A Time To Be Happy

Today marked the three year anniversary of my Father's death.

For the past two years we have gone to my Aunt's and visited the cemetery. Today we didn't.
Today we celebrated Trey. It is his last birthday before going off to the Marine Corps and so a bunch of our friends met at Taco Mac for lunch, went to a movie AND went bowling! (All out!)

It's not that I didn't think of my Dad during the day...I did. But I think of him most days. Three years later and I still think of him daily. With Trey getting ready to leave, it's even harder. I want to call my Dad and let him brag or listen to me brag...or listen to me cry!

But today was for the living. Today was celebration. And we can do that while still remembering those that have left us.

Ecclesiastes 3 New International Version (NIV)

A Time for Everything

3 There is a time for everything,
    and a season for every activity under the heavens:

2     a time to be born and a time to die,
    a time to plant and a time to uproot,
3     a time to kill and a time to heal,
    a time to tear down and a time to build,
4     a time to weep and a time to laugh,
    a time to mourn and a time to dance,
5     a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
6     a time to search and a time to give up,
    a time to keep and a time to throw away,
7     a time to tear and a time to mend,
    a time to be silent and a time to speak,
8     a time to love and a time to hate,
    a time for war and a time for peace.

9 What do workers gain from their toil? 10 I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. 11 He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet[a] no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end. 12 I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. 13 That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God. 14 I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. 

(from BibleGateway.com)

Little Acts of Kindness

Trey turned 19 on Friday and we've basically been celebrating all weekend. Birthdays are a big thing, we celebrate them well. And since we are all celebrating Trey's birthday knowing he might not be home for his next birthday (although, since he got infantry, he'll probably be in California so it's not like he'll be suffering!), we are spoiling him a little more. So we've eaten out with friends, seen two movies and went bowling.

Here is some advice for you young men out there...just, learn from this wisdom I'm about the throw down for you...

If you are about to go into the military, maybe not...just maybe...take your mother and your sister to see a war movie! In this case, American Sniper. (Which by the way, wasn't at all what I expected and was a very good move.) Because-and this may surprise you-your mother and your sister might get a little emotional after the movie.

I say "might" but let's say "will"
We will definitely get emotional. And we will be in the theatre sobbing. And in the bathroom, sobbing.

Have you guys ever been in a public restroom crying? Yea...me either...except for that one time. After watching American Sniper.

So today. Today I was in a public bathroom, hugging my daughter and we were crying.

And some girl who is not that much older than Embree walks in, takes one look at us and asks "Did you guys see American Sniper?" I nod yes and then tell her "It's my son's birthday. He ships out for Parris Island in May" And this young girl lets out a big ol' "Awwww" and stretches out her arms and gives Bree and I a hug. So crying and group hugs with random strangers in public bathrooms. It's a thing.

You know, its no small thing to invite yourself into someone else's pain. To not just give an awkward smile as you sort of creep by them to the stall as far away as possible. To invite yourself in and give what little you can. In this case, a hug.

It was a big deal to me that she was willing. I love the fact we can accomplish so much in such small ways. And I think that in this environment, with so much going on, that we could make significant paths to reconciliation if we were willing to invite ourselves in the pain of others and do the little things we can to tell people "you are not alone" or "How can I help?" We don't have to understand the pain to be with someone through the pain. Little acts of kindness just make it so much easier to walk through it.

Keeping Christ in Christmas

I made the mistake of saying "Happy Holidays" to a Christian today. I didn't know she was a Christian...she was a customer and she was leaving and I wanted to be polite.

I generally say "Happy Holidays" to customers unless they say "Merry Christmas", "Happy Kwanzaa" or "Happy Hanukah" first. I also find "Happy Holidays" to be much easier than saying "HappyThanksgivingMerryChristmasHappyNewYear" I just wrap it up by wishing them a happy holy day. Because, you know, "holiday" means holy day. Just like the "X" is Greek for Christ so Xmas is Christmas and not a means of X-ing Jesus out of his 'birthday'.

