I'm just along for the ride - thank God!

A couple of evenings ago, I gave a little talk at our church for a bunch of ladies who had asked me to give "my testimony." They gave me carte blanche, which I suppose is a dangerous thing to do. However, after praying about it, and not getting any "red lights"... I decided to do it.

A couple of people have expressed disappointment that they weren't able to hear me speak. Although I can't imagine that, I did speak from extensive notes, so, to accommodate them, I have decided to transcribe what I said into this blog post.

Here is the text of what I spoke.

Romans 8:28, 29

“And we know that all things work together for good to those who are (the) called according to His purpose.

“For whom God foreknew, He also did predestine to be conformed to the image of His Son.”

Philippians 1:6

“Being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will (continue to) perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Most of you know that six and a half weeks ago, my youngest daughter Arielle was killed in a car crash in Alberta. Since that time, God has worked miracle after miracle in our lives, in our relationships, in our spiritual walk, in our attitudes, and in the lives of so many more people.

I couldn’t begin to tell you how many miracles there have been; I’ve lost count.

But anyway, about a week ago, I was talking to Neil and we were discussing how we would have reacted to “all this” if we both were the people we were five years ago.

We both shook our heads. We would each have dealt with it far differently. He would have dived even farther into a vodka bottle. And I – instead of standing before you tonight – would have been on the prayer chain because I would have been in Unit 9 - the psychiatric ward.

Seriously.

So in order for you to understand the miracles that have been happening lately, maybe I’d better let you know what miracles He started doing back when our lives were so far in the toilet that we thought we’d never get out.

Before I start, I need to let you know that I’m not telling tales out of school. Neil has given me permission to share anything about him that I need to share in order to show you how strong God is. And I have to stress above all, that this is not really our story so much as it is God’s story – the one He is writing in us. In me.

This is what my life was like five years ago.

I was a wife and a mother of two girls aged 19 and 16. I was in the music ministry with my husband of 28 years. I had just started a great job in the government, one I liked a lot. It looked like I had life by the tail.

But I was miserable. My husband was an alcoholic – he was drinking two fifths of vodka a day just to stay normal, and he’d go to a forty-ouncer a day to get to a blackout so he could get rid of the pain of living life with no emotion at all. He was unable to feel anything unless he was drinking. The girls were dealing with his problem the best way they could. And I was trying to keep it together. But my keeping it together was making everybody crazy. Including me. I was hiding his problem from people at work, at church, from his friends and mine. I was afraid of losing him, of losing my kids. So I tried to control them. Every last second of their lives!! That was my secret life.

In the meantime, I was living in Denial. I lied to people that I was doing great, Christian lies. Masks.

My home life was a joke. My kids hated having me around. I was judgmental, controlling, and manipulative. I could host the greatest guilt trips going. Everything was about how they were hurting me, attacking me, or attacking God. I’ll give you an example. The television.

I forbade them to watch certain shows. This show is SO New Age. That movie is Witchcraft 101. They watched them – behind my back – and they resented me for judging them. The truth was, I didn’t want to discuss those things, felt uncomfortable around them and didn’t want to see them myself. So I prohibited them. And I called it “standing for righteousness.” They didn’t see it that way. They saw it as me being a “Christianazi.” And they resented me. And they resented the God I thought I was serving. As for me, what this whole thing was about was not standing for righteousness at ALL. It was all about fear. I was afraid they’d turn their backs on God. And without knowing it, I was making sure they did.

God on the other hand, was getting pretty tired of this. I’d been deluding myself. And my worst fear of all – of Neil’s alcoholism – was the very thing He used to get me to the place where I was willing to ask for help.

I was so arrogant, so hypocritical. And I was hurting. So. Much. In my pain I accused him of choosing to drink, thought that he chose alcohol over me.

He drank more. I threatened to leave. He drank more. I was mean to him. He sank into silence and drowned his sorrows in alcohol. I wept. He drank.

Finally, in December 2008, I couldn’t hide any more because his drinking led to him losing his license. For six months. At the beginning of winter.

Now you might or might not know this … but I hate winter. Hate the snow, hate the ice, hate the cold. And I HATE driving in it, shoveling it, wearing bulky clothes in it. It might seem like a small thing – but a very small puff of wind can topple a house of cards. And I could see the cards slipping.

