Forgiveness

Photo Credit: Wayfarer Photography

"Whoever says he is in the light and hates his brother is still in darkness. Whoever loves his brother abides in the light, and in him there is no cause for stumbling. But whoever hates his brother is in the darkness and walks in the darkness, and does not know where he is going, because the darkness has blinded his eyes." 

1 John 2:9-11

This subject has been on my heart for the past several months. The Holy Spirit has been training me to fight bitterness and surrender my pain to God in this season of change, adjustment, and exhaustion. Preparing for marriage is no joke, y'all. As T and I ready ourselves for life's next adventure, the enemy is using every tactic he has to come against us. He is trying to steal, kill, and destroy God's most beautiful creation, marriage. Stress and busyness have tried to steal our joy and energy. Exhaustion and misunderstanding have tried to kill relationships. Bitterness and selfishness have tried to destroy T and I's relationship. Fortunately, God won't stand for any of it, and neither will we. Unfortunately, I've discovered a tendency for bitterness in my heart throughout this engagement. My gut reaction to conflict, aggression, and chaos is obsession. I obsess over what he/she said, I obsess over analyzing their intentions behind their words or expression or choice, and I obsess over protecting myself from letting them hurt me again. I set expectations for whoever has wounded me, falling victim to my hurt and allowing bitterness to bloom. 

They are always going to hurt me. 

They don't love/support me.

I can't trust them ever again.

I'm worthless in their eyes.

These thoughts build a wall against forgiveness, fortifying my bitter heart against Christ's redeeming love. When Jesus hung on the cross, naked and ashamed, He clothed himself in my pain and brokenness. He felt every moment of self-pity, every moment of shame, every moment of hate that I will ever experience. When He burst through the gates of Hell with fire in his eyes and the keys to death in his triumphant hand, He left the memory of every sin smoldering to ash behind him. My sins were the cause of Christ's death, but He shook off the burden of bitterness in favor of love. God has every reason to hold my sins against me, but he doesn't. He sees me in my pain and brokenness, and loves me without expecting anything in return. 

So if I'm supposed to be like Christ, how does my bitterness reflect His glory?

It doesn't.

Bitterness is a slap in the face to Christ's love. It is a direct disobedience to the greatest commandment: love God, and love others. There is no love in bitterness, there is no compassion in the unforgiven, there is no mercy in judgment. In fact, mercy triumphs over judgment. Therefore, when I obsess over the wounds I've been dealt by others and allow myself to steep in anger and self-righteousness, I build a wall against Christ's love. 

God revealed all of this to me a few weekends ago during a women's conference at my church. The conference's theme and title was Breakthrough, but I didn't believe that I really had any strongholds to break through. I didn't have a tragic childhood, I'd never had any mental disorders or health scares, and I didn't think I was currently struggling with anything that was holding me back from God. Isn't it sweet how God cares about us enough to take us down from our self-imposed pedestals before we fall off and hurt ourselves? 

As I was worshipping, I had a mama moment. Personally, God has called me to mother the orphaned and outcast, and to pursue motherhood above any career or ambition. This is going to sound crazy, but instead of getting goosebumps or visions when I'm having an intimate moment with the Spirit, I'll feel the weight of a child's hand in mine, or the sensation of holding a baby against my chest. These moments are rare, but they usually precede a major shift in my heart and life. They are also usually baptized in a torrent of tears and ugly sobs, because Jesus wept so why can't I? I started sobbing for the children God has given me and will give to me, sobbing for their suffering, sobbing for the darkness they walked through every day. Clear as day, the Holy Spirit spoke to me: everyone is suffering in their own way, where are your tears for those who have hurt you? How can I expect you to love my children if you can't forgive ______?

Me: What?

What do you mean "where are your tears for those who have hurt you?" Don't you realize that the people who have hurt me deserve my bitterness? They haven't earned my forgiveness. They're not poor, they don't wonder where their next meal will come from, they have every opportunity in the world! Why on earth would I have sympathy for their perfect, American, middle class lives?

Everyone is suffering in their own way.

But God, don't you remember how she belittled and embarrassed me? Don't you remember how he abandoned me and lied to me? Don't you remember how she jumped at the opportunity to criticize my every move? Don't you remember how he left me defenseless? How on earth can my heart possibly break for their suffering when they've caused so much of mine?

It is my job to judge. It is your job to love.

As I sat there, dumbfounded by revelation, I realized that God wanted to breakthrough the resentment I held against childhood bullies, past love interests, and hurt people who hurt people. I thought I was living in the light, but I had hate towards my brothers and sisters in Christ. Bitterness had blinded my eyes to the fact that these people had hurt me because they too, were broken; their struggles were interior rather than exterior. I long to bring restoration to orphans because their pain is obviously life threatening, it's exterior. But shouldn't I long to bring restoration to my peers, even if their pain isn't as noticeable? Maybe he had abandoned me because he had never been taught how to love. Maybe she had criticized and bullied me because she can't stand who she sees in the mirror. God began revealing the darkness that engulfed my aggressors' hearts, comparing it with the darkness that engulfs orphans and widows. God doesn't see brokenness on a circumstantial scale. He doesn't look at orphans any differently than he looks at businessmen. He sees all of us equally. He loves all of us equally, and that love casts out darkness. He's given us His love so we can love others, not so we can hoard it and hold it out of certain people's reach. Jesus died for those who afflicted him, not for those who had perfectly loved him. 