Anyway, I said "Happy holiday" and the lady said back, rather forcefully "Merry Christmas" Actually, she probably said "Merry CHRISTmas" but it's hard to speak in all caps.

Paying for gas, the woman at the register gave me a "Merry Christmas" and a look that dared me to try and take Jesus out of the season. I rather uneasily wished her a Merry Christmas and took my change.

To those wishing everyone a "Merry Christmas" like it's a challenge...are we sure that's the best way to go about keeping "Christ in Christmas"? Because it feels more like picking a fight.

I mean...I'm a Christian and I'm not sure what I should do...wear a t-shirt that says "Relax, I'm one of you." Or a sweater with "Jesus Is The Reason" in glitter? If I accidentally say "Happy holiday" instead of "Merry Christmas" is there some sort of special repentance prayer?

I'm just wondering...could we possibly go about helping people understand the Reason for the Season better if we...I don't know...did the things Jesus did?

What if we fed the poor? Built nonjudgmental relationships with non-believers? Had in-depth conversations with some of society's most marginalized? Showed grace to someone who had wronged us? Spent focused time in prayer for the lost? Wept over the hurting?

I get that we want to stand guard over our Nativity scenes...but Jesus left the manger and grew up to minister to a broken world (He modeled that behavior for a reason) and then He sacrificed Himself for the forgiveness of our sins. If we lived that out, it's entirely possible more people would be happily greeting us with "Merry Christmas"

Blessed Are The Peacemakers...

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God. Matthew 5:9

Sarah Bessey called it the "summer of sadness" and that resonated within me. We saw Boko Haram kidnap schoolgirls from their beds, ISIS chasing villagers up the mountain to die, civilians in the Gaza strip dying by the hundreds, over 50,000 children traveling thousands of miles in hopes of a better existence being detained in camps...the list goes on and on and on. I felt all of it. And even more so, I felt my helplessness in the face of it. I wasn't sure that anything I did would make a difference. One afternoon, I was in my room, praying, processing, thinking in blog (I do this more than I should admit) and wondering what-if anything-I should do. 

On my nightstand there was a Relevant magazine that I'd looked forward to reading for weeks but hadn't had a chance yet because of the move, work schedule, etc.

I'd looked at this thing for weeks but somehow at that moment, the title hit me harder than it had before. "Blessed are the peacemakers" I realized two things almost simultaneously.

1) Peace doesn't just happen. It's made.

2) As much as we are called to be advocates, abolitionists and bearers of justice...we are more called to be peacemakers. Jesus says in his Sermon on the Mount that the peacemakers will be called children of God. 

I had to admit...quite painfully...that I wasn't sure how to be a peacemaker. I was pretty sure I had the role of "activist" down pretty well, but peacemaker...

In an article by Lynn Hybels, she says "there is a huge difference between being an angry activist and being a peacemaker" and goes on to explain that one can cause more harm than good-to herself as well as the people she wants to help. The truth of it that hit home but I was hoping for a list or a character summary or something that would help move me from one to the other. Lynn Hybels suggested 1 Corinthians 13 as a start. You know, the love chapter. Apparently Jesus actually meant that being known by our love thing since it keeps coming back to that.

Sigh

For the record, angry activist is easier. Especially this week. 

My heart is breaking and I'm angry and disgusted and discouraged. Social media has me so disgusted that I refuse to log on in the fear that if I do, I'll lose all hope in humanity. But, at the same time, I don't want to remove myself completely. Because, if we need anything right now, we need peacemakers. And I'm still learning, still wobbly, and completely and totally imperfect. But I'm trying. And I think that slowly, if there are enough peacemakers, there will be change.

If you, like me, want desperately to see peace...if you are working toward being a peacemaker...but you wouldn't mind a list, here's what I have so far...

1) Being a peacemaker doesn't mean not speaking truth. In the 1930's world leaders, desperate for peace, allowed Hitler to do things they should never have stood for...in the hopes he would be satisfied and there would be no war. Obviously, that didn't work out. Being a peacemaker doesn't mean not standing up for what is right. I think it's the way we take our stance that makes a difference. There is a huge difference in taking a stance with our hands out than with our fists up.