And I was scared.

The kids blamed me, of course. I blamed them – especially our youngest, who was at that time in full rebellion mode. And I knew that if this kept up, I’d lose everything: my marriage, my kids, and my ministry.

I was desperate. I prayed one of those “Peter prayers.” You know, like the one he prayed on the Sea of Galilee during the storm after he got out of the boat, when he started sinking below the waves.

“Lord, HELP ME!”

That was the beginning. God led me to a counsellor at the treatment centre. I went there … not to help ME, I told myself, but to help NEIL. To get him to stop drinking. I walked into my first session. That was in January 2009.

God had other ideas.

Over the course of the next year, He taught me a few things about myself in therapy. He taught me about life, and how to really live it. I won’t tell you about that whole year, because I've only been given 20 minutes! But here are some things I learned in that year:

• It is I who need help. Even more help than Neil needed in his addiction.  
• I was truly bound. I was truly addicted to controlling people and to getting my own way.
•  The roots of my problem went back to my childhood. I had deep, unresolved issues and I was so very full of anger and self-pity.
• I believed awful things about myself. And I told these things to myself all the time. You’re not worth anything. Nobody can like you… if they really knew you they’d reject you. All this is your fault. Neil’s drinking because you are so hard to live with. Things like that.  
• I was a victim. I let others walk all over me and I overcompensated by bullying my husband and children. They were AFRAID OF ME, of my temper, of my judgment.

Now … here are some of the things I learned about God.

• He’s not interested in my brownie point system. You know the one, where I keep score of what I do for Him so that He’s obligated to do what I want Him to do. It doesn’t work that way. It never did.
•  He accepts me just the way I am and He loves me. For ME. 
• HE. IS. FAITHFUL. He’ll NEVER give up on me … NEVER. EVER.

During that year, I learned that NOTHING I thought mattered, really mattered!!  That God is about one thing and one thing only: INTIMACY – and that with respect to all the baggage I carried, He was all about ACCEPTANCE … NOT judgment.

I learned how to do this: (Put both HANDS UP, and STEP BACK).

That is, I learned that people have boundaries. (Who knew?) Really. I never had boundaries growing up, and so I thought there weren’t any; they didn’t exist! But He taught me that they do exist, it’s healthy to have boundaries, and that everyone has them. And that it was okay for ME to have them, too.

I learned what forgiveness is (and what it isn’t) and I learned HOW TO DO IT. 

(… and that’s a whole other talk!!)

Again…. GOD DID THIS.  JUDY DIDN’T DO IT. JUDY COULDN’T. Judy had tried to do it and had FAILED MISERABLY.

All the time that my attitudes were changing because of what I was learning, my behavior was changing. I didn’t have to TRY to change it. It just happened.  “HE WHO BEGAN A GOOD WORK IN YOU WILL (continue to) PERFORM IT…”

My husband and kids were the first to notice it. And as I became more accepting, those relationships started to change.

Oh… did I mention that two months into this process, Neil got sober? And with God’s help every day of his life, he’s been sober since March 25, 2009.

I began to see how my own behavior caused the very things in my kids that I was trying to protect them from. I had to let go of those things. I had to let go of THEM.

So I needed to tell them. I needed to apologize to them for things I said, attitudes I held, things I did. Against THEM.

And you know … THEY FORGAVE ME. And relationships started to build.

There was a lot of damage to undo and I made a lot of mistakes along the way. But I’d learned how to live life. And God was more real to me than ever. My relationship with Him turned into this moment-by-moment friendship. I kept growing, kept learning. I still am.

FAST FORWARD NOW, to about a year or so ago.

Was I perfect? Were my husband and kids perfect? Of course not. But at least we could talk! And God still had work to do (and by the way, He still does).

The relationship between me and my youngest was still rocky. The one with my oldest was turning around some, but the one with Arielle… well, she was running with what I considered to be the wrong crowd. They were into drugs, alcohol, and more, and she was breaking every rule she could.

It was horrible. I had spent a whole year learning this new lifestyle of acceptance and freedom, of non-judgmentalism and letting go .... and it seemed that life wasn’t working. I just knew that when I clamped down, she was worse than ever. So I kept on letting go, as much as I knew how.

Before I go any further, I need to say that during this time I actually GAVE UP praying for Arielle. Unless it was to get her out of a scrape.

