for the singularly gut-wrenching melange of disappointment, depression, and loss.

If you are broken-hearted today - I won't belittle you with trite cliches. It hurts. It hurts badly. And in the depth of that hole of pain, I pray that God gives you the strength to look up. He's there; the Light at the end of the tunnel.

This is something I wrote when I was just able to make out a glimpse of hope in the midst of dark dispair. I hope it encourages you.

Kind Cruelty is your name; you who took my heart and cradled it before you stomped its fire out. Crimson laughter burned through your throat like the rum of my father’s homeland. I was too intoxicated by its cadences to notice the needles in your hands. The dagger words poised to impale me.

“It’s not you, it’s me.”

Just like that, no more lingering cherry kisses, no more nights driving past stop lights. No more coffee breakfasts or bacon & egg dinners. You always knew when I needed more soy milk. You used to take my hand every time we entered a room. You led my grandfather to the good chair to ease his legs. And you led me to mistake your kindness for love.


Cruel Kindness is Your name, You whose grace is surgical; cut, slice and mend. My anger boiled at You for all the tears, those dagger-words You let him thrust into me. You were supposed to be my heavy quilt in winter, my cool water in the desert. My present help. Silence was Your response when I shouted, whispered, cried:

“Why didn’t he want me?”

Slowly, my bloodshot eyes began to clear. Your listening ear and Your people were my chicken soup. I always had soy milk, quit the coffee and took up herbal tea, and curled up with good friends and Your Good Book. Your wine-words smoothed and coated my lonely nerves, strengthened and sewed my heart. You bend toward my heart’s ear to say:

“I know the plans I have for you.”

Disappearing Acts

Meditate on these passages for a moment:

You are the salt of the earth. But if salt loses its flavor, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything except to be thrown out and trampled on by people. You are the light of the world. A city located on a hill cannot be hidden. People do not light a lamp and put it under a basket but on a lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before people, so that they can see your good deeds and give honor to your Father in heaven. Matthew 5:13-16

Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit lives in you? If someone destroys God’s temple, God will destroy him. For God’s temple is holy, which is what you are. 1 Corinthians 3:16-17

Or do you not know that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have from God, and you are not your own? For you were bought at a price. Therefore glorify God with your body. 1 Corinthians 6:19-20

So then, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; what is old has passed away – look, what is new has come! 2 Corinthians 5:17

For we are his workmanship, having been created in Christ Jesus for good works that God prepared beforehand so we may do them. Ephesians 2:10

Why is it that in light of these scriptures, illumined by the truth of where our value and influence lies, informed fully of how stewardship of our bodies reflects the glory of God, that so many Christian women in the United States practice a false theology of the body? A misappropriation of the gifts we have been given?

I am speaking of the obsession with thinness. Not health. Not fitness. Rather, I am speaking of the systematic assault on bodies that we sanction daily, through our criticism, our yo-yo dieting, our secret binging, our public self-loathing.

Subtle heresy abounds in us. This century is marked by movements of change leading to civil rights and increased opportunities for many, including women in the United States. And yet, in the wake of strides of women in the workplace and the home, in the wake of monumental efforts to be seen, to be heard (to run for President or Vice President!), to be acknowledged and valued, how have we responded?

By disappearing. Literally.

The average American woman is a size 12, but society (including our sisters, ourselves) praises the size 0. The ideal body of a mature woman has become a pre-pubescent girl (plus implants). Our size has become inversely proportional to our opportunities. At the same time we demand acknowledgment as mature and capable women, we starve ourselves to look like little girls.

We have all been a party to gathering around and pointing out our flaws. The cottage cheese, the too big or too small derriere, the wide hips or thick thighs. When we’re done with that, we’re criticizing (or comparing ourselves to) celebrities who put on weight, or even women who surround us who are not petite.

Then, we console ourselves through chocolate (how many times have we heard about how chocolate heals every emotional ill? I mean, it helps, but…) or hit a bucket of chicken or gallon of ice cream to fill the void we know full well that only Jesus can. Then we feel guilty. Then the cycle of self-loathing, body and soul, begins again.