2) Jonathan Sacks says "The greatest single antidote to violence is conversation" Here is my experience and I believe it is a universal one...it is a lot harder to judge a minority, a "side" or a person when we know them, when we have relationship with them. And the way we build relationship is through conversation. The way we understand the other "side" is through conversation. And by conversation, I mean two way communication. In which there is talking and listening...and attempting to understand even when you don't agree. I don't care if you don't believe racism exists in this country...if the person you are talking to believes it, then that is their perception and therefore their reality and you arguing with them without any attempt to understand why they feel that way isn't going to change anything. If the person you are talking to doesn't believe racism exists in this country, calling them names isn't going to change their mind. All the yelling, name calling and finger pointing in the world isn't going to change anything. It just sends people to their corner, ready to come out fighting.

3) Step out of your conventions, your boundaries and your comfort zone. We serve a Jesus who walked through Samaria, talked to women in public, and touched lepers. So maybe a conversation with someone who identifies as LGBTQ, sharing a meal with an immigrant (and not worrying about their legal status) or going into neighborhoods we wouldn't normally step foot in (for some that is the poverty stricken areas...for others the home of a "soccer mom").

4) Stop identifying the "issue" and see the humanity behind it. This is one of my biggest problems right now...especially in the Christian community, we discuss the LGBTQ community, the situation in Ferguson and the immigrant community as issues to be debated rather than seeing the people involved. It is telling to me that in Darren Wilson's interviews that were released this week he identified Michael Brown as "it" more than "he". In warfare the military dehumanizes the other side giving them common nicknames like "Charlie" because it is harder to kill an individual. Likewise, it is a lot easier to debate issues than people. Recently in my public speaking class I was to give a presentation...before the presentation I asked three questions and after the presentation I asked the same three questions. Before I gave my presentation, the answer to "describe what you think the average person on food stamps is like" went along the lines of "drug dealing, ghetto, welfare mom" (seriously, those were the answers). After my presentation, after finding out 25% of our military families are on food stamps, after hearing about how I'd been on food stamps...the answers were drastically different. The issue had been humanized.

5) Approach everything with and in love...if we are to be known by our love, 1 Corinthians 13 is how we should be approaching every one and everything we encounter. If the fruits of the Spirit are love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness and self control...what are we exhibiting on our Facebook feed? We don't do this in our own power. I am certainly not going to be able to love the prejudiced truck driver making racist comments in my front lobby without the help of Jesus. For those wrestling with this, I suggest a lot of prayer and maybe a word study in your Bible (or...like Lynn Hybels....reading 1 Corinthians 13 every morning and evening until it starts to work).

6) Be willing to get your hands dirty. In the current situation, the town of Ferguson needs to know it is loved. The library is providing a safe haven for students, the food banks are open, and there is a lot of clean up to do. If you can't be there to get your hands dirty, provide resources so others can. It's important that our words and actions match. But don't do so to take sides. I love what Elias Chacour, an Arab priest, said to a group of women coming to Palestine "If you are here to pick sides, then please leave. We don't need you. But if you're willing to figure out what it means to be a common friend to both Israelis and Palestenians, we welcome you." We are there to help, to work for common good...and to do so, we need to be a "common friend."

Be willing to let your heart be broken. If the stories we are hearing aren't breaking your heart, you aren't listening. Or maybe you are afraid if you let your heart be broken, it'll never come together again. But God is the God who can put can put Humpty Dumpty (and our hearts) back together again. And I'm convinced that to be a peacekeeper, we must feel the hurt of the broken, the angry, the oppressed. 

Carry On, Peacemaker

The Art of Sabbath

I'm reading Jonathan Merritt's book Jesus Is Better Than You Imagined and he is talking about spending a weekend at a monastery observing a vow of silence. In exploring Zechariah, he makes this statement "Having first encountered this passage as a chile, I assumed God was punishing Zechariah thgourh Gabriel for probing the prophecy further. After all, I thought, God dislikes being questioned. But after encountering the Bible more broadly, I think more might be happening here...I now wonder if striking Zechariah mute was both a punishment and a gift. Rather than simmering over being questioned, maybe God knew Zechariah better than we...God knew he needed to stop talking in order to fully hear what God was saying, in order to receive what God was about to do in his midst."