I’d given up hope that she’d ever change. I didn't think that even God could reach her. With her friends, she was amazing, patient, compassionate, wonderful. But with me… things were strained and she kept pushing the boundaries, even stealing from us. When she started doing that, and we had proof she’d hawked some of our possessions, we had to protect ourselves and her sister, and we showed her the door.

She never saw it coming.

I had to let go of her all over again, a whole new level of letting go.

She was so unhappy. There were so many strikes against her - her ADHD, her emotional problems, her work history, her lack of education … they made it impossible for her to get a job here on PEI.

So within a month, she decided to move to Edmonton with a friend I didn’t approve of at the time. I was TOTALLY against the move – but I could do nothing to stop it. She left.

I let go. Every day. And God protected her. Every day. Kept her from being mauled by a bear on the way up there, kept her from getting hurt by some nasty folks in northern Ontario. So many times, in so many ways over those months.

And I kept in touch with her. We texted nearly every day, more often as time went on and the relationship just … well it got better and better.

She’d been in Alberta about 2 and a half months when the unexpected happened. At least I didn’t expect it.

God stepped in. 

In the space of 24 hours, He set things up and she had a powerful, real encounter with Him, and felt His presence so very strongly. She KNEW He was real. She’d believed since she was three, but this was one of those transformational, one-of-a-kind God-moments. This young man she was dating had just had a personal encounter with God and he told her about it. And she felt something warm, she said, all through her torso. 

At one point he had to get out of the car, and so she pulled over and let him out. And she prayed. "God, I don't know if I'm just feeling his emotions or if this is something more. But if it is real, I'm going to need a sign."

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she began to sob, deep wracking sobs. She felt God's presence in a real way. 

Christmas 2011 - we'd given her tickets to see her
favorite comedian, John Pinette, live.
She was so excited!!

 The young man came back into the car and asked her if she was all right, she was crying so hard! She told him about what had happened and he grinned. "It happened like that for me too!!" he said. 

And they spent the whole night praying and talking about God.

 My daughter. Praying.

She couldn’t wait to tell me, to tell her father, Dorothy, her friends, … everyone… what happened.

It was this experience and this transformation that got us through the next month of her life as she became homeless less than two days after this experience, living in her car, while fighting sickness, muggers, thieves, and cold – which affected the quality of her sleep – and of course lack of money. She wanted a home…so much. A little over a month of this lifestyle, and then, ... she was gone. Just like that.

And it was her experience in God that has comforted us so much since we heard of her accident. The healing has come from the love we have felt from literally hundreds of people whose lives have been touched by hers. Including the young man with whom she went to Edmonton. Because of her, he's celebrating five months clean and sober this week. And the young man who was in the car with her that night. 

And there have been so many more … in Alberta, in PEI, in Newfoundland, in this church, in others, at work, at school even. I haven’t spoken in a lot of detail tonight about this part because it is so very fresh, and there are still some things that we don’t know about what happened on that road that night. 

But from experience I can say this to you, about what is happening IN HERE.  INSIDE.

GOD is faithful AND GOD is strong, WHETHER YOU THINK YOU ARE OR NOT. But He proves Himself faithful and strong THE WEAKER YOU REALIZE YOU ARE.

IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW MUCH FAITH YOU THINK YOU HAVE OR HOW MUCH YOU FEEL YOU HAVE TO PRAY. GOD WILL DO WHAT HE PROMISED REGARDLESS. NOT BECAUSE YOU TWIST HIS ARM, BUT BECAUSE HE WANTS TO. BECAUSE HE LOVES YOU, BECAUSE HE LOVES ME.

AND GOD WILL DO ANYTHING, ALLOW ANYTHING IF IT WILL GET YOU AND ME TO THE PLACE OF INTIMACY, BECAUSE ONLY THERE WILL HE BE ABLE TO CONFORM US TO HIS SON’S IMAGE. THAT IS “THE GOOD” THAT ALL THINGS WORK TOGETHER FOR!!! THAT IS THE “GOOD WORK” THAT HE IS DETERMINED TO COMPLETE IN YOU AND ME.

AND HE WILL DO IT. BECAUSE IT’S HIS THING. IT’S NOT SOMETHING WE DO. HE DOES IT.

HOW? How do we cooperate with what He's doing?

