Courage

Tags

faith, music

It happens to me all the time. I see something, read something, hear something and a song pops in my head and bounces around in there the rest of the day. It’s not so bad if I like the song.

Yesterday it was The Tragically Hip’s “Courage” (1999). And as it bounced, I pondered that word.

Courage: The ability to do something that frightens one; strength in the face of pain or grief.

Doesn’t it just conjure up images of soldiers cresting the rim of a muddy trench? A Good Samaritan pulling a lifeless body from a burning car? A firefighter wading through a flooding street to rescue a child? An unarmed passenger tackling a terrorist on a train?

Boldness. Fearlessness. Valour. Grit.

In our own minds, none of those words apply to us, but I think they do…

• I know a Mom who buried her daughter this week. Every day requires grit.
• I know a woman living with cancer. She’s doing well now but there’s no cure.
  That takes pluck.
• I know a woman whose dreams were crushed by a technicality, but who is busying herself making new dreams. That takes gumption.
• And another caring for a loved one with Alzheimer’s. That requires fearlessness.

We tend to never apply that word to ourselves because in the midst of the pain, as we struggle to breathe and focus on the next day, or simply the next step in our current day, we don’t feel courageous or audacious. We feel burdened, helpless, and alone, and we balk at suggestions that we demonstrate anything resembling courage. We are merely doing what we have to do.

“Sometimes even to live is an act of courage.” – Lucius Annaeus Seneca

I may only be in the middle of my life, but I’ve already had to make some difficult decisions and face uncertain days with some semblance of pluck and grace. I didn’t feel bold or brave, but looking back, it took guts and hard work and determination. Of course I didn’t live through those moments in time alone; God gave me the strength and I don’t know where I’d be now without it. Or where I am heading in the future, with it.

There’s no simple explanation for anything important any of us do. And, yeah, the human tragedy consists in the necessity of living with the consequences under pressure. – Tragically Hip

I just hope that one day, as you quietly reflect on your own life, you can see that there were indeed moments of courage in the face of adversity. Sure, we could just chalk it up to doing what we had to do in a difficult situation, but I hope that you can also graciously accept a little acknowledgement from yourself. Give yourself some credit. Smile. Quietly celebrate. (Maybe with chocolate.)

“Surprise yourself every day with your own courage.” – Denholm Elliott

Have a happy weekend!

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To One Who Holds the Stars

Tags

Easter, faith, redemption

I read a story once about a little boy born with no ears. He was tormented by the other kids because he was disfigured. When he was old enough, surgeons were able to give him ears from an anonymous donor, and he grew confidently, out from under the shadow that had plagued him in his younger years. It wasn’t until he was standing with his father at the open casket of his mom, that his Dad asked him if he ever wondered who gave him his ears. Of course the boy, a man now, had always assumed it was someone who had died. His father reached forward, and gently smoothed the strands of Mom’s hair away from her face. All these years, she had hidden the scars left from where her ears had been removed. Amazing Love!

We live in a world that scrutinizes everything for imperfections. We vigilantly conceal and seek to erase our flaws and scars because we view them as ugly and shameful.  But when Jesus appeared before His bewildered and weary disciples after the resurrection, He openly showed them His scars. Rather than concealing them, He who was perfect, retained these marks on His flesh to bear witness to the depths of His humiliation and suffering, and the depths of His love. Jesus withheld nothing, choosing to subject Himself to trauma and pain on our behalf. Jesus withholds nothing now. Amazing Love!

He is the Wounded One. He is the Resurrected One. He is the Living One.

* * *

For the last 6 weeks, I have observed Lent, not because it was required but because I wanted to. Just like last year, I gave up sugar in all its forms, no easy task for someone who loves her sweets! 🙂 Last year, I became aware of how often I run to sweets when I’m disappointed, sad, bored, or angry, instead of running to the Lord. This year, I have had no grand revelations or deep thoughts, until this final week. Jesus’ scars.

I have many scars, not just on my body, but on my heart. Some wounds have faded, some have been healed completely; others are still keenly felt. Jesus touches every one.

Most of my scars are the result of my own making, in the choices I’ve made and the situations I have put myself in. Not all, of course. People are cruel, self-centered creatures by nature and we can easily become hapless victims in their games.