Recently, I have been flailing against the life that surrounds me. Part of it is sheer exhaustion from working two jobs. Part of it is desperately missing the sense of purpose and mission that I had when I worked in non-profit. Part of it is just everyday human selfishness. I began this season sure God was doing something...but I also believed it would be short lived. I've been out of non-profit for over a year now. Maybe to God, that is a short time span...to me, it's a freaking long time!

The crazy thing is that every time I stop and pray, I get an undeniable sense of peace...but for some reason, that didn't make sense to me...so I flailed anyway. And I began desperately trying to apply for jobs in non-profit organizations and I put my boss on notice that I was looking for another job and I begged "please God give me this" and bargained and wheedled. I told God that since I didn't get to be married or rich, I really needed this. I reminded Him that my kids were old enough to leave home and it would be really, really nice to have a sense of purpose to distract me from empty nest syndrome (yeah, I did actually go there). And I stressed about it. Like, really stressed. And I was already stressed and tired. So it got ugly. Like the ugly where your kids see you come out of your room so they run to theirs ugly.

And then, suddenly I got it. And I didn't have quite the words for it until I read that particular chapter in Merriitt's book. I was feeling as though I was being punished. Like I did something that made me unworthy of the job so God basically 'muted' me. But He isn't punishing me at all. He is giving me the space for silence.

He is giving me the space for Sabbath. More than just a Sunday but a prolonged period of time to know Him, hear Him, and be with Him. And maybe it's because He's about to do something in the midst and maybe it's because God's more concerned with our relationship than He is the good works and the advocacy and all of those awesome volunteer groups. And that is a huge issue because, to be honest...I was more concerned with what we were going to do next, about who God wanted me to be, etc, etc. It was more about the doing, less about the being.

"When I pray am I truly trying to find out who God is, or am I trying to find out who I am?" 
~Oswald Chambers

Sabbath is about more than going to church, it's even about more than resting, it's a period of time to seek God in order to better know Him (that "Be still and know that I am God" thing). And it can be a longer season than 24 hours. I've failed to understand the season and have filled it with more work, school, etc. The sad thing is, as much as I love both my jobs, I can't say that working them both has made us more financially stable. If the car hadn't broken down or if we hadn't had to move twice in a six month period...maybe. But it's not worth the time I haven't spent with my kids or the fact that my friend-after years of praying and hoping-became pregnant and I didn't get to see the baby belly in person until her third trimester. It's certainly not worth the burn out and constant exhaustion and unhappiness. 

So, I sat down with my boss. Told him I was staying if he wanted me to. He did. And-being awesome-gave me projects I could sink my teeth into and a great raise. It was funny how, in deciding to stay, I almost immediately calmed down. And have had the most fantastic sense of contentment since then. I also told Horizon that I needed to work a lot less (though I love working there so probably won't give it up completely) and now I've had time to rest, hang out with my kids, help care for a friend of mine's children while she recuperated from surgery, and I get to help organize a nursery! And I have time to be quiet, to reconnect, to know God.

I think we have lost the art of Sabbath. We've confined it to one day, decided what it needs to look like or forgotten it's importance all together. We've forgotten the beauty of it. The creativity that is found in the midst of it. The discipline of it. For me, at least, it was time to take that back.

On Raising a Man...and a Soldier.

When Trey was about six years old, I was given the book "Raising Up Boys" by James Dobson (it had been on my Christmas wish list). I read to a certain chapter where Dr Dobson detailed statistics and probabilities that seemed to fate my son to a life of crime, addiction, depression and suicide. Overwhelmed with despair, I crept into my sleeping son's room, knelt by his bed and prayed in desperation. And I heard God ask me if I trusted Him to see my son as more than a statistic. Of course I did. And I held on to that like a promise.