HOW?

GOOD QUESTION.

 

THIS IS HOW.

HOW is spelled H – O – W

H stands for HONESTY. Be honest with yourself. With God. Masks DON’T WORK. You will rob yourself of a lot of joy by lying to yourself about your motives. Pray David’s prayer, “Search me, O God, and know my heart. Try me, and know my thoughts. See if there is any wicked way in me. Lead me in the everlasting path.” (Ps. 139)

O stands for OPENNESS. Be open to Him. Be open to the thought that you might not know everything … and let Him teach you. Be open to being changed. Be open to being found. Stop hiding from Him. Let Him in. That word, intimacy – think of it this way: “Intimacy equals into me see”. Understand that this is a process. God’s not going to ZAP you. Intimacy takes time to develop. Let it happen. It's worth it.

W stands for WILLINGNESS. Be willing to take the lid off. Be willing to look at those things that you might be afraid to look at in yourself. Old resentments, old hurts, attitudes you’ve been holding onto and thinking to yourself that “that’s just the way I am.”  Ask Him to reveal those things to you and trust that He will walk through the process with you.

Because He will. HE WANTS to. So He will. 

A lot of things have changed in my life in the last five years. And I've not done any of it. It's all been Him. And it's been His love, expressed in so many ways. Including you people.

I'm so grateful.  Thank you.

Unfathomable

Every morning I wake up with a song in my head. The only exception to that has been the first three days after learning of our daughter's death nearly 3 weeks ago. 

Four days after we got the news, we sat in church; I remember that Teen Challenge Atlantic was there. The worship leader had chosen songs that morning that talked about the love of God. Every song spoke to me, washed over me, soaked into my parched and weary soul. 

There was one she led that morning that was on my mind as I woke this morning after a particularly long bout of insomnia led me to drift into an exhausted sleep and wake unrefreshed. It's a modern hymn, one I had assumed was in the hymn book but which I have discovered today was written only in 2012, by a songwriter / worship leader from England, Stuart Townend. The first verse goes like this:

How deep the Father's love for us - how vast beyond all measure - 
That He would give His only Son to make a wretch His treasure. 
How great the pain of searing loss - the Father turns His face away - 
As wounds which mar the Chosen One bring many sons to glory. 

As I listened to (and sang) these words that Sunday, and let them sink into my spirit, I realized something that I already knew but which struck me as if it was the very first time. I'd always looked at the anguish of the Son as He cried out, "My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?" as the pain of Calvary. And it's true; Jesus gave up EVERYTHING for us.

Photo "Sun Ray Behind Dark Cloud" by Sura Nuralpradid at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

But, as if for the first time, I saw (first-hand by experience) the Father-Heart of God. I recognized the sacrifice that the Father made ... letting them kill His Baby ... and it brought home to me the words to a passage of scripture that has always been precious to me  ...  and now even more so: Isaiah 40:28-31, and in particular, the tail end of verse 28: "No one can measure the depths of His understanding." (NLT) In other words, it's unfathomable.  He understands fully and in every way the pain of losing a child - and knows the awful, horrible and heart-wrenching joy of countless lives being changed for the better (as weird as that sounds) as a result. 

That day it arose in my heart that God understood better than anyone the pain of that kind of loss, that kind of sacrifice, that kind of grief. That He could have STOPPED it - something that I couldn't have done for my daughter no matter how hard I tried - and DIDN'T ... out of His deep love for us - for me - explodes into my spirit in such depth as I never knew I was able to experience before. How vast beyond all measure!!

As our daughter's mother, seeing already how many people's lives have been transformed and impacted by her life - and now by her death - I can only know a small glimmer of the Father's loss at Calvary, and catch a peek of His joy at bringing thousands, millions, maybe even billions into relationship with Him, rescuing them from certain death as a result. 

But to know that God the Father knows, that HE has experienced that same pain far greater than I ever could, helps me to trust Him even more, and to know that how I feel (as terrible as that is sometimes) is allowed ... even right ... for the circumstances. It grants me permission to bury myself in His understanding, to let His deep and abiding love envelop me and carry me. 

Any strength that people have seen in me or in us since the accident is simply not mine or ours; it is His. My - our - knees are just as weak and feeble as they always were. Truly, "Little ones to Him belong; they are weak, but He is strong."