“Jesus’ wounds take in my hurt. My scars reveal His glory.”
– Sharon Garlough Brown

Whether by choice or the choice of another, each nick and knock has had a part in shaping me.  They may not have been part of God’s original plan for my life, but they are glorious marks because of His power to heal and restore. All of my wounds and scars are part of my story, but God is the Author and Perfecter of my faith. He is the One who has redeemed all my mistakes. Amazing Love! So my prayer this Easter is this:

If You can hold the stars in place
You can hold my heart the same
Whenever I fall away, whenever I start to break
So here I am lifting up my heart
To the One who holds the stars*

To the one with nail-scarred hands. Lord, help me to say to others “this is where I hurt…this is where God has healed”.  Let my marks bear witness to the depths of Your love. Amen.

unsplash-logoGreg Rakozy

*Jason Ingram | John L. Cooper | Korey Cooper | Seth Mosley © 2016 Darkonikor (Admin. by BMG Chrysalis US) Landrum Publishing (Admin. by BMG Chrysalis US) CentricSongs (Admin. by Capitol CMG Publishing) Open Hands Music (Admin. by Essential Music Publishing LLC) So Essential Tunes (Admin. by Essential Music Publishing LLC)

The Gift of Presence

Tags

faith

I was reminded last week that when life delivers news that pulls the rug from under our feet, words matter…but our presence matters more.

We live in a culture that is driven by what we can do or say, and usually our lack of response, despite our good intentions, is selfish. We feel helpless. We know there is little that can be done or said to make it any better. We forget that our lack of response only deepen wounds. Often we fail to recognize the value of companionship even in silence. In our mourning, we offer quiet comfort. In our tears, we offer consolation.

A friend loves at all times. – Prov. 17:17a

Our presence can be as important as grand gestures, perhaps more so because it requires sacrifice. It means giving of your time, a precious commodity we believe we can’t afford to waste as we rush to meet the incessant demands of others, and our own pleas for self-fulfillment and pleasure. It means giving of yourself. When you really love someone, you have to set aside how you feel for the sake of the other.  It means being open to unguarded moments that can be awkward or intense. It may mean listening deeply to hear beyond the spoken words to a heart that is aching for compassion or affirmation.

It’s ok be honest, to admit both to ourselves and the other person, that we sometimes don’t know how to answer or we feel ill-equipped to provide answers. But we love them. We are here. And when you are truly present with them in that moment, you are giving them a gift of great value.

Wherever you are – be all there. – Jim Elliot

Worth Fighting For

Tags

children, faith

Friday morning, on the way to school, the radio announcer read the names and ages of the victims of Florida’s recent high school shooting. A small voice asked from the backseat, “what’s he doing?” so I explained. It led to a deeper conversation, and in less than 5 minutes we covered how crazy our world is becoming, why and how to exercise faith, and finally, how much do you love me. Maybe we both needed reassurance that no matter what happens or what changes, love doesn’t.

Students responded to this recent horrific attack by announcing the March for Our Lives campaign. On March 24, I will applaud the planned march(s) to “demand that children and their families ‘become a priority’ to US lawmakers”. I hope other countries are listening too.

Every generation imagines itself to be more intelligent than the one that went before it, and wiser than the one that comes after it. – George Orwell

Each generation knows it’s going to be the one to exact change in the world and make it a better place. And it will in many ways, building upon the failures and successes of each generation that has gone before it. We inherit the world we live in; we don’t get to form it to meet our values or expectations. Perhaps that desire is ingrained in each of us. In these formative years, as youth explore their world and begin to develop a sense of self, they want to strive for change, and as a society who is continuously evolving (in both good ways and bad), we need their enthusiasm and their optimism. Without it, the countless “battles” in the history of each of our nations, won or lost, would not have shaped who we are and where we are today.

I was caught up in the “No means No” campaign of the early 90’s. In college, I was passionate about working women, and child witnesses of wife assault.  After college, I volunteered on a Sexual Assault Crisis Hotline. I was convinced I would change the world. With the recent #Me Too Campaign, maybe in a small way I did. Or at least I helped to pass a baton so change. will. come.

My voice is older and life has sapped much of my energy. Or has maturity simply chipped some of the block off my shoulder? Either way, I continue to hold strong views on violence against women, and I am proud to see my children advocating for those values too. I will never stop using my voice – I am also excited to see what the next generation is saying. I believe it’s worth hearing.

I believe we need to listen.

I believe we need to add our voices.

In all of the struggles for change, throughout the centuries, I see one common bond between each generation, and it is this: we are all aiming for a better, safer, more peaceful world.

And that, my friends, is always something worth fighting for.

Happy (rest of the) Weekend!