When will we embrace the bodies that Jesus Christ died to save and vowed to return to in order to resurrect, restore, and glorify? If Jesus incarnated himself to live among us, to experience humanity, to be born of a woman, and to die, then the flesh and blood – and a person’s presence – have inherent value.

There is NO condemnation in Christ Jesus. There is no longer a reason to remain anxious. Our approval is already sure. Let the world worship a size 0; we must believe that God is right when He states that we are fearfully and wonderfully made. That when He fashions us, He declares us good. Unhealthy obsession over weight is for those who are still looking for approval. We have it!

I, for one, am tired of this hamster wheel. Predestined as much for hips and thighs as for salvation and good works, I am laying down the disappearing act. I’ll exercise and eat healthfully because I steward what God’s given me. Not in order to be a size 0.

God made this light to shine as a size 8.

Pray for Married Couples

I don't have anything fancy to say today.

Just a prayer request:

Take time today to pray for married couples. Meditate on Genesis 1:26-31; Genesis 2:21-24 and Ephesians 5:15-33. Peruse the Song of Songs. And pray these things over your marriage (present or future), and the marriages of others that you know.

This post isn't about about the definition of marriage. There are plenty of blogs on that.

Today, it's about naked, needy defense. Those who choose to marry had better arm themselves.

Divorce is an ugly scourge that mars the Image of Christ's love for the church. But not all sad marriages end in divorce. Some limp along, defeated. Some eek out an apathetic existence. Watch any sitcom involving a married couple to take the pulse of what the marriage template looks like in our society - it's not pretty.

The only defense against enmity, money woes, infidelity, apathy, physical abuse, power-struggle, sexual dysfunction, and chronic deceit MUST be otherworldly.

God, the Author of Love, must be the answer. This truth is too simple to be trite.

Pray for married couples today and, if applicable, for your future spouse. Pray that marriages would be otherworldly in the Image that they reflect.

This Ain't Charlotte's Web

W.E.B Du Bois said that the problem of the 20th century – continuing into our present – was the problem of the color line. He was wrong. It’s not a line; it’s a web, entangling us all, as we voluntarily cleave to our positions, oblivious to our eventual demise.

The devil is an artful spider. He spins us around in tradition and laissez-faire living until we can no longer fly. You know what I mean. You’ve heard the spin:
“Just don’t marry one.”
“People need to go where they feel comfortable.”
“I can’t understand you. Speak English. Oh, you are speaking English. Well, I don’t understand you with that accent.”
“We just don’t worship the same way.”

Words like dry cotton asphyxiation on a parched day. Constipated deceit bringing neither relief to the speaker nor release to the hearer. Dusty remains that stick to saintly tongues – silken indictment.

Is this the Christ? His brilliant Body divided and parceled into chalky carcass portions? Too stale to eat, too dry to fly?

Don’t be deceived. God will not be mocked by His people perpetuating arachnid fallacies for the sake of comfort. There is no ethnic web in Christendom. Only milky fields and green rest, verdant with fruit, and of course, us nuts. Freedom for all who fly in the Spirit. We should get caught up only in Him.

Internal Bleeding

There is a pain that is so potent and yet so personal that words fail to describe it.

It's the circumstance whose description will never escape your lips.

You don't talk about it, but it defines you; whether you run from it, attempt to cure it, or try to ignore it.

You've tried doctors, positive thinking, dieting. All of it has failed. Then you've tried isolating (no one understands, anyway), or feigned apathy, or turned to something, anything that would help you forget or at least dull the pain.

You miss hope; the notion that one day...one day this pain will end. Hope is estranged from you, and its presence anywhere mocks you.

But then..."one day" becomes "right now":

Now a woman...had been suffering from a hemorrhage for twelve years. She had endured a great deal under the care of many doctors and had spent all that she had. Yet instead of getting better, she grew worse.
When she heard about Jesus, she came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, for she kept saying, “If only I touch his clothes, I will be healed.”
At once the bleeding stopped, and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease.
Jesus knew at once that power had gone out from him. He turned around in the crowd and said, “Who touched my clothes?” His disciples said to him, “You see the crowd pressing against you and you say, ‘Who touched me?’” But he looked around to see who had done it.
Then the woman, with fear and trembling, knowing what had happened to her, came and fell down before him and told him the whole truth. He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well. Go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”

(I used the Mark 5:25-34 passage, but you can find the story in Matthew 9:20-22 and Luke 8:43-47)

This story reminds me to do two things:

1 - reach for Jesus
2 - be brave

This woman had been constantly "unclean" for years (Leviticus 15:19-30), leading a lonely and desperate existence. She should not have been in a crowd, and she certainly should not have been touching anyone, let alone Jesus. Her 12 years of constant shame kept her from even talking to Jesus. Instead, she stooped to grab the lowest part of His cloak in hopes (hope returns!) of being healed.