It's hard ... the loss is very real and we miss our little firecracker so very much ... but God is THERE. He is holding us. He is good. And He understands.

Time Heals All Wounds ... Really?

Time, they say, heals all wounds. Hmm. 

How much time? How long? And ALL wounds? Oh really? 

My dad died of widespread brain cancer in 1993. He was in a lot of pain before he passed. A LOT. At the time, God gave me the grace to let him go, and I didn't wish him back because I saw how much he hurt and how helpless and afraid the pain made him. Those memories - memories of him crying out for his mama, memories of him forgetting significant portions of his life - are still as fresh as they were back in October and November 1993. 

There have been times since then - times I've been hurting - that I've missed him so much. The pain of losing him catches me off guard when I see something that reminded me of him, or hear one of the kids (usually my youngest, more about her later) say something or take an attitude that he would have. 

And today ...  today I ache to feel his arms around me again, to hold me close to his heart and murmur in my ear, in his deep, rich bass voice, that everything is going to be all right. 

Because it isn't all right. Not right now, anyway. 

I know that it will be. Someday. But not today. 

Today, I grieve. Today, my baby girl's body lies in a funeral home near Edmonton, Alberta, after a car accident that separated her spirit from it. 

They will put her earthly shell (beautiful as it is) on a plane in Edmonton on Tuesday** morning. (She never got to know the thrill of flying, feeling that surge of power as the plane accelerates, and the sudden smoothness as it lifts off the tarmac.) Her body will be flying and being delayed by layovers all day long and into the night to get here. The staff at the funeral home here need time to prepare everything - probably another day. Seeing as that would put it to a Halloween wake (not a good idea because so many parents want that evening for family time) yet another delay. Unavoidable. (** - Now postponed to Wednesday. Glad now that we opted for a Friday wake!)

We will have what folks here call "the wake" on Friday night, ten days after her accident and nine after we were notified that it happened. 

I know that in time, (and I think that this is the spirit of that saying) the sharp edge of pain will dull. Memories we have will be able to come to us without us bursting into tears at random times, because we are so keenly aware that she is gone from us. 

But that it HEALS? No. No, it is not time that heals. 

And yet.  AND YET... 

It is such a comfort to know that our baby girl had such a powerful experience with God on the night of September 17. She called us on the 18th to tell us about it. And she called her "2nd mother" (which the funeral home doesn't "get" at all ... so they're calling our Dorothy her 'godmother') and she told her too. And she told everybody who would listen, especially if they were hurting and alone, struggling with life. 

We know that we know that we know it was real. Nobody can take that away from us. It makes the grief almost bearable for me. Almost. At least I'm not curled up in a fetal position in a psychiatric ward. I might just be if it weren't for the fact that I know where she is right now. And SHE is not in that funeral home. She is with her Saviour - the One she embraced at age 3, and again at age 5, and the One to whom she responded in love and gratitude over a month ago after He made His presence felt. Powerfully. (See my post below, "Outside the Box".)

But since the accident - and I have recurring flashbacks to that moment when I learned of it and waking dreams of the moment of the crash, usually in the mornings - I have experienced some measure of healing. But not from time.

It's from love.

I cannot begin to express my gratitude for the outpouring of love that I and my family have experienced these last several days. I have remarked before that it's the kindnesses shown by people, the expressions of sympathy, the acts of love and compassion that seem to hurt the most when we are in pain. Operative word: SEEM. 

Just like it SEEMs that the antiseptic ointment stings in a cut. The stinging, we told our girls when they were growing up, is the feeling of thousands of germs dying. It is necessary for healing. 

Arms have held us, squeezed hard sometimes as we have each grieved in our own way. Hands have brought us food, made phone calls for us, watered plants at the workplace. Feet have run errands for us. We have felt protected, sheltered by close friends and protected from additional heartache by total strangers - everyone from police officers to coroners to two women we have never met who offered to go identify her body. Thank God they were spared that task - since it apparently falls to a family member to do it - and thank God that the coroner's office made it possible to do electronically rather than making us fly out there. There is healing there.