I have raised my son with a set of values, beliefs and principles. I raised him to believe in things, be willing to fight for those things, to hold on to his faith, to live life like an adventure. And now that he is 18, he is living out all of that...and, to be honest, I may have days where I wish I could take it back! Not all of it...just redefine "adventure" to something like "live really close to your Mom-always!" But it would appear it's too late. The course is set.

When Trey was four, he told me when he grew up he wanted to join the Marines and be a soldier. At some point, he'd stopped talking about it and I stopped thinking about it but a couple of years ago he told me that he planned to join as soon as he graduated high school. At my request, he agreed to wait until he was 19...he turns 19 this February.

By May...he'll be gone. He'll be in boot camp.

In the past few days, we've talked about it several times. I asked him if he'd finished registering for next semester and when he told me no, I started to chide him but he reminded me he's not going to school next semester...he'll be gone before the semester is over. Bree and I were discussing Thanksgiving when we realized that this is the last Thanksgiving for the next four years that we are guaranteed Trey will be home. And then I read that President Obama has approved the deployment of 1500 more troops to Iraq.

I have to tell you...I have had friends and family members serve in the military for as long as I can remember. I had friends in Iraq during Operation Desert Storm and cousins fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan. I've had friends who had family members-even their sons-serving in the Army, Navy, Air Force and Marines...and I have prayed for them, diligently. But I think I realized that I didn't pray for them nearly enough. I have been praying for my son as desperately as I did that night 12 years ago. And I realize that for the Mamas out there, I had no idea as I dutifully prayed for their child what they were going through. I still don't. Not yet. I just know the anticipation of it...and I am going to be bluntly honest and tell you that I don't fully trust the United States Government to make the best choices when it comes to my son. When I look at Korea and Vietnam and then I look at Iraq, Afghanistan, and ISIS I feel like we are making the same decisions and the same mistakes. I think we fail to fully understand the culture and the people and what we are fighting for and what we are fighting against when we make military decisions. As I am not a military strategist, general, soldier, etc I could be absolutely wrong...but that is the way it seems to me. And now, the decisions the military and Commander in Chief make affect me in a very personal way. And that is scary.

My son is-understandably so-one of hundreds of thousands to the US government and military. They don't know about his comedic timing, ability to take amazing pictures, love of Ultimate Frisbee and video games. They don't know that when he found out he was in the same college class as his Mom, he didn't run to his adviser and beg for rescue but actually enjoys it! They don't know that he is a favorite with all little kids and most dogs. That he hopes to make movies one day. That he is the best answer God could have ever given me in my prayer for a son.

And then God reminds me that He does...He knows all of those things.

I trust my son to know the desires of his heart and to go after them. Because of my raising, and sometimes in spite of it, because of the goodness of God, because of the love of so many friends around us my son has grown into a remarkable young man. He will make a fine soldier. And I will wave him off with pride when he leaves for boot camp and I won't cry until he's gone and each time he comes home and has to leave again I will do the same. Because that is the best thing I can give him...to know he is loved, that I am proud of him, that I support him, and that I am praying...and that I trust him and God  that whatever they do is for the best. I'm holding on to that. Like a promise.

Mamas, I am praying so hard for your soldiers. For your hearts. For our leaders to make wise decisions. Because I understand more than ever how personal it is. Thank you for being brave, for being wise, for modeling how to do it right so that bumbling Mamas like me have a model.

Here's to hoping and praying for the day the sword is beaten into plowshares.

Honor Thy Mother and Father...

There's this cardinal rule when it comes to calling my mom.
Don't call after 9 pm. Like...ever. Even if you are in your last moments of life, just don't.

My mother has bipolar disorder. As in, debilitating, life altering, generally hanging on by a thread bipolar disorder...and she takes her night meds at 9 pm every night. And once they kick in, she can not (and will not) be responsible for what she says if you break the rule and she picks up the phone.

Recently, I broke the rule. I didn't mean to...I was driving home from rehearsal, missing my mom and picked up the phone and dialed. I realized as soon as I heard her "high" voice (like she just woke up but a little higher pitched) that this was going to be a short conversation. But we chatted for a bit.