I’m Feeling…

Tags

emotions, faith, midlife crisis

I had this drawing of a lion posted at my desk at work and it said, “A strong person is not the one who doesn’t cry. A strong person is one who is quiet and sheds tears for a moment, and then picks up her sword and fights again”.

It’s mocking me!

I want to cry, but I can’t quite give in. By cry, I mean the kind where you drop your pants, crawl under the covers, snuggle up next to your bed buddy and just give’er! No holds barred! Full on, scary, ugly-cry crying! I want to because I know that sweet relief follows. That build up of pressure flows out with your tears and your snot! And when you stop hiccuping and feel the coolness on your face as your tears dry and you start to drift off to sleep, you feel hope again.

I still feel hope, but I’m also feeling a lot of other things these days.

I feel hot and bothered, frustrated with discourteous people and people who don’t do what they say they will do. By well-meaning people who brush off my frustrations with poorly-timed cliches or personal anecdotes that really don’t fit here. Oh, and by hot flashes and night sweats, but mostly by people…

I feel restless. Like a teenagers’ “can’t wait to move away from home and start my life” kind of restlessness. Attending a 2 day leadership conference didn’t help. I came away feeling both overwhelmed by how things should be and aren’t, and by an intense desire to be involved in something that matters. Something transformational and pure and just.

I feel angry. I know that anger is a fickle and volatile companion. It breeds contempt, jealousy, and malice. I have enough weeds in my garden to keep the lawn maintenance companies off my block, I don’t need weeds in my soul too. (Or that zit on my forehead. Hello! I’m over 40 now!)

Strong women wear their pain like they do stilettos. No matter how much it hurts, all you see is the beauty of it.

You know I like my stilettos. I feel fierce in my sassy green boots. But I also feel annoyed because the world appears to be full of platitudes that make vulnerable women feel weak if they don’t behave like warriors, and dismiss their right to hurt.

Joyce Meyers wrote, “A strong woman knows how to keep her like in order. Even with tears in her eyes, she still manages to say, ‘I’m OK’ with a smile”. I disagree! There may be times, when our circumstances dictate that we have to stand firm, put on a strong front, and keep our pain private. But there are other times when we need to let someone in so they can help awaken a new beast within us. Warriors and lone wolves are powerful figures in stories, but how many of them live long enough to share their stories.

I don’t doubt that I am a strong woman, but I resent feeling like I’m not allowed to behave like a “weak” one.  I see myself as a warrior, but I resent the implication that I should feel shame if I need someone to stand by me or stand up for me.  Asking for someone to acknowledge our pain and to help us is a sign of strength.  I believe we need to embrace our messiness and carefully let others embrace us.

I tore down the quote posted at my desk, and I’ve replaced it with a new one. It says, “My prayer is that when I die, all of hell rejoices that I am out of the fight”. See, C.S. Lewis’ quote removes the connotation that I am standing alone, or that I don’t show my feelings and I’m pretending that everything is okay. I may be strong or weak, fierce or vulnerable,  messy or just plain a mess. It connotes that I kept fighting the good fight.

And that makes me feel….hope. And “hope will not lead to disappointment”. (Rom. 5:5a)

On a Jet Plane

Tags

children, faith, family, parenting

When Big Guy was 2, he used to run after me with his arms outstretched, pumping as fast as he could on his little chubby little legs, and calling “Wait me! Wait me!” Today I feel like a 2-year old. Today he’s leaving on a jet plane for England  – partly for vacation and partly as his friend’s escort to a wedding (he’s that kind of sweet)! And I’m excited for him. Excited for the adventure he’s embarking upon but… if I’m completely honest, I’m also a little terrified.

It’s a big, big world and I’ve invested my heart and soul into keeping him safe. I’ve adjusted to him spreading his wings, living his own life…but I’ve been blessed to still have him close enough to visit often…usually with dirty laundry.  England is so far away and it’s been kinda crazy there of late…what if something bad happens! I can’t drive there in a couple of hours. In fact, the thought of hopping a plane in an emergency is more adventure than I can handle. But I would do it. If he needed me to do it!

I know he’s an adult! I know he’ll be fine! I also know the next well-meaning person to tell me these things is going to get socked “right in the kisser”!

www.flickr.com-Mark Anderson

I know these things. I believe these things. But he’s my baby! Not yours. Mine! He’s my surprise baby! He blew apart my adolescent plans and set my life on a different course. For a while there, it felt like us against the world. We’ve cheered each other on (he even offered to bury me in the woods if I didn’t survive our Mud Hero run). In many ways, we grew up together and words simply can’t explain how very precious he is, and how much I love him.