The woman was no stranger to disappointment after years of doctors' promises that left her bankrupt and even sicker. But there was something different about Jesus. She must have marveled in the wake of all the healed people He left behind (and He healed for free!).

She saw the hope for healing, and even though it was so far away for so long, with Jesus the possibility was finally within arm's reach.

Today, we still have internal bleeding. For some of us, there are emotional gashes in our hearts from past pain that make us feel perpetually unclean. And for others of us, the hurt is physical: we wonder of our worth as women because of the aftermath of beating cancer, but losing a breast, or a uterus, or because of an inability to carry a baby in our wombs. We feel like less-than-women. We feel like outcasts.

But how does Jesus respond to this woman defined by her issue of blood? He calls her out specifically. While the disciples respond with sarcasm, she responds with fear and trembling - and honesty. Jesus acknowledges her and calls her by a different name: daughter. She is one of His own. Her identity is changed. She is commended by the Son of God for her faith.

For the first time, she is defined by Jesus, not by her disease.

Jesus does not change. He is the same compassionate Savior today. He is a Restorer. And this story encourages me to understand that at the times where I feel like He feels miles away and I feel lonely and hopeless, that perhaps I need to be brave and reach for Him in honest prayer. Even in the midst of my fear and shame.

Other people may fail me. Other people may take advantage, or mock, or be completely apathetic. I may fail myself. Not Jesus. He will not despise us when we reach out for Him.

He calls us daughters.

My Beloved

I have to take this week to publicly praise my husband, Jonathan - my first ministry.

Jonathan, thank you for being a hero to me. Thank you for working hard to provide for us, and to make broken things heal. Thank you for letting me cry, and never despising my tears.

Thank you for consistently choosing to be on the same team with me, especially when I treat you like we're not.

I love the ooey-gooey way you talk to our doggie, because you adore her. This week, you made me drink Superfood because of all the nutrients in it. You let me lay down and try to sleep and never complained about my obnoxiously loud nose-blowing sessions.

You made sure I went back to the doctor.

You fed me.

Before anyone else called back or cared as much, you did what you could to fix the gas leak in the house. It was hard, sweaty work, and you did it with joy.

There are circumstances that hurt my heart last week that only you and God know about. And I am safe with both of you.

When you say "it's going to be okay," I'm beginning to believe you.

Thank you for giving me the space to be weak. I am not alone. It's not all up to me. It will get done even if I don't do it.

You have been the lifter of my head.

I see you. I see your heart. I love you. I am so blessed that you are my husband.

Song of Songs 5:10-16

A Lesson From My Dog

My dog Ransom freaks out whenever we pass a storm drain. The storm drains line almost every street we walk. Sometimes, they sneak by because Ransom's deterred by a squirrel or a scent. But when she keys in on a storm drain, no matter where we stand (my favorite is when we're crossing a busy intersection), she will dig her paws into the pavement, buckle down, and pull away from the drain.

We rescued Ransom one year ago this month. I'll never know what she experienced, but my heart hurts thinking of her wandering around White Rock Lake, foraging for food, abused by past owners and given up to the street.

It took a while to pinpoint the source of her fear - was it a bush, or boulders? Uncut grass? Me? It took even longer for me to respond appropriately to Ransom's fear. So many times, I tugged at her in frustration, and yelled "come on!" to scare her out of her...fear - partly because we were about to become road-kill, and partly because I cared more about getting out of the street than about what put us there.

There are so many stormy places in my heart: places where I have been disappointed or betrayed by a loved one; places that bring a groundswell of instant pain and fear. I can't say that I always respond logically and spiritually every time I'm tested by those familiar storms. My Father cares about those places and wishes to take me through in order to bring calm. And the Savior walks with me, and provides friends to walk alongside so I am not overcome.