We've heard voices of people we have not heard from in decades. Last night, there was a knock at the door and there stood a neighbour - he and his wife live two houses up the street - whom we hadn't had any interaction with for over 10 years. Yet they had heard of our tragedy. He was carrying a pot of chili. His son and our girls used to play together in both our back yards when they were little. An argument over something stupid made one parent ban the other parent's kid from their property. The friendship survived between the kids, but the parents never got over it. How petty is that? He was decidedly uncomfortable and said his speech, shook our hands, gave us the pot and told us to bring it back when we were done. Gruff, yes, (just his way) but he and his wife didn't have to do that. There is healing in that.

Our daughter's friends have "friended" us, as the saying goes on Facebook. We find that while we have lost one daughter, we have gained dozens of children in the process. It has given us the unique ability to speak life and love into their lives. What a privilege. I am in awe. God has enlarged our hearts. 

Let me explain this to you because ... it is huge for me.

I used to have a saying that made people feel rather uncomfortable: "I hate kids. I even have a hard time liking my own!" When a friend was visiting here a few days ago, I was talking about some experience we'd had and I just quipped, without thinking, "I-doan-even-like kids..." and ... thankfully, she laughed. 

Photo "Sleeping Baby" by Dynamite Imagery at 
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Yet somehow, even as I spoke the words, they didn't ring as true for me. And just yesterday, I realized why. 

Since Wednesday, I've noticed a growing fundamental change in me. 

I used to stay away from babies like they were the plague. Someone would bring a kid into work and folks would gather around and make inane noises at it while it did everything from burp to gurgle to shriek. I'd flee to a far-off corner until they were done. But yesterday, though I was assured by people that I didn't need to go (I guess losing a child gives you a doctor's note), I attended our home church. And I started noticing kids. Of all ages. The baby on Melissa's hip. The pre-schooler hanging behind Lindsey with her finger in her mouth. The young 9-year-old boy who wears the suit coat to church and whose expressions of boisterous affection used to annoy me. The young people who fidget and who sometimes talk to each other throughout the service when I'm trying to hear what Pastor has to say.

And somehow, though I don't understand it, the feelings have changed. Without me trying to change them. I can't explain it. They just have. This is HUGE.  Through this crucible of fire, in a way I can't describe or take credit for, I have learned to love children. 

Who knew.

The common denominator in all of this healing, and it is still ongoing .... is not time. Time sucks, actually. Time makes people age, and time takes them away from us. What IS the common denominator is LOVE. 

Love reaches out. Love embraces, cries when you cry and laughs with you as well. Love breaks barriers. Love builds bridges, mends fences, and gives hope. Love serves. Love picks up the phone and calls. Or texts. Or sends an email with encouragement and affection. Love shows that it loves, and then it SAYS that it loves. And then it shows it some more. These are all things that my baby girl understood, because that's how she lived her life. And now she's teaching me. 

It is not TIME that heals all wounds. 

It is LOVE that heals all wounds. 

And love. never. ends.

Spiritual Codependency

Today I was sitting with my pastor chatting about another matter and he asked me to share what was on my heart.

Since I am in a situation in my family that is extremely stressful, I shared my concerns with him, enough so that he knew I was suffering intensely because of the actions (or inactions) of someone that I care very deeply about. 

We talked about a lot of things. We prayed together. And then he said something that made it click for me. What he said was so powerful that it burned itself into my innermost being. 

"Jesus died for _____ (person's name). He bought ________'s peace. That peace belongs to ______.  But listen. He also died for you, Judy. He bought your peace. Don't let ________'s issues take away YOUR peace. It belongs to you." He paused for a moment, and looked straight into my eyes, knowing I would understand this. "If you let anyone else take away your peace, that's kind of like ... codependency.  Only it's SPIRITUAL codependency." 

Photo "Father and Daughter" courtesy of
photostock at
www.freedigitalimages.net

That's when it clicked for me.  

He knew that I understood the concept of codependency (to find out what that is, here's a link to my "What is Codependency?" page.  It's on my main blog, "Get Unwrapped!")  What I had been struggling with was ... where to draw the line between taking the appropriate responsibility I needed to take to look after someone I loved, and assuming someone else's responsibility for their own spiritual and personal growth.

It was just what I needed. I felt the tension drain away from my spirit, as the edges un-blurred and all appeared to shift into focus as I admitted once and for all my utter helplessness. 