So if I'm supposed to be like Christ, how can I harbor resentment in my heart towards his broken children?

Week 1

"So obey the commands of the Lord your God by walking in his ways and fearing him. For the Lord your God is bringing you into a good land of flowing streams and pools of water, with fountains and springs that gush out in the valleys and hills." -Deuteronomy 8:6

This week, I learned that the Lord teaches us the most through obedience. For the last seven days, I served as a camp counselor at a family camp in Tyler, Texas. As a counselor, I get to serve parents by taking care of their babes each morning and evening, which enables moms and dads to be husbands and wives for a few hours. The majority of young families at camp this last week had two or more children who were less than two years apart. Whether you're a parent or a teenager, surely you can imagine that these families came through the camp gates weary, downtrodden, and broken. Raising children is a challenge and blessing, but raising two preschoolers at once often presents more trials than triumphs. When you're constantly being pulled on, screamed at, or cried for, listening to your spouse or having alone time can seem like a pipe dream. Introduce: family camp.

Loving on these families has taught me the beautiful power of recklessly serving others. Every meal, parents walk into a dining hall filled with tables that are already set, plates that are already cooked and hot, and counselors that are more than happy to cut their children's plates and attend to their every need. Young families are able to talk to each other over a hot meal for the first time since their children were born, and no one has to worry about clean-up. During the day, parents get to be poured into through a speaker session and down time while their children are being taught the Gospel and mentored by Jesus-loving college students. Family camp is a place of healing for parents and children, and a place of service for college students. Despite the exhaustion of serving and providing for 40 families all day, everyday, I have never felt more filled with Christ than I did this last week at camp. As a counselor in the infant--pre-K ministry, I saw fathers pick up their toddlers with tears in their eyes, claiming that family camp had saved their marriage. Mothers came by to nurse their babies and encouraged and mentored my fellow counselors and I, each of us vulnerable and openhearted to the Lord's movement in the moment.
This spring, I was frustrated with my complacency towards God. I was reading my Bible somewhat regularly, attending church every Sunday, surrounded by incredible believers, and still felt leagues away from the Lord. I was ready for something deeper, but terrified of the unknown. Three years ago, the Lord broke my heart in worship to serve at this family camp that I've grown up attending. I wrote in the back of my Bible, "I have to work at family camp" as a reminder that despite what I would be leaving behind for two months, I had to apply to work at this camp, for some unknown reason. I was hesitant to leave my driveway and considered coming home at several points during training week, but serving as a family camp counselor has awoken my soul to God's faithfulness in obedience and His steadfast love. On Wednesday, I was attempting to spoon-feed a fussy 6-month old her first taste of solid food, mashed banana. All her life, this baby has only been nourished through her mother's nursing; needless to say, she hated the banana. For half an hour, I pleaded and begged this baby to accept the few spoonfuls of food she would need to be satisfied, but she rejected every teeny and tiny bite.
"Please eat this sweet baby, you need this yummy food to grow!" "I know what's best for you little baby, trust me."
Twenty minutes into feeding her, I realized that I treat the Father like this baby was treating me on a regular basis. How often does God call me to new seasons and leaps of faith, only for me to cry and resist? How often does God try to develop my brokenness into beauty, while I scream at the pain of exposing my sin and bitterness? Becoming a counselor meant that I would be leaving my hometown, friends, and the love of my life for two months, with only 24 hours of contact each weekend. I haven't hugged my mom, dad, or sister in nearly a month, and I won't see them until next week. I'm exhausted, losing my voice, and constantly attending to others' needs above my own.
THIS IS SCARY AND NEW!!!!! This is my mashed banana!
God has already moved mountains in my heart, strengthened my endurance, and filled me with immeasurable joy and love for each family that walks through our gates. I shudder at the selfish mindset I had before camp began, how I shirked serving others unless it put me in the spotlight. But Jesus has given me a new heart for others that never would have happened unless I let him nourish me with foreign experiences and lessons this last week. The Lord has led me into a good land of flowing love and pools of joy, that I'm free to dive into whenever my eyes shut tightly in prayer. God is merciful with our stubbornness, but He is quick to bless obedience. The lyrics to Multiply by the Desperation Band have been my heartbeat this week: "Take my life, multiply it. All that I am for your glory, all for your glory." I have one life to give, but giving it to the Lord's work can help bring healing to dozens of families this summer. How will you step out in obedience into the unknown? How will you let the Lord multiply your life for His glory?