Think of Mark 2:1-12: a man is in such need of body and soul care that his friends rip up a roof and lower him down into the presence of Jesus. How does Jesus respond? "When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, "Son, your sins are forgiven."" And He heals him, body and soul. And before the healing, the friends carry the paralytic. They are undeterred by the closed door. They heft him to the roof. They cake their hands with dirt to get to the Healer.

It takes time, love, burden-bearing, and prayer, to bring a loved one out of their pain and encourage them into the healing presence of God. (And if they're anything like me, they will need reminders. Often.) So many times, pithy advice and half-listening leads to further injury. Praise God for a real friend.

Yesterday, Ransom and I went for a walk. She saw storm drains on both sides of the street. She hunkered down. No cars in sight, thankfully.
I bent down and looked into her plaintive eyes, and whispered, "it's okay. You can do it, girl. You can do it."

I almost cried watching her hunker, then walk a little and wag her tail, then hunker, then walk faster, tail whooshing madly, till she crossed right in between those drains.

Toxic Power: From Madoff to King David

Nothing enrages me more than the injustice of the abuse of power. Corrupt governments seizing farm lands to fill the pockets of the already-wealthy; a supervisor sexually harassing a direct report; or, lately, an unremorseful man who made millions - oh, wait, billions - in an elaborate ponzi scheme, whose choices are wreaking havoc on non-profits. Bernie Madoff has bankrupted so many, and he and his wife apparently sold their remorse in exchange for a double-portion of greed.

Power can be a toxin. We become gatekeepers of our own wealth and power, and hold on with clenched fists. It can magnify those obsessions and faults that we already have. I've been meditating on an example of this found in the Bible.

I'm reading with a group of friends about the story of Abigail and Nabal; a segment of the David chronicles. You can find it in 1 Samuel 25. And I can't help but compare this passage to 2 Samuel 11, to compare and contrast the cast of characters and the one constant protagonist, David.

In 1 Samuel, David's been anointed king, but current king Saul can't let go of the right to rule. David is fleeing and fighting for 10 years, and during one of the leaner times, he humbly asks for provisions for he and his men from the filthy-rich Nabal (who responds with a clenched fist in 1 Samuel 25:10-11). David seeks violent revenge immediately. Abigail, the heroine of this story, picks up her husband's slack, provides sustenance for David and his men immediately, and speaks of the Lord's favor on the soon-to-be king.

A lot of clenched fists here, right? Saul's not giving up the kingdom. Nabal's not giving up some lamb stew and a few raisin cakes. David's not giving up his pride. But, David is in a place of want, not power. Abigail is in a place of power, but uses discernment and discretion to bring peace. Abigail keeps Nabal alive, and keeps David from bloodguilt (an amazing example of YHWH-inspired generosity and grace).

And she's beautiful. So after the Lord punishes Nabal for not providing for David (for fun, look at the poetic justice of God in 1 Samuel 25:29 - enemies "slung away" like stones, and Nabal's fate in 1 Samuel 25:37-38), David asks for Abigail's hand and they are husband and wife...along with Ahinoam of Jezreel...and Saul's daughter, Michal, whom David tried to pawn off on another dude.

David's a trophy-wife collector.

Cut to 2 Samuel 11. Instead of warring for the kingdom of Israel, now King David is chillin' at home, letting others do battle in his place (2 Samuel 11:1). Now that he has the right to rule (that he fought TEN years for!), he's gotten lazy. He's on the roof, surveying all he possesses, and sees one more thing he can possess: Bathsheba. Bathing. By the time we read 2 Samuel 11:4, he has inquired, sent messengers after, and "slept with" Bathsheba. (Some may say that Bathsheba was seducing king David, but there's nothing in the text that supports it, and this view doesn't really take the roles of men and women in the Ancient Near East into account. Women were totally vulnerable and dependant on their men. And Bathsheba's was out to war in King David's army.) David sees another man's wife, and because he's king, he exercises his right to possess her.

Stop.