As we prayed together, the image of a child spending time with its parent just for the sheer joy of it (rather than to be fed or to be comforted) came into my mind, the image spoken about in Psalm 131:2 ... "I have quieted my soul, like a weaned child rests against its mother." No demands, no ulterior motives ... just resting in Him, leaning on His shoulder. Now that I think about that picture, it is just one more way to "Be still, and know that I am God." (Ps 46:10) ... something a Christian buddy of mine was trying to tell me the other day ... and something that someone else sent to me on Facebook - a song sung in the 1970s by Chuck Girard called "Slow Down." (ignore the ad when you click on the link). 

In my obsession to fix that person's issues, I had lost myself and placed myself in turmoil, in torture. My pastor pointed me to the cross and helped me find the peace that had been waiting for me all along. 

And that is beyond anything I could understand or hope to explain.
It just IS. 

Asking permission

"Do not be hasty in the laying on of hands ..." - I Timothy 5:22(a)

It's happened to just about anyone who goes to a church that believes in the laying on of hands (either for healing or for authorization for ministry, ... there are more instances.)

There's something wonderful about the support that is expressed by touch. It can be a great source of comfort. 

However, it can also be a great source of DIScomfort. It all depends on who you talk to. 

I've lost count of the number of times and situations in various denominations where I've felt the need to go to the altar to pray. And within seconds after I get there, only wanting to kneel and talk to God ... I have gotten pounced upon by some well-meaning extrovert who only wants to impart some spiritual energy. 

Hmm. That kind of assumption has the opposite effect, quite frankly. Nobody ASKed me if they could do that; nobody ASKED me if I wanted to be alone; I had thought that by kneeling, it was an automatic gesture that I need to meet with God. Not His people. At least, not in that instance. However, I guess the one with a hot hand heavy on my back and shouting in my ear (oh, sorry, praying over me....) didn't get the memo. If I had wanted someone else to pray for me, I'd have gone up and stood in front of someone and ASKED. 

Not that I would. At least, not often. 

Asking for prayer opens me up to the personal opinions and pet doctrines of the person I ask to pray for me, because being "prayed for" or "prayed over" puts me in a very vulnerable position. Therefore, I need to implicitly trust that person. I don't usually trust people who assume that because they would like to be prayed for, that I would as well. Besides which, I've had too many people go all "Christian commando" on me ('taking authority' and 'binding the enemy' and all that stuff, stuff I used to do and sometimes still do - in private!) And then they get a whole group of people involved (as if by joining forces they can better twist God's arm). At that point I start to panic, and my simple need gets to be broadcast all over the place without my consent, when all I originally wanted to do was get alone with God and seek His face.

If I refuse their offer ... somehow that's not well-received.

I'd really like to be asked for permission instead of being TOLD to submit to some person's idea of "ministry." Just saying.

The same thing goes for legislated love. ("What in the world is THAT?" I hear someone saying...)

I like to hug people; I like to express my affection for someone, and I like it to be spontaneous. And most of all, REAL.  But an enforced hugging (that is, being told to hug or "love on" someone just because he or she is a believer) is, to me, like a social violation. Quite frankly, I usually absent myself from such exercises.

I'm kind of particular about the person or persons with whom I share personal space. To me, any social situation is riddled with risk. The only reason I go to church gatherings is to obey Hebrews 10:25 - not to forsake the assembling of ourselves together.  I am still SO not comfortable with mandated mingling. So I duck out. Or I stay in my seat. Or I go get a drink of water ... or go to the washroom or something, ANYTHING to keep from engaging in meaningless (and by meaningless I mean without meaningfulness) social babble.

Photo "Blue Butterfly" is used
with the kind permission of "dan"
at www.freedigitalphotos.net

 Let me contrast that with something that happened last Sunday morning. 

It had been a particularly rough week emotionally for me; I was (and still am) concerned about the health and safety of someone I love ... and the emotional pain and sense of helplessness has been excruciating. I was totally spent; I had nothing left emotionally, physically, even spiritually. I was exhausted in every way. 

And it was Thanksgiving. It sure didn't feel like Thanksgiving. 

Before the service, while the worship team was practicing, I saw someone I knew and chatted with her a bit. She asked about how I was doing and I knew that she really wanted to know. So I told her. Warts and all. She didn't judge me. She encouraged me, cried with me and hugged me. When she prayed, it didn't sound like she was blaming me or coming up with answers of her own, but just loving me and bringing my situation to Someone who loves me.