Then she said, "I've been thinking. I'm actually glad I'm not married to (insert ex husband's name here) anymore." I was quite pleased at this and thinking she'd had a major break through of some sort, said "Oh, do tell..."

Apparently, my sister (half, but we're not counting) had told my mom about riding with her dad recently and he'd been quite aggressive and even rude to other drivers.

My throat closed up. My stomach clenched. Tears came to my eyes.

Hearing no response, my Mom said my name "Cindy?"
"Road rage?" I said through gritted teeth. "You're glad you aren't with him because he has road rage?" My Mom was actually quite pleased there was a term for it. I could barely hear the rest of what she said because the screaming in my head was getting loud. I ended the conversation quickly.

My mom had just explained to the child she'd given up in order to protect the aforementioned ex husband from being convicted of child molestation that she'd found closure and finally been able to not only accept, but be happy they were no longer together...because he wasn't a good driver.

Reacting to all the emotions and thoughts I yelled "SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!" at the steering wheel (because steering wheels don't care if you yell at them) And things got quiet, and then-because I could finally hear it-that still, small voice said

"Honor your Mother and your Father"

And I said (because I am super spiritual ya'll)
"Don't give me that load of crap right now."

 Let's be real...Some days you just don't feel like taking the "higher road"

So the rest of the way home, I had this argument in my head. And I went home and read Scripture. I really started considering what it looks like to "honor" our parents so I researched, talked to pastors and people whose opinion I respect. I was looking for the exceptions to the rule.  I wondered if the expectations for honoring parents when they were "good" parents were different from when they were "bad" parents. I decided maybe God set the bar lower for us so that particular commandment was easier to fulfill. I looked for an "out"

For myself.
For my kids. (Both my biological and all my "adopted" kids.)
For the ones reading this who struggle with this same thing.

Because God bless you if you have the parents that make it an easily accomplished task. If the least you can do is honor the amazing, wonderful, perfect parents who brought you into this world, loved and nurtured you, instilled the best values in you and never, ever made a mistake. But for the rest of us...the ones who were abandoned, abused, neglected, overlooked in favor of an addiction or the television set, whose parents weren't quite perfect...we aren't really up for it.

I've got good news. And I've got bad news.

The bad news...there is no out. I looked guys...for weeks. There is no place in Scripture that says if our parents stink, we don't have to honor them. So, having found no out, I began to look into what exactly "honor" entails. I tend to think of "honor" as saying 'yes ma'am' and 'no sir' and not sticking my tongue out at them or calling them names (out loud). I know that meaning and depth is often lost in translation so I asked several pastors about the word "honor"

"The Greek word for honor means to revere, prize and value"
"The root of the Hebrew word for honor means to weigh heavy"
"It means weighty or heavy. It speaks to the significance we place on something"

So, if I manage not to roll my eyes...that's not quite cutting it?

Matthew Henry says it like this. "That obedience which God demands from their children...includes an inward reverence [honor], as well as the outward expressions and acts."

There's more...
Before Jesus, the spiritual life had become more about actions than intentions or motivations. Going through the motions was enough. But after Jesus...it was more about the intentions or motivations than the actions. Look at what He said about giving, adultery, murder in your heart...

So it is with honoring your parents. It can't be just about going through the motions. As Tim, pastor at Brown's Mill Church, puts it "It's your posture as you obey"

A couple of years before my dad passed away, our relationship was on pretty rocky terms-again. Most of you know that my dad was an abusive alcoholic for most of my growing up years and that he sobered up, became a mentor for those walking the path to sobriety, and that he and I still had our issues. Oftentimes it was as much hard headedness as past hurts that led to our falling out but neither of us was willing to take the blame...and I had the pretty convenient role of "victim" so I rarely had to. My dad fell one day and broke his leg. A bad break and the fact my dad was a diabetic meant he spent a lot of time in the hospital. My aunt and I took turns being there for him...keeping him company, emptying out his pee pot, picking up the ice and other trash he threw at the door when the doctor or nurse left after telling him something he didn't like, washing his hair with those dry shampoo caps because my dad couldn't stand for his hair to be dirty. At first, I did them begrudgingly while at the same time feeling like quite the wonderful Christian daughter. After all, look what I was doing for my dad...after all the times he hadn't been there for me. It didn't take long before the Spirit provided an attitude check and I began to deliberately change my attitude about the tasks I performed for my dad. I'm so glad I did because those days in the hospital brought my dad and I closer than we'd ever been. After he had his stroke, the day they told us would be his last, they put him in a room where he could be "comfortable" and the family could be with him. The nurse asked if there was anything she could do and I asked her for one of the dry shampoo caps. She looked at me puzzled. I explained that his hair hadn't been washed for days and I knew how much he hated oily hair. So she brought me several and I did one of the last things I could do for my dad-wash his hair. As I scrubbed, I told my dad how much I loved him...how glad I was that he was my dad...and I meant it.