So before he's king, David is fighting for God's kingdom, he's prevented from bloodguiltiness by a wise woman, God removes the husband from the scene, and then they are married. After David is king, he is on the sidelines of war, he takes a righteous man's wife out of greed and lust, he removes the husband from the scene, and then they are married (I wonder where Abigail is at this point in time?).

Unbelievable. What lessons have I drawn so far from this comparison of David before and after he is king?

* Everyone, even God's anointed, is vulnerable to the abuse of power. I'm not impervious to its vice-grip.
* People in positions of power need confidantes who are not direct reports (i.e., Samuel, Abigail, Nathan)
* You have the opportunity to be a woman of influence in your sphere. Ask God for the discernment and ingenuity to do the right thing in critical times (like Abigail).
* Check your knuckles. If they've turned pale because you're holding on to your position, your money, or your status like the jaws of life, you're probably on your way to a God-sized crisis. Saul, Nabal, and David all learned hard lessons because they held on to power too tightly. Wield your power for God's kingdom.

For Jonathan for Valentine's Day

This Saturday is Valentine's Day. Although I traditionally loathe the day because of it's dubious commercial connections to rose, heart-shaped box, greeting card and chocolate companies, I do appreciate the dedicated time to romantic love.

I figure that if God can dedicate a heart-pounding book of the bible to sing the ultimate of songs (Song of Solomon), it's surely okay for us to have a love holiday.

But love holidays were always angsty and tormented for me, especially while I was in seminary. Ugh.

In honor of the angst, and the subsequent resolution of that angst in my handsome, incredible, husband (who actually caused the angst, but all's well that ends well), I'm posting this poem. I wrote it for him while we were "on a break."


For Jonathan

This is a poem to Jonathan
who rides across states roving lands
with dirt embedded in his nails
I wonder what drew him to me
Black woman from the Bronx
Not knowing ratchets or 45s
or Wolf Creek in November
His eyes whispered trust to my heart
before my mind would learn
that faithfully love teaches reaches
out to me
Through the quirky gifts and politics
Dutch-country cadences of brilliance
Who are you, love
Tender lips, hair and heart wild
Brave fatherless child
The chosen one of eight to me
You
thrill seeker teacher gun slinger
evoke sonnets from this singer
Vulnerable hearts should be held precious
Your love is a jewel, cradled in my palms
So I write this in fear, in truth, in
love, Jonathan, my hopeful future
my enigmatic now.

Inauguration Day

Did you watch the inauguration of the 44th president of the United States? Were you riveted? Indifferent? Seething?

I watched from a local movie theatre, in amazement. The day was as big as the screen: Rick Warren invoking Jesus’ name in 4 languages. Aretha – and her hat – plaintively evoking God’s grace to be shed on the country. A quartet mirroring the virtuosity and diversity of the nation, playing the American original, “Simple Gifts.” (A poem read that I still don’t understand.) The swearing in of our nation’s first African-American president, on the capitol steps, amid chants of his name. Steps forged by the hands of slaves. His words:

We remain a young nation, but in the words of Scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things. The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation: the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free, and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness.

An old preacher speaks, evoking the prophets Amos and Micah, as well as remixing old, bitter race colloquialisms.

Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get back, when brown can stick around -- (laughter) -- when yellow will be mellow -- (laughter) -- when the red man can get ahead, man -- (laughter) -- and when white will embrace what is right.

I bet Rev. Lowery never thought he would live to see the day when someone who shared his skin tone would be taking the oath of the presidency.

I never thought I’d see the day.

I know that many people, many of my evangelical brothers and sisters, are disappointed, disenchanted, and disturbed because Barack Obama is president. Some are so incensed that they choose to turn a blind eye to the significance of Inauguration Day; they don’t talk about it, they don’t acknowledge it, and they don’t give other people the right to marvel about the history that has been made.

You may be one of those people.

If you are, I understand why you feel the way you do; you hate liberalism, and rightfully advocate for the sanctity of life, in the midst of the genocide of the unborn. Your reasoning is righteous.

I also understand, and would like you to understand, that it’s okay that I’m marveling that a Black man is the president, and that it doesn't mean that I am a baby-killer. President Obama - this phrase is unprecedented. I've never seen a Black First Lady, or presidential children who wear their hair like mine. You may not think about this because you've had the luxury of not having to.

