Wow! As I look back on my previous post and realize that it was FOUR YEARS AGO (gasp!), I realize how much has gone on in my life!
I could talk about it. I could tell you about how my 2015 has gone. About how my son (who was a freshman the last time I blogged) is now a *gulp!* Senior who is driving and working and learning what it's like to be a grown man. I could tell you about our family's transition from oil field to franchise that has shaken our finances, or family, and our faith. I could tell you about the recent loss of a dear friend and her family... Not to death, mind you, but to a lack of forgiveness, anger, and a strong influence from Satan himself, the Father of lies and deceit.
I will probably get around to talking about those life-altering things eventually, someday, when it is relevant. But on this day, God has led me to write about this amazing book that my Ladies Bible Class is reading by Jen Hatmaker called, Interrupted: When Jesus Wrecks Your Comfortable Christianity. The title is heavy, I know, but the content is crazy uncomfortable! Before I get into that, however, I feel like I should explain a little bit about myself first.
I am, in fact, an outgoing introvert (it's a thing, look it up) and, although I get worn out, and my day usually gets interrupted by a headache and/or a nap, I thrive on surrounding myself with people in "need". More specifically, people who "need" me. I love feeling useful and I love helping people and being there for people and supporting people. I mean, as the child of missionaries, I am used to getting "out there" and loving on "the least of these" (Matthew 25:40), which is what much of Jen Hatmaker's book is comprised of. My wonderful husband Rob, who has an affinity for words that I cannot even describe, has affectionately told me, "You know, some people take in stray puppies, but you take in stray people." Thanks, Babe, my friends love it when they are referred to as "strays" *insert side-eye here*. In his defense, I have an amazing support group, and they are not, by any means, "stray puppies". I do, however, call them my "motley crew", because we are all so differently and beautifully and wonderfully made; so uniquely damaged, which makes for an amazing variance in perspective, experience, and opinions. My posse provides an accountability group that can move mountains and work miracles (allow me to take a moment to thank God for these amazing people)!
Okay, back to the topic at hand: I love helping people, right? Well, recently I had a very dear friend (mentioned above) whom, for the sake of lessening drama, we will call "Miriam," even though anyone who knows me personally knows exactly who I'm talking about. For the last 4 years or so, we helped Miriam and her family. Rob and I helped them raise money to hire a lawyer when her sleazy ex-husband took her kids from her. Rob helped her current husband "Bernard" get a job working with him in the oil field, including helping pay for him to get his Commercial Driver's License. Our church put Miriam, Bernard, and their 5 children on the Angel Tree, to ensure they had a good Christmas, and gave them food on several occasions. When Miriam's daughter was born with severe health issues and spent her first 3 months of life in the hospital, both our biological and church families rallied around them and covered them in prayer and support. We were there when her family turned their backs on her. We were her children's godparents. We were family. Our husbands were brothers. We were sisters. I had the privilege of baptizing her, for crying out loud!!! Then suddenly, seemingly out of the blue, all of that was gone. Yes, I made mistakes. Yes, I accept some blame in the crumbling of our sisterhood. True, I did not always act like the exemplary Christian that I should have. Yes, I am imperfect in many, many ways. But I gave so much of myself to her and her family. I gave my time, my heart, my money, my family, my friends to her, in hopes that she would learn the Magic of Friendship (yes, as a matter of fact, that was a My Little Pony reference). In hopes that she would see what true family is all about. In hopes that she would see God's unconditional love, which she had never experienced before. And for what? Well, Jen Hatmaker states:
"This facet of broken and poured out for [the hopeless]? Not what I envisioned. A romanticized notion of social compassion gets trashed once you actually turn your bias to the bottom. It is far more nuanced than the pamphlets let on. This is where sometimes instead of a 'thank you,' you get a '!%&# you.' Deep disappointment exists here. Betrayal resides here. Rip-your-eyes-out frustration lives here."
What?! How could she possibly know what I was feeling? How could she pinpoint, with such painful accuracy, how much this experience that has truly shaken, not my faith in God, but my confidence in myself? Ouch!
But God doesn't call us to conditional love. He doesn't say "Feed my sheep... but only the ones that appreciate it" or "love the least of these... but only if they turn around and return it tenfold" or "help the needy... but only if you're sure they won't go off and buy liquor." Quite the contrary, friends! Jesus himself knew he was going to be betrayed, hurt, even killed, but he continued to love and to care and to give and show mercy to those very unappreciative people. To me. To Miriam and Bernard. To all of us, really. God does not make mistakes, y'all. He put Miriam and her family in my path, and I believe that I fulfilled my purpose in their lives, and they fulfilled their purpose in mine, even if it wasn't the outcome we expected. Jen says:
"[Jesus'] grace was theirs for the asking until they drew their last breaths, even if all they could offer Him was a lifetime of hatred and one moment of repentance."
So, I will continue to be there for those whom God puts in my path. I will continue to be imperfect and completely undeserving of God's grace and mercy. I will continue to fulfill my ministry which, may not mean being a missionary in a foreign country, like my parents, but to those who need it, right here in the city of San Antonio, in the state of Texas, in these United States of America. After all, the hymn I sang at the top of my voice as a child in the pews, "Here am I! Lord, send me. Here am I! Ready at thy bidding, Lord, send ME."