It meant so much.

During the service, the music was uplifting (even if it was bittersweet to listen to through the pain), and after the worship time, I leaned heavily on my husband's shoulder while there were some administrative things like announcements and offering, and then someone preached a very short but well-articulated sermon. When hubby left to go back up on the stage and finish up the service with the music ministry team, I let the music wash over my soul again. 

And as I got up afterward, another woman from our assembly was standing there in front of me - and she let me know that she had been praying for me and for my situation, and that she would continue to do so. It was very low-key, and very sincere, and it touched my heart. She asked about that situation (in a way that told me that she cared and that this wasn't a fact-finding mission to fuel gossip later) ... and I shared some information. Then she asked me if it would be okay with me (!!!) if she contacted a friend who might be able to help in some practical ways. 

I was blown away by her respect, by her genuine concern, and by her compassion and gentleness.

Other things happened that day ... among them, the choice of a particular song by a worship leader to sing in practice, specifically to speak to our needs - regardless of  whether we did the song in the service or not. 

Again, so special!

I'm still so thankful that every once in a while, God touches me in unexpected ways and shows me that He is still at work in His church -- that it isn't all about who can show to the most number of people that he or she is most spiritual. God uses real people to minister to real people who have real life issues. Hurting people want ... no, NEED ... that kind of reality. 

If only it wasn't so rare. 

God willing, maybe it won't be.

Right where I need to be

Many times over the last several years, I've struggled with the concept of knowing what God's will is for me in a given situation.

I've wrestled with what the right choice is. I've made a choice and second-guessed myself all over the place. There have been times that I have asked for a sign from God - something only I would recognize - and although I've been taught that is a bad thing to do ("demonstrates a lack of faith") I've not felt any condemnation ... at least not from God. In fact, I'm pretty sure He was fine with Gideon's requests (where we get the term "putting out a fleece") because once Gideon was convinced that this was God ... there was no stopping him!

All that aside, I still fight uncertainty. 

And lately, I've been having yet another moral dilemma. I have spent a lot of money lately on my youngest daughter. A LOT. The money just disappears into this proverbial black hole and nothing comes out. She is starting a new life in another province and I have poured funds into helping her get on her feet: more funds in the last 3 months than some people make in a year. 

I have heard the nay-saying voices in my head. The voices that sound like they are speaking sense to me, tell me that I need to let go, let her sink or swim. But ... something inside rebelled against that.

I've sunk before. I know what it feels like. And I can't swim.

If I hadn't poured that money into that situation, the miracle that never would have happened here, happened way out there in Alberta. Without my input!! (Please see my last post, called "Outside the box".)

Image "Giving To The Poor" courtesy of
David Castillo Dominici
at www.freedigitalimages.net

Yet, the fact was that I had exhausted my tuition fund, and put myself in debt, to help her out and make sure she was safe.  I didn't know what else to do; I had spent so much money and now I was looking at spending even more for possible tuition for trade school for her. Then her landlady kicked her out - gave her 1 hour's notice and that was it. 

She was homeless. Living in her car.

I was desperate. The heavens - when I prayed (and I prayed a LOT about the financial situation) - were not saying anything.  So then I did something pretty drastic. I asked people for help. I created a fundraising (crowd-funding) website with donation buttons and the whole shebang. Promoted it on Facebook. Twitter.

Nothing. 

I put my heart out there and made myself vulnerable. I even begged for help; I humiliated myself for her sake. 

And .... nothing. 

Once I did that ... once I had opened myself to attack (i.e., yet further judgment) ... she got a job. A serving job at a fair-sized restaurant. And with renewed vigor she looked for an apartment. 

I took from that experience (and no, she still hasn't found an apartment; she is still living in her car) that God would have me open myself to people ... only to have me realize (as a lesson from Him) that people aren't my source. 

I say again: human beings aren't my source.

HE is.  All He wanted was for me to be desperate enough to make a fool of myself for love... and to realize that only He can meet my needs. And they are MY needs. I know that now.

And so, over the course of the next couple of days, I will be removing my fundraising campaign from the web, taking down my donation buttons, and packing up shop that way.  My support of my daughter is something that I choose to do ... for my own reasons, which don't need to be justified.

Just so you know.