I hope he knows it.

That’s the problem with “good-byes” and “see you soons”. Your whole focus goes into the preparation and the planning. You focus on savouring the joy in the time you’re together. And suddenly, it’s time to go!

I’ve been emotional all week. It’s ridiculous, I know! Believe me, I know!! I’ve chided myself more times than the number of chocolate chips in a really big cookie. I think in part, there have been a lot of changes in the last few years, and I am missing a lot of people. I miss my grandparents who have passed away. I miss my friend who has moved away. And I miss my kids as little people. I miss those good days when we played hard and laughed often in a smaller and safer world. I miss their weight and warmth as they fell asleep cocooned in the safety of my arms. Time marches on.

All my bags are packed; I’m ready to go… ‘Cause I’m leavin’ on a jet plane.
– John Denver

His bags are packed by the door (including new socks and underwear!). There’s already too much to say and no time left. So at 8:30 this evening, I will wave at the sky from the window. I will pray without ceasing. And when he gets home, I want to hear all about his adventure.

I really do hope he has the time of his life!

Gotta Have Faith

Tags

children, faith

Yesterday afternoon, as I crawled along in traffic on the highway, I started composing a humorous post for a Friday afternoon to mark the end of the first full week of summer vacation.

Just before I pulled out of the parking lot after a “pit stop”, I checked my phone and there was a text from Big Guy. All I read was “Call me” and my heart caught in my throat. There were other messages – “Give Little Guy a big hug for me when you see him”, “a little guy was killed by S’ house…darted out at a moving truck, got caught under the rear wheel…”.

Right around the corner from our home. An intersection I pass every day.

My heart broke.

I called Big Guy back right away – he has such a tender heart.

As parents, we do our best to protect our children, but accidents can still happen, cancer can still develop and we are powerless to stop all of it. In an instant, our world can be completely shattered, and we are forever changed.

As I headed on down the highway, I prayed for this family. It was disjointed and poorly articulated, often filled with long silences and deep sighs. My head was empty and my heart was full. And it was in one of those long silences that my ears tuned in to the song on the radio. “…have faith faith, I gotta to have faith, faith, faith” sang George Michael. And I smiled. It was the closest thing to an answer to a question I didn’t know how to articulate:

I know what I believe; sometimes the only thing I can do is have faith. To trust that God will take care of my kids, and if my world is ever shattered, and when my world changes (because we know change is inevitable), have faith that God will steady the ground and help me to walk through it too.

Little Guy got 2 big hugs when I arrived: one from my and one from his big brother.

Photo courtesy of sadmoment.com

Hugs to you too!

W: We Fall Apart

Tags

#atozchallenge, faith, grief

My first brush with death came when my grandfather passed away. I was 3. The viewing was at the farmhouse and I remember I had to be a “good” girl and play quietly by myself. I remember playing with coloured pieces of paper, cut out by scissors, with puppies and kitties drawn in ink. I wonder who made those drawings? I also remember my Dad picking me up to say “goodbye” to my grandfather. He was so pale in his strange “bed”, and I wondered when Papa was going to wake up.

I’ve been told, however, that my brother, being 4 years my senior, crawled under a table and refused to come out.

My grandmother refused to have music in the house or at the funeral. She thought it would make her cry, and one does not cry in public. Ever. Not even on the day you bury the love of your life.

Not having music baffled me, since it’s such an integral part of my life. That was, until my best friend’s funeral. I could hum before I could speak, but when it came time to sing, I couldn’t make any sounds. I was the last to leave her graveside, even though it was winter and bitterly cold.

This month, I wrote a letter to my unborn baby, simply because I had an overwhelming need for her to know that she was loved.

This week, I sat for awhile with a Mom who lost her son last Fall. He had had a thriving practice, an active lifestyle, a beautiful fiancee. But he died, suddenly, in the night. She hasn’t been able to return to work, and life is anything but “normal”.  She showed me his picture. She showed me the cross she wears that he once wore faithfully. Though in obvious pain, she talked and talked about her beautiful boy. Her grief was palpable and bubbling over in her rush of words.

Grief touches us all, and it’s not always the loss of a person through death. It can be the loss a relationship, a job, a dream. We all cope with loss in different ways, because we are all different. I have seen people drop to their knees and howl at the heavens, and sit painfully still, whimpering like a wounded animal. I have seen people physically collapse; marriages too. I have seen eyes welling up unexpectedly in grocery stores, and others fighting to “carry on” because “that’s what you do”.