Here's the good news...God doesn't just tell us to do something and then leave us to do it on our own. I know some of you are shutting me out, thinking "oh...but you don't know..." I have heard so, so many stories. Stories that make me even more grateful for the parents I have because OH DEAR LORD! The brokenness of this world, the brokenness of our parents, the brokenness of your heart as you put one foot in front of the other. But I have to tell you that letting go makes the journey so much easier...and just like forgiveness is a choice, so is honoring those who gave birth to us...no matter what came after. And just like forgiveness, obeying the Lord in this means that we are also letting go of the past and freeing ourselves to live the future. 

Hear me when I tell you that forgiving your parents, honoring your parents is not about saying that what they did to you is okay or right. God gave them a mandate as your parents and they didn't do it and that is not okay! 

But that doesn't mean we don't have to do our part. We do. And the reason we do is because God is going to use it to make us whole again. And as we are honoring our earthly parents, we honor our Heavenly Father. And the weight of that isn't like a stone but like our favorite sweater, or a comforter thrown over us. Our posture is of reverence and the overwhelming emotion is love. And God, to help us honor our parents, will give us both a glimpse of how He sees us and how He sees them. And we are free to be ourselves and live the lives God planned for us because we are free of the hurts and regrets and the ever present, nagging desire and absolute must be accomplished goal of "fixing" it or "figuring it out" And sometimes, as we honor our parents, we are free to have a relationship with them. Perhaps not the one we hoped for, but a relationship nonetheless. And, if we aren't...because it's not safe, because they choose not to, because it's too late and they are gone from this world...then we are free from the sorrow of not doing our part. 

It's not easy. I'm not going to pretend it is. I know plenty who are struggling to find a morsel of "honor" for their parent(s). My kids don't even call their biological father "father" or "dad." In fact, he's barely mentioned at all, and if he is, he is called by his first name. And I am not going to stop them. My children have to work this out in their time. I hope that as they've seen me wrestle with this and as they've watched how I have honored my parents (and how I haven't) that I've made it easier for them. I'll be there for them as they figure it out.

The Gospel, as Pastor Tim often reminds us, is counterintuitive. It goes against everything in us that tells we're entitled to or what's "fair" and it's a constant reminder that we don't do this in our own power but by God's grace and His power.

From one of the emails Tim and I exchanged as we discussed this: "Honoring your parents when they've been abusive, absent, etc. is not about the parent...it's about the one offering the honor...and the one who gives us the ability to do such a crazy thing. In fact, honoring a parent who is "not worthy" of honor is one of the most kingdom-minded things we can do. Jesus taught us to love our enemies. The original wording is not just a "don't curse them out under your breath" but it's also "intentionally seek to tangibly bless them." It's connected to what I mentioned yesterday, in that following Jesus means embracing these counter-cultural, counter-intuitive ways of seeing/doing things. Whereas the world says "they hurt you and do not deserve your honor", Jesus says "honor them because it pleases me...and it tangibly demonstrates my love for you AND for them."

If I talked to my Mom about the conversation that night, she probably wouldn't remember it. She'd most likely be astounded at how much it had hurt me. Both the illness and the medication have taken so much away. But my Mom gets up every day. She chooses life every single day. And regardless of all her past mistakes (and the ones she will make in the future), she is my Mom, she is a surviver. And she is worthy of honor.