To turn your back on the history of the moment is to benignly neglect many of your brothers and sisters and fellow citizens, whose ancestors survived the Peculiar Institution, who remember a time of segregation, who have endured and still endure institutional racism (and yes, it does still exist), who have struggled for acceptance and a place in your schools, country clubs, and especially your churches – you snub them (you snub me) when you ignore the significance of this Inauguration Day.

Hear me out.

During this campaign many Republican evangelicals, who are supposed to uphold the values of Christianity, at times used tactics based on fear, racism (my name is “Sharifa.” It’s Arabic. Am I a Muslim extremist? What’s the significance of saying “B Hussein O” in political forwards or Facebook statuses?), suspicion, and terror. Those tactics lost. Yup, there was media frenzy in favor of Obama. There was also a powerful, nation-wide, energetic, grass-roots campaign whose message of change and hope was such a refreshing sound to the American people that he won, despite all odds.

Hope and change are brands that are a vital part of the Christian faith, co-opted for a presidential campaign. The first grass-roots effort originated with Jesus and His disciples, spreading the Good News like flowing rivers in a parched and weary land. Hope was infused in the message, not the government. That message begat an unparalleled movement.

Our message and movement should be about hope, change, salvation, unity, working together, restoring, and peacemaking. Not disparaging forwards, hateful speech, and insensitivity. Why are we not cornering the market on these fruits of the Spirit?

Obama is no savior.
Jesus is. Yes He can.

The message of hope, change and salvation is on the lips of so many people across the globe. When you make the choice to ignore the significance of Inauguration Day, you lose a chance to dialogue with the world on fundamental topics of the faith.

I understand that you’re disappointed and dejected. But don’t miss out on having important exchanges with people who voted differently from you because you are commiserating with people who already believe as you do. Have one-on-one conversations; find out what motivated people to believe as they do. And find a way to tell them about the hope of the Savior.

Because even if you choose to turn your back, the rest of the world is looking at our nation’s historic moment, and marveling.

Bridge Jumping and Sinatra: Does Experience Elevate Communication?

I've been ruminating on an op-ed piece that Bono wrote for the New York Times recently. After getting over the fact that the man seems to know no bounds of influence (and I admire his tenacity), I was particularly struck by a thesis in his article. The foundation of Bono's piece is the duality of celebrating this New Year, which he likens to two Sinatra renditions of "My Way"; one brash and cocky, the other regretful and introspective.

Nestled in the middle of Bono's piece was this thought:

Like Bob Dylan’s, Nina Simone’s, Pavarotti’s, Sinatra’s voice is improved by age, by years spent fermenting in cracked and whiskeyed oak barrels. As a communicator, hitting the notes is only part of the story, of course.

Singers, more than other musicians, depend on what they know — as opposed to what they don’t want to know about the world. While there is a danger in this — the loss of naïveté, for instance, which holds its own certain power — interpretive skills generally gain in the course of a life well abused.

Sinatra sang "My Way" with more depth and complexity towards the end of his life, and interpreted the song with a vulnerability and honesty absent from his earlier rendition. With time, and experience, came a richer, more didactic performance.

My question: do you think Bono's assertion is true, and how far does this truth extend (beyond singers) in ministry, teaching, counseling, pastoring, and even friendships, marriage, and our relationship with the Lord? Is "hitting the notes only part of the story"? How much should we "depend upon what we know" in interpreting what we communicate?

My bias? I think, speaking in the singing realm, that there is a LOT of truth to Bono's statement. A worship leader who sings and a talented vocalist singing are worlds apart because the former believes in the subject of her song, and the latter just strives to impress. After having my heart broken a few times, I feel the blues I sing.

Of course, the paradigm of experience = honest, better communication can fall short. I don't need to experience everything in order to share honestly and compellingly. The authority of the Bible is my strength; observing family, friends, and opponents teaches valuable lessons, and common sense serves as a beautiful boundary (just because everyone else is jumping off a bridge, doesn't mean I will! But I can still write a song about the pain of broken bones).

But enough about me - do you resonate with Bono's statement in your sphere of communicating?