But in the end, we all fall apart.

And I think there’s beauty in that wilderness, in the intensity of our raw emotions. Perhaps not in the ways we fall apart, in how we express our grief, but in the simple fact that we do. Princes and paupers. Sinners or saints. Slave or free. In these ways, there is common bond.

And when we fall apart, when someone reaches out to us in those most vulnerable moments, I think that’s the most beautiful of all.

 But isn’t it beautiful the way we fall apart/
It’s magical and tragic all the ways we break our hearts/
So unpredictable…we think we’re invincible/
Completely unbreakable and maybe we are/
Isn’t it beautiful the way we fall apart.
We As Human, We Fall Apart

 

H is for Hineni

Tags

#atozchallenge, faith, family

I’ll be honest. I struggled with “H”. So many “H” words come to mind, and this time of year, heartbreak & hope are knit tightly together for me. I can’t begin to share my grief, not yet, not now. But another “H” word has surfaced recently, and I want to watch for where it might surface in my own life, either as a gift to me or a gift I can give.

Hineni.  It’s a powerful Hebrew word that means “Here I am”. It is an offer of total availability. It is a call to unconditional devotion and a willingness to sacrifice.

To a broken soul, to a frightened child, to an insecure wife it can mean:

I am present. I am listening. I am going to take care of you. I am going to comfort you. I am going to stay. I am going to walk with you through this.

Months ago I read a story about a photo a husband took of his wife, sleeping next to her daughter in the crib. The wife later explained the promise she had made to her little girl.

Just before their daughter was born, this Mom heard a missionary speak about an orphanage he visited in Africa. In its nursery, were 100 cribs with 100 babies, but there were no sounds. No gurgles or coos. No crying. Just silence.  When he asked the host why it was so quiet, she explained that “after about a week of them being here, and crying out for countless hours, they eventually stop when they realize no one is coming for them”.

This breaks my heart.

I believe, at the heart of every person, is a deep need to have someone in their life who will say Hineni – Here I am!

Little Guy once asked me “How much do you love me?” and I answered him. I didn’t know at the time that I could have summed up my whole explanation in one word: Hineni – Here I am. Here I will always be. I am present. I am listening. I will comfort you. I will guide you. I will walk with you. I offer you my unconditional love and I am willing to sacrifice everything for you.

It’s how a parent should respond to their child. It’s how spouses should respond to one another. It’s how friends should respond too. I pray I have responded this way to my family and friends, thousands of times. And I pray that it will be thousands more.

 

 

 

 

A is for Adored

Tags

#atozchallenge, faith, humour, women of the Bible

I started planning for the A to Z Challenge in January. Now it’s April, all I have is a list of 5 topics, and I’m already 2 days behind. So I’ve decided, rather than worrying about it, I’m going to start late. I may not write every day. It may take 6 months. My posts may range from foolishness to faith to family, but it’s mostly foolishness anyway.  I’m going to persevere with the exercise & just do it! (Feel free to poke me if I don’t)! Here goes…

***

It’s no mistake that scripture records the transformation of a few “fallen women”. Satan likes to use lies that connect to our femininity, our sexuality and our self-esteem to keep us bound so that we won’t live a life free in Jesus. And we won’t be free to worship Him. It takes a mighty God to break the lies and transform our lives. Jesus was often a magnet to the weary, the thirsty and the broken. I think all of that is why I’m drawn to today’s woman. She knew she had nothing to lose and everything to gain…

Today’s lady appears in Luke 7, and is referred to as “the town harlot”, “a notorious sinner”, and an “immoral woman”. She knew what people thought of her, had heard the whispers and witnessed the rude stares.

Simon, the Pharisee, also had a reputation too. He was educated and pious, likely a well-respected member of “high” society.

This woman learns that Simon the Pharisee was hosting a dinner party at his house, and Jesus had been invited. We do not know what prompted her to come to Simon’s home but she came bringing her most prized possession in an alabaster jar.

Alabaster jars were common containers for perfumes and oils. It would have been made of soft stone, light and creamy in colour, and small. So small she could hold it in the palm of her hand. The jar itself was not expensive, but rather what was shielded inside. It likely contained all the perfume she owned – imported pure nard, all essence, no alcohol, extravagantly expensive. But she wasn’t wearing the perfume to draw attention to herself. Her attention was solely fixed on the guest of honour.

“…and as she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears”. Perhaps from a well so deep inside her that it had never seen the light of day, tears pour out in an endless stream. Her dark shame, anger, disappointments, hurts…all the scalding words, looks, rejections…spilling out, leaving her vulnerable, exposed, and repentant…no longer caring who saw or what they thought. Caring only that Jesus saw her, knew her, forgave her, and loved her. Not only did Jesus not reject her, was not disgusted at her boldness or her tears, but He accepted her worship. His grace increased her devotion.

With her head bowed in reverence and submissions, she drops to her knees and unbinds her hair. According to social custom, doing so in public was so provocative, so abhorrent that it could be grounds for divorce. She used what may have been her greatest beauty, one of her “charms” to dry his feet. Jesus did not recoil from her touch but received her adoration. She performs one of the most intimate and innocent of acts – she kisses his bare, stone-bruised feet. Her unabashed affection and total humility are breath-taking.

“…she kisses them and she poured perfume on them”. It was too late for restraint. With purpose, she pours the contents of her jar over his feet, every priceless drop. You see, these jars of perfume had no lid. They were opened by breaking the box and then all the perfume had to be used. She didn’t just open it and use as little as possible, as we would do with expensive perfume. She used the whole thing and freely chose to do so.

Jesus was aware of the commentary and the looks all around Him, even from his host. Simon said to himself, “If this man were a prophet, he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is”. But Jesus knew Simon’s heart, so he tells Simon the story of two men. Both owed a money lender a sum but neither could repay it. The money lender cancels the debt of both. Which would be more grateful? “Simon replied, ‘I suppose the one who had the biggest debt cancelled.'”

“Do you see this woman?” Jesus asks Simon.  Simon saw her, but for what she was, not who she was…

“I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with tears and wiped them with her hair.” It was customary for a host to offer water and a towel for guests to cool and clean their tired and dusty feet. In fact, providing water was a minimal gesture of hospitality.

Jesus continued, “You did not give me a kiss but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet”. A brotherly kiss on the cheek was a common greeting. Between host and the honoured guest it was a symbol of homage or submission. This sinful woman not only kissed Jesus’ feet, but kissed them repeatedly though she was neither a relative nor a close friend. Her kisses were not erotic but were a sign of devotion and repentance.

“You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet”. She not only broke open her jar, she shattered the mold of how worship was to be done – passionately, personally, and with humble adoration.

By pointing out the things she did right and the things Simon should have done, Jesus managed to affirm her and admonish him at the same time, without stripping either of their dignity. The contrast of their actions spoke loudly for themselves. A woman, who embodied everything the Pharisee hated, earned a 4-star hospitality rating…in Simon’s home.

“Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven – for she loved much”. Without a word she expressed repentance. Without a sound, she cried out for forgiveness. Without a syllable, she spelled out the desire of her heart: to love him. Perhaps she had already given up her life of sin. After all, the evidence of a changed heart knelt at his feet.

Then Jesus said to her, “Your sins are forgiven…Your faith has saved you…go in peace”. Forgiveness is always personal with Him. Jesus died for the sins of the whole world, but forgiveness comes to each of us, individually, when we demonstrate our readiness to accept it. We only need to ask.

We don’t learn any more about this woman, but I believe she left that house with her head held high, her heart and life changed forever. God’s most profound miracles are in our hearts and lives. I’m a living miracle. The only excuse I have for any victory or joy or hope in my life is the supernatural redeeming power of Christ. Moving a mountain is nothing to God compared to changing a destructive life.

Romans 8:1 says “therefore there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus”. God will not turn away from you.

You are loved. You are of infinite worth. God demonstrated the greatest love for us when he sent Jesus to die on a cross. It was personal. The apostle Paul wrote, “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord). (Rom. 8:38-39).

In the book, The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne, the main character, Hester, committed adultery and as part of her punishment, she had to wear a scarlet letter. By the end of the book, Hester’s actions displayed a transformed life, and everyone thought the scarlet letter meant “Able”. In a way, I have also worn a scarlet letter and some could look at me and say that my letter stands for “Able” or “Administrator”. But I know I am only able because God has transformed me and empowers me. My letter actually stands for something else – Adored by God.

Turn away from the noise of the world, renew the state of your heart at the feet of Jesus and worship the One whose opinion of us really matters.

References:
Bad Girls of the Bible by Liz Curtis Higgs
New International Version (NIV) Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.